Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [391]
“Mordred, they call Gwydion, which means ‘Evil Counsel’ in their tongue. It is a compliment—they mean it is evil for those who would harm them. They give every guest a name, as they call Lancelet Elf-arrow.”
“Among the Saxons, a Druid, even a young one, might seem wiser than he is, in contrast to all their thick heads! And Gwydion is clever! Even as a boy he could think of a dozen answers for everything!”
“Clever he is,” said Kevin slowly, “and knows well how to make himself loved, I have seen that. Me, he welcomed as if I had been his favorite uncle in childhood, saying how good it was to see a familiar face from Avalon, embracing me, making much of me—all as if he loved me well.”
“No doubt he was lonely and you were like a breath from home,” said Niniane, but Kevin frowned and drank a little wine, then set it down and forgot it again. He demanded, “How far did Gwydion go in the magical training?”
“He wears the serpents,” Niniane said.
“That may mean much or little,” Kevin said. “You should know that—” And although the words were innocent, Niniane felt their sting; a priestess who bore the crescent on her brow might be a Viviane—or no more than she herself. She said, “He is to return at Midsummer to be made King of Avalon, that state Arthur betrayed. And now he is grown to manhood—”
Kevin warned, “He is not ready to be king.”
“Do you doubt his courage? Or his loyalty—”
“Oh—courage,” said Kevin, and made a dismissing gesture. “Courage, and cleverness—but it is his heart I trust not and cannot read. And he is not Arthur.”
“It is well for Avalon that he is not,” Niniane flared. “We need no more apostates who swear loyalty to Avalon and forsake their oath to the folk of the hills! The priests may set a pious hypocrite on the throne, who will serve whatever God he finds expedient at the moment—”
Kevin raised his twisted hand, with such a commanding gesture that Niniane fell silent. “Avalon is not the world! We have neither strength, nor armies, nor craft, and Arthur is loved beyond measure. Not in Avalon, I grant you, but all the length and breadth of these islands, where Arthur is the hand that has created the peace they value. At this moment, any voice arising against Arthur would be silenced within months, if not within days. Arthur is loved—he is the very spirit of all Britain. And even if it were otherwise, what we do in Avalon has little weight in the world outside. As you marked, we are drifting into the mists.”
“Then all the more must we move quickly, to bring Arthur down and set a king on the throne of Britain who will restore Avalon to the world and the Goddess. . . .”
Kevin said quietly, “I wonder, sometimes, if that can ever be done—if we have all spent our lives within a dream without reality.”
“You say that? You, the Merlin of Britain?”
“I have been at Arthur’s court, not sheltered in an island that moves ever further from the world outside,” said Kevin gently. “This is my home, and I would die, as I am sworn . . . but it was with Britain I made the Great Marriage, Niniane, not with Avalon alone.”
“If Avalon dies,” said Niniane, “then Britain is without her heart and will die, for the Goddess has withdrawn her soul from all the land.”
“Think you so, Niniane?” Kevin sighed again, and said, “I have been all up and down these lands, in all weathers and all times—Merlin of Britain, hawk of the Sight, messenger of the Great Raven—and I see now another heart in the land, and it shines forth from Camelot.”
He was silent. After a long while Niniane said, “Was it when you said such words as this to Morgaine that she called you traitor?”
“No—it was something else,” he said. “Perhaps, Niniane, we do not know the ways of the Gods and their will as well as we think we do. I tell you, if we move now to bring Arthur down, this