The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1) Read online

  Ava could feel his raw emotions behind her. He was paralyzed with fear and confusion.

  Not good.

  Not good at all.

  She went out of the house, emotions zinging between terror and...well, not triumph. But ever so slightly hopeful she had succeeded in starting the critical dialogue.

  She was amused all over again at the car her “chauffeur” chose―a black 1930s Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. Who rides around in such a thing?

  Well, me, I guess.

  The duke appeared in the rainy forecourt. His eyes were a bit wild. “Ava!” he shouted. The duke seemed to realize he was attracting attention from the pair of sodden gardeners nearby. Stepping closer to the Rolls, he whispered, “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Smiling confidently at him, she slid into the car. It started up immediately. She said to his mind:

  Because we are family.

  Chapter Two

  The ancient Rolls rumbled down the lane, passing one of Drunemeton’s fields filled with the tents and lean-tos of refugees from London. Bedraggled people peered out of openings. Three completely drenched, hollow-eyed children stood by the stone fence and watched the grand old car swan through the rain. Ava couldn’t imagine what those tiny survivors thought about such a ridiculous sight.

  Ava slumped back in her seat. She realized the meeting with Duke Drunemeton could have gone better if she hadn’t been so hasty. As so often happened when she launched into something, she always thought she knew what she was doing and where she was going—then it usually went someplace else entirely. If she had just gone slower, behaved in a calmer manner, managed things smarter—the list of her shortcomings was endless, and today was no different.

  Just more important than anything she had ever done.

  She checked the connection on her “mind journal,” the embedded recording device set just behind her left ear. She could feel by the slight tingle there that it was on. The journal not only tracked sound, but her tapped into her thoughts as well, then uplinked them to the Motherhouse in Viborg. Not all of her mental musings―just those she formed in the front of her consciousness, like a sub-vocalization. What a disaster if they could hear everything I’m thinking!

  The Sisterhood didn’t know how bad her panic attacks and agoraphobia were. Ava pretended to be strong. Calm. In control. She had so much power, that no one—not even Ifijioku, the eldest priestess at the Motherhouse—could read her. Which was good, because if they understood what a complete mess she was, they would probably make her hand over the mitre. Resign.

  And then what would I do? Who would I be? Some shrieking mess they'd have to hide away in the Psych Ward of the Healing Center?

  Thanks, no.

  So, Ava kept them out and hid her anxieties. She ran to the bathroom and locked herself in when she had a panic attack, which happened at least once a day.

  There was no one else who could do the job—make the plan of almost fifteen centuries happen. It was the task of the High Priestess, as proclaimed by the Goddess Herself at Ava’s consecration.

  She actually wanted to do this. It was her destiny. She truly felt that.

  She was just not sure she would be able to handle it.

  So, Ava only allowed her carefully edited thoughts to go into the journal, which uplinked every fifteen minutes. The uplink to the Motherhouse satellite ensured that those who were monitoring Ava had a near real-time record of what was happening, even if the internet stayed down—which looked likely. The Goddess path she was on was so fragile, the Sisterhood needed to know if she was failing, how she was failing, and if they could help. Right at the moment, they were quite aware Ava had unsettled Duke Drunemeton instead of forging the first bond with him. Collectively, they would be displeased with her. As she was with herself. Hébé—her biological sister and the Sisterhood’s Chief Healer—would no doubt be livid. Thank Goddess, the uplink didn’t provide two-way communication.

  Ava didn’t usually do field work. Almost every day, she sat in her glass-walled office, adjudicating territory disputes, evaluating supply requisitions, sending out specially trained people to study situations. Right at that moment, Ava would be delighted to be home, mushing through a backlog of reports.

  Why hadn’t she gotten any training, when the Sisterhood knew at some point she would be doing this? They had, actually. But Ava had refused. Instead, she would go off on hikes, kayaking trips, and all that other outdoorsy crap. Then the incident happened. Afterward, she developed agoraphobia—a fear of the outside—and hated leaving the confines of the Motherhouse. She was now feeling slightly sick and shaky in the open world outside the car window.

  The trip already wasn’t going well, and so much depended on it.

  Just ahead, she saw a dark wood sign that read Drunemeton Chapel in letters of gold. “May we stop at the Chapel?” Ava felt she needed a diversion to her angry, self-loathing thoughts.

  “’Course,” the driver said, slowing the car. He pulled onto the verge next to the large stone church. The gravel car park was completely filled with a refugee camp.

  “Thanks.” Ava stepped out of the car and was immediately drenched. It was raining in sheets, as if shallow pans of water were being filled and dumped at random. She trotted up to the chapel as fast as her heels and the gravel would allow. The large, arch-shaped green door was framed by two massive yew trees, with trunks measuring at least six feet wide. They appeared to be growing into the facade of the building. Once under their canopy, Ava felt herself in a sanctuary of greenness, sheltered from the pouring rain, but also in familiar territory. It was funny. She had never been there before, but it felt like home. Her agoraphobia retreated.

  Taped over a dark electronic display screen was a soggy piece of paper with the schedule for the upcoming Midsummer rites. It didn’t say if the chapel was open to the public during the day. There was no doorbell, so she just pressed on the big green wooden door. It swung open slowly, with a deep moaning creak. The vestibule was dark, with only a little light coming in from a small window to the side. There was a familiar “church” smell of old incense, candles, dust, and musty prayer books. It was nothing like the Viborg Motherhouse’s meditation chamber, which was a Danish Modern masterpiece. But she had been in other Motherhouses that used to be churches or temples of other denominations. They all smelled alike.

  “Hello?” Her voice echoed, then flattened. No one responded. At any other time, she might retreat and come back later when someone was around, but she didn’t know if events would let her return, and she really wanted to see the chapel.

  Ava paused to admire the layout. Along shelves on the walls were votive candles in red, blue, green, and purple glass containers. The light made the rock walls seem to shimmer. There were four large art quilts on the two side walls depicting the Tree of Life in the four seasons. Instead of a long nave and regimented seats lined up on either side facing a dais, the chairs were arranged in a circle in a sort of wheel and spoke arrangement. There was a small lectern in the center, the post of which was a tall Tree of Life made of beautifully crafted wrought iron.

  The power of the place! The air pulsed with the Lifeforce—a throb of psychic energy came through the floorboards and beat against her feet.

  She could feel something tugging at her attention. Under the great window was an old altar, and she went to it. It was jet black with age and dimly lit, but she could make out the great carved Tree of Life symbol. An aura of silvery-white power shimmered around it. It couldn’t be! But the Lifeforce pulse told her it was: the original altar. It was created from a tree that fell in Drunemeton’s Sacred Grove four years ago. Mother Anya had directed a carpenter to make it. Ava crouched down and ran her hand over the carving. I’m in contact with something Mother Anya herself touched! A deep mystical hum came up through her fingers. She shut her eyes, centering herself on it, and lost the hard edges of Self. That which was the physical thing called “altar” touched the edge of her soul.

  There was no place
or time. No worries about the Now.

  There was only the Universal is.

  “Hello?” demanded a slightly querulous voice. “I’m sorry, we’re not open at the moment.”

  It was like someone throwing cold water on Ava.

  She bit back a command to be silent. It was important to remember her mission. She wasn’t there to indulge in spiritual exploration. The woman below her was in her late sixties and wore her white hair swept up into an unraveling bun. She was dressed practically in black trousers and a heavy green wool sweater of a complex design, over which was a stained white apron. Around her neck was the Sisterhood symbol, a wooden medallion featuring a great tree. Her aura was the deep violet of a spiritual seeker-servant, befitting a priestess.

  The woman gasped and went down on one knee. She placed her right hand over her heart. “My Lady!”

  Ava indicated the priestess should stand. “Do we know each other?” She recalled reading about the woman, but she was terrible with names.

  The woman got up, her almost-unlined face filled with wonder. “I’ve dreamt about you for the last month or so. You’re the High Priestess of our Sisterhood, and a special emissary of the Goddess.”

  Ava had been the High Priestess of the Daughters of Arianrhod—called the Sisterhood—for six years. She hadn’t intended to make the trip to the chapel an official visit. But with adepts, it was hard to be secretive. “I…er…yes.” No matter how long she had been High Priestess, she still couldn’t get the hang of the reverence toward her. “You’re the priestess here?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Tamesis McKnight. But please call me Tami. I’ve been the serving-priestess since 2019. But I’ve been participating in the worship since I was a lass.”

  “Ava Cerdwen.” She stepped down and placed her left hand on her heart, extending her right to place on Tami’s heart in the greeting of the Sisterhood. Tami did the same. Ava felt Tami’s Lifeforce, strong and focused. They bowed their heads and removed their hands. “Where did you study?”

  Tami said, “I attended the Marseille Motherhouse. I recall the time the High Priestess visited there. She was the most amazing woman. Her name was Katerina, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. She was my grandmother.” Now would come the inevitable comparisons and the awkward silences. Ava was reminded at every turn that she was not the great woman Granny was.

  “You look quite a bit like her. You’ve her bright green eyes, dark brows, and red hair. Cheekbones, too.”

  “I’m afraid that’s about all the similarities.”

  Tami studied Ava a moment. “Katerina was unique and wonderful for who she was, in her time. So, too, are you.”

  Well, that’s a first. And because it was, Ava changed the subject. “Katerina was the one who chose this place to test what a ‘Goddessian Church’ should be like for the worship in the Time to Come. I understand attendance is good?”

  “When I took over, Drunemeton Chapel was lightly attended. It’s been packed to overflowing most services, even before The Day.” Tami said. “Now, with this disaster, we’ve become rather a busy refugee sanctuary.”

  “How many people are you helping?”

  “I’ve lost count. Some stay. Some move on. Hundreds, I should think. Most are in the non-sanctuary buildings, but there are a considerable number who prefer being in tents,” she said. “We must serve all who come.”

  “Indeed.” Ava felt compelled to see what she really came for. “This isn’t the original chapel, is it? I know the altar is from the founding days, but the building…”

  “The church was expanded about 800 years ago, when Glastonbury became an important commercial crossroads. The original chapel is over here, off to the side. They left it up and called it the ‘Lady Chapel.’”

  Tami led Ava over to an alcove she hadn’t noticed when she came in. It was much narrower than the rest of the chapel, and the rock walls looked older and rougher. “Oh! Feel the power pulse!” It beat so loudly, Ava could feel her heart fall into rhythm with it.

  “As you know, Mother Anya had this chapel built, and installed Cedric, a former Druid high priest and her children’s tutor, as the leader. Anya’s power, and nearly 1,500 years of continued worship, has made this a place of very deep energy,” Tami said.

  “Do you still hold rites in Drunemeton’s Sacred Grove?”

  “We worship in Anya’s Grove,” Tami subtly corrected Ava, “only during the high festivals like Midsummer and Winter Solstice. The old priests added a new grove here to hold the ordinary moon worship back in the 1600s.”

  “Is Anya’s tomb still there?”

  “Of course,” Tami said.

  Ava closed her eyes. She felt so pulled to see that place in a manner she couldn’t explain. “I really hoped to see that. But with the rain…”

  “Ach! The damned rain!” Tami exclaimed. “It’s leeching the heart out of the people!”

  “How do you mean?”

  Tami folded her arms across her ample chest and stared at the floor. “The nuke was bad enough. Almost everyone I know lost some family who lived in or was visiting the London area that day. So much sadness! But then the rain started after that—it’s been raining for forty-three days! It seems to have washed away the spirit of people.

  “It’s not just my parish, or the refugees. I’ve talked to pastors in dozens of churches. Everyone says the same thing. We’re losing hope. Every church, every temple, is filled with those seeking answers, a reason to go forward. The constable told me he’s never responded to so many suicides, or attempted suicides. Today is the first afternoon we haven’t had throngs at the door—besides the usual run of displaced people. I expect I must hold a standing-room-only service tonight.”

  Tami looked up at Ava. She realized the elder priestess’s eyes were a startling golden brown. “We are desperate for some flicker of light in the gloom of these terrible days! That’s why I was so excited about my dream. And to see you here!”

  “Could you share the vision with me?”

  “Oh, yes!” Tami said, sinking into a pew and indicating Ava should take a seat opposite her. “It starts with a dark, bleak land. Rather like today: It’s pouring and sunless. The people seem to have lost hope. Thousands are just roaming the landscape, unmindful of the rain, but so sorrowful. There’s been a disaster. And of course, now we know it’s the London bombing.”

  “You started having this dream before the attack?”

  “Correct,” Tami said thoughtfully. “And now that you ask me to examine the timing of this, well, I’m thinking I may have dreamed this several times over the years.”

  “Has it changed in that period? People? The manner of the dream?”

  Tami gazed at something far away. “Yes…it’s darker recently. Perhaps that’s just my feelings now. I’m not clear on that. And I saw your face more clearly in the last dream. But I knew your voice right away.”

  Ava shivered inwardly. “Go on.”

  “As I said, dark with a terrible disaster. It felt as if the land itself were starting to dissolve.” Tami shook her head. “It’s so hard to describe dreams. They often make no sense!”

  “Don’t worry about sounding silly. All dreams are surreal—more so when spoken aloud—even visions.” Ava had given this advice at least a hundred times.

  Tami snorted a laugh. “How many times have I told a parishioner that?” She bowed her head, concentrating. “There’s a man—no, two men. I can’t see their faces. They’re looking toward the light.” She closed her eyes. “Does one of them have on a crown? Maybe. There’s certainly something on his head. I’m sure the other has a staff or a wand or something like that. Both of them seem vaguely familiar. Do I know them? Are they famous people? I can’t tell.”

  Ava knew the priestess would be stunned when she discovered who the men were and what they represented!

  “A voice—your voice—says, ‘Do not give in to your fears.’ Now I think of it, the voice wasn’t just talking to me, or the other people wandering ar
ound, but the men, too.”

  Ava was well aware of her problems. What fears did Drunemeton and Steadbye have?

  “Then the men are walking up a hill, and everyone is watching. It feels as if the whole world is witnessing this moment.” Tami’s eyes were still shut, but her head was raised, as if she was seeing the men’s progress. “Something happens at the top. I’m not sure what; it’s all a jumble. And then the voice says, ‘Be healed, Britain. Use the light to lead the world.’ And this great glow shines down on the hill.

  “And then there’s a woman,” Tami’s eyes sprang open. “I realized it was you the moment I saw you at the altar. You had great, golden wings, and you hovered above the hill. Your wings…well, they seemed to enfold everyone. There’s this sense of peace and joy. The world is right again!”

  Ava swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. Can we truly succeed?

  Tami’s brows drew together in concern. “But the last time I had the dream―oh, a week or two ago―there was a darkness coiled ’round your legs. It was spreading upward, but you didn’t seem to notice. No one but me was aware of the danger. I tried to shout a warning to you—and woke my wife up!”

  “Tami, I believe this was a true Sending.”

  Her eyes flashed, and she said excitedly, “Thank you, High Priestess. Have you come to bring us out of the darkness?”

  Ifijioku, Ava’s former teacher and current chief advisor, would caution her to be careful in this moment. “I’ve come at the calling of the Goddess. What I do here, and my mission, I can’t say. As you know, even speaking of such matters can turn a delicate moment the wrong way.”

  Tami nodded. “I understand. But, forgive me for pressing you...may I tell my people the Goddess has sent an emissary? That She’s working on a plan to save us?”

  Because she asked it not for herself, but her parish, Ava reached out, hoping the Goddess would say...something. But as usual, there was nothing. “You may say the Goddess sees their pain. That She is always watching them with love and compassion. That all things—even the bad things—end.”