Beneath the Hallowed Hill (5 page)

All my love,

Cynthia

“All my love,” Anne read aloud. So there was something between Cynthia and Garth after all. Curious, she picked up a handful of pages and started to read.

Chapter Three

“The time has come to tell you the whole story.” Megan studied the face of the young woman before her. “Afterward, you will go into the hill and find the stones I tell you about.”

She pulled the red wool blanket tight around her shoulders, resisting the urge to move her chair even closer to the fire. The shears of the weaver goddess hovered just out of sight. So quickly, it all happened so quickly, and she must leave this one to carry on. Caitir was already a mother, true, but not ready to become the elder. Nowadays life rushed by like a tumbled race from infancy to parenthood, and people became elders before they lived long enough to truly know themselves.

“I wish I could tell you what it was like then. So much has changed, my stories sound like make believe, but I tell you, it’s all true, every word of it.”

Caitir murmured acquiescence. Megan closed her eyes, but felt the woman studying her. She knew her skin had grown paper-thin, almost transparent, the dark smudges beneath her eyes the only color in her face. She listened to the crackle of the fire, willing it to fill the marrow of her bones and warm her. Where to begin? Her thoughts scattered with the wind blowing through the trees outside. Her chest, fragile as a small bird’s, rose and fell as if she just climbed the Tor.

A rustle from Caitir made her open her eyes again and she saw her pulling her hands back from the herbs on the table—crocks of yarrow, feverfew and yellow dock. No need for those now. Megan’s fever had abated, leaving behind the chill of November rain, in such a sharp contrast with the unfurling spring outside. Caitir pushed the black kettle out of the fire and sat back, waiting.

Megan’s blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “He was such a glorious man…Govannan. Noble, gifted with the Sight…but this is ridiculous, everyone had the vision then. We were all awake, fully awake—”

A frown flitted over Caitir’s face. Megan could no longer read her thoughts or feelings. Was it impatience, doubt? She hardly blamed her. How could Megan explain how they lived in Eden, that gleaming city on the shores of the isle of Atlantis? Her lost home. If only she could reach through the veil of years, perhaps she would wake and find herself sitting on her terrace watching the waves, the buzz of the hummingbirds at the riotous bougainvillea loud in her ear…or in the temple awash in the intricate harmonies of their chant, feeling the giant crystal come to life and open to the heavens.

The disaster—she winced away from the memory of the wall of water rushing to the bare shore—the disaster cut them off so unconditionally Atlantis might be just a story. They called them the immortals now, the
fae
. She fell into time, but the
fae
still lived, golden and glorious, beneath the Hallowed Hill.

Her twisted fingers clutched the wool. Irritated with herself, Megan squared her shoulders, rallying her strength for the task ahead. “There was a time when people did not age as quickly as they do now, when we lived hundreds of years and traveled to the stars through great crystals almost as tall as these trees.” She pointed to the grove of yew up the slope. “When I was only a girl, I received my own calling, just like you.”

* * * *

Something scratched near the back door. Anne raised her head and listened. Maybe it was just a tree branch blowing in the wind. She turned to the next page, but then came another scratch followed by a whining sound. She put down the manuscript and got up to investigate. As she neared the kitchen, she heard a low bark. She switched on the light. On the back porch stood a hound, white head cocked to the side, red ears perked. The pattern continued with red stockings on each leg and a red splotch on the rear.

Anne opened the door a crack and the dog’s tail wagged tentatively. “Well, hello. Are you lost?”

The dog scratched the door again and stuck its nose into the crack. Anne blocked its entrance with her body and stepped out of the door. She bent over the hound but found no collar; it was female. She sat and regarded Anne carefully through eerie ice-blue eyes. She looked prepared to speak.

“Hungry?”

The dog woofed once.

“I hope you like eggs.” Anne opened the door. The dog brushed past her, but instead of waiting in the kitchen, she trotted down the hall and disappeared into the office. Anne followed and found the hound curled up on a small rug next to the hearth, completely at home. If this was Cynthia’s pet, where was she? Perhaps with Garth? Maybe he let the dog out and she saw lights in her old house. Thinking her mistress had returned, she came home.

Anne went to the desk and hit refresh; Michael’s plane would land in about an hour. The dog’s eyes followed her every move. She settled back into her chair and picked up the manuscript. The next page announced the first chapter. The hound lowered her head onto her paws, sighed mightily and closed those haunting eyes.

* * * *

“Megan, are you ready?” Pleione called from the terrace below. “Really, child, we must hurry.”

“You can’t call me that any more after today,” Megan answered. “Besides, I turned thirteen two months ago.” She smoothed the flowing white silk of her dedication robe, pushed her feet into the silver slippers, and started toward the stairs. A sudden pang hit her at the door and she turned to survey her childhood room. The translucent aquamarine curtain surrounding her bed billowed in the breeze, the bright colors from the array of silk pillows flashing out then muting again as the curtain stilled. Scarlet fuchsia outlined the window seat that looked out over the house to the bay. She spent so many nights sitting there watching the stars fill the sky and listening to the roll of the distant surf.

Eden was all a-bustle. In the spring, when the peach trees bloomed, the newest adults of Atlantis celebrated their own blossoming, leaving behind fundamental education and their nurture pods and presenting themselves to the oracle to confirm their role in society. Megan’s intuition told her she would remain in the capital city, but the oracle could choose her for training far away; she might even transport right after the celebration. Because they were close to full consciousness at this age, most had a presentiment of their future role, but surprises did happen. Her favorite shells and rocks covered a rosewood side table, and clothes lay scattered across the cool tile floor. Suddenly she was sure again; she would stay at home and study in the Healing Temple, taking her place beside her mother as she always imagined. She turned around and clattered down the stairs.

“There you are.” Pleione held her at arm’s length. Pursing her lips, she smoothed out the kohl darkening Megan’s deep blue eyes, then stood back. “So beautiful. How did you grow up so quickly?”

Megan shifted under her mother’s ministrations. “Is Diaprepes coming?”

“He should be here any minute. Nervous?”

“No.” Megan shook her head and her brown curls danced around her face. “Well, maybe a little.”

“I wonder what the oracle will say.”

Megan looked up at her mother, surprised she didn’t know already. Maybe she was testing Megan’s precognition. “I have a hunch,” she said.

“What?” Pleione reached a hand out, but Megan bounded through the door.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ll be late.” She ran past the fountain in the interior courtyard among the heavy scent of gardenias.

“Wait for me, young lady.”

Megan lingered in the cool tiled foyer on the other side of the central garden of the family compound, waiting for her mother to catch up. Each of her mother’s sisters had an apartment as large as their own, and the elders of the sprawling maternal clan had rooms in the large house. Most of them still slept or kept to their rooms to honor the solemnity of the coming ceremony. They would be at the party tonight. Megan looked up and saw one of her grandmothers peeking from a third story window. She waved, but the elder woman flicked the curtain closed.

Megan wondered if her friend Erythe would go with her to learn healing. She imagined Erythe’s strong square hands, her steady manner…probably not. Erythe’s talents lay in working with plants, or maybe she would join the government. Megan hoped someone from her group would accompany her. There were nine going through the Emergence Ceremony today. “An auspicious number,” the teacher said, a larger class than usual. The long-lived Atlanteans planned their families carefully.

Her mother caught up to her. “Now, let’s have a little decorum, shall we?” She wrapped the train of her shimmering ocean blue robe over her arm and took Megan’s hand.

Megan glanced back at the garden she had played in ever since she could remember.

“You can come home any time you’re free from your training.” Pleione’s voice was quiet in her ear.

“I’m ready.” Megan squeezed her mother’s hand. They stepped out just as a sleek silver craft set down on the landing lawn in front of the house. The bubble top opened and her father climbed out. Tall and commanding, Diaprepes shook out the folds of his deep purple robes. A thin gold band set with a simple crystal over his brow was the only sign of his office. He looked up and caught sight of the two. A smile broke out on his fair face, and Megan felt like the sun just came out. He held his arms out to embrace her, but she was suddenly shy of him.

“You’re alone,” Megan said.

“No need for a retinue, this is your day.” He studied her face for a moment. “Nervous?”

“Only if you two keep asking.”

Her parents laughed, and Diaprepes took Pleione under his arm. There they stood, the golden-haired Prince of Atlantis, regal even while standing beside his personal conveyance on this ordinary landing spot, and the High Priestess of the healing temple, an elegant lily exuding a power that sharpened the air around her. Today Megan would break from her orbit around these two powerful figures and find her own place in the world.

“We’re going to be late,” she said, and slid into the back of the craft. Her parents settled themselves in front. Diaprepes closed the top, and Megan pressed her face against the window to watch the craft clear the trees. The square of the inner courtyard shrank, and the neighboring homes and gardens became a series of doll houses tucked away in the green folds of the hills.

The craft skirted the verdant plain whose canals were like silver veins in the neat rows of crops and stretches of meadow. Diaprepes veered south and they flew past the three rings of stone walls and round canals surrounding the main Temple of Poseidon. The harbor unfolded beneath them, dotted with sleek ships that cruised the ocean or dove beneath her depths with equal ease. Diaprepes avoided the southern shopping district and headed west over the first row of olive foothills toward the deep blue peaks. The rounded cone of one of the volcanoes rose in the distance.

Minutes later, the Temple of the Oracle appeared, a diminutive jewel on the edge of grey cliffs, the early morning sunrise reflecting in its faceted windows. The walls, built of the indigenous stone, blended with the mountain. Diaprepes landed his craft deftly beside three similar vehicles. They disembarked and headed toward the semicircle of stones in front of the entrance, careful not to step inside yet. A group of candidates and their parents waited just outside the semicircle like a flock of variously colored sheep. The parents’ robes reflected their guild: blue for healing, purple for high government officials, green for the agronomists, and so on. Children were raised in their mother’s clan, but both parents usually came for the Emergence Ceremony.

“Diaprepes.” A stocky man with a curly beard called to Megan’s father as they approached. The two men hugged, then the women, then all of them together, and they began the usual chatter of parents losing their children to the world, a predictable series of congratulations, speculations, and condolences. Megan drifted around looking for Erythe, but it seemed her friend hadn’t arrived yet, so she leaned against a stone at a distance from the group and closed her eyes, trying to quiet her mind in preparation for the ritual ahead. She let the buzz of voices and sounds wash over her. A gull’s raucous cry carried from afar; the scent of vanilla wafted from the pines lining the mountain slope as the sun warmed their bark; something rustled in the grass nearby. Just as she was focusing to send her consciousness into that form to explore, the stones spoke.

“She has come at last.”
The voice came from the slim granite point she was leaning against.

A murmur of agreement vibrated through the semi-circle. “
This is the one.”

“What do you mean
?” Megan sent, but the stones only hummed a low note of contentment to themselves.

Before she could ask again, footsteps approached. She opened her eyes to find Erythe standing in front of her, the white emergence robe setting off the soft brown of her face. “Nervous?” Erythe asked.

“Not you, too.”

“What?”

“My parents keep asking me if I’m nervous.”

“Well, are you?”

“Curious, I guess.” Megan shrugged. “And you?”

Erythe paused, then said in a rush of warm breath, “What if they get it wrong?”

“Do they get anything wrong?” At Erythe’s frown, Megan added, “You can change if you’re not happy.”