Page 27 of The Daughters of Avalon
And yet, he couldn’t possibly suspect witchcraft after a single occasion, could he? People simply did not believe in the Craft any longer. They would rather believe in coincidence and miracles. And regardless, how could she allow any man to continue suffering, when she had the means to help him?Do good, harm none, she reminded herself. It was the one golden rule.
And anyway, wasn’t she honor-bound to use her talents for the good of men? What was he, but a man? A handsome one at that—far too handsome for Elspeth’s peace of mind. But what did that matter? And he was fast asleep. Whatever he thought, or didn’t think, he could never prove it one way or the other. So, now that she could focus without his scrutiny, she placed her hand atop his shoulder, hovering close to his wound—as close as she dared without touching him.
When finally she could feel heat emanating from the affected area, she cupped her palm to catch it escaping, taking a moment to harness her own healing power before whispering…
Goddess, we are one, take his pain, make there none.
The words were adequate, but, possibly, not quite enough. Elspeth wished not only to ease his pain, but to rest assured his wound would mend. What was the point of exerting herself only to do it halfway? Once again, very gently, she lowered her palm over the wound, gasping softly as it fell to meet hard, muscled chest, and then, for a befuddled instant, she forgot what she was supposed to do, so entranced was she with the gentle rise and fall of his breath.
His skin was hot where she laid it.Fever.Raging. It was more than enough impetus to remind her of her purpose. Concentrating on lending him her own energy, little enough as there seemed to be, despite her restlessness, she used her third eye—the one peering inward to her heart—and envisioned the small moon that was the essence of her soul. Little by little, she made it swell, until she could feel it as potent as a tiny sun. Then, she traveled the palm-sized sphere of light down her arm, all the way to her hand, watching the faint glow as it passed through her palm to Malcom’s abused flesh. In the utter darkness, the place where she touched him exploded like a thousand twinkling stars. And then, once she was ready, she whispered again.
Healing wight lend your light. Spirit mend, sickness end.
And once the words were spoken, she was utterly spent. Her limbs felt like porridge and her mind turned to mush. She was so weary that she forgot to take away her hand from his chest, and her last waking thought was for her sister Rhiannon…
Her sister was wrong… The only reason Morwen hadn’t sequestered them sooner was because of Henry, no matter what Rhiannon believed.
It was merely that Rhiannon had been such a willful child, howling and wailing from the instant she was born. She’d come into this world full of rage. And later, once she’d got older, she was so often discomforted by the presence of people. She would rock and wail, rock and wail, with her sweet little hands pressed to her ears and Henry hadn’t known what to do with her.
Naturally, since he had a nation to tend to, an odd little daughter was too easily forgotten. And nevertheless… Elspeth remembered the disconcerted look on her father’s face when the midwife was commanded to carry Rhiannon away from his hall.
If only Rhiannon would settle the fire in her heart and try to remember…
The dream arrived like a breeze…
Rhiannon was sobbing. She was three years old and weeping inconsolably because she hadn’t the words to tell anyone what was wrong. All about her, servants hustled, some carrying platters, others bearing ewers. And still others prepared the trestle tables and moved long, noisy benches.
Her sister had to carry her, but Rhiannon was far too heavy, and Elspeth set her down amidst the rushes, patting a hand atop her head, and saying words Rhiannon couldn’t comprehend, though she certainly understood the love. Only now Rhiannon refused to look at her, because not even Elspeth seemed to understand Rhiannon. There were too many thoughts flying about her head—pictures without words. Her dress was too tight in places, and her head felt like bugs crawled inside her skull. Squealing with displeasure, she slapped her ears vengefully, trying to get out the bugs, and then, when she couldn’t seem to do it, she shrieked at the top ofher lungs—so loudly that the servants all stopped to stare. She curled into a ball, precisely the way she’d lain in her mother’s womb—but even then, there hadn’t been any reassurance. Her twin sister was dying—dying! Once again, Rhiannon felt the waning heartbeat, the light in her soul going dim. She hadn’t even a name, but there in the womb, floating in water, she had reached out to tangle her fingers into the fine threads of her twin’s hair.
Don’t die! She bade her, don’t die! But even as she tried desperately to share her own life force, the light grew dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer… until finally, it guttered and extinguished.
“God’s teeth, girl! Where’s your mother?” Henry was shouting at Elspeth as Rhiannon tucked her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.
“I… don’t… know.”
“Christ! She left you with no one to care for you?”
“Aye,” said Elspeth. “But, don’t worry, she said she would return anon.”
“Where is Seren?”
“In her crib.”
“By the bloody saints, the dinner hour is no time for children to flounce about the hall. What in God’s name ails your sister?”
Elspeth shook her head, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I think she’s hungry.”
“Stay here,” her father demanded, but then he lifted up Rhiannon and marched across the hall, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Someone, for the love of God, please see to this child!”
Rhiannon awoke, blinking away an image of a pair of desperate brown eyes peering into her face. The eyes were narrowed, but not angry. For a disconcerting instant, shewas light enough to be wafted into the air, and momentarily disoriented as the memory vanished, dissipating into thin air.
This is now; that was then.
She lay in the bed she shared with her sisters at Llanthony, not in London. Elspeth was not four, and she was not two. Her twin sister—the first set of twins her mother carried—was twenty-two years dead, her life force extinguished long before she’d taken a single breath. Sadness enveloped her, and a loneliness that not even her living sisters could assuage.
And nevertheless, just like that time, once again, Morwen had been summoned and soon enough she would arrive like an ill wind.
Sleeping peacefully, her sisters were huddled together, one less than before, and although Rhiannon couldn’t see Elspeth, she felt her sister’s loneliness as acutely as she felt her own. Instinctively, she knew that her sister must be calling for her, but Rhiannon was powerless to answer. Outside, tonight, there was a waning moon lending its light.
