Chapter 6: Follow Me
The night of Ilyaren came and all were present, both Roman and Woad. The moon had disappeared into the ebony mists of the night sky and all was prepared for the Rites that were to follow. The former Roman commanders were all too less that thrilled to see their sworn enemies gathered for a pagan ritual. The Woads were less than pleased themselves when they found that there would be outsiders to view their practices. Long had it been since a foreigner saw the Rites of Ilyaren, that person suffered the consequences and paid with his life. Now it seemed that they had to receive these Romans and welcome them.
"This is not what I had in mind cousin." Elaine was pacing within the walls of her room. She was not at all amused by the situation. Who ever heard of Outsiders witnessing the Rites of Ilyaren? It was utter madness in her mind. She continued on her pacing, grumbling as she went. This was unheard of. Tradition mandated that it be a Woad ceremony. Romans were, in all aspects of the word, not Woad. She would not allow it!
"You said that the Rites must continue. I have ensured its survival." Guinevere tried to calm her down. Elaine was murderous in such moods. Normally, she was of a sweet disposition and a kind manner, but being a Priestess, she was hardened by the decisions that she had to make. Guinevere knew the life that her cousin led. It was a life she had seen Nimue lead before her untimely death. Being of a sound age at that time, Guinevere could remember her aunt in all fondness. She was not merely the High Priestess of the Old Ways, she was a mother to her children and a kind hearted soul. It was only all too distressing when she fell ill and died. Elaine never remembered her mother, but the stories she was told kept Nimue alive in her daughter's mind.
As Guinevere watched Elaine pace, she was reminded of how alike the mother and daughter were. She stood up and caught Elaine mid-pace. She stood her still in front of her and looked at her sternly. "Breath Elaine. You are turning blue." Guinevere smiled.
Elaine laughed with her cousin. She was so wound up about the entire thing. She was excited, nervous, irritated and elated all at the same time. Butterflies were being set free in her stomach. Beneath it all, the confident and self-assured exterior lay a girl, barely twenty, too young to be handling anything of this magnitude. She was afraid. She was nervous and afraid. "It is my first time."
"And it won't be the last!" Guinevere laughed. How she had grown. It seemed like a lot of time passed by since Elaine left the Lake to be under the tutelage of Merlin. Her short visits were not enough. Guinevere missed her, but since Bragdon's death, it was like she too, much like Alyanne, didn't want to be anywhere near the Lake. The Queen took in a deep breath. The scent of the burning herbs filled her senses. Ilyaren was upon them! "You will be beyond compare my dear." She took her cousin in her arms. "Just like your mother before you."
"Thank you Guinevere." Elaine tightened her grip. Tears fell from her eyes as Guinevere spoke of her mother. She missed her. Elaine never had memories of Nimue as all others did. She wished she had memories. It used to be that she could rely on Bragdon to have memory enough for the both of them, but he was gone now. "I wish he could be here with me."
"He is Elaine. He is." Guinevere reassured her. Bragdon's death was hard on all of them, especially because of the fact that they had no knowledge of how it happened. But he was with them. He was one with the earth now…at least, Guinevere liked to think of it that way.
The two broke away and wiped their tears. They laughed at their red faces and fixed themselves up. Taking the other by the hand, the walked towards the courtyard and on to the fields for the most blessed night of all.
-o-
The wind blew a sweet melody that night. It rustled the leaves in the trees and danced with the flames on their torches. Softly the grass was bent at the barefoot steps of the Woads. They tread as lightly as could be, stepping as if they were on thin ice. The women came in the front of the lines, bringing their children and carrying the torches, leaving the men to walk behind them in darkness to follow their light. Each movement was graceful, flowing, floating. Guinevere was among those in the very front, nearest to Elaine. Alyanne made herself almost invincible, placing herself in the very obscure place towards the point where the men and women meet. She had Lucan in her hand. Sometimes, the Knights would almost forget that the boy was indeed Woad. He had become an honorary member of Bors' bastards. But seeing him now, with the mysterious Lady, he seemed to be truly one of the Woads.
They were nearing the crops; the hill was now sloping downwards, revealing them through the fire of the ember's blaze. There was a circle in the middle of the field. It was nothing but earth, where nothing grew. The Knights, along with some Romans, followed them, following the light. Sometime along the way, the women started putting out their fires one by one. Alyanne was the last to extinguish her fire; handing the unlit torch to the boy she had with her. It was now utterly dark. It was silent as well. All that could be heard were the harmonies of the breeze, swaying leaves and the steps made by each person. The Knights could hear stumbling behind them. Probably the Romans. Lancelot heard a whisper. It was in a tongue that he could not understand, but knew to be Woad. It kept repeating and repeating. It was said in a woman's voice. They looked among themselves, obviously coming upon the same sounds, curious as to what the words meant. Suddenly, a woman came into vision, one wearing the same white dress that all the women wore. Her ebony hair flew freely in the night wind. It was Alyanne.
"It means follow me." She whispered to them. The male Woads looked at her with a mixture of surprise and shock. Lancelot walked towards her. Closely followed by the rest of the Knights, they walked to the front of the following outsiders.
"They look at you as if you had committed a crime. Why?" Gawain asked as he glared at those staring at Alyanne the wrong way. He didn't take kindly to the disrespect of the woman, especially when she was helping them through the darkness. Was it wrong among these people to help?
"They stare like that because I walk with them." She whispered to them as she drifted further behind, closer to the Knights. "I am a woman. In Ilyaren, women are the light-givers; we replace the moon that has left the sky. The moon does not walk with the lost souls of the earth for she is meant to be in the heavens guiding them pass the shadows." She explained to them. "Lucan, if you want, you can go ahead to Guinevere. I will help the Knights." She smiled at the boy who ran in a scurry once she had given her bidding.
"Thank you for the help Lady. It was not necessary." Lancelot spoke for the rest. He watched her as she moved. The wind was blowing on her, enticing her to play. Her dress flowed in the zephyr like a cloud drifting upon the sky. Her raven hair was loose in waves, treading freely all the way down to the small of her back. He normally did not stare, but he could not help it.
"This is the first time our kind has let in any…" she chose her words carefully as not to be offensive. She did not like it how some Woads used the word outsider for those not one of them. She, in all respects was an outsider of sorts. It had been long since she had lived with her own kind. Two summers. But she was still revered as one of the protectors of the Lake. No. she would not call them outsiders, for it would be all too hypocritical.
"Do not fret Lady. We catch your meaning. You need not elaborate." Arthur spoke for the others. He was always so gracious. Any pompous monarch would not take so lightly to being treated as a foreigner in his own country, but he did not mind. He took to heart the equality he so fervently preached. Alyanne could see that he would make a great King.
"Your gratitude, your Majesty, is warmly received." She nodded, not facing them, keeping her eyes towards the path that lay before them. Suddenly, faint light flickered on her face. "We are near the circle, I must walk ahead now. Simply follow the light and you will get there." She quickened her speed and disappeared in the towering wheat. They did as she said, following the light. As they took each step, the light grew brighter and brighter. Upon reaching the circle, they learned that it was a huge bonfire that gave off the light. The women had once again lit their torches and now stood at the outer realms of the circle. Lucan was indeed with Guinevere, but ran to Alaynne as soon as she finished lighting her own torch. It was Elaine standing in the inner circle, nearest to the flames. She was not wearing white as the other women did. She wore a cloth that resembled the sky, a mixture of white with a blue hue. Her garments had a belt and a sheath for a dagger in it. The men were in front of the women now, sitting on the earthen floors. Some had drums with them. There was no place in the circle, so they simply stood where they were, standing behind the women.
"I don't even see why we had to go here." Remarked one of the outsiders. It was an unmistakable voice. It was Lycus, the ostentatious Roman commander that had less respect for the Woads than he with the Sarmatian Knights.
"Silence Outsider!" Said a commanding voice. It was Elaine. "We have allowed you into the sacred circle without spilling a drop of your blood. I suggest that you revel in the privilege my Lord and keep your tongue where the great Earth thought best to place it." She unsheathed her dagger. For a moment, all had half expected her to lunge and stab Lycus as hard as she could. But she did not. Elaine remained composure and thrust the knife deep into the earth. She stood up and all went quiet. The drums started to beat.
Spirits come forth
And hear our cry
Listen, our prayer into the night
You've left us in darkness
Afraid, Alone
You've watched us stray the realm of shadow
Give us your light,
Give us your grace
Keep us from the shadows that slowly race
The earth is our mother
The earth is our strength
She alone can bring us to the rising moon
Spirits come forth
And hear our cry
Listen, our prayer into the night
She took the dagger from its place in the earth and raised it up above her head. She brought it slowly down and slashed her arms till it ran red with blood.
"What is she doing?" Galahad was first to react at the sudden deed. He saw Elaine's blood dripping from her arm. It was flowing freely and dripping on the floor, soaking the soil.
"She is giving back to the Earth. We dig her up as if boring her flesh, we drink her water as if sipping her blood, we take her fruits as if stealing her children. A Priestess' blood offering is a way of repaying the Earth's sacrifice." One of the Woads enlightened them. These people were ultimately rooted to the earth. This was not just mere land to them, it was alive. The Earth to them was a living being, providing for the what ever they needed. In taking what one needs, the Earth is hurt, mutilated. This was a mere offering meant to appease the Earth so that it would continue to bless them.
The ceremonial drums started beating harder and Elaine squeezed her wound, letting the blood drop onto the crops and into the earth. Her blood's gift was an offering as thanks for a bountiful harvest. It was also a silent prayer that the crops may be as such in the following year.
You alone can bring us to the rising moon
Spirits come forth
And hear our cry
Listen, our prayer into the night
The moment she stopped in her song, the Woads bowed their heads in reverence of the Priestess as she walked passed them and headed for the plains once more.
Ilyaren had once again passed and the moon would rise the next evening.
-o-
The drums playing now were no longer drums of ceremony, but those of merriment. They beat as the children danced around the fires. There were sounds of laughter and amusement in the air. Ale was being passed out to everyone who could drink it. Woads and Romans alike were now rejoicing at the festivities before them.
Elaine had now finished binding her arm. She had tended to her wound in private, as all Priestesses did after Ilyaren and had now come down to the courtyard to rejoin everyone in the gaiety. Being but a young girl herself, she came out into the festivity laughing at all the happiness that enveloped them. She could see Arthur dancing with his beautiful bride among the children. Truth be told, Guinevere looked like a child out there herself as she laughed in utter bliss in the company of her beloved. Arthur himself looked like a younger man was he spun Guinevere around him. How gracefully she twirled.
It was a surprise to her when her vision was suddenly impaired by a pair of hands that covered them. She could smell her assailant. He smelled of a mixture of horses, sweat and a little hint of cedar wood. Definitely a man's scent. She laughed even harder, for she had not known the men long enough to even guess as to which Knight the scent belonged to. "Who is this?" she asked in pure jubilation.
"Guess." Came a soft, baritone whisper to her ear. His voice was relaxing and soothing, but at the same time commanding. She kept her mind on who she knew and who would most likely jest her so. The list was short. If she had not known better, she would think this Gavin, but he was not here. All she could deduce was only one man left on the list.
"Oh Sir Lancelot, you had not fooled me for one moment." She laughed as she abruptly turned about to see his surprised yet amused face.
"You guess very well Priestess. I told you I should have added clairvoyance to the list." Lancelot smirked, remembering their meeting a few nights ago. He saw her often in the Fort with Guinevere. This was the first time that he had actually seen her by herself. "The look happy don't they." He said as he motioned to the previous object of her attention. Arthur and Guinevere were still dancing, only now they were hand in hand as she spun them both into a spiraling laughter. Truth be told, he had not seen his best friend so happy, so carefree, in such a long time. "She is good for him." He remarked as he sat down on a log nearby.
"She is. Guinevere is a force in herself." The Priestess laughed, taking a seat next to the Knight. "But it is your Arthur that has done a world of good for her, after everything that has happened in the past two summers…"
Lancelot saw the grief in her eyes. One moment, she was whimsical and full of life, the next she was in mourning. He did not know if it was in his place, but he placed a comforting had on hers, no strings attached. "Don't be so sorrowful. It is not becoming of you." He joked. Lancelot did not handle these situations well, so he always seemed to joke his way out of them. Somehow, it never failed him.
"Pardon me sir Knight. I don't know what came over me." She shook her head as a smile graced her features once more. The Priestess was what would normally be called a flawless beauty. She had deep blue eyes the color of the oceans and seas. Her hair was long, wavy and flaxen, gently descending like a water fall down to her back. She was not the tallest of women, but neither was she that diminutive. She was indeed the kind of woman that Lancelot once found himself very much attracted to, with that moment as a complete exception. Now it seemed as if her beauty had no effect on him whatsoever. He did not seem to be drawn to her. This perplexed him greatly. "I would have never guessed you to be a Priestess." The words escaped his mouth even without permission from his mind.
She laughed at what he said, with that adorable, child-like, innocent laugh of hers. "Pardon me my Lord? What ever gave you such an impression?" she quizzically, yet amusedly asked him. She was smiling at him with her doe eyes. He gave her a smile in return.
"I had the assumption that Priestesses were women of virtue, not women who pursue unsuspecting men in the shadows." He smirked at her, giving cheek as an answer to her question.
"I had the same assumption with regards to Knights, but from what I see, you are not the pillar of virtue that I had set my heart on meeting. Chivalry must indeed be dead." She feigned injury at his words, coming up with a quip of his own. He looked at her amused face. It brought a smile to his. "Ah, and you neglect to remember the fact that you, yourself, suspected me even before you called me out. You knew I that I had concealed myself in the shadows, and yet unwittingly permitted me to observe you as I did. Therefore I could not have possibly given you the impression of which you speak."
"I can not deny that." He said honestly. He sensed her in the shadows long before he spoke up. He knew that there were a pair of eyes on him, and yet he took his time before he spoke up.
"Then I believe I win."
"This time." He added to her words quickly. He would not give her victory over him all the time. "But do not accustom yourself to such a victory. I will not be lenient if ever our wits should again challenge one another."
"Lenient?" said an approaching voice. "Lenient? Since when have you ever been lenient Lancelot?" It was Arthur. Trust that man to show up and rescue his bosom friend in audiences such as these.
"Negligent to your own knowledge Arthur, I am lenient. In fact, I am even gracious, courteous, impeccably pleasant. I am the epitome of perfection, if I do say so myself.." He replied in jest as he stood up, allowing his place to be taken by Guinevere. He walked next to Arthur and was handed his first mug of ale in the entirety of the evening. He had a feeling within him that it would not be the last. "Never seen you so happy." He whispered so only the King could hear.
"I've never been this happy." Arthur whispered back to his dearest friend. True, he had had moments of great joy in his life, but now it seemed those moments were only tastes, previous of a great life to come. He loved his wife dearly and she was his life's fulfillment. "You seem to be having a lovely time. I apologize that we have not been formally introduced Priestess. I am Arthur Castus."
"Of course I know who you are my Lord Arthur. Don't be so formal, we are family after all." He embraced him warmly, welcoming him as her kin. "And please, call me Elaine. I am only the Priestess to those who do not know me." She smiled.
"The rites were beautiful Elaine." Guinevere spoke up to the party of four, "No one would have guessed that it was your first time."
"It was more painful than I would have thought." She referred to the deep cut in her arm. It was certain that the wound would scar, but such a wound on the right arm solidified one's position in the service of the Old Ways. Elaine was more than happy to have inflicted it upon herself.
"Slicing up one's arm is never pleasant." Lancelot laughed. He looked at the bandage on her arm. It was well bound. He could only speculate that it is part of her preparation, to study a little of the healing arts.
"Where is Alyanne?" Arthur spoke out. It was a pleasant reunion between Guinevere and Elaine that he would not want the other cousin to be missing. But his words brought a chastising look in Guinevere's eyes, as if saying not to mention that name. Arthur gave her a questioning look, only to be repaid by one that shut the topic.
Nonetheless, Elaine's eyes grew darker at the mention of her sister-in-law's name. She looked over blankly across them. "There she is, with the silent one." She said quietly. "Has she taken liking to another so quickly? Forgotten him all together?" Bitterness was dripping from her voice. Elaine watched how the two somberly talked, sitting with each other, watching the children dance about.
"Elaine." Guinevere reprimanded her, yet keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention. "It has been two years. Two years. She has been wallowing in nothing but agony for two years! Will you not give her a moment's happiness and spare her your words?" Guinevere closed the subject off immediately.
Arthur looked sorry for his actions. But it was not his fault. Lancelot clasped a hand on his shoulder reassuring him that he was not to be blamed. He did not know what would come about by asking his question. But it was obvious that the Lady Elaine had not the same fondness for Alyanne as she did with Guinevere. Quite the contrary, it seemed that she had much hostility towards the woman. Lancelot could not even fathom why there would be such friction between the two. But it was not in his place to ask.
He turned his head towards Alyanne's direction. He watched her, from pass the embers. She captivated him.
-o-
The children were drawn to the fire like moths to a flame. They danced around it whimsically and care-freely as could be. Alyanne watched the little boy Lucan dance with the other Woad children with delight. She liked his company. The child was curious and energetic…spirited. He was so full of life that it kept her on her toes when she felt like falling down. She smiled at the sight and as she sat down on the grassy fields.
"You don't dance?" Tristan asked, approaching her with a mug of ale. She took it off his hands gratefully and moved over to give him space to sit with her.
"I have danced enough in my youth, it is their turn now." She smiled at him. She tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and took a sip of the brew.
"The little boy has taken a liking to you." He said as he noticed her watching over Lucan. The boy was waving to her, she waved back at him. Tristan observed at it seemed a weight had been lifted from her shoulders in the recent days. She was still somber, melancholy in a way, but it lessened with the constant care people gave to her. It was a pity to see such a young woman so sad anyway.
"He keeps coming to me for stories and I keep obliging him." She smiled. Everyday since they first met, Lucan would come to Alyanne asking for another story. She was running out of stories to tell him, so she occasionally made some up. Lucan had a partiality for stories of heroism. He wanted so much to become a Knight like those around him. He said he wanted to be like Dagonet. "He would make such a fine Knight."
"I have no doubt that he would." Tristan assured her.
"I am so weary." Alyanne gave a sigh.
"Then maybe you should go up and rest…I could take care of----" His eyes were hinting a bit of concern.
"No…no…that is not what I meant." She said slowly. It was not what she meant at all. She was not merely bodily tired, but weary all together. "I am tired of it Tristan. This is the first time in years that I have not spent the entire evening worrying about an attack on my people. This is what I want. This. Peace. Not fearing if I had my sword with me or not. My neck is sore from keeping my head turned to watch if a dagger is anywhere near my back." She had not asked for the life she led. Before everything started, she was just a girl. She was a girl like many others. There was nothing special about her. She was just Alyanne then. But now, ever since she had become the Lady of the Lake, peace was the furthest thing from her. The past weeks had been an interlude of serenity for her, a peak into the life that she had always aspired of living. Because of the Saxon threat, any moment of this tranquility could be feared as the last. She was tired. "I simply want to breathe."
"We live our lives in quiet desperation my Lady." Tristan began, turning his head towards the sky, watching the stars twinkle. "We live our lives wishing that it were different from what it is. Those wishes are what keep us from going insane. Some have their wishes fulfilled, others die with merely aspirations." He spoke softly. He turned to her once again, his eyes unreadable, yet purposeful. "You must not let your desperation consume you, instead, have hope."
She knew that he spoke the truth. Her life was that of a woman seeing only the shadows on the wall, forgetting those who cast them. Tristan seemed to know so much of life, of how to live it. She wondered how he learned so much, in such little time he spent living it. As he said, men grow old and die without even accomplishing their desires. "Have you had your aspirations fulfilled?" She asked him earnestly.
"I have." He answered more than truthfully. "I lived my life in full back in Sarmatia. If I were to die now, I would die without regrets and without any other want in life."
"I hear the people talk about you. They say you fight as if you had nothing to lose. As if you wished for death."
Tristan openly tensed at her remark. His eyes became, darker, graver. His fist was balled, closed so tightly. His jaw was set. It was often said among men that the knight Tristan had a death wish. He was certainly not afraid of getting himself killed. He was more than willing to go on the dangerous scouting rides that Arthur always sent him to. Never did he argue with the danger set before him. He accepted it. People automatically assumed that he was looking for death. Tristan hated the rumors. He valued his privacy above anything else that belonged to him. To have himself as a topic of rumor and discussion was more than a trifle where he was concerned. "I have never gone searching for death. I am simply unafraid to welcome it when it comes." He said almost inaudibly, but she heard him.
Alyanne saw his reaction clearly. "Fret not Sir Tristan." She put a hand to his clenched fist and turned to him. "I never cared to believe in rumors in the first place." She whispered.
-o-
"She must have been a fine dancer." He said with the slip of his tongue.
"Excuse me?" Guinevere responded, halting her talk with Elaine. After an uneasy silence brought upon by the events earlier, the two resumed to polite conversation, only to be broken by Lancelot's sudden comment.
"She must have been a fine dancer." He said, as he continued watching Tristan and Alyanne. They were speaking so seriously, and she had her had in his. Lancelot could not put the emotion down, but he felt uncomfortable seeing them as such. He really did not know how such thoughts came about. He did not like dwelling on them.
Elaine turned her head and followed Lancelot's gaze. She saw that it was Alyanne who had been the object of the Knight's attention. She had not changed since the day she first saw her. Constant. That is how her brother always described the Lady of the Lake.
She still did not know what he had meant by that to this day. What had it meant to love someone for their constancy?
"She was as graceful as the ripples on the water's edge." Elaine unexpectedly answered. "She loved to dance." She said in quiet remembrance of those days when Alyanne would dance for her brother. He loved it when she danced. He would always smile whenever she danced for him. In some occasions, he would even dance with her. She loved watching her brother dance. He was carefree when he danced. "They danced beautifully."
Upon hearing the word 'they', Lancelot automatically assumed that it pertained to Alyanne and her husband. He had heard only a few things about the man. It seemed that his death was a great blow to all who knew him. Again, it was not in his place to ask anything regarding his death, but he could not help but wonder. But his mind drifted again to what Elaine said. They danced beautifully. He had no doubt in his mind that it was positively true.
"She does not dance anymore." Guinevere commented sadly.
Elaine stood up. She walked to the middle, where the fire roared with intensity. The music stopped. The children scurried to their parent. She spoke to them all. "My dear friends. The Ilyaren has befallen us. I believe that this night is never complete without a proper Woad dance."
The people cheered. It was true. This point in the evening, when the stars shone the brightest would be about the time when a woman would offer a dance to the Earth as a sign of gratitude for the acceptance of the Priestess's sacrifice. Ilyaren was far from over.
"Alyanne. Wife of my brother…." She said the latter part with a hint of disadain. "Will you offer the Earth a dance?"
"I am afraid it has been too long." She no longer danced, not without him.
"Nonsense! Come now! It is for the Mother Earth. Will you deny her a simple dance of your gratitude. Besides, many of our new guests have never seen a true Woad dance." She added. Elaine was egging her to dance for them, despite knowing the consequences. "Come sister! Will you deny the Earth as well as our guests? Have you renounced the Old Ways?"
She had no choice. Alyanne took a quick glance at Guinevere, seeing her pitying eyes. She could not deny the Mother Earth, nor her Priestess. "As the Priestess wishes." She stood up.
-o-
Lancelot was surprised when Elaine grabbed a hold of one of his swords. She unsheathed it and tossed the blade to Alyanne who caught it with ease. His blade was not a light one to bear. It was a heavy Sarmatian sword brought from his village. They were the only reminders of home that he had left, and now they were in the hands of a strange woman who seemed to be scrutinizing it's every crevice. The moment she saw Elaine take the hilt of the Knight's weapon, she knew she was condemned to the Dance of Swords.
Alyanne closed her eyes and the dance had begun. She started out slow, swaying from left to right, trying to get a rhythm flowing within her. She just moved back and forth, swinging the sword as she went. She looked dangerous, deadly even, and yet at the same time, it seemed that grace seemed to emulate from her being. Alyanne almost seemed to blaze as she basked in the fire's embers. Suddenly the drums began to play.
She swayed her hips as the blade sung in the air. She moved like the water, just as Guinevere had said. Every movement she made was part of the former and every move that followed seemed to fit the next. It was mesmerizing, watching her move faster and faster as the drum's beat got louder and louder. She danced around the flames, momentarily leaving his gaze. His head seemed to follow wherever she went. It captivated him, the passion that went through her as she danced. The sword's song sung in the wind as it harmonized all of her body's actions. It seemed like everything she did was interconnected and interlocked. She flowed.
He noticed the expression in her face. Tears. Her closed eyes were springing tears all along. Her once emotionless face now had an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and expression that he had yet to see from her. The tears caressed her pale skin. In the little time he had known the maiden, he had never seen her cry. It was strange to see such, dare he say it, beauty, to be in such agony. Her dance was bold and alluring, and yet, her face only had marks of pain and anguish within it. She seemed to ignite a wide range of feelings within him. His heart broke along with hers, but he could not help but look.
The drums got faster and faster. The sword seemed to gleam in its reflection of the fire. Her actions became more fierce and beguiling as her speed increased with the tempo. She was pouring her heart and soul into it, all the while closing her eyes and letting silent tears fall. It seemed to go on forever. The dance would not end until she had deemed it ended.
All eyes were on her. She enthralled all who glanced upon her. Alyanne took hold of the sword's edge and hilt as she held it over her head. She spun faster and faster, the music speeding up along with her. Her hair danced in the wind. Her skirts flared up, exposing her legs, up to her knees. She spun as if she would not fall. No one could take their eyes off her. Spinning, twirling, spiraling into the very fervor the dance was built upon. Finally, she fell to the ground, seated on her ankles, bowing and extending the sword to the feet of Lancelot. The drums stopped. She laid them at his feet and stood up. She opened her eyes to reveal the misty gray pools. Her tears stopped falling. She turned around and away, heading for the forest.
"Why did you do that Elaine?!" Guinevere pulled her cousin aside. She was fuming! How could she do that to her, knowing very well what that dance was to Alyanne. She had never known Elaine to be this heartless.
"What Guinevere, she enjoyed it didn't she?" The Priestess laughed. Guinevere abrupty slapped her cousin across the face, It was unexpected, Elaine was more than just her cousin. Elaine was a priestess. To inflict any injury on a woman of her position was considered a grievous injustice, but Guinevere did not care. Elaine deserved it.
"She was crying Elaine. How can you be so cruel?! Her heart broke with every beat."
"I thought it would cheer her up. Isn't a woman supposed to delight in those kinds of memories?" She replied venomously. The memories she was pertaining to, was that of Alyanne's wedding. The dance she had just done was one that women gave to their husbands on their wedding day. The sword meant a woman's strong will, laying it on a man's feet was pledging full submission, picking up the swords meant that the man would care for her and value her sacrifice. Of course, it had been very long since it was last done. Very few Woads did it. The dance was almost dead, but on that day, Alyanne thought it more than fitting to give to her husband. Elaine did not care if she ached inside at the very memory of him. Her suffering was not enough. It was never enough. It would not bring her brother back to her.
"You thought wrong cousin." Guinevere hissed. "Or perhaps you did not think at all. When did you become so heartless?"
"I have a heart Guinevere. It is just closed to her."
Lancelot saw the two women as they argued into the night, but he did not care. Another woman had just gone off into the forest, wiping the tears from her eyes. The dance…he did not know what it had done to her, but he was certain that it was not good. He looked down at the floor. His sword. They were still lying at his feet. He knelt down on the ground and picked it up, not knowing what he had just did. And yet somehow…he did. He stood up and went to find her.
The Night of Ilyaren brings many surprises. Again, little questions are answered by the openning of more questions. Not only are we puzzled now by Elaine and Alyanne's relationship and the true nature of Bragdon's death, but some new clues are also shed for the turn out of the story. Read it carefully. I know your curiosity will be even more tickled by this chapter.
By the way, the Night of Ilyaren, in my mind, is a ceremony of the moon (one of the many forms of the Mother Earth). When the moon hides in the shadows of the clouds, light is denied the people of the Earth and we are forced to roam in darkenss. The women in the festival are the replacements of the moon, meant to guide the people as they walk though the Earth.
Now, the second part of the rites, I have explained in the story. It is not done every New Moon, but every new moon before the harvest. I made this all up, so I hope it is a believable festival.
Hope you liked the story thus far. Please review.
Rita