The Great Tree of Avalon (7 page)

She sighed glumly.
We both have our secrets, don’t we?
At least nobody knew hers—just where she’d spent the past nine years. And with whom! Until, at last, she’d escaped. No, not even the High Priestess knew about all that. For if she did, she never would have allowed Elli to join the Order. That was certain.

After glancing around to make sure that nobody was near, Elli darted out from behind the cart. She sped over to the millhouse, its enormous waterwheel barely turning in the low river that flowed through this part of the compound. She hopped across the bank, and started to run into some nearby trees—when she stopped, turned around, and loped back to the river. In one swift motion, she jumped down into the muddy channel, scooped up some water in her hands, and splashed Nuic in the face.

“Wha-what was that for?” he sputtered.

“You said you wanted a bath, didn’t you?”

Elli didn’t notice, but as she climbed back up the bank, the sprite on her shoulder turned a pleasant shade of bluish green.

Onward she ran, right through the moss garden that covered a whole hillside. Nuic had told her (with seriousness bordering on reverence) that this garden contained more than five thousand different kinds of moss from all the rootrealms. Mosses of every conceivable shade of green covered stones, tree trunks, footpaths, and benches; still more hung like beards from branches, filled the creases of boulders, and made shin-deep cushions for weary walkers. Hundreds of moss faeries, looking like tiny green humans with translucent wings, zipped across the hillside—tending, trimming, and carrying hollowed-out acorns filled with water. Thanks to the faeries’ hard work, the drought hadn’t yet harmed the lushest growth, although patches of brown were starting to spread across the hillside.

Elli slowed down, looking cautiously from side to side, as she approached a wide walkway of gleaming white stones— the dividing line between the compound’s second and third Rings. Seeing no one, she leaped across the walkway. The stones flashed beneath her, reminding her of how they glowed at night under the dimmed stars, thanks to their coatings of élano.

As she ran on, passing the entrance to a cavern of pink and violet crystals, she marveled at the sheer beauty of this place. Its overall design—from the seven concentric Rings that represented the seven sacred Elements of Avalon, to the remarkable trees chosen from every root-realm, to the majestic circle of stones that was both the compound’s Inner Ring and the Great Temple at its heart—made this the most inspiring place she’d ever seen. And that, of course, had been the goal of Elen and Rhiannon when they designed these grounds so long ago.

Even as she ran, Elli couldn’t help but grin. She understood now why her father had loved this place so much during his years as a Drumadian priest . . . even if he, like Elli, had broken the rules now and then. She bit her lip.
I wish I’d known him better. Him and Mama both.

She kept on running, occasionally ducking behind trees, boulders, and wooden signs carved with prayer runes, to avoid being seen. At one point, she veered sharply, almost throwing Nuic off her shoulder. The sprite’s tiny feet pinched her skin, and he demanded, “Why do you have to go so far, if all you want to do is meditate?”

Without slowing her stride, she answered, “I’ve told you before, the Great Temple is totally empty in the mornings. No one goes there, so no one disturbs me. And this is my best chance, when everyone else is at Prayers.”

“Hmmmpff. There’s no difference, anyway, between a prayer and a meditation.”

“But there
is
.”

“What? Tell me, O High Hostess.”

Elli slowed to a trot, then stopped by the edge of a circular mud pit that had once been a lily pond. Picking up a stone, she hefted it in her hand before hurling it out into the middle. It splatted on the damp mud.

“All right,” she declared. “Try this. Prayer feels mostly like telling. Saying things to the gods—Dagda, Lorilanda, whoever. But meditation . . . that’s different. Meditation feels less like telling, and more like, well,
listening
.”

Nuic shook himself, swinging his tiny arms. “Sounds pretty much the same to me.”

“Know what, my little friend? You’re hopeless.”

“We’ve been together for over two weeks, and you’ve just now figured that out? Hmmmpff, you’re dimmer than an ogre’s eyeball.”

Starting off again, Elli jogged past the long flatrock building that held the pottery kilns. Trails of smoke drifted out of several chimneys. Then she sped through a grove of white birch trees, brought here all the way from Woodroot. She wasn’t completely sure, but it looked as if their leaves were actually turning color—golden yellow with hints of orange—just like local stones. Strange.

She veered sharply to cut behind the high wooden fence that surrounded the residence of the High Priestess. This, she knew well, was the most dangerous part of her journey. Elders and others often visited the residence, striding through a simple oaken gateway in the fence. As she neared the gateway, she stopped abruptly. Hidden behind a hawthorn tree with branches as thick as her own hair, she crouched in silence, watching for any signs of trouble.

All clear.
Elli stood up and dashed past the opening.

Just at that instant, someone stepped through the gateway—a priestess carrying a large red candle in an ornate holder. Elli smashed right into her. Hot wax sprayed everywhere, the senior priestess screamed, and both of them tumbled to the ground. Nuic went rolling into a thorny shrub.

“Idiot girl! Idiot!” raged the priestess, her arms flailing wildly. Candle wax splattered her face, neck, and hair—but even so, Elli recognized her instantly.

“Er, um . . . sorry about that, Priestess Llynia.”

“You’ll be sorrier once I’ve—owww!” Llynia tore a big chunk of wax out of her straight blonde hair. “Once I’ve had you boiled to death. Beaten to death. And then expelled!”

Elli glanced over at Nuic, now a mirthful shade of pink. Despite the trouble she was in, it was hard not to laugh out loud. Especially since Llynia didn’t exactly look like the second-highest-ranking priestess in the Society of the Whole. She looked a lot more like a country jester who’d just been splattered with cherry pies.

“Oooh, I’ll get you for this,” Llynia declared in a malicious voice. She yanked at another glob of wax on her head, pulling out some hair by the roots. “Aaaghh! By the breath of Elen the Founder, I will. Death by drowning. Then torture. Then . . . more torture. Just count yourself lucky that Fairlyn, my maryth, isn’t here, or she’d have murdered you already.”

Innocently, Elli said, “I thought the first Drumadian law forbids that.”

Llynia scowled at her. She shook her head, making a big piece of wax flap against her nose. “Every rule has exceptions. For idiots. And assassins!”

“What in Avalon’s name happened here?”

A tall, lanky priest strode up, peering at them with eyes as keen as the silver-winged falcon perched on his shoulder. He set down his candle, and helped Llynia to her feet. She shook herself free of his grip and started to sputter so angrily that saliva dribbled down her chin. Just then another priestess, with a sallow face, joined them. Seeing Llynia, she gasped—almost dropping the ginger cat in her arms, as well as her own candle.

Llynia’s wax-covered hand pointed at Elli’s face. “This girl . . . attacked me. Me! The Chosen One.”

The sallow priestess gasped again, while the cat she held snarled and clawed at the air.

Elli waved her hands in protest. “No, I didn’t! It was just an accident.”

“A nearly
fatal
accident,” hissed Llynia. “Why you . . . you . . .” She grabbed a clump of red wax that was dangling from her eyebrow, swinging like a pendulum, and threw it at the ground. “What’s your name, girl? I’ve tried to forget, since the last time we met.”

With a gulp, Elli answered. “Elliryanna Lailoken.”

At this, the tall priest stiffened. He turned toward Elli, studying her strangely.

“Is something wrong here?” asked a quiet voice, just above a whisper, from the gateway.

“Wrong?” shrieked Llynia, whirling around. “Wrong? Let me tell you how—”

She stopped herself abruptly, seeing who had joined them. Everyone else, including Elli, fell silent as well.

There by the wooden gate stood an elderly priestess—almost as old as Hywel, perhaps. Yet she seemed much more spry. And, to Elli’s mind, much more beautiful. She carried no maryth, at least none that could be seen, although Elli suspected that her maryth would be as remarkable as the priestess herself.

The woman’s long white hair fell to the middle of her back, and her crystal blue eyes were like prisms that caught light, bent it, and set it free again. She stepped toward the others, moving with striking grace and beauty—the sort of grace that is only earned by struggle, and the sort of beauty that is only deepened by time.

“High Priestess Coerria,” said Llynia, controlling her voice so she no longer ranted. She bowed her head in greeting, which sent flecks of wax falling like hailstones.

“Llynia,” said the elder woman softly, bowing her own head.

Her long white locks rippled as she moved. So did her gown, the formal dress of the High Priestess—said to be the very same one that Elen herself had worn. Woven of pure spider’s silk, it had been a gift to Elen from the great white spider of Druma Wood, the magical forest in Lost Fincayra that had sheltered Elen’s daughter, Rhia, for many years. So often did Elen refer to that beautiful forest—and wear that dress—that her followers came to be called
Drumadians
.

The High Priestess gave a similar bow to the tall priest. “Lleu, always a pleasure to see you. And your friend Catha.”

He smiled, as the falcon on his shoulder ruffled both wings proudly. “The pleasure is ours, High Priestess.”

“And you, Imbolca?” she asked the other priestess. “I hope you and Mebd are well.”

“We were, High Priestess, until we came across this . . . this wretch of an apprentice.” She pointed accusingly at Elli. “She attacked the Chosen One!”

The cat gave a fierce snarl.

One of Coerria’s white eyebrows lifted. “Did she, now?” She faced the young woman. “It’s Elliryanna, isn’t it?”

“Y-y-yes, High Priestess,” said Elli. She clasped her hands behind her back, working them nervously. “But I didn’t attack her. It was just . . . just an accident.”

“Tell the truth!” yelled Llynia, tearing a thick glob of wax out of her ear. “You tried to humiliate me. Or worse! Tell the truth now, you—”

Coerria lifted her hand for silence. She took a step toward Elli and scrutinized her with those deep blue eyes. For a long moment, there was no sound but the cat’s loud purring.

“No,” Coerria whispered at last. “I don’t think you meant any harm. And if you were going to bump into anyone,” she added wryly, “it’s fortunate that you picked someone with such grace and good humor.”

Llynia was quaking, beside herself with anger. Her eyes, almost as red as the spilled wax, bulged in their sockets. “Aren’t you going to punish her?”

Coerria shook her head, brushing her white hair across her shoulders. “Not for that, no. Why, I’ve bumped into several people myself at this very spot.”

“Bu . . . bu . . . but,” sputtered Llynia, “she could have harmed me.”

“Or killed her,” insisted Imbolca. Her skin tone changed from its usual sallowness to something darker. “It would be an outrage if she weren’t expelled.”

The High Priestess stroked her chin. “You know, if I expelled everyone who did something clumsy, there would soon be nobody left in this compound.” Her bright eyes darted to the small, round creature who was standing by the shrub at the edge of the walkway. “Except possibly you, Nuic.”

The old sprite said nothing, but gave a watery sort of chuckle.

Coerria’s eyes moved back to Elli. “Now, being clumsy is one thing.” Her tone grew more serious. “But skipping Formal Prayers is another.”

Llynia and Imbolca traded glances, and a new look of satisfaction crept over their faces.

Elli lowered her eyes, staring at her sandals.

The High Priestess observed her for another moment, then said simply, “Just try to do better, my child. And you, too, Nuic.”

Elli looked up, surprised. “That’s . . . all?”

The High Priestess nodded. “That’s all.” Then she added gently, “I’ve noticed you more than once in the Great Temple, just you and your maryth in that immense circle of stones.”

“You have?”

“Yes, my child. And I know what you were doing.”

Elli swallowed. “You do?”

“I do. And while prayers are good for the soul . . . so is meditation.”

The two of them simply looked at each other, speaking without words.

“But that’s outrageous,” spat Imbolca. She started to say more, but was silenced by a wave from Llynia.

The Chosen One slid closer to her superior—though her stance was anything but respectful. She glared at Coerria, practically putting her nose in the Elder’s face. “I know you have many important things to deal with, High One. So I’ve not troubled you with the minor difficulties that I’ve been having with this particular apprentice.”

Elli stirred nervously. Was Llynia going to make something terrible out of that incident at the woodworking lodge?

“But you may not know,” Llynia went on with a malevolent curl of her lip, “about this girl’s history.
Before
she came to the compound.”

Elli froze. She couldn’t breathe. Did Llynia really know? And if she did, would she actually reveal it to the High Priestess? That would ruin everything. Everything!

Coerria gazed at Llynia with such steady ferocity that the younger priestess took a step backward. “I know enough to give her a second chance.”

Elli’s heart swelled with gratitude. She would have kissed the High Priestess if it wouldn’t have been utterly improper.

Llynia’s blue eyes narrowed. “Are you aware that she was a slave, for several years? To gnomes! Murderous, thieving gnomes, who kill humans in their sleep.” She glanced at Elli. “No doubt that’s where she learned her manners. And are you prepared to ignore that, High Priestess? Are you prepared to put all the rest of us at risk?”