Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [533]
It is death to touch the holy things unprepared. . . .
Morgaine saw Nimue—or was it she herself?—cover Galahad’s face with a white veil. And then Nimue was gone, and the cup was standing on the altar, only the gold cup of the Mysteries, without any trace of the unearthly light . . . she was not sure it was there . . . it was surrounded by mist. And Galahad lay dead on the floor of the chapel in Avalon, cold and still beside Lancelet.
It was a long time before Lancelet stirred, and as he raised his head, Morgaine saw that his face was shadowed with tragedy. He whispered, “And I was not worthy to follow him.”
“You must take him back to Camelot,” Morgaine said gently. “He has won the quest of the Grail—but it was his final quest. He could not bear that light.”
“Nor could I,” Lancelet whispered. “Look, the light is still on his face. What did he see?”
Slowly, she shook her head, feeling the cold rise up her arms. “Neither you nor I will ever know that, Lancelet. I know only this—that he died with the Grail at his lips.”
Lancelet looked up at the altar. The priests had gone quietly away, leaving Morgaine alone with the dead and the living; and the cup, surrounded in mist, still gleamed there, softly glowing.
Lancelet rose. He said, “Yes. And this shall come back with me to Camelot, that all men may know the quest is ended . . . and no more knights seeking the unknown to die or go mad . . .”
He took one step toward the altar where the Grail gleamed, but Morgaine flung her arms around him and held him back.
“No! No! It is not for you! The very sight of it struck you down! It is death to touch the holy things unprepared—”
“Then I shall die for it,” he said, but she held him hard, and soon she felt him give way. He said, “Why, Morgaine? Why must this suicidal folly go on?”
“No,” she said, “the quest of the Grail is ended. You were spared to return to Camelot and tell them that. But you cannot take it back to Camelot. No man can hold and confine it. Those who seek it in faith"—she heard her own voice, though she did not know what she was going to say until she said it—"will always find it—here, beyond the mortal lands. But if it should go back with you to Camelot, it would fall into the hands of the narrowest of the priests, and become a pawn for them. . . .” She could feel the tears thickening her voice. “I beg of you, Lancelet. Leave it here in Avalon. Let there be, in this new world without magic, one Mystery the priests cannot describe and define once and for all, cannot put within their narrow dogma of what is and what is not . . .” Her voice broke. “In the day which is coming, the priests will tell mankind what is good and what is evil, what to think, what to pray, what to believe. I cannot see to the end—perhaps mankind must have a time of darkness so that we will one day again know what a blessing is the light. But in that darkness, Lancelet, let there be one glimmer of hope. The Grail came once to Camelot. Let the memory of that passing never be sullied by seeing it captive on some worldly altar. Leave one Mystery and one source of vision for man to follow . . .” She heard her voice go dry until it seemed like the croaking of the last of ravens.
Lancelet bowed down before her. “Morgaine, or are you truly Morgaine? I think I do not know who or what you are. But what you say is true. Let the Grail remain forever in Avalon.”
Morgaine raised her hand, and the little folk of Avalon came and lifted up Galahad’s body, bearing it silently to the Avalon barge. Lancelet’s hand still in her own, Morgaine walked down to the shore, where she looked at the body lying in the boat. For a moment it seemed that Arthur lay there, then the vision wavered and vanished, and it was only Galahad, with that uncanny peace and light on his face.
“Now you ride to Camelot with your son,” said Morgaine quietly, “but not as I foresaw. I think the Sight is given to mock us—we see what the Gods give us to see, but we know never what it means. I think I will never use the Sight more, kinsman.