Lady Knight by L J Baker Page A

Not
for the first time, she doubted that it could be blasphemy to make the
mind-freeing syrup taste nice. After all, it was only a tool to allow the
priestess to receive the Goddess’s message. In no ways did it interfere with the
communication. Nor would a little honey.
    “Lady of Creation, I am ready to be your vessel,” she said. “Wise Mother, reveal
to me what you will, knowing that I will hear and obey if you appear to me as
the Lady of Destiny or if you turn your dread Dark Face on your servant. I’ll
try to understand and be worthy of your gift.”
    Aveline closed her eyes. Bitterness swamped her mouth. Her insides burned. The
searing pulsed around the shadow-fist clenched inside her chest. Her heart beat
faster. Her neck grew weak, and her head felt as heavy as lead. Aveline let her
head sag forwards. Her loose hair brushed her forearm and trailed in the pool
around her wrist. The world swayed beneath her. The water tightened around her
fist. Squeezed her. Crushing. Sucking her down.
    Aveline opened her eyes. She lay on her back. The stars swirled above her in a
frenzied dance. With practiced discipline, she resisted the natural urge to
struggle to focus and fight against a world gone awry. Instead, Aveline let it
wash over her and through her. She was part of the All. After this ritual, she
would understand another fragment of it. The sickening lurches, the way the
trees seemed to bend down to stab their branches at her, and the bucking of the
grassy ground beneath her body were the birth pangs of knowledge beyond most
mortal comprehension.
    Aveline’s body spasmed as the whole of creation tore through her. She heard her
own cry dying on her lips.
    Aveline woke with a gasp. Her every sinew ached. Her mouth tasted of vomit. She
resisted the pulls of the mundane world as her trained mind clutched at the
elusive bubble that floated on the periphery of understanding.
    Death. She saw death. Blood. A limp hand. A shining sword blade.
    Aveline squeezed her eyes shut as she strove to snatch hold of slippery meaning.
    The sword. The hilt. It was the gift sword. The one she had given to Riannon.
    Aveline opened her eyes. What did this mean? What did the Lady of Destiny try to
tell her?
    Aveline groaned as she rolled onto her side and levered herself to her knees.
Sour bile stained her shoulder from where she had vomited. She offered a prayer
of thanks before scooping up a handful of water to rinse her mouth. She was
careful to spit on the grass and let no drop taint the pool.
    “You honour me, Wise Mother.” Aveline traced a blessing over the ground and made
sure her precious glass bottle sat securely in her purse. “I could wish you had
bestowed powers of mind on me with a more liberal hand. Then I might have been
better able to grasp your meaning.”
    Aveline stumbled back on trembling legs to her guest chamber. She loosened the
lacing on her robe and let it fall to the floor. The priestess murmured and
stirred when Aveline climbed into bed. Aveline gently disengaged the arm that
snaked across her stomach. Too warm. The young priestess relaxed back into
sleep.
    Aveline lay awake trying to recapture fragments of vision. She had heard cheers.
A victory? A battle won? Could the Goddess, in her guise as the Lady of Destiny,
be showing Aveline something of her crusade? Might this be another divine
blessing for her far-reaching plans to sweep the infidels from the captured land
of Evriat? Believers must reclaim and re-consecrate the lost holy places,
especially the Cave of the Pool in Limeon in northern Evriat. Then priestesses
could again draw power from the holiest of waters formed in the depression where
the Goddess once slept on earth. With that magical power at its command, the
order could unleash on those accursed unbelievers the full wrath of the Lady of
Creation. The glory of the Goddess would shine bright amongst the gods, and her
mortal daughters might gain respect for more than their skills at midwifery