Beneath the Hallowed Hill (30 page)

Megan frowned up at her, but the Lady offered no further comfort. “Gather your intention as you sit here. Once you have clear in your mind what you wish to know, walk into the Crystal Cave and follow your inner urgings. There may be outward signs as well.” In the fading light, her face, shadowed by the red shawl, was unreadable.

“I don’t know what to ask,” Megan said. “What do you recommend?”

The Lady stood suddenly and loomed over her. “It is time to stop asking childish questions and claim your life for yourself. Look deep into your heart.” She pushed her forefinger into Megan’s chest. “That is where you will find what you need to know. We will watch for your return…if you do return.” With that, she turned her back on Megan and walked away.

Megan’s heart lurched. “Wait,” she shouted, but she knew the Lady of Avalon would not look back. Soon the mists swallowed her tall figure, and she was gone.

Megan sat at the entrance to the Crystal Cave, listening to the flow of water around rocks, letting her breath slow. The images of the Wild Hunt that the girls whispered about in the dark of their dormitory filled her mind—the huge hooves of the horses, the sharp teeth of the hounds, the exquisite, terrible beauty of the fae themselves. She shivered again and tried to remember Govannan, the music of the shells in his hair and the thrill his laugh called into her heart, but his image was fading. How could she believe in the warm sun and bright colors of Eden, surrounded as she was by mists and shadow? Was the enormous crystal in the Matrix Chamber even real? What about her connection to Govannan? Was it just a girl’s infatuation?

She realized with a start that now she thought of the Megan who was taken to the Crystal Matrix Chamber as a child. She pulled the crystal the old Morgen gave her six months earlier out of her pocket and put the stone into her palm. It winked at her, as if asking her to take courage. She had grown accustomed to the stone and learned to scry in its slender sides, but why did the Morgen give it to her? This would be her question. Perhaps they all were. They all added up to one question: What is the purpose of this life? Megan blew these thoughts across her palm into the crystal key, then stood and walked into the cave behind her.

The way was ordinary enough at first. Water ran beside a well-worn path, trickling through water-smoothed pebbles. A pool gathered between large rocks that jutted out on one side of the hill. She climbed up and looked into the water, but saw only herself, her blue eyes wide, her hair a mess of curls in the humidity. Stilling herself, she let her focus rest just past the surface of the pool and waited. Nothing came, only an urge to move on.

The path forked and Megan stopped, waiting for some indication of which way she should follow. Again, nothing came, so she picked the smaller one and walked on. Soon it narrowed. White calcite points hung from the ceiling and whiter quartz veined the walls. A large boulder loomed before her, blocking the path. She scrambled around it and, on the other side, heard a faint sound of drumming. The faeries were dancing, preparing for the Wild Hunt. She crouched beside the boulder, but no one came. The sound remained constant. Gathering her courage, she crept forward. The drums grew stronger.

Suddenly, the passageway opened out. A lake stretched before her, its surface velvet black. Mist filled the air, dampening her hair and face. She ran her tongue over her lips. White Spring water.

“Breathe onto the key,”
came a voice. “
Ask for light
.”

Megan did as she was instructed, and the crystal became a torch in her hand, burning with a cool light. She held it aloft and stood, overpowered by the sight before her. Light reflected from the ceiling and walls like stars within the earth. Crystals and gemstones sparkled from every direction. Long and graceful clear crystal points reached for the water. Amethyst geodes glinted in the black rock. Streaks of blue dusted with gold gave way to ruby reds and clear yellow stones. Chunks of rose quartz and deeper rhodocrocite blossomed from the walls like a field of wild flowers.

The drumming sound came from the back of the cave. Megan took a few steps along the edge of the lake, careful of her footing on the damp rock, and held her crystal up. A clear sheet of water flowed from a dark cleft high in the wall into the lake, where it foamed white then gradually stilled. She should wait here for her vision, find a comfortable spot perched on a rock, but something pushed her toward the waterfall. The slippery wet rock demanded her attention. Pebbles lay lodged in crevices and scattered in places along the shore, and among the ordinary grey and black stones gleamed amethyst and quartz, citrine and rubies.

Megan stopped and listened, thinking perhaps she stumbled into a dragon’s lair after all, regardless that the Lady taught her the dragon forces were the energy streams that made up the universe itself. She heard no scrape of claw on rock, felt no fiery breath on the nape of her neck. She walked on, ever drawn toward the veil of water.

A flat rock protruded from the cave wall close enough to the waterfall to watch it, but far enough away not to get drenched. Megan groped around on the rock and found small indentions, toe and finger holds. She climbed up and found a flat spot. She sat and leaned her back against the cave wall, tucking her legs beneath her, and gathered herself for a vigil. The light from the crystal tapered down to the size of a candle flame. She laid it beside her and discovered a hollow in the rock that gathered a pool of water. She watched for images in the water, but none came.

The urge to move toward the waterfall grew stronger, so she took up her crystal and climbed down the other side of the rock, where she found neat steps cut into the wall. Once down, she picked her way across the wet rock to the booming water. The shower drenched her, and she expanded like a wilted flower.

“Walk through
,” the same voice whispered.

Megan looked around, but found no one. She closed her eyes and saw nothing.

“Come through the water
,” the voice repeated.

Megan held her breath and stepped through the silver stream, emerging bone-dry on the other side on a green strip of grass lit by an even light. She stood stock still, looking around for the source of the light, but found none. The sky above thinned to a haze, like an even bank of fine clouds that did not part to reveal the sun or moon, but the ambient light revealed a meadow dotted with flowers. Beyond lay a forest of ancient oak and rowan. At the edge of the trees stood a stag, his head heavy with a large rack. He stepped forward, pawed the ground, and turned, flicking a white tail. Megan followed.

The stag bounded through the trees, making no sound. Megan ran hard to keep up, but he darted down a slope and jumped a stream, and she lost sight of him. The stream ran cold on her feet, which she noticed were now bare. How did she lose her shoes? The moss on the other side cushioned her steps. Through the trees, she saw a sphere of golden light. She walked toward it. Music filled the air, and laughter, the sounds of cutlery on plates. At the edge of the trees, an old man in a cloak waited for her. He took her hand and they walked to the front dais.

The king—at least he looked like one—sat at the high table, dressed in fine red and gold threaded with gems and glimmering lights. He looked down at them and smiled. Megan felt that the sun just rose.

“Who has our friend Merlin brought to our table?”

The host of faeries quieted at the sound of their king’s voice. Heads turned and necks craned as they tried to get a look at her.

“Megan, one who studies in Avalon but serves the Crystal Matrix.” Merlin’s voice was like sitting in front of a roaring fire; it warmed every part of her. How did he know so much?

“Welcome, friend Megan.” A plate laden with food appeared on a low table near the dais, along with a golden chalice. Megan was suddenly sitting before it. The mead tasted of honey and magic. The food filled the secret hollows in her soul and soothed her heart.

“We celebrate the betrothal of my brother,” spoke the King. To his side sat a tall being, his hair as blond as the King’s and his eyes as blue, but his fine brow and chin were haughtier. He could not tear his gaze from the vision beside him. Her skin was alabaster, her lips mulberries, and her fine hair like curling flame. “This night he will endure his trial for her hand.”

At this, the whole host surged to their feet and raised their chalices of silver and gold bedecked with sparking jewels. The faeries sang their blessing, a sound that made Megan forget why she came.

The King’s brother stood, receiving their good wishes. At the end of the song, he quaffed the rest of his mead and threw the golden cup behind him. He went down on his knees before the beauty still sitting beside him. “I pledge my troth to you, my beloved. This night I will do great deeds in your name and will return in the morning to claim you for all eternity.”

She rested her delicate white hands on his head for a moment. He rose, and behind him appeared a host of horses ridden by men and women with golden, red, and coal black hair variously combed and braided, hung with gems and feathers and flying behind them in an imagined wind. Megan wondered if Govannan copied their hairstyle. There were hounds too, their teeth bared, their sky-blue eyes eerie with magic. One great stallion stood riderless. The King’s brother leapt onto the horse’s bare back and blew a great horn. The horde of riders shouted their bloodlust, chilling Megan to the core. She set down her chalice and looked for Merlin, who stood at the edge of the forest, his eyes on her.

“We ride for glory and the souls of men,” the King’s brother cried. He looked at the woman with flaming curls, waiting for her tribute, but she turned to the King, her head bent. The King leaned over to speak to her, so close to her ear. They laughed together. The brother frowned and called to her, but the Hunt was off in a churning of hooves and braying of hounds. His horse whinnied to follow.

Merlin called for Megan, and she ran to him. He stepped into the shadow of the trees and Megan followed right behind him, but already he was lost. Farther in, she saw the stag standing next to an ancient oak waiting for her. She went after him, through the forest to the edge of the waterfall. She hesitated then turned to the stag. “My question.”

“That is all for now
,” said the voice.

Megan stepped through the veil of water and found herself once again beside the lake with the jeweled vaulted ceiling. She retraced her steps, pausing at the rock shelf and wondering if she should seek more answers, but she knew her quest, at least on this night, was over. She passed the lake and followed the stream of White Spring down its path. The rock turned to dirt laced with roots again, and soon the lighter black of the cave mouth showed the hard crystal stars.

Megan walked out of the cave into the night air. The Seven Sisters crowned the midnight sky, but something was different. The cry of a pack of hunting hounds sounded from a distance. A deep shiver pebbled Megan’s flesh. She pulled her cloak tight around her and sat, waiting for the Lady to come for her at dawn.

* * * *

The old Megan brushed her tears away—no time to mourn the losses now—and dug into the pocket of her smock. She reached her hand out to Caitir, who started as if from a doze.
Did she sleep through the story?
Megan wondered, a spike of irritation starting her pulse racing again.

Caitir cupped her palm and Megan let it go—her sacred charge, her lifeline to the past…and the future. The crystal lay in Caitir’s palm, gleaming softly in the firelight. Megan sat back and let out a long breath. She passed the key. Her purpose was fulfilled, and yet she still felt the inner pressure, the sense of urgency. She looked up at her daughter, who sat with the crystal in her hand but her eyes on her mother’s face, her gaze full of questions and worry.

“Tonight.” Megan glanced out the one window in the hut; she had it put in herself after she became Lady in her own right. “In just a few hours, you will go into the Hallowed Hill and find your own fate. This stone will guide you.”

* * * *

Anne woke in the predawn grey. She sat up and looked for the dog in her place at the bottom of the bed, but she was gone, somehow; Anne did not open the door for her, she knew that. The dog had the same eyes and the same markings as the hounds of the Wild Hunt. Did Anne’s mind just reach for that familiar image to represent the dogs in her dream, or was it something more? Shivering, she lay back down and pulled the duvet over her head. She would call Garth when the sun was up.

Chapter Seventeen

Garth arrived at Anne’s house late the next morning and suggested they go up to the meditation room in case more hypnosis was called for. Anne hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to that; she needed to spend some time in this world. Once upstairs and settled on cushions, she told him about her dream.

Garth sat in his customary silence until she thought he would never respond. At last he said, “Megan saw the Wild Hunt ride out, but that doesn’t match what the Morgen said to you. What were her exact words?”

“You must return what Megan let loose.”

Garth shook his head. “Are you certain she took nothing with her?”

Anne nodded. “Except what she ate and drank.”

“A foolhardy stunt, that.”

“I remember the stories caution against eating or drinking anything in faeryland, but the Lady of Avalon seemed to think that was—” She stopped. She was about to say, “ignorant superstition,” which was exactly the impression she picked up, but clearly Garth believed it.