Page 288 of The Daughters of Avalon
Take me, but turn the blade, and we will see…
Losing patience, she turned the blade, nicking her flesh so it bled… though not much… only a thin red line. And yet it was certainly blood. “Ouch,” she said belatedly, lifting the sore hand to her lips, and lapping at a droplet of blood.
So much for imbuing the sword with divinity. Anyone who dared to face her mother with this accursed blade would be sorely equipped to survive the ordeal. She was beginning to feel like a failure. For weeks and weeks now, ever since Isolde put the thought in her head, she had been trying in vain to find her true self.
Find yourself, the woman had said,then imbue Caledfwlch with the power of the divine.
Then, and only then would she know what to do to save, not only England, but the Realm of the Living. It was a terribleburden to suffer for a woman who’d only ever coveted a normal life…
Take me, but turn the blade, and we will see…
Damnation.
By now, she had lain in this bed so bloody long that morning arrived, illuminating her room with a warm vestal light.
Time was her enemy.
Urgency quickened her veins.
Desperation wrenched her heart.
Outside, she could spy the first light of sunrise, and as it so happened, choosing that instant to return to her window, the damnable crow came to rest on her sill, its beady little eyes peering into her room. “There you are,” she said, annoyed. “Where have you been?”
“Caw!” it said, and then beat its shining wings.
Alas, she was going out of her mind. Speaking to a stupid little bird, who seemed to enjoy pecking holes in her sill.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
“You arenota woodpecker,” she scolded the bird as it continued to worm its little beak into the fresh wood of her sill. Perhaps consuming insects? Or mayhap it was senile—like Isolde— and couldn’t remember how it was that a crow was meant to behave?
Sighing despondently, Seren returned her attention to the blade, lifting it higher to admire the gleam of dawn light against the metal.
“I am unworthy,” she said, with feeling. “Sweet Goddess, I am only a humble servant of men. Why must it be me?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes.
And then something unexpected happened.
As Seren tilted her head to better examine the reflection… the sword burst into flames, illuminating the room with its light.To her amazement, she held a raging fire in her hands, but it emanated no heat.
“Caw!” said the bird excitedly.
Mesmerized, Seren stared at the firelit sword for a moment longer, then lifted one hand into the pale golden flame, touching it with wonder. Inconceivably, it was cold, and the fire left her hand unharmed.
Drawing the hand away to inspect her fingers, she found them completely unaffected, and then instinctively, she lifted her hand again to the blade, turning the sword against the meat of her palm to nick her flesh…
This time she didn’t bleed.
Withdrawing her hand again, she inspected it closely, and not only was there no second cut, the first cut was no longer present, nor was she scarred.
Take me, but turn the blade, and we will see…
A sense of quietude fell over her, a feeling unlike anything she had ever known in her life, a sense of purity that had no words. The room in which she lay faded to white, and she longed to rise—and did, though she had the sense that she did so only in her mind.
Surrounded now by a blinding array of white light, she heard a disembodied voice…
A drop of your blood to reveal,
