The moon illuminated the countryside of Cornwall, and everything visible was bathed in its silvery-white glow. Igraine, the Duchess of Cornwall, stood on the balcony adjacent to her bed chamber, observing the seemingly delicate orb with wide, caramel-colored eyes. Her small daughter was curled up in her arms, her soft breathing breaking the night’s silence. There was a small breeze that occasionally lifted Igraine’s nearly crimson hair briefly off her shoulders and into its swirling path. The small babe shivered and let out a small whimper in her sleep. Igraine held her daughter closer and tightened the embrace, trying to protect her from anything that might render her ill.

Igraine could feel a strange, yet friendly presence as she stood there, bonding with her offspring and nature. Being a daughter of the Isle of Avalon, she was taught that the Goddess was everywhere, and guessed that perhaps this odd sensation was simply her soul’s recognition that the Goddess truly was there with she and Morgana.

It had always been a dream of Igraine’s to bring Morgana into the sisterhood of the Goddess, and someday see her step into the Lady of the Lake’s robes. Igraine’s sister, Vivien, was the current Lady, but as of yet, she had not produced a daughter, and there was no chance of her son, Lancelet, taking her place. Although he respected both the Old Religion and Christianity, he would not take any place of authority in either of them. When Morgana was born, Vivien and Igraine were both equally hopeful and relieved that there would be someone to take Vivien’s place after all. Unfortunately, Igraine’s husband, Gorlois, was a strict Christian and would no sooner allow his daughter to enter the sisterhood than he would allow the Saxon barbarians to conquer Cornwall. Igraine had tried relentlessly to talk him out of sending Morgana to Glastonbury, but so far her pleas had been to no avail.

At the moment, Gorlois slept soundly in the adjoining room. He had returned less than a sunrise ago from keeping the Saxons at bay; they were attempting to capture the North coast and move south until they arrived at the High King’s castle in Camelot. Gorlois did not respect the High King, Uther Pendragon, as far as he could throw him, but he knew all too well that if the Saxons succeeded, it would be the end of Cornwall and his title of Duke as he knew it.

Igraine was betrothed to Gorlois when she was in her 14th year, nearly five summers ago. She did not love him then, and still did not love him. She did, however, respect him and they were, in some way, friends… but that was it. Nightly escapades in their bed chamber were made of nothing more than blind passion or fruitless attempts to produce a male heir, which Gorlois desperately needed. Morgana was an only child, and it appeared that she would keep that title since her father was aging quickly and would most likely die without an heir. Already the man’s bones were rattling when he walked, and battle wounds were taking more out of him now than they ever had before. Igraine subconsciously longed for the day when he would pass. Gorlois treated her well and only raised a hand to her when she “was in need of it”, but deep down, she longed to be free, to practice the Old ways without anyone’s disproval. Secretly, this was what she wanted most for her daughter, as well, to be able to experience the beauty and mystery of the Old religion without a man beating it out of her and replacing it with Gospels and prayers to a vengeful God that extinguished his own creations without even offering them a second chance to redeem themselves. She had yet to understand why Gorlois, or any man for that matter, would want that for his child. She dismissed the thought and concluded that she was just not meant to understand the Christian ways.

The wind gradually became fiercer, and Igraine began to shiver. The air chilled her down to her bones, and knowing Morgana could catch her death, she brought the infant inside. She wrapped the babe in a quilt she’s made during her pregnancy and placed her in the small cradle next to her bed. Igraine took her cloak from the rack on the other side of the room and went back out onto the balcony.

The moon was still shining, and on the opposite side of the sky, Igraine could see the stars twinkling innocently and waltzing on the black velvet dance floor. She could see the ocean reflecting the light of the moon and decided that the sea might be a better place to think… and possibly practice the Old Ways. She climbed down the castle wall with help from the thick ivy that had grown over the stone. Although Gorlois would not hear her should she slip, she still worried slightly about the guards stationed at the drawbridge. Would they disturb her? Some did not fear her because they believed what Gorlois had told them about Igraine converting to Catholicism, but others, apparently, still had their doubts. Absentmindedly, Igraine tried to put her foot in a cranny that was not there. She slipped, and crashed down to the ground. Thankfully, she had not fallen from a great height, and she only got the wind knocked out of her, not to mention a nasty shock.

“Oi, George, didya hear that?” said one of the guards, sounding alert as ever, though it was very late. “No sir,” said George, “but if I did, it probably was nothing to what I heard from yourself and Jillian last night.” “Why you-“ cried the other, and then Igraine heard scuffling and someone fall against the stone. She shook her head; her sister Jillian was quite the courtesan, although that was certainly not her official title. She, too, was a daughter of Avalon, but instead of using her power and knowledge for the good of mankind, she used it selfishly and often against her enemies, which more often than not consisted of the dames who had caught her lover’s eye. She went through nearly four lovers a week, so there were quite a number of townspeople in Cornwall that had been hexed or cursed in some way.

Igraine moved quickly through the grass and reached the shore with ease. She felt at home with the salty spray and the gently rolling waves. It soothed her soul, and it was like the ocean was a completely different plane of existence or dimension. For once, it didn’t matter whether she was Christian or pagan; everything was united and one. God was a father, the Goddess was a mother, and the Earth was their child. In the night she could not see distinct features or anything that would have classified a human as Christian, pagan, witch, Saxon, male, or female… everything was equal. There were no boundaries, no separations, just an endless ocean stretching for miles and miles whispering words of comfort and peace to those inhabiting the land. In fact, it wasn’t just whispering words of comfort… it was calling her name.

“Igraine… Igraine!” said a familiar voice. Igraine was startled out of her reverie. “’Tis I,” she replied warily. The waves crashed against the beach with a rising intensity, and the light breeze began to turn into a strong wind. Sand flew up around her face, momentarily blinding her. Igraine fell to the ground for the second time that evening, and was rendered defenseless against nature’s growing fury. A blinding light, burning with the power of ten million suns, appeared ten feet or so away from her. Igraine hid her face fearing some holy reprimand from the Goddess for her inability to sway her husband on Morgana’s future. It was a crazy thought, but humans don’t usually think sensibly when they are as scared as Igraine was.

As quickly as it had all started, the mild chaos died. In the light’s place stood a middle-aged woman bearing fire-red hair and robes of the deepest violet. Designs on her collarbone and wrist marked her as one of the Old Religion. A satin, forest green bag of herbs hung from around her waist, and placed on her head was a simple crown made of silver that featured a crescent moon. When she spoke, her voice was gentle and motherly with a hint of age. “Igraine,” she said, holding her arms out, “my beloved sister.”

Igraine ran forward without stopping to ask who she was or what just happened; the woman was none other than the Lady of the Lake, Vivien. Igraine stopped less than a foot away and bowed graciously on both knees. “Oh come now, sister,” Vivien said, “we are kin; you must not greet me so formally.” Igraine smiled in the dark. She stood and Vivien took her into a tight embrace, the scent of rosemary filling her nostrils. “How long has it been?” Igraine asked “Two years can seem so lengthy. I have missed you, sister.” Vivien ended the embrace and placed her hands on Igraine’s shoulders. “As have I, Igraine. But I come not to pay you a sociable visit, my dear,” Vivien replied, a note of seriousness in her voice, “I have heard that you have been trying to sway Gorlois in his views on Morgana’s future-“
”Oh Vivien, I really am trying! I know that you do not want your only heir sent to Glastonbury but he-“
”I am aware that he will not even consider the sisterhood for Morgana, Igraine.”
”Then what am I to do?”

Vivien’s face was grim. “I am growing old, child,” she said, positioning herself comfortably on the sand, “I will not be here much longer. You know just as well as I that Lancelet will never step into my shoes or Merlin’s. Morgana is Avalon’s only hope. If she does not take my place, Avalon will no longer be open to us, and it will die along with me. There are very few women who are involved in the sisterhood, and if we don’t keep the spirit of the Goddess alive, there will be nothing left of the Old Religion, and Christianity will surely hurl us out of existence.

“Being your daughter and my niece, I know that Morgana will have a strong will and not succumb to what a man wants her to do, and she will not choose what is popular over what is right. This Christianity nonsense… it will be the end of us. I have seen it in my nightmares, and unfortunately, my dreams have a nasty habit of coming true. Morgana can help us, I know it. I’ve seen it in her, sister. She has the soul of a priestess. I could train her to be the most magnificent priestess Avalon has ever seen-“

”But what about Gorlois? You know he will never allow it.”
”No… no he wouldn’t. But what is the loss of a single Christian man to anyone of importance?”

Igraine didn’t follow. “I beg your pardon, m’lady?” Vivien averted her gaze from the sea back to her sister. “We could dispose of him in a number of ways…” she said, drawing circles in the sand with her finger. Igraine was astonished to hear her sister speaking this way. “Pardon my insolence, your grace, but isn’t that a bit rash? To kill Cornwall’s duke in the middle of a war?” “You would make a much better ruler than that ogre,” Vivien replied hastily, “and despite all that Gorlois has filled your head with, Cornwall is nothing more than a speck on the map to the Saxons. Gorlois has been trying for years to fill your head with his opinions and beliefs, and I will not stand back and let him do the same to Morgana.”

“Couldn’t you just try to reason with him?” Igraine protested, “Surely your words, since you are the Lady of the Lake, would have much more weight than if they were coming from my mouth.” “And what would happen then, sister?” Vivien replied, “He would cross himself and try to exorcise the nonexistent demon from my body. Although it would be humorous to experience, this is not the time for jokes.”
”So you’re going to commit murder for the sake of Avalon?”
”I would commit every mortal sin in the wretched Bible to keep the Goddess alive on Earth.”

Igraine was shocked. How could Vivien say something like that? “No, m’lady,” she said after a few moments, “I cannot allow you to murder my husband. I want Morgana to experience Avalon for herself, but not at Gorlois’s expense. If he does not wish her to study the Old Religion, then so be it.”

It was Vivien who was shocked this time. Never had anyone rebelled against her plans as Igraine just had. But then again, her sister was never one to follow authority. “Very well, then, sister,” she said, her ego slightly wounded, “She is your daughter, he is your husband, therefore it is your choice. But should any of Gorlois’s plans change, there will always be a bed and clean robes waiting for Morgana in Avalon.” With that, she disappeared into the night.

Igraine fell back into the sand, trying to reflect on what just happened. What was worse, allowing her husband to be murdered for her sister’s sake or to let him live and watch her daughter be dragged off to Glastonbury and locked away forevermore?

“Igraine?” said a small voice. Tiring of specters and disembodied voices, Igraine turned to face whoever dared to try her at such a late hour, expecting one of Vivien’s lackeys to be standing there. Instead, she was shocked to see Jillian standing before her, and fully dressed, too. “I heard everything,” she said, helping Igraine to her feet, “Is Gorlois really going to make a Christian ninny out of your fair daughter?”

Igraine sighed. “Yes,” she replied, “unfortunately. And I don’t know what on earth I can do to stop it.” Jillian began to lead her back to the castle, “Vivien mentioned killing him?” “Hush, sister,” Igraine snapped, “You must not talk of such things. Remember, everything nowadays has ears, and if anyone hears us, we will be hanged for practicing witchcraft and attempting assassination.”

Jillian lowered her head. “Yes, m’lady,” she replied meekly, “Forgive my insolence.” Igraine couldn’t tell whether her sister was mocking her position or if she was truly sorry. Jillian seemed to read her sister’s eyes, an art that many women of Avalon had little patience to master. “I meant that,” she said, “I know you are under a lot of stress at the moment, Igraine. I’m aware that I don’t show it quite often, but I really care about yourself and my niece, and I don’t want to cause you any more worry.”

Igraine snorted quietly. The only thing Jillian cared about was her daily orgasms, she thought. She would have replied nastily, but she was not the girl’s mother, therefore she felt it wouldn’t be appropriate to reprimand her. “Thank you, Jillian,” she said, forcing a smile. Her sister grinned back, and in the moonlight her teeth gleamed. “Of course,” Jillian replied, “Things will get better, though. Like Mother said, there can only be shadows if there is a light nearby. If you look hard enough, you’ll find the lilacs in the snow.” With that, Jillian helped Igraine back up to the balcony. Igraine kept Jillian’s words close; amidst the dispute of her daughter’s future, Vivien’s threat to murder her husband, and the war that might just destroy them all, there had to be some good that would come out of it. The thought lifted her spirits, and as she pulled herself over the railing, she heard Morgana let out a cry that sounded something similar to, “Mommy!” Igraine smiled and rushed to the side of the cradle. She lifted the babe out and held her close. Morgana was her light… Morgana was her lilac.