authority sprang from her dream, a dream she shared with Merlin, but one that she would never compromise as Merlin would. Nimue was for all or she was for nothing. She would rather have seen the whole earth die in the cold of a Godless void than yield one inch to those who would dilute her image of a perfect Britain devoted to its own British Gods. And now, kneeling before me, she was, I knew, judging whether I was worthy to be a part of that fervent dream.
She made her decision and moved closer to me. "Give me your left hand," she said.
I held it out.
She held my hand palm uppermost in her left hand, then spoke a charm. I recognized the names of Camulos, the War God, of Manawydan fab Llyr, Nimue's own Sea God, of Agrona, the Goddess of Slaughter, and of Aranrhod the Golden, the Goddess of the Dawn, but most of the names and words were strange and they were spoken in such an hypnotic voice that I was lulled and comforted, careless of what Nimue said or did until suddenly she slashed the knife across my palm and then, startled, I cried out. She hushed me. For a second the knife-cut lay thin across my hand, then blood welled up.
She cut her own left palm in the same way that she had cut mine, then placed the cut over mine and gripped my nerveless fingers with her own. She dropped the knife and hitched up a corner of her cloak which she wrapped hard around the two bleeding hands. "Derfel," she said softly, 'so long as your hand is scarred and so long as mine is scarred, we are one. Agreed?"
I looked into her eyes and knew this was no small thing, no childhood game, but an oath that would bind me throughout this world and maybe into the next. For a second I was terrified of all that was to come, then I nodded and somehow managed to speak. "Agreed," I said.
"And so long as you carry the scar, Derfel," she said, 'your life is mine, and so long as I carry the scar, my life is yours. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," I said. My hand throbbed. It felt hot and swollen while her hand felt tiny and chill in my bloody grip.
"One day, Derfel," Nimue said, "I will call on you, and if you do not come then the scar will mark you to the Gods for a false friend, a traitor and an enemy."
"Yes," I said.
She looked at me in silence for a few seconds, then crawled up on to the pile of furs and blankets where she curled herself into my arms. It was awkward to lie together for our two left hands were still bound, but somehow we made ourselves comfortable and then lay still. Voices sounded outside and dust drifted in the high dark chamber where the bats slept and the kittens hunted. It was cold, but Nimue pulled a pelt over the two of us and then she slept with her body's small weight numbing my right arm. I lay awake, filled with awe and confusion over what the knife had caused between us.
She woke in the middle of the afternoon. "Gundleus has gone," she said sleepily, though how she knew I do not know, then she extricated herself from my grip and from the tangled furs before unwrapping the cloak that was still twisted around our hands. The blood had crusted and the scabs tore painfully away from our wounds as we pulled apart. Nimue crossed to the sheaf of spears and scooped up a handful of cobwebs that she slapped on to my bleeding palm. "It'll heal soon," she said carelessly, and then, with her own cut hand wrapped in a scrap of cloth, she found some bread and cheese. "Aren't you hungry?" she asked.
"Always."
We shared the meal. The bread was dry and hard, and the cheese had been nibbled by mice. At least Nimue thought it was mice. "Maybe the bats chewed it," she said. "Do bats eat cheese?"
"I don't know," I said, then hesitated. "Was it a tame bat?" I meant the animal that she had tied into her hair. I had seen such things before, of course, but Merlin would never talk of them, nor would his acolytes, but I suspected the odd ceremony of our
She made her decision and moved closer to me. "Give me your left hand," she said.
I held it out.
She held my hand palm uppermost in her left hand, then spoke a charm. I recognized the names of Camulos, the War God, of Manawydan fab Llyr, Nimue's own Sea God, of Agrona, the Goddess of Slaughter, and of Aranrhod the Golden, the Goddess of the Dawn, but most of the names and words were strange and they were spoken in such an hypnotic voice that I was lulled and comforted, careless of what Nimue said or did until suddenly she slashed the knife across my palm and then, startled, I cried out. She hushed me. For a second the knife-cut lay thin across my hand, then blood welled up.
She cut her own left palm in the same way that she had cut mine, then placed the cut over mine and gripped my nerveless fingers with her own. She dropped the knife and hitched up a corner of her cloak which she wrapped hard around the two bleeding hands. "Derfel," she said softly, 'so long as your hand is scarred and so long as mine is scarred, we are one. Agreed?"
I looked into her eyes and knew this was no small thing, no childhood game, but an oath that would bind me throughout this world and maybe into the next. For a second I was terrified of all that was to come, then I nodded and somehow managed to speak. "Agreed," I said.
"And so long as you carry the scar, Derfel," she said, 'your life is mine, and so long as I carry the scar, my life is yours. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," I said. My hand throbbed. It felt hot and swollen while her hand felt tiny and chill in my bloody grip.
"One day, Derfel," Nimue said, "I will call on you, and if you do not come then the scar will mark you to the Gods for a false friend, a traitor and an enemy."
"Yes," I said.
She looked at me in silence for a few seconds, then crawled up on to the pile of furs and blankets where she curled herself into my arms. It was awkward to lie together for our two left hands were still bound, but somehow we made ourselves comfortable and then lay still. Voices sounded outside and dust drifted in the high dark chamber where the bats slept and the kittens hunted. It was cold, but Nimue pulled a pelt over the two of us and then she slept with her body's small weight numbing my right arm. I lay awake, filled with awe and confusion over what the knife had caused between us.
She woke in the middle of the afternoon. "Gundleus has gone," she said sleepily, though how she knew I do not know, then she extricated herself from my grip and from the tangled furs before unwrapping the cloak that was still twisted around our hands. The blood had crusted and the scabs tore painfully away from our wounds as we pulled apart. Nimue crossed to the sheaf of spears and scooped up a handful of cobwebs that she slapped on to my bleeding palm. "It'll heal soon," she said carelessly, and then, with her own cut hand wrapped in a scrap of cloth, she found some bread and cheese. "Aren't you hungry?" she asked.
"Always."
We shared the meal. The bread was dry and hard, and the cheese had been nibbled by mice. At least Nimue thought it was mice. "Maybe the bats chewed it," she said. "Do bats eat cheese?"
"I don't know," I said, then hesitated. "Was it a tame bat?" I meant the animal that she had tied into her hair. I had seen such things before, of course, but Merlin would never talk of them, nor would his acolytes, but I suspected the odd ceremony of our
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