I have lived many lifetimes already, and I have become many things in them: druid, leader, warrior, and now defeated in my own land. In truth, I do not regret the events of the last thousand years, for the Goddess brings about her will in unclear ways, but I know that my tale and my legacy is fading away into the unknown. I think that the Christians will last tell the story of a once proud people, as the Fairy kingdom and the realm they hold power over drifts further away in a land where their Christ holds power. I once accepted their Christ with no disdain, but that had been a time where their priests had prayed alongside our druids. But now how can I when their priests would have my Great Goddess as a demon and claim that she never held power in this world, spare for the power of a devil?
My mother used to say that "All Gods are one God", but now after all their bells and their death and their Satan and their damnation—and the destruction they bring in the name of it—I cannot see how their God can be as just and loving to men as Ceridwen or the Great Horned one. Perhaps I have been unjust to their God, but they have been so to mine tenfold over.
The world has changed greatly since the early years I spent with my mother and brother in the Fairy Kingdom. My brother—who now worships like a dog and confides in his priests more willingly than in his brothers—has been greatly changed since those times as well, and I wonder when it will be my turn to change. It seems I am the only one on the Isles that remembers all our mother stood for, and if they do remember, I am surely the only person who cares of our proud past.
There was a time when a wanderer could, if he knew of the Mysteries enough, send out for a barge into the summer sea and find himself not in Glastonbury where a church stands high on the hill, but in the Holy Isle of Avalon; but now the gateways between the realms have drifted into the mists, and a person may no longer travel from one another as he willed, spare the few who are trained in the dying arts of mysteries. But now the followers of Christ, who have made the world to be finally and permanently unchanging, have closed those doors.
And again, it had not always been as so.
Even as I remember now the cruelty of Arthur, I long for the days of our youth where we held no responsibility and did not bear the burden of our people. There was a magic about our bond that was unexplainable and few could and would ever feel the kind of love we felt for each other. He was a timid boy and was too soft for what our mother wanted him to be, and it had been my responsibility to protect him. Even despite us being twins, I was always older than him in soul. I always wondered if I was one of those souls who were reborn again and again to learn in each life, like the Merlin.
If that is so, I would have it that this life was a short one so I may live another, quieter life where battle and strife do not find their way.
A silence filled the room, spare the small crackle of the fire. At last, Fianait heard a small breath escape her, and she felt as though she had woken from a dream. "What do you tell me? Do you mean to say that violence is inevitable?" She blinked and heard the words ringing there like an echo in her mind. "Who shall the father be?" She wondered what man was worthy to Father her heir. Surely no man would be fitting to lay with the Lady of Britannia, but then she remembered Ailill and Erin. Surely, she was meant to have a child who would be tied to the earth, as she was, to bring an end to this dreadful fate. But there was no new land to be taken by a nation, and she began to wonder if this truly would be her successor. No; that was not possible. Not when she was so strong and prosperous; there must be something yet to be said to make sense of the vision. "I have already born a healthy son to the Southern Isle—"
"No, it will not be him"
The Lady silenced her with a small gesture. She stood from her seat to tend to the fire, not offering a word of clarification. Fianait grew impatient in her seat, but knew better than to express so. The Lady was the very earthly embodiment of the Goddess, and it seemed that she held little room for emotion. Fianait wondered if she was even capable of feeling so. Yes, she had seen her frightful when she was still a young maiden in her first years in Avalon. It was a startling thought—that Fianait had watched the Lady grow up—and now she was sitting here being counseled by that very girl. Fianait had to stifle her pride as it was not her place to question all the Lady was and all she represented. The Lady drew back to her seat, muttering "Though I cannot tell you of when and whom this child will be born, only that he holds the choice to bring about the safety and peace or destruction of this isle."
"Is that not in the hands of the people?" She stared at her, feeling once again only a pawn to the will of the Goddess. No; but this was not the Goddess. This was only her voice, and it was often that messages were lost with translations.
The lady shook her head, and perhaps if this was one of the maidens she would look upon her with compassion and pity, but Fianait was herself a spiritual woman who had given herself to the Goddess to do her will, whether it be giving up a child at Beltane or laying down her life for the sacred sacrifice. "This is not for you to decide," she flared, taking on a shadow of the Goddess's power. Fianait shuddered. "You are not free from fate, despite what your mind will have you feel. Your Sight is proof of that. When will you stop questioning Her will? Of the thousands of years you have lived beside Her, what year will it be that you finally accept Her plans for you?" Though her voice resounded in the roundhouse, the Lady was beginning to look faint and her prophethetical power was wearing from her as the Goddess left her body. "I am sorry…" She frowned "My mind was…wandering"
Fianait looked startled and stared at the Lady with awe, unable to find words in her trance of horror and astonishment. "My Lady," she whispered "I apologize to you and your Goddess, but I still am hesitant to meddle in a future we know nothing of. Should we not wait to see what knowledge is presented to us before we rush into action? We have both learned well that patience is key, and I would pity to see the fate of this land stained from false assumptions."
The Lady nodded in agreement, though she still look faint from her prophecy, and Fianait hurried to offer the priestess something to drink. "Here, drink this my Lady. This should help with your faintness."
The Lady held up her hand, "No, child. I will do fine without it." Fianait usually would scorn the Lady for speaking to her in a diminutive, child-like manner, but she somehow found it endearing coming from her now. "All I need is time to ponder what the Goddess has let me see."
When Fianait had left the House of the Lady, she kept her thoughts on the words that seemed to make her blood run cold. Only he holds the choice to bring about the safety and peace or destruction of this isle. Surely the Goddess would not place her faith in a single person—for that would only cause ruin and destruction for her isle—but the Goddess worked for none but herself and Fianait supposed that She cared not for anything other than traditions and fate, even if it be Her earthly children. It was up to people, who, in their own right, had Gods and Goddess within them, to pave the way for mankind.
Fianait found a vacant room among the House of Maidens where she would sleep that night, but even in the warm comfort of sheets, she found it impossible to sleep. Her mind traveled through inklings of scenes and visions, all of the Golden Eagle and the children she would bear. She now knew there would be three children, all sons, that would take up her land after her.
She saw their faces, all three of them, painted and ready for battle clad with longbows and elfarrows. The army that would face them she knew not of, but by the grim look of the eldest's face she could see that fate was not in their favor. She felt cold as his eyes locked on hers, eyes demanding. Where are you, who should stand in my place. Why do you linger? Your place is here.
Your land is slipping from your grasp, and you are letting it go. Already he turns all things to the way of his people, while you, who should stand in place of the Goddess, will not move. Would you see it that your land falls into the hands of foreign rule and that your children fall with it? What mother would not do all that she could to keep her children out of the hands of a murderer… Already we have fought your battles, and defended your land so young as we are. Throw out this enemy so that our land might not fall to him. And then it seemed that scene faded away and she saw her children in desperate battle, sword in hand, and then the youngest fell, run through by another sword. Before she could cry out, before she could run to her child and hold him before he died, the scene once more changed.
She was standing among one of the stone rings deep in the southern country. Clouds of grey formed in the sky above, but she did not feel the cold; and even when early rain sprayed mists about her arms and face leaving drops of water in her lashes, she could not be bothered by the weather there. An odd sensation of bliss overwhelmed her, and all questions of where she was and why she was here dissipated like the rain from her mind. Is this what it feels like to be with the Goddess? She wondered, laughing as the rain soaked through her clothes—Fianait shot up, startled and shivering. Her sheets and body were wet where a leak in the roof sluggishly trickled drops of rain onto her trembling body. Is this what I get for finally drifting into the bliss of sleep? She thought bitterly, making her way to another room where she could collect a warm gown and sheets and hopefully get to sleep without the pestering of an unwanted vision.