The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [41]
“When one has been a part of the Morgaine,” the apparition said, “a part of the three who are one remains ever after. But I am still myself, especially here, in this place.”
“And what should we call you?” asked Charles, before John could whisper to him that they already knew this woman. They had met her long ago.
“Call me Guinevere,” the apparition said, opening her arms wide to embrace Rose. “Welcome home, daughter.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Nameless Isles
Guinevere, with her ethereal presence and turquoise hair, seemed more like a fairy than one of the Morgaine—but enough of who she was remained that Rose knew her and recognized her, and it gladdened the companions’ hearts to see the girl so fulfilled and happy.
“What is this place?” said John.
“Call it the Elysian fields, or Valhalla, or Vanaheim,” replied Guinevere. “It is all and none. But it is a place where the dead heroes of the past may come to rest, before they go on to their afterlife or are needed again.”
“Why is Avalon deserted?” John asked. “The Morgaine are gone, and the Green Knight is as well.”
“The Morgaine keep their own counsel and left of their own choice,” Guinevere intoned. “The Guardian was enticed and easily gave up his post.”
“As I thought,” Charles fumed. “Once a Maggot, always a Maggot.”
“What are you doing here, Mother?” Rose asked. “I’ve missed you, very much.”
Guinevere looked down at her daughter. “As I have missed you.
“I expect you must be the Caretakers,” the cat said ...
But we each have our paths to follow, and mine has ended here.”
“Ended?” said Charles bluntly. “Are—are you dead?”
She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “That would depend on your point of view, Caretaker,” she answered. “I left the Morgaine to marry, and saw the downfall of a kingdom. But from the ashes of that tragedy, my children built a kingdom anew— you are its guardians now, and one of you may yet earn your place among the heroes here.”
She turned and glided away, gesturing for the companions to follow. She led them to the great marble wall, next to the blue flame.
The marble wall contained three crypts. Guinevere passed the first of them and then paused at the second, resting her hand lightly, almost reverently, on its surface. “Here rests he who was my husband, who breathed his last in my arms,” she said, the sorrow in her voice unconcealed. “The first King of the Silver Throne, the first king of Camelot. Here lies Arthur, who will sleep until he is needed again.”
“We know a little of his death from the Histories,” said Charles, “but Geoffrey of Monmouth was incomplete as a chronicler and fictionalized some things to make his stories more interesting. I didn’t realize you had been with him when he died.”
She looked pained at hearing this. “I—I wasn’t, but I was near,” she said, “and I have remained with him ever since.
“Mordred returned to Camelot and brought war with him,” she continued. “I had abandoned my duties on Avalon to become Arthur’s queen, to protect and watch over him. And I failed. I failed him, in every way. And so it is my penance to stay with him here, to watch over his body and wait for the time when he might rise again to protect all the lands that are, and the people who reside there.”
“That’s very, ah, loyal,” said Jack.
“And optimistic,” said Charles.
“It is prophesied,” stated Guinevere, “that in the time of greatest need, he will rise once more to defend and protect his kingdom. But,” she added before any of the companions could ask, “now is not that time.”
“How do you know?” asked Jack.
“There is a Prophecy,” Guinevere began.
“I’m starting to get weary of hearing about prophecies,” said Charles.
“Does he need me again, Mother?” Rose asked, moving around Charles to take Guinevere’s hands. “Does he need my blood to save him, as it did before?”
Guinevere shook her head. “That is not written for you,” she said to her daughter in a voice both gentle and firm. “You gave your sacrifice once. In time, it will