Beneath the Hallowed Hill (47 page)

“Get up, silly. It’s time.”

“Govannan.” Megan sat up. “Is that you?” Somehow she rose from her bed and staggered forward, but he was gone. She pushed the door open, panting with the effort, and called his name into the dark night. He didn’t answer.

A light flashed amongst the trees. She stumbled toward it, but when she arrived at the spot where it had been, it was gone. It reappeared farther into the forest. She leaned against an old oak, panting until she could move again. Megan struggled through the woods, the light leading her, until she came to White Spring. She fell to the ground. “Govannan,” she called, but her voice was only a wisp of sound. She lay there, her body half in the stream.

I’ll catch my death
, she thought, and started to laugh. She did that already. Megan took a sip of the sacred liquid of the spring and splashed her face. The water sang in her frail body, giving her the energy to rise again.

The light glowed inside the mouth of the cave. This was Caitir’s night, the eve of Beltane. The Crystal Cave belonged to her daughter tonight.

A dark-haired man stepped from the light, his hand outstretched, the same man who led her to the table of the faery court the night she sought her first vision here as a young girl. “Come,” he said. She found she could walk easily.

* * * *

Garth sat bolt upright in bed. He only just got to sleep after hours of meetings, followed by meditation with Bran and his group. It was happening, now. His body, mind, and spirit sang with power. He had to get into the Tor. He threw on his clothes and rushed down the hill to Anne’s house. The front door was locked. He tried his key, but it no longer fit. Right, she changed the locks after the burglary. Garth pounded on the door, the stained glass with the red and white roses rattling in its frame. After a minute, the light in the hallway came on and Michael appeared, his hair sticking up from sleep, his eyes squinting. “She’s gone. Anne’s gone,” he moaned.

Garth went straight to the kitchen where they found the door to the basement open. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“They’ve come for her.”

“The Illuminati?”

Garth shook his head. “Follow me.”

The two rushed down the stairs and Garth headed to the back of the basement. At the end of the small tunnel, the rounded oak door stood open.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Garth.

“The ceremony has begun. Let’s go.” He ducked through the low entrance with Michael on his heels.

Garth never used this entrance to the cave before. A few feet in, the tight tunnel opened up. A few more steps and they came to a spiral staircase leading downwards. He started down and Michael followed with no hesitation. The stairs took them to a larger tunnel, the remnants of an ancient cave. A stream bed, still damp, led deeper into the hill. They followed it to a fork and heard voices coming from the left.

* * * *

Cagliostro’s torch revealed packed dirt walls interlaced with roots. Deeper in, the soil gave way to black rock. A faint light glowed at the end of the tunnel, calling to them, and he moved toward it without any need for coercion, drawn by a promise, a hope, a memory just now surfacing. The light inside the cave brightened. Cagliostro let his torch slip from his hand. They entered a large chamber. In the middle knelt a woman. Her long red hair fell in lustrous waves down her back.

A strangled cry sprang from Cagliostro and he ran forward. “I’ve found you.” He reached for her, but she recoiled.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing here on this sacred night?”

“Don’t you remember me?” Cagliostro grabbed her arm.

“You have violated the sanctuary of the Lady of Avalon.”

Cagliostro looked into her face, then snarled with rage. “What have you done with her?” He grabbed her arm. He pulled a knife and held it at her throat. “I asked you a question.”

“Let my daughter go.”

They all looked to find an old woman standing in the entrance, her long, crooked finger pointing at Cagliostro, her eyes filming over, a nimbus of power surrounding her.

Govannan took a step toward her. “Be careful. He’s dangerous.”

Her eyes cleared. She stared. “Govannan?” The hope in her voice tore their hearts.

There was something about that voice…Govannan looked at her more closely.

“Nobody move.” Cagliostro moved the knife closer to the woman’s throat. A thin line of red appeared. “Where is she?”

“Who has brought this weapon of iron into my domain?” This voice touched something deep in everyone’s mind. All eyes turned to a tall blond being standing where a wall had been before. Behind him thronged a host of laughing beings, their clothes rich in velvet and silk, their hair adorned with flowers, ribbons, and gemstones. Some carried bows and arrows, others horns, and others harps. Behind them stretched a green lawn, and farther in the distance a forest of trees the like of which could never be seen on Earth.

A pack of white hounds with red ears and tails streamed from the entrance to the chamber up to the blond figure, their tails a blur. They howled, a sound that brought dread to every human present. A woman came running after them and stopped dead when she saw the host of faeries, her eyes wide. Two men ran in behind her. One called her name, and she went and stood between them.

All gaped at the spectacle before them, but not the old woman. Even in the presence of the fae, she tottered closer to Govannan. With each step, she grew stronger and younger. “My love. What happened to you? You disappeared, and then—” Tears flowed down her face.

The faery host listened, their faces and eyes intent.

Govannan’s heart gave a lurch. “Megan?” He took a faltering step toward her. “How did you—”

She drew closer still. “You disappeared. Was it because of him?” She pointed at Cagliostro, who stared at her. “Was it this man who stole you from me and ripped a hole in time itself?”

“Yes,” Govannan said. “What has happened to you?”

“Father?” The red-haired woman held by Cagliostro leaned toward him, heedless of the knife. She looked at Megan. “Is this my father?”

The tall blond faery turned his attention back to Cagliostro. “Brother?”

Cagliostro looked as if he were a gong that was struck. He blinked.

“Do you not know me, brother?”

Cagliostro stared, dumbfounded.

“Do you not know yourself?”

Cagliostro began to change. His chin seemed longer, his ears took on a slant, and his eyes cleared. “Gwyn,” he said.

“Gwyn ap Nudd.” Garth stepped forward. “The Lord of the Faeries. It is an honor to be in your presence.”

Gwyn swung his magnificent head around and smiled at Garth. “My friend, who has guarded this place. It is I who am honored.”

Megan pointed at the being who had been Cagliostro. “I saw you ride out with the Wild Hunt.”

The white and red hounds swarmed around Cagliostro and licked his hands. Laughter floated from behind the faery host, the smell of flowers wafted through the air, and the sound of bells. The host parted and a light appeared amongst them. A shape formed in the light and the most beautiful faery of them all stepped forward, her skin alabaster, her lips mulberries, and her hair red curls the color of flame. She held out a delicate hand and called him by name. “Gwythr ap Greidawl.”

Cagliostro dropped the knife with a clatter on the stone floor of the cavern.

“What have you brought me, my love? You rode out only this morning, but I have missed you sorely.”

Gwyn smiled at her as if this weren’t quite true.

“My love,” said Gwythr, who had long ago named himself Alexander Cagliostro as he searched for a worthy name. Tears streamed from his eyes. “It seems much longer than a day.” He walked toward her, touched her hand, and the transformation was complete. The loss, the confusion, time itself fell from him. He shook his head and his tears turned to laughter. “It seems more like an age.”

Gwyn reached a hand out to her. “Blodeuwedd,” he cried, the yearning thick in his voice, but she had eyes now only for his brother.

Gwythr turned to him and said, “Now is my time to rule.”

Gwyn’s face darkened dangerously, but the couple walked away, their hands intertwined, their faces close as they whispered to each other. Gwyn watched them go.

“What’s happening?” Anne whispered. “Who’s Blodeuwedd?”

“The Maiden of Flowers. There is a fairytale that on May Day, two brothers fight for her love,” Michael said.

“A faerytale?” Anne smiled. “Then it must be true.”

Blodeuwedd and Gwythr disappeared beneath the trees. Gwyn gave himself a shake. After a moment, his face relaxed and he turned his attention to his guests. “Caitir, Lady of Avalon.”

Caitir stepped forward. Gwyn stretched out his hand and she seemed to know what to do. She took a necklace from around her neck and placed it in his palm. He closed his hand over it for a moment, then opened his fingers. The crystal, all-aglow with rainbows, gradually cleared. She placed it around her neck again.

“This key will see you through the dark times to come. Call upon me and I will aid you.”

Caitir dipped her knee to him, then stood straight.

Gwyn surveyed them all. “Now you must all return to your own times.”

“I have no home to go to, my Lord,” Govannan said.

“I have just left my death bed,” Megan added.

Gwyn surveyed the two for a moment. “You may stay with us, then.”

“My Lord, how could we accept such an honor?” Govannan argued.

“I insist,” the Faery Lord said.

They bowed their heads, then turned to their daughter, whose eyes shone. Govannan embraced her. After a moment, Caitir pulled back and he held her at arm’s length. “You are the light of my heart,” he said. “If only I could go back and see you born, be a father to you.”

Caitir shook her head. “It is well that I have met you, and enough that you two can finally be together.”

Megan took her hands. “Keep the stone and the story. Pass it on. Keep the teachings of Avalon.”

Tears of joy sparkled in Caitir’s eyes. “I will, Mother.”

“Remember, we are just here, inside the Tor.”

Caitir turned to walk out of the Crystal Cave, but paused when she passed Anne. They both touched the crystal around their necks, as if one looked in a mirror and the other faithfully reflected her.

Anne smiled. “You will succeed.”

Caitir frowned, confused for a moment.

“Your vigil through the darkness,” Anne explained. “You will bring us to the light.”

Caitir reached out and touched her face. “Thank you, daughter.” She walked out of the cavern.

Gwyn turned to Garth. “You have earned a boon. What would you ask?”

Garth spread his hands. “You know my heart, Lord.”

Gwyn’s laugh warmed the cavern. “It is done, then.” He stepped aside, a mischievous smile on his face, and behind him stood figures of light. One stepped forward; her features formed to become a tall, willowy woman with reddish blond hair.

“Cynthia,” Garth cried. He ran to her, picked her up in his arms, and twirled her around. “I thought I lost you.”

“How could you lose me?” Cynthia said. He silenced her with his lips.

Gwyn turned to Anne and Michael and held out his hand. They slid their crystals from around their necks and laid them on his palm, side by side. He closed his fingers over the stones and studied Anne and Michael carefully. “You two have more to do before the light is assured.” He returned their crystal keys.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Michael said.

Anne dipped her head; her family taught her how to treat royalty.

“There is one more thing.” Gwyn smiled at them, his expression playful. “On Samhain, we hunt the souls of the dead, but on this night, the eve of Beltane, souls wishing to be born come through our realm.” He placed his hand over Anne’s womb. “A great being is coming to you.”

“Oh,” Anne murmured. The reason for her nausea and fatigue now became clear.

“You mean…?” Michael began.

“Guard this one well,” Gwyn said. The great being turned and walked across the green lawn with Garth and Cynthia.

In the distance, close to the forest, stood another form. He waved and his face suddenly became clear.

“Thomas?” Anne ran forward, but a look from Gwyn told her that she was not invited to enter faeryland.

“Remember,” Thomas called, “we are just here, inside the Tor.”

With a snap, the fae and their guests disappeared. Anne and Michael stood in the dark womb of the Tor, holding each other. It was dark except for the nine Sentinel Stones that stood around the perimeter, glowing faintly.

“A baby,” Michael breathed into her ear.

Anne nodded. “Do you think these sentinels are safe?”

Michael nuzzled against her. “They’ve been here for eleven thousand years. I’d say so.”

“Good. Let’s go home.”

They walked out of the cavern into the tunnel where more light reached, from what source they couldn’t tell. They found the stairs, climbed up, and went through the rounded oak door into the cellar. The door closed behind them and locked itself.