Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit Part 1

Gwenhwyfar.

The White Spirit.

by Mercedes Lackey.

PART ONE.

PRINCESS.

Chapter One.

The talk at the hearth of the high hall of her father's castle was all of magic that wild evening. Harvest-time had come and gone, and Samhain not far off; the old men and women were muttering about a hard winter ahead. Truly, it had turned bitter very quickly, and the harvest, while not scant, was also not bountiful. All that little Gwen knew, though, was that tonight it sounded as if everything cold and evil in the world was trying to get in. She was glad that Castell y Cnwclas was all of stone. Nothing mortal could get past those thick walls and nothing uncanny past the women gathered at the hearth, especially tonight. the hearth of the high hall of her father's castle was all of magic that wild evening. Harvest-time had come and gone, and Samhain not far off; the old men and women were muttering about a hard winter ahead. Truly, it had turned bitter very quickly, and the harvest, while not scant, was also not bountiful. All that little Gwen knew, though, was that tonight it sounded as if everything cold and evil in the world was trying to get in. She was glad that Castell y Cnwclas was all of stone. Nothing mortal could get past those thick walls and nothing uncanny past the women gathered at the hearth, especially tonight.

Outside, the wind whined around the stone walls, and made the seats farthest from the hearth almost as cold as if the poor fellows relegated to them were sitting out on the walls. They were making up for the cold by drinking plenty of ale and mead. Inside, the drafts made flames of the torches on the walls flatten and dance, and even the huge open fire on the hearth in the center of the hall flickered this way and that, sending streamers of smoke into peoples' faces unpredictably. Gwen was glad she was sitting on the stone floor, a bit of old sheepskin between her and the flags, where she was below the smoke. She hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the women of her mother's circle with the wide eyes of a young owl. Firelight illuminated familiar faces and made them strange with s.h.i.+fting shadows and hectic light.

The Hall was the biggest room in the castle, and served many purposes. By day it was in turn her father's audience chamber, the place where meals were served, and the scene of most domestic work that wasn't done in the kitchen. By night, her father's men and servants slept there. The walls were as thick as Gwen's arm was long, broken only by narrow windows too small for anyone but a child to climb through. Right now, heavy wooden shutters closed off the worst of the winds. The hearth-fire in the center gave most of the heat and light, supplemented by the torches on the walls. The stone floor was covered with rushes-newly changed just two days ago, so the herbs strewn among them were still sweet and the floor beneath still clean. The ceiling was lost in darkness and further obscured by the smoke rising to the louvered hole above the hearth.

It smelled of dampness, of spilled ale, of herbs and cooked meat, of sweaty bodies and wet wool. Faintly, because it had only been two days since it had been swept clean, there was a taint of urine from the dogs and cats that ran free in here. But above all it smelled of smoke.

The women had claimed the hearth itself, sitting about the fire on benches and stools or, like Gwen and her sisters, on the floor, and the men did not challenge them. No sane man challenged a Wise Woman, much less a gaggle of them. Behind them, on the mead-benches, were the men of her father's following. He was Lleudd Ogrfan Gawr, called "The Giant," and unchallenged king of these parts. There were no more Romans to contest his rule. The Romans had come and now gone from here; they mined their tin, lead, and gold no more, and the amphitheater they had built for their so-called games now echoed only to the wail of wild cats at night. And good riddance, said her mother. Her father's words were more pithy and profane.

The good-natured growling and grumbling of the men sounded like a muttering chorus of sleepy bears on the edge of hibernation, fat with autumn berries and nuts, and thinking mostly about sleep. Partly, that was the mead and ale of her mother Eleri's brewing. She put herbs in it-she said to flavor it, but the women all knew it was to make the men calm and sleepy, and that was a secret that would never be breathed to the men, not even to the king her husband. There was little argument on Ogrfan Gawr's mead benches, and no hot-tempered quarrels that could break into blood feud. Eleri the Queen was a Wise Woman in the sense of knowing the ways of herbs as well as of magic, and she reckoned it worth the effort to keep the men from making more grief than there already was in the world. Bronywn, who served as her right hand and the children's nurse, was the keeper of her secrets.

Hunting and fighting and tall tales were the order of business on the mead-benches tonight. With the harvest over, it was hunting that would help keep the men busy until spring, and hunting would be needed to keep the hall fed if the winter was a harsh one. Magic was the subject on the hearthstone; it was the provenance of women-and a very few, very select group of men. The Druids. The bards. The occasional hermit-healer. Eleri had told Gwen that this was because men spent too much time around Cold Iron; wearing it in the form of weapons, crafting it, cheris.h.i.+ng it. "Magic shuns Cold Iron," she had said, with a decided nod. "Men might have the Gift, but while they cling to Cold Iron, they'll never have the Power."

Gwen most especially watched her mother, listened to her words, for the Queen was also the chief sorceress here and high in the Councils of the Wise. Eleri had the Power and had it in abundance. Gwen had watched her, by full moon and waning, by Midsummer sun and Midwinter dark, weaving her Power into the spells that were the weapons she she wielded to defend, protect, and nurture their people. There were two thrones in Lleudd Ogrfan Gawr's High Hall: the one at the mead benches and the one at the hearth. And both were equal. The king guarded the people with his sword. The queen did so with Power. wielded to defend, protect, and nurture their people. There were two thrones in Lleudd Ogrfan Gawr's High Hall: the one at the mead benches and the one at the hearth. And both were equal. The king guarded the people with his sword. The queen did so with Power.

There were those that said the queen was Fae-touched. Certainly, despite having given birth to Gwen and all her sisters, she often seemed as young as any of the maids at her hearth. There were those that said the two youngest of the brood, Gwen and her younger sister, took after her. But those that said it did so with a touch of pride, not fear; if they were Fae-touched, then, that would be a good thing.

Gwen's sisters sat beside her, watching and listening just as raptly. Gynath who was almost twelve summers, Cataruna who was fourteen, and Gwenhwyfach a mere eight, the sister enough like her to have been Gwen's twin, all listened and remained very, very quiet, lest they be remembered and sent off to bed. All the sisters had much the same look about them; they got their looks from their mother, who was slim and very fair-a rarity among dark people-and not the king, who was burly and, even rarer, had a head of hair like copper wire. They had a visitor this night, who would stay through Samhain to give their rites especial power. Eleri was concerned that the old men and women were right, that this would be a hard winter, and she would do whatever it took to keep her people safe through it.

But it was not talk of the winter to come and the Samhain rites that occupied them now. It was talk of Arthur, the High King, and his court at Celliwig.

". . . and so the High King takes a bride, and the Merlin is making sure the land-rites are performed," the lady visitor was saying; she was very important, a priestess and and a sorceress, from the great school at the Well of the Cauldron. a sorceress, from the great school at the Well of the Cauldron.

"And not afore time, too," muttered old Bronwyn. "Asking for trouble it was, leaving it for so long! It'll be a hard winter, thanks to all this dallying. As the king goes, so goes the land, and that's a fact." She made a sour face as the rest of the women nodded. "If the king be wifeless and childless, how can the land be anything but cold and hard? All very well to say the Merlin could make up for it, but he's only a man, one man, and-"

"Hush," Eleri interrupted, chiding her woman, and the visitor nodded with approval.

"What's done is done; the land hasn't suffered. The land has a long memory and longer patience. One hard winter will not ruin the land, and the Merlin has brought him round to the bride and the rites." The woman sighed. "And now I am here to ask you, has the High King's half-sister been among you?"

"Morgana?" Eleri shook her head. "You surely do not mean Anna Morgause . . . I have not seen her in a year or more. The Orkney clan does not favor us with their attention, much. Why?"

The visitor shrugged, but looked troubled. "It is Anna Morgause I mean. Morgana is hardly more than a child, for all her power, and she heeds the Merlin and the Council of the Wise. But Morgause . . . Anna is a woman grown, with four sons she would fain see raised high. She has the power and the willfulness, and she is wedded to Lot, who speaks the High King fair but watches through his fingers. And Morgause speaks the Council fair, but . . ."

But Eleri shook her head. "Rhianu, be careful of what you say. Have you anything other than gossip and your own suspicions? Has the Cauldron shown a vision of the future?"

The visitor looked away a moment. "No and no," she admitted. Eleri smiled slightly. "Have done, then, and tell us of the bride. If gossip there will be, let it be of bright things and not dark, truth and not suspicion. Anna of the Orkneys will do as she does, and if the Cauldron gives you no visions, then that is the will of the G.o.ddess."

Gwenhwyfar pondered the visitor. She did not seem like someone who would gossip to make trouble, and normally Eleri would have deferred to her judgment, since she was older and a very powerful Wise Woman indeed, one of the Nine who served the Cauldron of the G.o.ddess. But her mother must know something something that made her say what she had. Perhaps there was bad blood between Rhianu and Queen Morgause, and perhaps Eleri knew about it. that made her say what she had. Perhaps there was bad blood between Rhianu and Queen Morgause, and perhaps Eleri knew about it.

Rhianu pursed her lips, then seemed to resign herself. "Well, her name is Gwenhwyfar, like your own daughter, and the name suits her, for she is very like to all of you, as fair as a Saxon and slender as a reed. She was not our first choice, but Arthur came to the aid of her father, Leodegrance, saw her firing arrows from the walls, with her fine gown kilted up and fire in her eye." She shrugged. "He was smitten, and she is of the right bloodline and of our teaching. But-"

Eleri raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"She is her father's only child. We question whether his blood grows thin. The Good G.o.ddess knows Uther's line-"

Eleri looked speculative. "Hmm. One child only, Arthur himself-"

"And never a by-blow by leman or lover, and it took the Merlin's magic to quicken Arthur in Ygraine's womb." Eleri nodded. "Still, at least now Arthur has found a woman he wants, wants, and all else is suitable. Pa.s.sion has a magic all its own, and the rites themselves should ensure that there is at least one child." and all else is suitable. Pa.s.sion has a magic all its own, and the rites themselves should ensure that there is at least one child."

Rhianu coughed. "We intend to make certain of that," she said, and significant glances were shared among the women.

"That is chancy, meddling in those matters," Eleri murmured softly. "Have a care that your enterprise does not miscarry."

Gwen s.h.i.+vered at that moment, as an icy finger traced itself along her spine.

"Has anyone troubled to scry the results?" Eleri continued, as Gwen s.h.i.+vered again.

"There will be a son born to Arthur, within the proper season," Rhianu replied, with confidence. "At least one."

"Sons!" said the king, cheerfully, coming up behind his wife. "Oh, sons are all very well, but a king's wealth is in his daughters! A son may run off and pledge his service to another man in another crown, but a daughter remembers what is due her sire-what is that old saw, my sweet?" He set both hands on Eleri's shoulders, and she reached up to squeeze one with affection.

" 'A son is a son 'till he takes a wife, but a daughter's a daughter for all of her life,' " Eleri responded, tilting her head back to look at him and being rewarded with a kiss.

"There, you see?" the king beamed at their visitor. "And there is my wealth. Fair daughters, strong and comely, and I know they will remember their duty to land and sire. If the High King wants loyal allies, let him have daughters to cement those bonds. If he wants magic to safeguard his kingdom, let him have daughters to spin him spells and speak for him to the G.o.ds. And if he is very lucky, he will also have a daughter that is a warrior-woman, for they make the most loyal s.h.i.+eld-bearers."

Gwen noticed at that moment, that the queen looked as if she were harboring a pleasant secret.

But she said nothing, only again squeezed the king's hand, and the king chuckled and went back to his men.

"But what of Anna Morgause?" Eleri asked after a moment. "If there is anything about her you should be warning us against, it is your duty to make it plain."

The visitor grimaced with distaste, then looked pointedly down at Gwen and her sisters. Gwen sighed. If she had been just a little off to the side, there was a chance that the visitor would not have noticed her. That happened a lot. Then she tried concentrating very, very hard on not being noticed. Sometimes that worked-more and more as she got the knack of it. But not tonight, Much to Gwen's dismay, her mother took the hint.

"Off with you," she said in a quiet voice that nevertheless brooked no argument. "Time for bed." The girls didn't even try to dissuade their mother, they just picked up whatever they had been sitting on and trudged off to the private rooms behind the dais.

This was a grand, grand castle indeed. Behind the dais, through a wooden door, was a set of two small rooms where the royal family and their immediate servants slept, away from the tumble of bodies in the Great Hall. A pair of rushlights, one left burning in each room, lit the way just enough that the girls didn't stumble over anything.

The first room was theirs; it was smaller than the second, and it had just enough s.p.a.ce for the big bed where they all slept and their clothing chests lining the walls. Mag, the servant woman they all shared, who had been their nursemaid when they were smaller, helped them pull off their outer clothing and fold it neatly, each on top of her own chest. Then they clambered into the big bed, which Mag had warmed with a stone she'd put near to the fire earlier. They had their own particular order for this. The two most restless, Gwenhwyfar and Gwenhwyfach, on the outside, and Cataruna and Gynath on the inside. The bed, with its woolen blankets woven by Eleri and her women, its fur coverlet from bearskins of the bears killed by their own father, could easily have slept two more. They even had a feather mattress, an immense luxury.

Gwen was the last to climb in, and Mag shut them in with the bed-curtains, leaving them in the close darkness.

Gwen was always the last to climb in, because if she didn't wait, her sister Gwenhwyfach, the baby of the family, would find some sly way to torment her. Poke, prod, pull hair, pinch-they were as alike as twins, everyone said so, and no one could understand why Gwenhwyfach hated her sister so. When Little Gwen was in a fine mood, she was enchantingly beautiful, and she bewitched everyone around her. Her hair, like Gwen's was as light a gold as sunlight, her eyes large and a melting blue when she wanted something. She put Gwen in mind of the tale of the maiden made of flowers sometimes, she was so slender and graceful, even when she was up to mischief. In fact, her real name wasn't Little Gwen at all, but everyone insisted they looked so much alike, the name had stuck and no one even remembered what name she'd been given at birth anymore. Perhaps that was why-perhaps she sorely resented that they were so much alike. It certainly wasn't because Little Gwen was deprived. If anything, being the youngest and and so pretty, she was spoiled. so pretty, she was spoiled.

Then again, maybe it upset her that there was anyone who could be said to be as pretty as she was, much less that it was her older sister.

Even Gwenhwyfar was at a loss; she didn't remember doing anything that would have warranted this. If their positions had been reversed, had Gwenhwyfar been the youngest, there would be some cause for that resentment. But no, it had been Little Gwen who had usurped the position of "youngest" from her year-older sister, and she'd scarcely begun to toddle when she made her enmity known. From that day, Gwen's life had been a struggle to avoid her clever sister's tiny tortures.

One thing she had learned early on: never strike back. Little Gwen was never caught, at least not by an adult, and retribution on Gwen's part only brought down the wrath of an adult. Gwen was the older; logic said that when there was a quarrel, she was the aggressor, for why would a smaller child bully a larger? When Gwen displayed bruises, she was told that was what she deserved for picking on her younger sibling.

Her older sisters knew what was going on, of course, but protests to an adult only got them told not to take sides.

That was the other reason for having a Gwen on either side of the bed, with two sisters in between. It stopped the fighting.

Well, mostly.

"It's all your fault," Little Gwen whispered in the dark. "You got us sent to bed, Gwenhwyfar. We could still be there if not for you."

"Me? What did I do?" Gwen demanded as both her sisters sighed with exasperation.

"You weren't quiet enough. You made the queen look at you. You were fidgeting. You always fidget." This, from the person that Mag always checked for fleas, since by the nursemaid's way of thinking, anyone who squirmed that much must be harboring a host of fleas.

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did no such thing!"

"Did so!"

"Give over!" snapped Gynath, the eldest of them all. "Gwen did no more fidgeting than you, and she was a deal less obvious about wanting to hear every word about the Queen of the Orkneys. Now go to sleep!"

"I can't," Little Gwen whined. "I'm cold. Gwen stole all the covers."

Since Gwen was barely covered by the drape of the blankets, this was obviously a lie. "Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Couldn't have," Gynath said smugly. "I tucked them under the featherbed on your side. You're a liar, and that just proves you're a changeling. I knew it! The Fair Folk took the real baby and left you in her place! No wonder you're a little horror!"

"Am not!" Little Gwen said, furiously. "And she stole the covers! Ow!"

This last punctuated the thump on the head her older-and much larger-sister gave her.

"Give over," Gynath repeated. "Go to sleep, or I'll tip you out and you can lie on the floor with the dogs all night."

"I'm lying with b.i.t.c.hes now," Little Gwen muttered, and Gynath thumped her again for her pains, and, at last, she subsided.

Gwen turned on her side, her back to her sisters, and stared at the place where the curtains met. Stealthily-because if Little Gwen knew what she was doing there would be whining about letting the draft in-she parted the curtains with a finger and peered across the room at the light visible through the gaps between the door and doorframe, straining her ears to make out something besides the indecipherable muttering of voices. She had wanted to hear more too, but not about Anna Morgause.

She wanted to hear about magic and the Power. Hearing about or watching someone working magic always gave her a s.h.i.+very good feeling. She couldn't wait until she came into her own Power.

She wondered what it would be. Some, like Eleri, could do just about anything in reason. Some were just healers, some could command the weather, or see into the past or the future.

She wanted to be able to do it all, though. Well, who wouldn't? And And she wanted something else. She wanted to be a chariot-driver, and a warrior. There had to be a way to keep the Power and still wield Cold Iron. Sometimes she felt torn in two, wanting both those things- she wanted something else. She wanted to be a chariot-driver, and a warrior. There had to be a way to keep the Power and still wield Cold Iron. Sometimes she felt torn in two, wanting both those things- But there was no doubt, no doubt at all, that when she came into her Gift, she would would be sent to the Ladies. The doubt came about whether the King would be willing, no matter what he said, for a daughter to take up weapons. There were not many warrior-women, and most girls who tried the life soon gave it up. be sent to the Ladies. The doubt came about whether the King would be willing, no matter what he said, for a daughter to take up weapons. There were not many warrior-women, and most girls who tried the life soon gave it up.

That wasn't the only reason she strained to listen to the talk at the hearth. Besides hearing about magic, she wanted to hear about this new queen with the same name as her.

She wondered what life was like, for this slender, fair young woman. Did her father have a castle like this one? Clearly, if she was a good archer, he let her train with the warriors. Oh, how Gwen wanted to do that, too- Well, maybe. She would have to be careful that the Power didn't desert her because she handled Cold Iron too much. But there had to be a way! That That Gwenhwyfar had done it! Gwenhwyfar had done it!

But if there isn't . . . which do I want? To be a warrior, or to have the Power?

Did she have sisters? Probably not, and probably not brothers either, if she had been on the walls, shooting arrows at her father's enemies. Brothers were funny about things like that. Gwen had overheard plenty of fights when some of the boys tried to keep their sisters from training with the warriors and the like. No, from the sound of it, she was an only child . . .

Oh yes, Gwen remembered now. Something about the blood being thin and only the one daughter in the line. So there it was.

Gwen envied her. It must be wonderful, to be an only child. No having to share everything. No big sisters who thumped your head nor horrible little teases of younger sisters. She'd have gotten the best of everything; only children got spoiled, everyone knew that. And now, to be marrying the High King, to be his equal in all things . . . she would have her own court; everyone knew that the power of the land went through the queen as well as the king. She was trained by the Ladies, so she would probably be the one in charge of all things having to do with the Power, subject to the Merlin, of course. She would have her own horses to ride and not have to share one elderly pony with three sisters.

And, oh, the clothing. Probably enough to fill chests and chests. She would have new clothing, not things that had been cut down from adult garments and then pa.s.sed down until by the time Gwen got them, they had lost any color they had once had, and any tr.i.m.m.i.n.g had long since been pulled off. In fact, with three sisters handing down the same clothing, it was Little Gwen who actually had the best of it, since by the time Gwen was done with what Gynath handed down to her, it was suitable only for padding, patches, and baby's clouts. Little Gwen got true second-hand, just like the eldest of them.

There would be fur linings to that Gwenhwyfar's cloak and hood. There would be embroidered hems to her gowns, and her s.h.i.+fts would be the softest lambswool and linen. She would dress like Eleri did on rare feast days, only she would do so every day, because she was High Queen. All her clothes would be colored, and she'd never have to wear anything faded or plain again. Except her s.h.i.+fts. Her s.h.i.+fts would be linen so blinding white they'd think she was a spirit. In fact . . . in fact, she would have one gown that was that white, too, whiter than snow, whiter than clouds. Everything she wore would be soft, too. No scratchy linens for her, no itchy wool.

And no shoes she had to wear three pairs of stockings with to keep them on. Shoes would be made to fit her feet, and hers alone.

She'd have the best food, too. Whatever she wanted, like as not. The best cuts of meat, the slices from the middle of the loaf, succulent cakes and pies whenever she liked. Goose, oh, lovely goose and the rich fat to dip her bread in. They'd let her have all the sweet mead she wanted. Apples, pears, plums, cherries and berries of every sort.

She would have a stable full of horses, one of every color there was. And a falcon, a real one, not just a little sparrow hawk, a real peregrine or a goshawk. And a coursing hound, with an elegant, long eared head. She would go hunting whenever she felt like it, and no one would tell her that she couldn't.

There would be a bard all the time in the court, too, and jugglers and gleemen and all sorts of things. She could hear whatever tales she wanted, whenever she wanted, and if she woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to hear one, well, she could.

And she would, of course, have great Power and command the most serious of magic. The High Queen was also the chief of all of the Wise, and at the most important of the rituals of the year, she was the avatar of the Lady for all of the land. Gwen had seen Eleri coming back from the Great Rites, face flushed, eyes s.h.i.+ning, exultant, and more alive than at any other time. Gwen wanted to feel like that one day.

Well, one day, she would. Eleri had promised as much. One day she, Gwen, would be leading the rituals, making the magic happen.

Suddenly, though, amidst all her envy, something else occurred to Gwen . . . would it be worth all those wonderful things to have to go far away from home? To never know if you were ever going to see your mother or father again? To have nothing around you but strangers?

Maybe . . . not.

Unable to hear anything meaningful, Gwen let the bed-curtains fall closed and wriggled closer to her sister. The bed was soft, and warmed by the heat of four bodies. They were all safe in here, and tomorrow the bird hunters were going out, and there would, almost certainly, be goose. And then there would be stories and maybe some rough music, and their visitor would talk more about magic.

And Gwen would be able to look up from her place on the hearth, look around her, and know every face in the Hall.

Maybe being High Queen wasn't so wonderful after all.