Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley Page A

from the southern shore halfway across the island. As Lhiannon took a deep breath of air rich with the scent of vegetation and a hint of the sea, the swoop of a gull drew her gaze across the marshes. Something was moving among the reedbeds. She recognized the stately stalk of a heron, gray feathers sheened with blue in the sun. A flotilla of ducks and terns moved into view on the open water that gleamed beyond, feathered rumps pointing skyward as they dove. Humans were not the only ones to find a good harvest here. The wind tugged at her veil and she unpinned it, letting her fine hair fly free as Boudica’s. Tonight both would have a mass of tangles, but they could help each other with the snarls.
    From ahead came the deep rumbling of male laughter where the kings marched together. After them came the Arch-Druid, flanked by Ardanos and Cunitor, with young Bendeigid leading the gentle mare that carried Mearan. The High Priestess was the only one of them who was riding. These days the pain in her hip made walking difficult. Lhi-annon suspected other ills that the older woman hid, but none of them dared to question her.
    As Lhiannon watched, Ardanos dropped back to speak to Mearan. She shook her head and he looked up with a worried frown that wrenched Lhiannon’s heart. Oh my dear, of course she is in pain, but she will never admit it to you … But she loved him for trying. Since the aborted tryst at the Beltane fires there had been a constraint between them. He said he understood why she had not come, but she saw the hurt in his eyes and did not dare try to heal it until she was certain she understood what the Goddess wanted of her.
    From behind she could hear an irregular clop of hooves and a jingling of harness from the ponies that carried the offerings. The island had few roads fit for wagons, and there were places where even laden horses could not go. It was a roundabout way that would take them to the sacrificial pool, but on such a fine, sunny day, Lhiannon found it hard to care.
    Just past noon they crossed the stream that fed the marsh and turned westward. Thick woodlands shrank to tangles of gorse that clung to scattered outcrops of gray stone, and r eed-edged rivulets drained the land. As the day drew on, Lhiannon began to wish that she had spent more time in physical activity and less in meditation. She glared at Boudica, envying the girl’s limber, easy stride. Her back ached and her feet were sore.
    They halted at last in a hollow where a standing stone marked a narrow path turning off from the road. The sun was disappearing behind the gray mass of the holy mountain ahead of them, but to their left the ground fell away toward the sea. Nearer still a small lake reflected a translucent sky.
    “Sit, child,” said Lhiannon, waving at Boudica, who had climbed the outcrop to get a better view. “It makes me tired to watch you.” Lhi-annon eased back against a boulder and stretched out her legs with a sigh as the girl slid down again.
    “Is that the sacred pool?” she asked, pointing down the hill.
    “That is the pool we call the Mother,” answered Lhiannon. “The Daughter lies farther along, protected from casual view. We will seek her fasting, at dawn.”
    “But we’ll eat tonight, won’t we?” asked Bendeigid, who had wandered over to join them. Ardanos and Cunitor were helping Mearan off the horse and leading her to a seat covered with folded cloaks. Though she smiled in thanks, she looked pale.
    “If it were up to Lugovalos, we would not,” Lhiannon answered, “but even the Arch-Druid will not require such s elf-denial of kings. Console yourself with the thought of the meat we’ll feast on tomorrow. If we are to get any dinner at all this evening we had best get busy now.” She levered herself to her feet and hobbled over to the firepit.
    Some of the men had already set up tall fire-dogs of wrought iron to suspend the riveted bronze cauldron and gotten a fire going beneath it. Lhiannon stood over