Chapter 10
When she came, it had been almost five years since our last encounter.
By some measures it was unexpected; Arthur’s attempts to invade my domain had tapered off in recent months and life had become quieter.
However, I had persisted in my disruption of the Royal Court, so when I was told there was a strange woman at the valley’s main entrance, asking to speak to me, I found myself surprised that she hadn’t come sooner.
“So,” I said, upon reaching the hawthorn grove, “he finally sent you.”
Ninianne turned, her ever beautiful face solemn through the sheen of my charms. She wore a long cloak in her usual violet over white robes untouched by the dirt of the road, and when she swept her hood down, her sunset hair made me avert my eyes.
I was never prepared for the blaze of it, as she well knew.
“Morgan,” she said in her captivating voice. “No one sent me.”
I scoffed. “Arthur’s hand is writ large upon this. Why else would you stand outside my protective charms? Clearly you come bearing his ill intentions.”
“I haven’t yet attempted to pass through to your land,” she said. “I would not cross your boundaries without permission.”
“How considerate!” I snapped. “From the woman who stole my child, colluded in my lover’s murder and brands me a traitor. A troubadour couldn’t make it up.”
She recoiled as if I had wounded her. The temerity of it brought another flare of outrage, but I bit back on my temper. She would not unseat me so easily.
“Come in, then,” I said, making my voice calm. “If you are so virtuous, step through the charms.”
Ninianne held my gaze with a peculiar defiance, then picked up her pristine skirts and glided through the veil of protection. The charms didn’t quiver.
Fair enough, I thought. Checkmate.
“To what do I owe this unsolicited visit?” I asked.
She stopped before me, emanating warmth. “I wanted to speak with you.”
“I highly doubt that’s all.” However, I couldn’t deny I was curious. “I’m very busy. If we must talk, then we will also walk.”
I strode off, unconcerned whether she followed.
It was a brisk May morning and I had been reinforcing Belle Garde’s magical shield, so I kept moving along the boundary, pausing to pull new silvery threads forth and knit them into the existing veil.
Eventually, my work took us along a challenging path up the steep eastern valley side, but Ninianne kept pace with me.
“How are your charms?” she asked. “Do they still cast easily, and last as long?”
I eyed her with suspicion, but there was no guile in her aspect. “They form just as usual,” I replied. “Though I can never get them beyond a week’s worth of strength. I assume I have reached my limit with this particular fairy magic.”
She nodded thoughtfully and we climbed the last stretch of forested track. At the top, the trees opened up onto tufted grass and rocky outcroppings, and an all-encompassing view of the valley. We came to a halt on top of a flat rock jutting over the hillside like a balcony to the world.
“Here it is, my famous Vale,” I said, not without belligerence. “Belle Garde.”
Ninianne took in the view. “It’s beautiful. I have always been curious to see the place where you chose to settle, and protect so carefully.”
“I didn’t choose as much as I was exiled,” I said. “But I’m proud of my life here. It’s worth protecting. Unlike some places.”
She didn’t rise to my provocation. “Your charms are excellent. The boundary is strong—well made.”
“Is that a compliment to me or your own teaching?” I said drily.
“Neither. It is a statement of fact. You truly have mastered these skills, Morgan. Though I warned that using this type of magic every day would change you. And it has.”
“Many things have changed me,” I said, more carelessly than I felt.
“Perhaps,” she mused. “But this is a profound metamorphosis. You are far more fairy than you were before.”
As always when she spoke of me like this, it resonated in my depths in ways I both couldn’t quite comprehend and felt as utterly true. But I would not be drawn by her mysteries; I had enough riddles to solve.
Ninianne returned her gaze to the view, tilting her head as if hearing a faint song.
“Streams, the river, plenty of rain. There is a spring, also.” Her voice was low, hypnotic, the soft lap of water against land. “I can understand why you were drawn here. The elemental abundance must bring you strength.”
“I suppose—it is an island of sorts,” I mused. “Though it’s not the sea.”
“How long has it been since you have seen the sea?” she asked.
“I cannot remember the last time.”
It took me a moment to realize it because my dreams were still full of salt water and seafoam, crashing on cliffs; Tintagel in all its wild glory. The nighttime visions came so frequently now that I had accepted it as a separate part of my day, a journey to another realm.
“You will return to the waves one day,” she murmured. “Do you dream of it?”
“Yes,” I replied, and my honesty surprised me. I had told no one else. “Often.”
I wondered if Arthur still dreamed of our birthplace too, if that was why Ninianne wanted to know. I felt her studying me, as if her fingers were skimming my face.
“There is something more,” she said. “You have…a lake.”
One mention of Llyn Glas and our strange peace shattered.
I saw it all: Accolon under the willow, swimming in the sapphire depths, lit with sun; my Gaul above me, beneath me, all around me; his voice in my ears, the scent of his neck, his touch on my skin as the weeping branches skimmed the water’s edge.
The silence that hung across the lake now, as if all joy had taken its leave.
Whatever I had let her bend within me felt ready to snap.
“Damn you, Ninianne,” I said. “You talk as if we were old friends filling in the gaps of our lives. Tell me what you want.”
It was the first time she looked truly offended; she despised being rushed, or told what to do. In that we were the same.
“Speak now, or leave,” I urged.
“You know why I am here,” she said tersely.
“Your antics with Camelot—disrupting the court, harassing the Queen. The magpies. The storms. Your confrontation with King Arthur in the woods when you threatened to drown him—you should not have done that. Your mastery of weather is interesting, but the way you are using your skills, for mischief and conflict, is beneath you.”
It was both surprising and boringly prosaic. I felt laughter stir in my chest.
“A scolding!” I exclaimed. “Ninianne of the Lake sent to tell off the terrible Morgan le Fay like a nursery child. Is this what your great King Arthur has you doing to show your worth? What a glorious purpose it must be to serve him!”
Her face didn’t flicker, but such apathy didn’t fool me. She was right that over the years my senses had become finer-tuned, and I felt her motives as one fairy to another.
“You wouldn’t come all this way just to tread on my tail,” I said. “Why are you really here?”
Again Ninianne offered no response, so I walked away from the edge and began to conjure new charms in the air. She followed, watching me work in silence.
“Very well, if you won’t answer, I will tell you what I know,” I said.
“The mood of the country has been wavering. Some factions are tired of Camelot’s ways, the lavish celebrations for every occasion, its obsession with virtue and focus on individual knightly glory, rather than the kingdom’s collective concerns.
I know that Guinevere has recently turned thirty years of age, and still no heir from her belly.
Arthur will be frustrated by the criticism, worried for his legacy and desperate for answers, and there is only one way to soothe him. You want the Book of Prophecies.”
“I have never pretended otherwise,” she replied. “I assume by now you have thoroughly read it, so I thought you could return it to me.”
“Indeed, I have read the book and found it wanting,” I said. “I’m not interested in Merlin’s mutterings, and I thought they would be beneath your concern. You have enough wisdom of your own.”
She looked mildly flattered. “It is more than that. The High King is facing new threats from Saxons in the north—there will be war. I need the book to see if there is anything I must seek to counteract.”
“You believe you can change a prophecy?” I said. “I thought Merlin’s predictions for Arthur were unquestionable, immutable.”
“You know I have never thought it so straightforward,” Ninianne replied. “That it’s a matter of potential, and the ways of the mortal world—emotions, desires, mistakes—can divert destiny’s path.”
“In which case, what is the point of the prophecies at all, if they are so vague and malleable?” I countered.
“I see you still believe that life is fuelled by individual decisions, actions we choose and are responsible for,” she said. “It may oppose Merlin’s view, but it is no less strict.”
The suggestion I was the sorcerer’s mirror image made my skin prickle. Overhead, a cloud darkened, shadowing the daylight; it was possible my mood had done it.
“What I know is Merlin’s betrayal prophecy wasn’t about me,” I said.
“So either the entire book is full of lies, or Arthur needs to look over his shoulder for the true traitor. Other than that, I spend little time thinking of the fates of so-called great men. But good luck in your quest to try to stop the future from happening.”
I abandoned the charm-making and dusted off my hands, turning towards the mountain path.
“I need the book, Morgan,” Ninianne called out. “For the sake of us all.”
I paused, looking back at her. “You need it for Arthur’s sake,” I corrected. “Why should I care? If things are going wrong for Camelot—good. That is what I wanted.”
“You are not being fair,” she insisted. “There are others involved now, lives at stake. This is important; it…it’s not a game for me.”