“So, what have I done to deserve this honour?” I asked dryly, seating myself on a stone bench and indicating that Ganeda should do the same.
“Stayed alive…” the High Priestess answered starkly. “The plague has come to Avalon.”
I stared at her in horror. How could that be possible? The holy isle was separated from the world.
“A girl from Londinium was sent to us for training. She was ill by the time she arrived. We did not recognize the sickness, and by the time word of the plague had reached us it was too late to stop the contagion. Four of the maidens and six of the senior priestesses have died.”
I licked dry lips. “Not Dierna?”
Fractionally, Ganeda’s grim expression lightened. “No. My granddaughter is well.” I listened as she gave the names of those who had succumbed, women with whom I had shared the unique intimacy of ritual, some who had cared for and taught me, and others whom I had taught in turn… and Aelia.
I shut my eyes against the tears I could feel leaking out beneath my eyelids, drawing hot tracks across my cheeks. If I had not left Avalon I could have nursed her, I thought numbly. I had saved Philip, for whom I felt no more than kindness, surely my love would have kept Aelia in the world. Or perhaps the plague would have taken me too. In that moment both fates seemed equally desirable.
“I thank you for coming to tell me…” I said at last.
“Yes, I know you loved her,” the priestess answered tersely, “but that is not why I have come. You are needed by Avalon.”
At that, my eyes flew open. “How… generous…” Through stiff lips I got out the words. “You are desperate, so now you will welcome me back again!” I rose to my feet, the shawl slipping from my shoulders, and began to pace back and forth along the path. “No.” I turned to face her. “You severed my link to Avalon. During that first moon, when the wound was yet bleeding, you might have called me back again. Now there is only a scar.”
Ganeda shrugged impatiently. “The link can be restored. It is your duty to return.”
“Duty!” I exclaimed. “What about my duty to Constantius?”
“He has no legal authority over you, nor are you linked in the flesh since you have lost the child—”
“Is that all you can understand?” I cried, hands crossed protectively before my empty womb. “What of the bonds that link the heart and the soul? What of the prophecy?”
“Do you think that justifies your rebellion?” Ganeda sniffed scornfully. “A simple attack of lust would have been more forgivable, my dear—”
“I don’t need your forgiveness! I don’t want it!” I could hear my voice rising, and fought for control. “You had the right to banish me, but not to jerk me back and forth like a child’s pull-toy on a string. It was you, not I, who cancelled my oaths to Avalon. Nor shall I break the vows I have sworn to Constantius. I lost this child, yes, but there will be another. I have seen the babe in my arms!”
Ganeda contemplated me sourly. “When we planned that ritual, Arganax calculated the movements of the stars. We know what they would have destined for a child conceived in that Beltane ritual. Who knows what the child you bear to Constantius will do? I tell you now that there may come a day when you wish he had never been born!”
I lifted one eyebrow and looked down at her. “Oh—I see. It is wrong for me to set my will above yours, but you are perfectly justified in setting yours above that of the gods! Did you not teach us yourself that the Fates weave our lives as they will, not as you or I would have it? My son will not be the tool of Avalon!”
“Then you had better pray that he will at least know how to serve the gods!”
“Can you doubt it?” I exclaimed in my pride. “He will be the son of the Restorer of the Light and a Priestess of Avalon!”