The Indigo King - James A. Owen [96]
“We’ve come seeking the beginning of the men called Myrddyn and Madoc,” said John.
Circe smiled, but it seemed to John—incredibly—that the other, who must be Calypso, actually winced, then blushed.
“Their beginning,” Circe said, “is known to us. They began as all men did, and with the same potential. But they forgot how to choose.”
“Forgot how to choose what?” asked John.
“How to choose,” Circe answered sternly, as if John were a bit stupid. “They forgot that choosing is always an option. There is always a choice to be made.”
“Why are you here?” John said. “On Avalon? I know that your island is called Aiaia.”
Circe bowed her head. “It is. And hers was Ogygia, before she came here,” she said, indicating Calypso. “We came here to the temple of Diana, which was erected by Brutus, to await our children’s return.”
“This is the island,” Jack interjected. “This is where they wrecked the Argo.”
Again Circe bowed her head. “Brutus built the temple with those who escaped from broken Troy, before he went to the isle of giants, called Albion, to build a kingdom of his own. No man, save for one, an old fisherman, ever returned to this island until Myrddyn and Madoc were exiled here.”
“The fisherman was the one who helped Anaximander rescue them,” said John.
“He was,” said Circe. “Odysseus was a vain and fickle man, but unlike Iason, he always returned to watch over his children.”
“I wanted to ask about the Red Dragon …,” Jack began.
“Too many questions!” Circe exclaimed. “Enough!”
“I’m getting a good idea which of them turns into Cul,” Jack whispered.
“What is it you wish of the Pandora?” Circe demanded again. “Speak.”
“We come seeking the Grail,” Hugo said. “The Holy Grail.”
John swore silently and threw a helpless glance at Jack. Hugo was not accustomed to dealing with the witches; he didn’t understand how they responded to direct statements like that.
“At last,” Calypso said. “A plainspoken man.”
Circe held up the golden bowl. “Choose,” she said. “The Cup of Albion, or the bloodline of Aramathea.”
“The cup?” John whispered. “That’s not a bowl. It’s the cup of the giant Brutus slew.”
“The bloodline of Aramathea,” Jack mused. “That’s what we thought of as well. Both have ties to Britain, and to the heritage of Arthur. But I don’t know what to choose.”
“Don’t look at me,” Chaz said, paging furiously through the Little Whatsit. “I can’t even take a guess.”
“Let me,” Hugo offered, stepping forward. “I choose the bloodline,” he said with no hesitation.
Circe and Calypso nodded at each other, and a third woman, plainer than the others but still lovely, came up the steps behind them to take her place on the dais.
“Are … are you … ?” Hugo said hesitantly. “Are you the Grail?”
“Gwynhfar,” the woman replied, bowing her head. “I am called Gwynhfar.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Good Knight
I have seen you before, haven’t I?” John said gently.
“Yes,” said Gwynhfar, glancing at him. “Once, long ago, in a faraway place.”
“Alexandria,” Jack said, realizing who she was. “You were the girl with Madoc, in the Grail chamber.”
“Are you really a descendant of …,” Hugo began. “Are you truly of the Holy Blood?”
“Five generations ago, my ancestor was put to death,” Gwynhfar said. “He died at the hands of the Romans, who could not bear to see their own beliefs supplanted by those he left in his wake as he traveled, teaching. And so when he returned home, they killed him. And soon after, many who followed him. So my great-great-great-granduncle Joseph gathered the family together and fled the land of our birth for a new world.
“But,” she continued, “the beliefs and practices of the old world still held sway there, and it was not safe for us to remain. All who were descended from the great Teacher were eventually killed, save for myself and Uncle Joseph. So he arranged for me to be taken to the one place where I would be guarded, where all the great scholars of the world had come together. A place where new beliefs might