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"KNIGHTS OF DANU"
A Sailor Moon "Elsetimes" by Dave Menard
Sailor Moon and all associated characters are the creations of
Naoko Takeuchi, and I've made no money off this story, nor
will I ever. Please be a responsible reader and buy the
originals first!
AUTHORS NOTES FOLLOW THE STORY
CHAPTER TWO:
The small feline jumped back as though he had been
scalded. "Aie! Must you yelp so loudly, girl? These ears of
mine are sensitive, know you!" The little tom covered his ears
with both forepaws, a gesture so absurd-looking that Gwendolyn
let out a short giggle, despite herself.
"I'm sorry, I... Whit am I sayin'? Ye're a boggart or
somesuch, that's what ye be! Keep yer distance!" She began to
fumble around in the hay. "I ken there be some cold iron nails
hereabouts..."
The cat gave a very human sigh and sprang up into her
lap, bringing a yelp of alarm from the girl. He sneezed again
and began to groom himself nonchalantly as Gwendolyn trembled.
"Look you, girl, I've no time for such silliness. We've a
quest to undertake, me and thee."
"W-we do?"
"Aye. The Dark Lady stirs in her prison, and sends her
Huntsmen abroad 'mongst mortal men to reap the souls that feed
her dark appetites. 'Tis to you, Daughter of the Old Blood,
that the duty of her defeat falls."
"M-me? But I'm naught but an ignorant farm-girl!
'Daughter of the Old Blood' indeed. I've Saxon blood in me, as
ye can nae doubt tell frae these pale locks. Are ye sure ye're
not in search of Mistress Morgaine? She's pale and dark, like
the wee folk o' the hills."
"Nay, 'tis most certainly yourself I am seeking, girl.
The Queen was most explicit in her instructions. 'Seek ye the
girl with the golden mane, it is she who will be my first
Knight.'"
"A Queen wants me? As a knight?" Flashes of tales the
bards sang, of magical princesses and noble knights and fierce
dragons appeared in Gwendolyn's head. "Ye mean, I'm...
special?"
"Aye, truly. Here, take ye this." And with that, the
little black cat leapt into the air, flipping head over tail
with a sound like the tinkling of faerie bells. When he
landed, a golden bracelet lay in Gwendolyn's lap.
It was cunningly wrought, as though woven from a hundred
strands of golden thread, and sized to slip onto the wrist of
a maiden. Three tiny beads of pale moonstone accented the
piece, and seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the
hayloft.
"Och... 'Tis lovely! I cannae... People will think I've
stolen it!" Nevertheless, she held it reverently in her hands,
turning it over and over gently, as though it were made of
spun glass.
"Nay, girl. 'Tis bound with an enchantment that none but
yourself and others whom my Lady has called will take notice
of it. Here now, why do you not try it on?"
"Can I?"
"YES! Foolish girl, did I not say it was made for you
alone? Go on, put it on!"
"I... I dinnae ken. Mother always told me tae be wary o'
faerie-gifts... But och, 'tis so beautiful..."
Dreamily, she slid the bauble over her right wrist. It
fit-
"As though t'were made for me..."
"Did I not say as much? Now, meet me back out here at
moonrise, and we shall talk some more."
"A-aye. Moonrise, then..." Gwendolyn whispered dreamily,
still entranced by the delicate bracelet.
**********************
Morgaine was quietly furious. She had risen early, ridden
hard, and now she was being made to wait!
Oh, she knew exactly what kind of power games the
Priestesses of the Cult of Mercury were playing; she'd been
taught the same techniques herself on the Isle. It galled her,
however, to be made the victim of one of her own tricks.
Still, she thought, looking around, there are worse
places to wile away a few hours than the guest rooms of a
Roman temple. She was seated on a plushly-upholstered fainting
couch softer than the finest furs; richly-embroidered
tapestries (rare concessions to the cooler climate of
Britannia) depicting wonders of myth adorned the walls,
covering the polished imported marble. A private bath with hot
running water lay inside a small antechamber, with perfumed
oils and fragrant soaps that she had guiltily availed herself
of when she'd first arrived to wash the road-dust from her
body. Her sober grey robes, already dusty from her encounter
with Seamus that morning, had been taken from her by slaves,
and replaced with fine smoky silks, imported from the
marketplaces of Byzantium. A pitcher of chilled wine and
assorted fruits adorned a low table beside the couch.
Oh, she wanted to curse the decadence of the Romans, but
she had to grudgingly admit that Romanitas had its comforts,
and those comforts were at times simply... wonderful.
At the exact moment she was about to storm out and go
home, meeting be damned, a Mercurian novice announced herself
at the suite door.
"Mistress Morgaine?" The novice asked in flawless Latin.
"The Priestess will see you now."
Finally! She wanted to scream. Instead she clamped down
on those pesky impulses and simply stood and nodded, following
the novice out of the room and down the hall.
The novice escorting her didn't have the dusky skin one
would expect of a purebred Roman. She was instead
pale-skinned, like Morgaine herself, slender and fine-boned.
Her hair was shoulder length and straight, and so black it
were almost blue. She looked like a Gaul, actually; straighter
of hair and slightly taller than a Briton, but definitely of
Celtic blood.
"Pardon me fer askin' but... are ye Gaulish, novice?"
"I am a citizen of the Empire, like yourself, Mistress,"
the novice said with the smallest hint of reproach, "but my
mother's people are from Burgundia, yes." Her voice was quiet,
and cultured, which made Morgaine a little self-conscious
about her thick accent. Still, she thought to herself with a
snort. 'Citizen of the Empire' my arse. If it wasn't for the
dire straits she found herself in, she'd never even
_contemplate_ this meeting, Roman "comforts" be damned.
They passed the rest of the short journey in silence,
coming to the temple house's peristyle, an open courtyard
encircled by a ring of marble columns in the doric style.
Impractical, considering the often-cold British climate, but
very in-keeping with the Roman style of the edifice. How like
the Romans, Morgaine thought, to expect the elements to
conform to their expectations, rather than building to suit.
At the centre of the peristyle waited the High Priestess
of Mercury, surrounded by attendants. She was in the process
of reading a scroll, laughing occasionally while commenting to
her attentive audience. Morgaine, unused to the lack of
coverage afforded by the silk robes she wore, shivered
slightly in the brisk wind.
Handing off her scroll to a novice, the Priestess
straightened. She was a tall, proud woman, dressed in layered
silks not unlike Morgaine's borrowed ones; save instead of
somber grey, the Priestess was bedecked in multiple shades of
blue, from a midnight blue so dark it might have been Imperial
purple to a pale cerulean that reminded Morgaine of nothing so
much as the woad with which the priestesses of the Isle
painted themselves on holy days. She bore in her left hand a
staff of silver, encircled by twining serpents; the Cadeuceus,
symbol of Mercury.
"Greetings, Lady Morgaine." The Priestess stood,
gesturing grandly with her free hand. "We welcome a fellow
servant of the gods to our temple."
"The Lady's blessings be apon ye as well, sister."
Morgaine responded ritually. The High Priestess smiled
condescendingly and gestured for Morgaine to join her on the
dais. A small, upholstered stool was brought out, and Morgaine
sat down. "I've come tae discuss-"
"Tsk, tsk. Patience, Morgaine dear. surely we've enough
time for a few pleasantries?"
Morgaine swallowed her retort, and nodded. "Aye, I
suppose-"
"Good. Now, Tell me about yourself, child, and your
charges."
"My charges?"
"Yes, the citizens of East Crown. Are they well?"
"Aye, I-"
"Good, good. No elements seditious to the just and true
government of the Prefect?"
"Ah, er-" Morgaine flushed. Many families in East Crown
stood behind Bouddica the rebel a generation ago, and had paid
for their patriotism with their lands, and in many cases their
lives. "We are as loyal to Rome as any Briton, Lady." Morgaine
was beginning to believe that this expedition was a mistake.
The Cult were always heavily involved in espionage; the
function of being servants of a god of knowledge, trickery and
travellers. Yet she had hoped that... Argh. "Lady, I'm afraid
what I wanted tae discuss wit' ye goes beyond heads of state.
The Christians-"
The Priestess sighed. "Ah yes, the Christians.
Troublesome. Disloyal to the Empire."
"Aye, that they are." Morgaine nodded. She'd heard that
they refused to kneel to the so-called Divine Emperor, and
that made certain factions in the Imperial bureaucracy
nervous. "And yet, more troublin' than that, Lady, is their
rejection o' the gods. With each year, their number grows
greater, an' our flocks smaller. There may come a day when
they are a force on the world stage. An' what then, will
become o' us, I ask ye?"
The Priestess was silent for a moment. "You speak truer
than you know, Morgaine. Though the tales of the gods have
always been cyclical, with the young gods usurping the old, we
have no interest in seeing that happen in our lifetimes. I
fear that without the favour of the gods, then the Empire may
fall..." She paused, then looked wryly at Morgaine. "Not so
terrible a prospect to some, eh, child?"
Morgaine had the good grace at least to look shocked.
"Lady! I dinnae ken what ye-"
"Oh, pish-posh. Like most barbarians, you'd like nothing
better than to see the back of Rome. Don't bother to deny it,
it's written plainly on your face. We are aware of the
rebellious sympathies of many of your charges, Morgaine, and
to be perfectly frank, so long as sympathies is _all_ they
remain, we couldn't give a fig. The Prefect informs me that
your village's taxes are paid on time, in full, every year,
and that conscripts from your village are no more or less
troublesome than those taken from anywhere else in Brittania.
So long as that remains true, then you have naught to fear
from Rome.
"Oh, is that so?" Morgaine fought unsuccessfully to keep
the sarcasm from her voice.
"Yes, it is. The Pax Romana is meant to be kept, and Rome
shall not be the one to break it, lest we are provoked. Look
at it this way: you may see us as wolves at your door; but a
friendly wolf is as good as a sheepdog at keeping predators at
bay. The Saxon barbarians pose more of a threat to Britons
than Romans, dear girl. It is the threat of Roman steel that
keeps them from your shores, not fear of painted savages."
"Painted-?! Look ye, I-" Morgaine abruptly stood, keeping
her temper in check. "Fergive me, Lady. I thought that we
might speak o' a common foe; instead, we argue like children
squabblin' fer a crust o' bread. I'll take my leave of ye,
then."
"Hold!" the Priestess called, an amused smile on her
painted lips. Morgaine paused, glaring back at her host.
"Morgaine, wait. I have been too long away from the center of
the Empire; I miss the debate and argument of court. It is an
old habit, I pray, forgive me. Come, let us speak not of
Romanitas, but of souls. Please, sit back down..."
Morgaine sat back down hesitantly. "Lady, I've nae
interest in re-openin' old feuds wit' ye. Let us speak
plainly, hmm?" The older woman nodded. "Both our orders have
the same enemy. Does it nae make sense tae try and deal wit'
that threat together?"
"Yes, yes it does. In truth, that is why I agreed to meet
with you. I have given your proposal some thought, and I shall
send a representative of the Cult with you back to your
village."
"An envoy, o' sorts? Fergive me, but what good will that
accomplish? We need tae develop a joint strategy, not play
house!"
"Yes, I agree. That is precisely _why_ I need to send you
an envoy. I haven't the time to pursue this on my own; I've my
duties to Mercury and the Empire, and they demand much of my
time. My daughter, Ambrosia, is more than capable of assisting
you in formulating stratagems to keep what is ours. She is
very learned, and indeed, it was largely due to her insistence
that I agreed to this meeting."
Morgaine cocked an eyebrow. "Truly? Then where is she?"
The novice who had conducted Morgaine to the peristyle
stepped forward. Actually, she had been so silent that
Morgaine had honestly forgotten she was still there. "I am
Novice Ambrosia. At your service, Mistress Morgaine. I have
prepared some documents for your perusal that we may go over
together at your convenience. Additionally, I have attempted
to familiarize myself with the rituals and rites of your
faith, so that I might assist you in the performance of your
duties."
"I- ah." Morgaine was speechless.
***********************
Nightfall. And Gwendolyn was paralysed in her bed. When
she'd agreed to the strange faerie-cat's request, she hadn't
thought of how she'd sneak past Seamus and her parents, whose
beds were directly across from her own in the shared bedroom.
True to the Tom's word, no one had taken note of her
wondrous bracelet, not even Seamus; although he had teased her
about why she kept staring at what was to all appearances a
bare wrist. Her father had frowned, but said little. Sean was
a taciturn man, after all, and his wife Cedda, he said, spoke
enough words for him and four other men combined. The
conversation around the dinner table had been sparse, save for
Cedda's unending monologue on the local gossip, and her
scolding of Seamus for teasing Gwen.
She'd gone to bed early, hoping to catch an hour or two
of slumber before her appointment with Tom, but she was,
remarkably, too keyed up to sleep. She lay there, nervously
listening to Seamus's regular breathing and the rumbling
snores of her father. Eventually, the rhythmic, rumbling
seashore sounds lulled her, despite her best efforts, to
sleep. It was inevitable, really. The sandman and Gwendolyn
were old friends.
So it was that Gwendolyn, and the rest of the household,
were awakened by a horrible, gargling yodel at the window.
"Seven bluidy hells!" Sean cursed, fumbling around for a
heavy object to throw, "Blasted cat!" With a grunt, he lobbed
a boot at the window, which of course bounced off the sill and
klonked Gwendolyn in the head, disturbing the caterwauling tom
not at all.
"Ow! Father! Careful!"
"Sorry, little rabbit. Could ye shoo the beastie away?
Thrice-damned tomcat..." he grumbled, still half asleep.
"Aye, I'll jest- Tomcat? Ach, nae!" Gwendolyn leapt out
of bed, her bruised noggin forgotten. "Tom!"
"Whassat, little one?" her mother mumbled. "Who's Tom?"
"Ah! Er-" Gwendolyn cudgled her brain for a response.
"Ah, one o' the barncats is in heat, but she's jest weaned a
litter o' kittens, an' I dinnae want her tae get pregnant agin
so soon... There's been a tom prowlin' around lately, I'll
jest go shoo him away, then," she temporized, struggling into
a pair of britches she used for mucking around, throwing a
cloak over her shoulder.
"Fine, fine... Jest hurry back," Cedda muttered.
"Take me pitchfork an' kill tha' bluidy tom! I swear,
sounds like the banesidhe howlin' an' carryin' on like
that..." Sean groused, rolling over.
"Father!" Gwen yelped, shocked. Nevertheless, she
scrambled out of the house, only managing to bark her shins a
half-dozen times before she stumbled out into the yard.
"Tom? Pss pss pss... C'mere, Tom!" she called into the
darkness. The ghastly yodeling ceased, and she soon felt a
small furry body rub up aginst her abused shin.
"Finally! You sleep like the dead, Gwennie-girl!"
"Aye, but ye were moanin' fit to wake them! Could ye not
have found a quieter way to get me attention? Ye woke me
father, an' he's a right bear when he's tired."
Tom gave another of his sneezing laughs, and darted
ahead. "Come now, we've much to do, and not long to do it in!
Follow me!" He dashed off into the night.
"To-om!" Gwendolyn whined, "Wait! I cannae see ye in this
darkness! Where-" she was silenced as the clouds suddenly
cleared, unhooding the lantern of the moon. All of a sudden,
the fields of her family's farm were a magical fairyland,
mirror-silvered and gleaming. The tiny black cat was like a
single fleck of ash in a bowl of clotted cream, so easily
could she see him against the enchanted backdrop. With a gasp
of awe at her surroundings, Gwendolyn took off after the
little cat, who was already dissappearing into the woods at
the edge of the farm.
Like in a dream, it seemed that she ran after Tom for
hours, while in truth only seconds passed before they arrived
in the concealing trees at the edge of the village. Reflected
moonlight lit the hills so that it seemed almost as bright as
day. Eventually, they reached a small clearing within the
woods. In the centre of the clearing was a apir of weathered
stones.
The weathered granite bore an aura of agelessness in the
twilight, and seemed to shine for a moment like the moonstones
in her bracelet. One of the stones listed slightly to the left
like a drunkard, supported by the shorter, stouter stone at
his feet. The small stone was squared off, and though
overgrown with moss and lichen, still visibly bore a carved
male visage in the ancient style.
"A Druid circle?" Gwendolyn whispered to her feline
companion.
"Nay, older still than that ancient order. These stones
were once part of a temple that crumbled while the Druids were
but the dreams of men yet to be born. Still, it _is_ a holy
place, to be sure. Take your ease at the base of the leaning
stone and make yourself comfortable, for I've much to tell
you."
Gwendolyn did as she was bade, arranging her cloak to
keep the dew off. Once she stopped squirming, Tom began, in a
resonant voice and rhythmic cadence that certainly gave
credence to his claims of bardic training.
"Long, long ago, before the Romans came, before the
Britons came to these isles, before the people of the hills
were driven from the good lands we now occupy by the giants,
there was a wondrous kingdom.
"The kingdom was called Ys, and it was ruled by a just
and wise Queen, whose name, Danu, meant Serenity in the Old
Speech. Great was her beauty, long was her reign, and glorious
were her people's accomplishments.
"They were mighty in battle, yet accomplished also at the
peaceful arts. They were a seafaring kingdom, and traded with
many lands. They traded with the dusky people of the far
south, whose jewelled cities are now but ghostly memories in
the hearts of jungles. They traded with the yellow people in
the east, in lands so far distant that the Romans only know
them as whispered rumours. They traded with strange brown
tribes in the west, who built vast temples out of purest gold.
And though these peoples had many wonders and great magics at
their commands, greater still were the people of Ys.
"The land of Ys was green and pleasant, and her cities
sparkled like stars fallen to earth, and their spires and
towers rose high above the clouds, and no one atall went idle
or hungry, for honest work was available to all men and women,
and food was plentiful.
"And the land of Ys had a princess, whose name was also
Serenity, for she would someday reign in her mother's stead."
"Was she beautiful?" Gwendolyn interjected, enraptured by
the story.
"Oh, aye, she was. As radiant as the sun, and wise as the
moon, and as clever as the salmon who swallowed morning. And
she was a great warrior, and gathered about herself eight
Companions, women of great valour and beauty and magics, and
together they went forth a-questing and doing great deeds. It
was they who laid low the great giants Gog and Magog; they who
destroyed the dragon with seven heads, and fought against the
Darkness from beyond the stars and sent it howling back to the
void."
"Was she happy?" Gwendolyn asked, hugging her knees.
"Yes, for she had a great love, the kind that shakes the
thrones of the Gods and brings joy to all who witness it. Her
lover was the Prince of Atlantis. He too was brave, and
valiant, and he had four great warriors at his side. And they,
like the Princess' band, went out into the world and did
wondrous deeds. It was they who brought low the serpent at the
edge of the world, and brought his golden apples back for
Serenity's bride-price. They who taught the arts of
horsemanship to the people of the hills, and made them the
mighty archers they are today, and t'was they who slew the
great boar in the jungles of the south, and fed forty hosts
with its flesh.
"And there were many who thought that the kingdom of Ys
would be forever, for was it not the greatest land that ever
was? Were its people not the most beautiful? Was her army not
the fiercest? But like the wheat of the field, there comes a
time when it has become ripe and golden, and that is the time
when it will fall.
"The Queen had once had her own band of warriors, and
they no longer went forth good great and marvelous deeds, for
they now practiced the arts of statecraft. Of all her
companions, best-loved was the Lady Bavd, who had stood by her
queen since both were in swaddling clothes.
"Bavd was the fiercest of the Queen's eight companions,
and great was her skill in battle, surpassed only by her
magics and beauty, and she was well-loved by the people of Ys.
But like all mortals, she had a great weakness. She, like all
flesh, was a slave to fickle love.
"She was lusty, and passionate, and beautiful, and it
seemed there was not a man in creation whom she could not have
with the merest snap of her fingers. All save one.
"Apon a time, she happened to set her eyes on the Prince
of Atlantis, and she was instantly smitten with his manly
beauty, as were many women of the court. However, unlike her
fellow courtiers, she vowed she would let no woman claim him,
save she herself.
"At first, she worked her wiles in secret. An attempt at
seduction here, some love-magics there, but the Prince loved
only the Princess Serenity, and so strong was their love that
he could entertain no feelings of affection or even base lust
for any but her. And so Bavd grew jealous, and angry, and
spiteful, and she betrayed her Queen.
"Bavd made a pact with the Darkness of the Void, and
freed the ravening blackness from its prison. In return, she
was granted Power and Immortality, and with those gifts she
made war apon Ys.
Her allies were the Formor, and fierce and terrible a
race were they. With her also stood the giants, and the
dragons, and the loathly worms that burrow beneath the world.
And her Generals were the Prince's four companions, whom she
ensorcelled to do her bidding.
And so, the land of Ys was laid low, her people
scattered. Some travelled to distant lands, taking their magic
into hiding. Some settled in Eire, where they took their
revenge upon the Formor, who made their homes there. And some
came here, to Brittania, and married the native folk. You,
Gwendolyn Ap Iowerth, have the Old Blood, the blood of Ys, and
it sings in your veins. Indeed, many do, yet do not know it.
"B-but what about the Princess?" Gwendolyn asked in a
hushed whisper. "And her Prince? Did they die?"
"Princess Serenity and her companions fought long, and
hard. And if it were any but Bavd's Chieftains who attacked
them, they would certainly have prevailed. But the Companions
were loathe to slay their old friends, enchanted or no, and so
the battle was lost. Yet not without cost to Bavd.
"Her Chieftains were defeated, and once they fell, her
troops were in disarray. Serenity's forces were able to
overcome them, but at great cost; for the land Ys was stripped
of magic, and her people had been scattered. The land was no
more, and was swallowed by the sea.
"With her kingdom fallen, Serenity had but enough power
for one great magic left to her. She could slay Bavd, and rid
the world of her forever, or she could restore her beloved
daughter and her companions to life. To do both would surely
kill her.
"Yet Serenity's greatest gift was her loving nature, and
she could not bring herself to sacrifice either her daughter
nor the life of her old friend, traitorous though she was.
Instead she wove a great magic that sealed Bavd and her
Generals away in the Void, not dead yet not alive. With her
last strength, she returned her daughter and her companions to
the wheel of fate, so that someday, when she was needed most,
she would rise again to defeat the Dark Lady for all time.
"That time, Gwendolyn, is now. The Dark Lady stirs, and
seeks a way out of her prison. I have determined that you,
child, are one of Princess Serenity's Companions reborn, one
of the Knights of Danu."
"Perhaps," a cruelly mirthful voice spoke from overhead.
Tom and Gwen turned in shock, to see the slender form of a man
floating overhead!
He was lean and beautiful, and terrible in that beauty;
silvery hair spiked back in a warrior's crest like the heroes
of old. His eyes glittered like flint, and he bore a swirling
grey cloak about his shoulders, obscuring the pauldrons of his
black armour. In his one visible hand he bore a spear as
beautiful and as deadly as the man himself; all a-glitter with
silver and sharp edges.
Tom hissed a word that sounded like a curse, fur
bristling, tail rigid, tiny fangs bared. "Nuada!"
The silver man laughed menacingly. "It has been so very
long since any have spoken my name with such delicious terror
in their voices. I have missed it. Do it again."
"Tom! Who _is_ this man?" Gwendolyn yelped, back to the
leaning stone.
"This is no man, but one of Bavd's Chieftains, girl!
Quickly! Invoke your power!"
"No, I don't think she will, little beast," Nuada
chuckled, pointing his awful spear at the cowering girl.
"Danu's Circle is broken for all time, and will remain
broken!"
Shimmering bands of living starlight began to gather
about the tip of the fearsome spear, fulminating energies
crackling and sparking as they built to a crescendo of white
annihilation. Softly, like a priestess' blessing, the silver
man spoke again.
"At last... an ending."
The coruscating energies lanced forward, knocking Gwen
off her feet and shattering the ancient standing stone. With a
scream, Gwendolyn flew backward across the clearing, colliding
with a stout oak with a meaty thud, sliding bonelessly to the
ground a moment later.
"Gwen!" Tom cried in mingled sorrow and fear as he raced
to her side, heedless of the laughing Chieftain. "Gwendolyn,
girl! Speak to me, come on lass, speak to me!" A rattling hiss
is all that issued from the girl's mouth, followed by a cough
and a trickle of dark blood. Tears rose in golden feline eyes
as he nudged her unmoving cheek with his nose. "You can't die
now, child; the People need you, your Queen needs you, please,
wake!"
Gwendolyn's eyes fluttered, opening a hairsbreadth; the
cornflower-blue orbs whirled, barely focussing on Tom.
"T-tom..? I-" she coughed up another trickle of blood and
fluid, tears streaming from eyes bright with pain. "I'm
s-sorry Tom, I guess... I'm nae special... after all..."
"Nonesense, child! Simply speak the words, and you shall
be healed! Your verse of power! Say it!"
"B-but I... dinnae ken any verse..."
"Yes you do! You've always known, girl! Think!"
Gwendolyn tried, but the pain was so terrible, and she
was having trouble breathing, and her arms and legs were
growing numb and cold. Already she felt herself sinking into
the cool blackness in her mind.
"Please, Gwennie! Remember!" Tom hissed urgently, as the
Silver man began to float over towards the prone child,
another brilliant bolt growing on his spearpoint.
Strange words in a language long gone floated across
Gwendolyn's mind's eye, and she found that she could read
them, though she had no letters in the waking world. Her lips
could barely move as she spoke them, whispered them like a
benediction.
"By the Land and the Moon and my True Name, I claim my
power..." And Gwendolyn drew down the Moon.
There was then a titanic rushing sound, like the beating
of a thousand wings, and Tom and the Silver man were blown
back across the clearing.
Gwendolyn was borne up like a leaf on the wind as a white
light blazed from within her. The light was like a physical
thing, buffeting the clearing like a tornado, bearing her
aloft, laying her bare, body and soul. All at once, she was
ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn in reverse, restoring
and preserving rather than consuming. White flames burst from
her bracelet, licked up her arms, burning with sweet pain as
she felt her injuries flare away into nothingness, a cool
wholeness suffusing her being. Her mind and soul burned as
well, memories and knowledge flashed, just-remembered
fragments of a life lived and lost long ago springing whole
and complete to mind. And for a fraction of an instant, she
knew who and what she was for the first time, and joyful tears
rained down from eyes newly opened.
Bands of light and shadow seemed to form from deep within
her, enveloping her, transforming her. Greaves and bracers of
silver and pale moonstone blazed into being. A shining
breastplate polished mirror-bright was next, over which she
bore a tabard and kirtle of purest sky-blue; a cloak of the
same lustrous material billowed forth from mirrorsilver
epaulets attached to a silver torq around her neck. Lastly, a
polished moonstone sprung into being on her brow, centered in
a circlet of white gold.
Endless voices seemed to whisper and shout and weep and
cheer all at once in chorus, and the knight of the moon was
reborn.
She was a woman, no, Woman; bright and beautiful, dark
and mysterious. He countenance was majestic, imperious, yet
somehow also compassionate beyond reason. Though her
crystal-blue eyes blazed with white fire, they nonetheless
looked on Nuada with love and forgiveness. She extended a hand
to the silver man, as he struggled to rise, words in the Old
Speech coming easily to her lips.
"Nuada... Thomas has told me of what befell you and your
companions. Come, free yourself from Bavd's service; let us be
friends again, as we were in ancient times."
A look of terrible regret passed across Nuada's face for
a moment, but was just as quickly replaced with a sneer as he
slapped her hand away and vaulted back, spear at the ready
once more.
"I'll take no pity from one such as you! Too long was I
imprisoned in Darkness, it seems; I find a glimpse of the
Light after so long pains my eyes. The time has come to snuff
it out!" Another levin-bolt burst from the staff and hurtled
towards the Knight.
The Knight turned the blast aside with one of her
bracers, grunting lightly as the impact forced her back a step
or two. "Please, Nuada, it needn't be this way!"
"Ah, but it must, woman. Destiny is written for us, and
we can but play the parts She gives us, and play them well."
Changing tactics, he charged her, leaping like a salmon and
thrusting the point of his spear at her chest. She rolled
aside, kicking out and connecting with the spear, wrenching it
from Nuada's grasp and sending it flying across the clearing.
The action cost her some time, though, and in a twinkling he
was upon her, gauntleted hands closing about her throat, the
torq providing little in the way of an obstacle.
The Knight felt her past life's knowledge of hand to hand
combat flee from her mind as her assailant's grip grew ever-
tighter. An unwilling cry tore itself from her tortured throat
as she felt the icy fingers begin to crush her windpipe. A
savage glee was in the Chieftain's eyes as they bore into her
own, and she thought she could see other things in those
strangely-beautiful pools; pain, madness, and oddly enough...
resignation? He doesn't want to do this, she realized as dark
spots began to dance before her eyes, but he doesn't know how
to stop!
"Nuada... Please!" she croaked breathlessly. "You do not
have to..." The hands about her throat spasmed, and the
piercing gaze grew, for the briefest instant, sad beyond
measure.
"Ah, but you're wrong," he ground out through clenched
teeth in a voice as strangled as her own, "this is as it must
be-AARGH!"
Suddenly, the hands flew from her throat and Nuada sprang
off her, clutching at his side. A golden dart made of
mistletoe protruded from a chink in his armour. Both
combatants' eyes travelled back along the dart's trajectory,
to a pool of shadow on the edge of the clearing. There was the
briefest flash of wise golden eyes and a glimpse of a
spreading rack with seven tines; the glittering eyes seemed to
wink at the Knight as she clambered, coughing and gasping to
her feet, and then were gone.
With a snarl of rage at this unexpected interference,
Nuada gestured and his spear flew to his outstretched hand.
Two bolts of crackling silver energy followed the eyes into
the woods, but found only trees as targets. Cursing, he
whirled to face the Knight, who had found her feet at last.
"Nuada," she called, her voice still quavering and
hoarse, the words tinged with sadness, "I did not want this.
Three times have I asked, and three times have you refused. I
cannot let Bavd rise unopposed, you know this."
"It is as it must be, Lady Knight," Nuada inclined his
head in a nod. "My geas is to kill you and yours, and yours is
to prevent that from taking place. Shall we see then, whose
geas is the stronger?"
The Knight's eyes closed for a moment, brief tears
escaping before she opened them once more, and now there was
sadness there, but also determination.
"So be it." She touched her brow briefly, as if in
salute, and suddenly there was a glowing blade in her hand,
curved like the crescent moon, sickle-shaped and sharp. With a
cry, she hurled the weapon towards him, and he made no move to
dodge.
The weapon had returned to her hand before his body
collapsed to the ground, his head joining it a second later.
With a sigh that was half a sob, she turned away from the
silent, fading form.
Her silver raiment shimmered, then vanished, and
Gwendolyn was once more herself, and she collapsed, wailing,
to the ground.
Thomas padded gently over from his hiding place and nosed
her gently. "There now, Gwennie-girl, do you see? You did it,
you're safe-"
Gwendolyn clutched the little tom to her chest, tears
flowing freely. "Och, Tom, he didnae even move!!"
The little black cat blinked in confusion. "What do you
mean?"
"I mean... He just LET me- Och, by the Lady, why?"
"Maybe, maybe he wanted to die, child. He said himself-"
"I asked him an' asked him an' asked him again, but he
didnae want tae stop fightin'!"
"Gwennie... The Dark is like a sickness, a poison, and
the true tragedy of its servants is that by the time they
realize they are ill, the time for curing has passed. He- Ah,
me, I speak too much like a bard oftimes. Gwennie, look ye. Do
you know how the chirurgeons cauterize a wound, to keep it
from spreading disease to the healthy parts of the body?"
"A-aye, but whit does that hae ta do wit' _this_?"
"Nuada was an open wound, festering with poison and
death. He knew that unless the wound was cauterized, the
infection would spread, I... I think that, if it helps, that
he was at peace in the end."
"Nae, it doesnae help, Thomas. I feel as though I've
destroyed somethin' too precious tae be replaced. Is that what
bein' a Knight is all about, then? Destroyin' precious
things?"
"Preserving, child. A Knight preserves her People, and
they're precious as well."
**********
In the guest's quarters at the Temple of Mercury in
Dunmonia, Priestess Morgaine's eyes snapped open, a torrent of
syllables in the Old Speech tumbling from her mouth.
"The Circle is called, three and three and three will
they come until the Darkness rises and the People fall..."
The elderly slave-woman who slept at the foot of her bed
awoke with a start. "What was that, Mistress? How may I serve
you?"
Morgaine blinked twice, then shook her head to clear it.
A dream, she wondered? But what does it mean?
*********************
TO BE CONTINUED.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
The Sunken Land of Ys is a motif in Welsh mythology,
although not in the form described above; elements of Thomas'
story are drawn from Greek and Celtic mythology as well as
Naoko Takeuchi's original material.
Queen Bouddica of the Iceni, a.k.a. Boadicea, the Killer
Queen, led a tribe of Celts known as the Iceni who, along with
several neighbouring tribes, revolted agains Roman rule in 60
A.D. Although initially successful, her troops finally fell to
Roman legions, thanks in no small part to the legedary
discipline of the legions, who stood fast against thousands of
screaming, blue-painted and half-naked Celts.
Ambrosia is Ami/Amy. Mercury was a god of trickery and
stealth, but also a god of communication and arcane knowledge,
so it was a natural fit to make her an acolyte of his temple.
Her mother, who was a doctor in canon, become the High
Priestess and bears a Cadeuceus, Mercury's staff which has
become symbolic of physicians.
Danu does not, in fact, mean Serenity in any language
that I know of, but the name belongs to an Irish
mother-goddess who is sometimes identified with the Moon, so
there you go.
Nuada is of course Nephrite, but the name is taken from
an Irish hero/deity known as Nuada of the Silver Hand.
The mistletoe-slinger is indeed a Tuxedo Kamen/Mask
analogue, but you'll have to wait to see what else is in the
mix. Nyah-nyah.
Dave Menard
-------------------------------------
Fanfiction pages: http://spghome.tripod.com/
"Just as there are laws of Conservation of Matter and Energy, so there are
in fact Laws of Conservation of Pain and Joy. Neither can ever be created or
destroyed.
But one can be converted into the other."
-Spider Robinson, 1977