Her com in gangan, in spiderwiht
hæfde him his haman on handa, cwæð þæt þu his hæncgest wære
Their whispers filled the absolute darkness, falling flat against the silence. The air felt damp and cold. The women could see nothing, but felt the walls pressing in on them. They each knew that if they extended their arms their palms would hit rock. They stood in a tightly pressed circle, each woman's arm pressed against the next. The object of their enchantment lay beneath them, barely more than dust piled on the dirt floor. It had taken them centuries to find it, and a few more years to excavate it. Time had changed the geography of the area, the elements had hidden their prize, but yet they had prevailed after long last. The weight of the layers of earth above them was oppressive and yet they carried on with their incantation. Each woman had been trained their entire lives for this moment, and their mothers and grandmothers before them. They contemplated their good fortune at being the generation to finally solve the mystery. Their rewards must be great for all they had endured for their cause.
legde þe his teage an sweoran. Ongunnan him of þæm lande liþan;
sona swa hy of þæm lande coman, þa ongunnan him ða liþu colian.
As their spellwork began to reach the climax their words fell faster and faster from their tongues. The volume of their whispers increased, until suddenly they were yelling in a frenzy. They each felt the power of the magic course through them, creating a feeling of hysteria and ultimate power. The earth around them began to shake, and dirt rained down above their heads. The feeling of claustrophobia dissipated, and they were filled with a feeling of warmth. Surely this could be nothing short of divine will. It had been foretold that their efforts would come to fruition; seers had prophesized of this day for millennium. How could such a predestined, awe-filled moment be anything less than celestial? Their efforts were just, their work would be recognized. These five women were to be the saviors of humankind.
A small circle of light began to form in the center of their circle. The fragile remains seemed to be glowing from the inside. The light began a warm, soft yellow glow but turned golden and then white hot. The light grew as the remains began to shake. Particles swirled through the air, reforming into their previous state. The remains took the shape of bones, which assembled themselves into a human skeleton. Muscle formed around the bones and were covered with skin. Hair grew on the surface of the skin and light radiated from the sixth person to join the group. The light grew brighter and brighter until the five sorceresses could not see, and then faded to a dull glow around the cavern's edges.
When the spell was over the five women could see they had been joined by a sixth. She lay on the ground, a peaceful expression on her face. Long, dark hair fell in curls past her shoulders. She was dressed in a black gown, which was tight like a corset around her ribs and then fell in a straight line from her waist to her ankles. It looked to be made of spider webs.
The woman's face was beautiful. She had a small nose and full lips. Her cheekbones jutted out, giving the hollows of her cheeks an almost gaunt appearance. Her skin looked soft and smooth. Her eyes, closed now, seemed free of worry. She lay on the ground, gentle and small in appearance, with a thin waist and delicate hands.
Her eyes opened and her irises looked jet black. Awake, her features rearranged themselves on her face, giving her the appearance of someone cold and calculating. A slight smirk appeared on her lips; her lips parted slightly giving way to perfectly straight teeth. She pulled her legs in to her sides and sat up, using her momentum to propel her to her feet.
The five women looked at her in awe. Surely now that their goddess had been resurrected they would be rewarded as they had been promised. Their life's work and that of their ancestors had succeeded at long last. They kneeled, daring not to look their priestess in the eyes.
"Goddess," cried the first, "we honor you."
"Thank you my sisters," the newcomer responded. Her voice sounded cool and precise. "You have done your duty well."
"High Priestess, we welcome you," gushed the second.
"We have long awaited your return," said a third.
"Your highness", gushed another, kneeling to kiss the feet of their deity.
"Albion is yours for the taking," responded the final woman, bowing her head and withdrawing an object wrapped in cloth from her ropes. She untied to object and presented it to her mistress, a long dark blade, a sword forged in a dragon's breath. The woman with dark hair reached one dainty hand toward the hilt of the sword. She deftly picked it up and examined it, placing the other hand on the flat of the blade to steady it. She admired its malicious beauty, a weapon with which she could rule the land.
Suddenly the dim glow turned to darkness. A gust of wind filled the cavern. One by one the women felt the sharp blade between their ribs, just below their hearts. They each were lowered to the ground by a tender hand. As they lay dying, surrounded by darkness, they wondered if they had really known the true nature of the goddess they had longed to meet.
The woman paid them no mind as she marched gracefully along the walls of the tunnel. It had been years, she knew, since her feet had last touched earth, but how long she was not sure. It did not matter. She knew she would now be the most powerful person alive. Surely her old enemies were gone, and she would rise to Camelot's throne with ease. She smirked to herself as she found her way to the mouth of the cave, emerging out into the fading daylight.
Albion had better watch out, she thought. Morgana Pendragon had been resurrected.