The King of Avalon
by
Jennifer Bokal
Avalon, 506 AD
The slight rattle of the door sounded harsh in the tiny, stone antechamber. Little more than a heart beat passed before the rustling of fabric filled the air. She knew she should not ask. As a novice it was not her job to question, but she could not keep the inquiry hidden in her heart any longer.
"How fares the King?" she boldly asked, not daring to move from the sanctuary of her stone bench.
The high priestess stopped and slowly turned to face the young woman. The usually serene countenance of the superior had disappeared. The older woman looked gaunt and her pallor gray--grayer than the fine gown she wore that signified her rank.
As if chiseled by an artisan's hand, deep creases appeared around her mouth as she spoke, "The King's spirit soars. The confines of his body no longer ail him. It is a joyous day for Arthur and a very grave one for us."
Anxiety, deep and cruel, drove the novice to her feet. "The King, dead? How can that be? His men brought him to us soon after he fell. His wounds were on his back and side. Surely not something fatal? Was there nothing that could be done for him? No healing, no prayer, no magic spell?"
A flash of anger shone in the eyes of the high priestess. The novice recognized how far over her station she had reached. Slowly, the younger woman lowered her eyes and sat obediently once more.
The calm clear voice of the high priestess surrounded the novice. "Every thing possible was done for the king. Sometimes our place is not to save, only to ease the passing. That is what I was called to do tonight. As much as I pray it were different." She gave a short, humorless laugh and continued in a weary tone, "Even my prayers are not always answered."
Careful to keep her eyes downcast, the novice asked, "What will become of us? Without Arthur on the throne, what will become of Avalon?"
Again the rustle of fabric filled the air. Had she asked too much? Did the constant, dogged questioning of the novice drive the high priestess away? The hem of a gown, the same color as a spring dove's wing, passed before her. Then she felt the bodily warmth radiate off the high priestess as she sat on the bench.
"How long have you been here?" the high priestess asked.
"Since Galahad and the others brought him."
"You show much loyalty to your king. The sun was high in the sky when Arthur's men arrived. Now half the night has passed. You must be weary and wish for your bed."
"I had to know," the novice said in a small voice.
"Know what? What had become of Arthur or what will become of Avalon?"
"Both I suppose."
The high priestess reached out her hand. Gently placing it under the chin of the novice, she lifted her face. "Your loyalty makes you different. Your faith lifts your spirit. But, with great gifts come great responsibility. Do you understand?"
With every beat of her heart, confidence surged through the young woman. She nodded her head. "I do."
The high priestess smiled. "I am well pleased to know that. You must learn. Learn from me how to keep the magic alive. Then you must pass your knowledge on to those who will follow us. Only if we perform our sacred rituals will Avalon be safe."
She was less sure this time what she was agreeing to, but once again the novice nodded.
"Before you say aye, you must understand everything you will be asked to do. For Avalon to be safe, it must be hidden. Hidden from the rest of the world. Those that are of Avalon will not be able to leave, and those that are of the rest of the world cannot venture to us. This spell will protect us, keep us safe. After the magic is woven, Avalon will be lost to the outside world. It will be as though Avalon never existed.
Our magic will keep Avalon hidden, even from those that seek our skills. For time men will wonder, 'what became of Avalon?' Then they will accept that it is no more and we will be forgotten. Avalon will still exist next to the outside world--together and separate. Side by side, yet never touching. Do you understand?"
The angst she had quelled moments before flooded over her, threatening to drown her in distress. Mutely the novice agreed. She did understand. All the beauty, peace and serenity of this place would be lost to the world. The spiritual respite would be gone.
But, an even more frightening thought occurred to the novice. The magic would trap all those who served Avalon. Although they would not be surrounded by water, for all intent Avalon would become an unreachable island.
Even though she was agreeing to imprison herself she nodded again. Taking in a deep breath for courage, the novice met the eyes of the high priestess and spoke in a clear voice, "I understand."
"Do you?" the high priestess questioned.
"Yes," she said in a small voice that belied her fear.
"This is the only way for Avalon to survive as the world changes. It is the only thing that will keep us alive, until..."
"Until when?"
"Until the King returns."
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