Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [494]
No. I was here, in silence and peace, and before long, I knew it now, I would pass even further into peace . . . the dizziness that was near to death was drawing closer and ever closer, and this Kevin, this traitor, would bring me back? I said, “No,” again and turned away, my hands covering my face. “Leave me in peace, Kevin Harper. Hither I came to die. Leave me now.”
He did not move, nor did he speak, and I sat very still, my veil over my face. After a little time, surely, now he would arise and leave me, for I had not the strength to go forth from him. And I . . . I would sit here until I was carried back to my bed by the women, and then I would never rise again.
And then, into the silence, I heard the soft sound of the harp. Kevin played, and after a moment he sang.
I had heard a part of this ballad, for he had sung it often at Arthur’s court, of that bard in ancient times, sir Orfeo, who made the trees to dance and the stones on the plain to stand in a ring and dance, and all the beasts of the wood to come and lay themselves at his feet when they should have rent him with their claws. But beyond that, today, he sang the other part of the song, which was a Mystery, and which I had never heard before. He sang of how the initiate, Orfeo, had lost her that he loved, and had descended into the Afterworld and spoken there before the Lords of Death, and pleaded for her, and was given permission to go into the dark lands, and bring her forth, and then he had found her there on the Undying Plains. . . .
And then his voice spoke from the soul . . . and I heard what seemed my own voice pleading.
“Seek not to bring me forth, when I am resigned to stay here in death. Here within these undying lands all is at rest, with neither pain nor struggle; here can I forget both love and grief.”
The room faded away around me; no longer could I smell the smoke from the fireplace, the chill breath of rain beyond the window, I was no longer conscious of my own body, ill and dizzy where I sat. It seemed to me that I stood in a garden filled with scentless flowers and eternal peace, with only the distant voice of the harp breaking unwillingly through the silence. And that harp sang to me, undesired.
It sang of the wind from Avalon, with the breath of apple blossom and the smell of ripened apples in their season; it brought to me the cool freshness of the mist over the Lake, and the sounds of the running deer deep in the forest where the little folk live still, and it brought me the sun-soaked summer where I lay in the sun beneath the ring stones, with Lancelet’s arms round me and the blood of life rising like sap within my veins for the first time. Then I felt again in my arms the heavy softness of my little son, his soft hair against my face, his milky breath sweet and soft . . . or was it Arthur himself in my lap, clinging to me, his little hands patting my cheek . . . again Viviane’s hands touched my brow in blessing, and I felt myself a bridge between earth and sky as I stretched my own hands forth in invocation . . . high winds swirled through the grove where I lay with the young stag in the darkness of the eclipse, and Accolon’s voice spoke my name. . . .
And now it was not the harp alone but the voices of the dead and the living crying out to me: “Return again, return, life itself is calling you with all its pleasure and pain . . .” and then a new note came into the voice of the harp.
“It is I who calls you, Morgaine of Avalon . . . priestess of the Mother . . .”
And I raised my head, seeing not Kevin’s twisted body and sorrowing features, but where he