M3 Margueritte: Tales, part 2 of 3

December 1, 2020November 8, 2020M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The afternoon began wonderfully, and full of celebration for the newborn child. “Every child is like the Christ child,” Father Aden said. But then there were horses in the fens, and four men came up quickly, followed by a fifth some distance away.

“Duredain, the king’s druid,” Bartholomew breathed. He did not especially like the man, and neither did the people of the fens, many of whom were there under sentence of the druid acting as magistrate for the king.

“Lord Bartholomew.” The druid was always polite to the Franks, but it seemed thin.

“Roan and Morgan I know,” Sir Barth said. They were Brian, the chief of Vergen’s deputies. “But who is this tall, lean one with you?”

“Finnian McVey.” The man introduced himself. “Lately arrived from the Irish shore and welcomed to the hospitality of King Urbon’s court.”

“You will cease and desist this distribution at once, on the king’s orders,” Duredain said, getting right to the heart of the matter. “These men and women have been put to this hardship under penalty of law. They are not to be aided in their sentence or comforted for their wrongdoing.”

Sir Barth reached up to rub his chin and think of what to say. In the interim, Lady Brianna and Aden the Convert both spoke in unison. “Nonsense!” Fortunately, before the argument could begin, the fifth rider arrived; Thomas of Evandell, the king’s bard.

“Lord and Lady Bartholomew.” He shouted from some distance to gain the attention of all. “Lord and Lady Bartholomew.” He repeated when he arrived. “The king requests your presence in the court at this time. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

“The girls.” Lady Brianna voiced her first thought, and Father Aden nodded for her sake to indicate that they would be safely escorted home.

“Actually.” Thomas negated the whole arrangement. “The king has asked if you would bring the girls, if it is not inconvenient. He has heard stories and wonders if he may hear more of the truth of the matter.”

Duredain the druid squinted at the girls. He had not anticipated this, but it did make his job easier. “Yes,” he said. “I, too would like to hear about these things.” He snapped at Roan and Morgan who did not get it at first but realized soon enough that their mounts were required. They reluctantly got to their feet in the unfriendly crowd. Sir Barth got up on one horse and took Elsbeth in his lap. Margueritte got up behind her mother on the other horse and held on tight around her middle. As they left the fens, she saw Aden the Convert try to turn the men to their drink. The men seemed determined, en-mass, to scare the pants off Roan and Morgan who, after a moment of hesitation, fairly ran for their lives to the sound of much laughter.

“You bet your bippy,” Margueritte said in a language she did not know, and she laughed without having the least idea why she laughed.

In the house with the wooden towers, which was clearly more of a fort than a proper castle, Margueritte looked at everything while Elsbeth ignored it all. Margueritte saw a great skill in the tapestries and that all the furnishings were well made and well kept. Elsbeth yawned until they came to the armed guards and entered the courtroom. The king sat at the end of the room with the queen beside him. Everyone else stood, except for Brian, the very overweight village chief, who had a little chair off to the side, and Canto, his druid, stood there with him. Duredain and Thomas went to one knee before rising. Lord and Lady Bartholomew nodded their heads and simply said, “Your Majesties.”

“I have heard some strange tidings concerning these daughters of yours,” the king said and did not wait for the niceties. He looked at the girls and Margueritte curtsied and nudged Elsbeth to do the same, which she did after a thought.

“Your majesty,” Margueritte said, as she momentarily looked down to keep her balance.

“Majesty.” Elsbeth echoed.

Margueritte looked at the queen. She heard so little about her, Margueritte could not even remember the woman’s name, but she looked like a nice older lady, and the queen smiled for her.

“Come.” The queen spoke up to her husband’s surprise who still scrutinized the girls with his best, practiced glare. “Come and tell me all about it,” the queen prompted. Margueritte accepted the invitation, and Elsbeth followed. When she sat at the queen’s feet, Elsbeth beside her, there arose some consternation in the gallery. The king said nothing, however, as it was apparently what the queen intended. The gallery became mollified and snickered a little when Elsbeth’s seven-year-old finger went to her nose.

“Well, it all started…” Margueritte began her story, and she told it almost word for word, exactly as she told her parents. She stuck strictly to the truth as well as she remembered it. The queen asked very few questions and the king asked none and only spoke at the beginning when the queen lit up at the word dance and said how she, too, loved to dance.

“You have the Maying, woman. And that is enough dance for the year,” the king said.

When Margueritte finished, she felt satisfied that the real story had gotten out in spite of Elsbeth’s interruptions and embellishments. And when the king and queen were silent, the king opened the floor to questions from the court.

Duredain the druid became one of the first to step up. “You say you slapped this ogre, this very force of nature itself, and he crashed against the wall and fell unconscious?”

“Yes sir,” Margueritte answered forthrightly.

“And how is it that you, a little girl, were able to do this?” he asked with a smirk.

“I do not know sir,” Margueritte said honestly. “Unless it was by the grace of God.” She swallowed and added, “I am a Christian, you know.” She looked to her mother and saw pride in her mother’s eyes. Margueritte was not completely unaware of the political implications in her statement. The queen appeared unmoved by the revelation, but the king sat straight up, and the druid huffed and puffed, but said no more at that time. Instead he chose to stand warily beside his king.

“And how is it that lightning came from your fingers to strike the imp?” A woman asked.

“I do not know,” Margueritte said.

“And there are no imps handy to show you.” A man back in the crowd muttered and several of the courtiers laughed.

Far and away, most of the questions were about the unicorn. Elsbeth could not say enough in praise and told over and over how she was healed of all her fears and torments simply by touching the beauty. Marguerite, however, did not like the tone of some of the questions. These were asked mostly by men at arms, hunters all.

At the last, the Lord Ahlmored stepped forward as if he had waited patiently for just the right moment. “Well I, for one, do not believe a word of it. Oh, I am sure the young ladies have told what they believe is true, but I suspect the truth is more that some ordinary thieves stole the girl in the woods when they had a chance, no doubt to hold her for ransom. The lovely Margueritte followed her little sister and probably found a gentle old nag that had come loose of its tether and wandered off in search of a good graze. Then by mere chance they stumbled on the cave of the thieves, sheep rustlers we might call them. The leader probably slipped in the doorway to allow the girls to escape, which happens.” Lord Ahlmored shrugged. “The nag, which was certainly lost and had nowhere else to go, then carried them off before the other thieves could stop them. I suspect there is no more to the real truth than that.” He shrugged again like that should be the end of the story and the discussion. Reason prevailed.

Lord Bartholomew, however, had not been counted on. Red with fury, he broke Brianna’s hold on him. “Are you calling my daughters liars?” He shouted and faced the African who merely smiled and bowed.

“Not at all,” Ahlmored said. “I did say they honestly believe their own story, but you know how these things get built up in the mind, and especially in the imagination of children.”

Bartholomew only kept back when Baron Bernard and Bernard’s squire, his own son Michael stepped in front of him. Sir Barth felt steaming mad, but he was not the only one. Duredain the druid looked ready to spit. Ogres and unicorns made sense in his world, even if they were encountered by one who had the audacity to speak of this Christ. Arrogant Moslem ambassadors and their rationalistic “explain-it-away” sentiments, however, were intolerable. For all his faults, the druid could never tolerate a closed mind.

“You’re a fool, Ahlmored,” he said, as Bartholomew looked at his girls.

M3 Margueritte: Trouble in Banner Bein, part 3 of 3

November 25, 2020November 8, 2020M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Margueritte looked into the dark and felt immediately overwhelmed by the smell of mold and old bones. She turned her head. “Will you wait for me?” she asked, and the unicorn agreed. Margueritte nodded her thanks, and with tears in her eyes, from fear as much as from the smell, she stepped into the dark of the graves.

Down a long corridor, and she had to turn away from the light altogether. She needed her hand at that point to touch the wall and not lose her way. She felt sure she touched dead bones more than once, but the bones and the dark did not frighten her. The ghosts of lost souls that haunted the passageways raised the hair on the back of her neck.

She came to no more turns before she caught the glimmer of firelight ahead. She heard the deep, gravel voices of the ogres in the distance, but curiously, they did not make her nearly as afraid as the thought of ghosts.

“The lady will be happy with the girl,” one said.

“Is that what it is? A girl?” That sounded like a much deeper voice. Margueritte guessed the first one was the female—the smart one.

“I’m hungry.” That had to be the little one, though it was hard to tell by the voice.

“The sheep’s a boiling,” the female said. “We’ll get a good winter’s nap from that lot.”

Margueritte shook her head as she neared the light. The sheep were already gone. She only hoped Elsbeth was still in one piece.

“Eh!” That was an imp voice. “Fingers out of the pot.” She heard a sharp crack of a metal spoon rapped against rocks, which Margueritte rightly interpreted as the ogre’s knuckles.

“Ow! But I like it more raw.” The ogre complained in a voice which suggested he might be the grandfather.

Margueritte stole that moment to peek and guessed that the ogres would all be turned away. Sure enough, their eyes were on the fire and the old ogre who licked his knuckles. The imp stood on a tall stool over a cauldron big enough for three men where she stirred the meat with a spoon studded with spikes against over eager hands.

“Well, just wait with the rest.” The imp went back to stirring, while Margueritte, who saw an opening, took that moment to sneak in behind a rough-hewn cabinet which had been pushed only lazily toward the wall. She waited there a long time while the ogres argued over the stew, before they settled grumpily around the tremendous fire which took up the whole center of the room. Margueritte appreciated the cabinet, since the heat from the fire felt sweltering.

Elsbeth sat in the corner, well away from the fire, her hands wrapped with thick chords of rope, tied to the bench she occupied. Margueritte imagined the imp tied her there since she would be the only one with fingers capable of tying a knot without accidentally breaking Elsbeth’s wrist. Elsbeth looked awake but stared blindly as if in shock and unable to fully comprehend what was happening to her. Margueritte tried several times to get her attention, but to no avail.

At last the imp declared the sheep ready enough and everyone grabbed a favorite piece and began to munch, bones and all. Margueritte, who had been brought up with some manners felt repulsed by the scene. She knew she ought to wait until they finished and hopefully went to bed, or at least to sleep, but the longer she stayed behind the cabinet, the more worried she became. It would be dark soon. The unicorn might not wait much longer. Surely, they are so absorbed with eating, they will not notice her. She saw a cupboard of sorts and a terribly oversized wooden bucket she could slip behind along the way. And all this finally convinced her to move before it was prudent.

The cabinet was easy to get to. But the bucket sat some steps off. She decided to try the old rock throwing routine, but her first rock, instead of sailing over the heads of the ogres and making a nice clattering sound on the other side of the cave, it slammed into the father ogre’s head. Then again, he did not even feel it and only paused long enough to mumble something about nasty insects.

Margueritte’s next stone sailed truer to the target. It did not clatter quite like she hoped, but it did turn the ogre heads long enough for her to dash to the bucket.

“More likely rats.” The mother ogre commented before they returned to their feast. “Maybe we can catch some for dessert.”

Elsbeth saw her sister suddenly and looked about to shout out. Margueritte barely kept Elsbeth quiet long enough to hunker down behind the bucket rim. She still concentrated on keeping her sister quiet when the father ogre got up and stepped to the bucket. He scooped up a drink in the tremendous ladle and then splashed the scoop back into the bucket which caused the water to slosh over the side and soak Margueritte’s head. One step and the ogre’s vision caught up with his brain, and his arm was much longer than Margueritte would have believed.

“Hey!” The ogre shouted and in one reach, scooped Margueritte up by her hair. Elsbeth screamed and that caused a moment of confusion, which allowed Margueritte to slip to the ground, free of the Ogre’s grasp. Marguerite flew to Elsbeth’s side, but the thick rope proved too hard to untie quickly. In a moment, the imp was on her and the ogre family blocked the way out.

“What have we here?” The imp asked.

“The Danna. The Don.” Margueritte answered without thinking. “And you have invaded my house without asking.” Her fear made her angry and opened her mouth with whatever words might come out.

“Now come, pretty.” The imp reached out to grab Margueritte’s arm, but something like lightning from ruby slippers caused the imp to jump back and suck her fingers. Margueritte finished untying her sister. “I told Ping no children!” Margueritte shouted while the imp’s eyes widened as big as dinner plates.

“You saw my husband?” she whispered through her fingers.

“I said no children, and I never said he could have even one sheep,” Margueritte raged. “You stole them. You are thieves and you owe me your lives in return.” It seemed a bold madness drove the poor girl. Even Elsbeth stared. Margueritte grabbed her sister’s hand and marched to the door full of ogres. Elsbeth averted her eyes because they were so hideous to look at. Margueritte, however, stared right at them all and demanded. “Move!”

The mother, the young one and the dim-witted grandfather were all inclined to follow instructions, but the father bent down and tried to grin. Lucky, Elsbeth was not watching. The sight of an ogre grinning could make the strongest stomach give it up.

“Now, then, you don’t mean it,” the ogre said. “Why not stop for a bite to eat and a bit of calm down?”

Margueritte’s fear peaked. “Smasher!” She shouted the ogre’s name. “I said move!” She screamed and her little hand rushed out and slapped the rock-hard ogre jaw dead on. Of course, nothing should have happened other than Margueritte hurting her hand, but to everyone’s amazement, the ogre got knocked all the way to the wall and slid to his seat, unconscious. Margueritte was not about to look that gift ogre in the mouth. With a tight hold on Elsbeth’s hand, she raced down the long, dark hall and the other ogres gave her plenty of space. She turned toward the light. She heard the young one call after her.

“Don. Danna. Wait. Please.”

Margueritte did not wait. As soon as she got out the door, she saw the sun well on its way to the horizon. Gratefully, she saw the unicorn still there, not having moved an inch.

“Margueritte?” Elsbeth said, and followed immediately with, “So pretty!” The unicorn dropped to one knee and Margueritte placed her sister on the beast’s back. She slipped up behind while she told her sister to hold tight to the unicorn’s mane. Then they were off at a soft gallop which the girls hardly felt. Margueritte even had time to look back and see that ugly young head peek out of the open door. “Hammerhead is a dweeb.” Margueritte thought to herself and felt rather affectionate toward the youth, ogre though he was. She attributed the feeling to the unicorn and imagined that one could not do other than love in the purest sense when in such a creature’s presence. In truth, everything was by necessity pure in the presence of a unicorn.

Whether by magic or by design, only moments later they found Lord Bartholomew, Tomberlain, and several soldiers of the Franks. The troop halted and stared in wonder at the beast which carried the innocents. Margueritte got down right away when the unicorn stopped, a good ten yards from the troop. Elsbeth still hugged the unicorn, utterly in love, and Margueritte knew, fully cured from the trauma she had suffered. A tear of pure joy and gratitude showed in Margueritte’s eye when she leaned over and kissed the unicorn on the nose. Elsbeth did not want to let go, but Margueritte got her down, slowly. As soon as Elsbeth got free, the unicorn bounded into the forest, and so fast it looked like the animal vanished into thin air. Elsbeth cried, but her father came up quickly and lifted her in his arms.

Tomberlain hugged Margueritte to pieces. “I thought I lost my very best sister,” he said.

“I was so scared,” Margueritte admitted, and then she saw her dog draped over one of the soldier’s horses and she cried with her sister.

The next day, she told her family the whole story. Elsbeth praised her courageous sister and embellished the part in the ogre’s lair almost beyond reason. In turn, they told how they trailed her, how they found her old dog and, oddly enough, the tails of all the sheep hanging from a tree branch as if set out to dry in some strange ritual.

“I don’t think those ogres will give us trouble anymore, at least as far as children go,” Margueritte said, and then she wandered down to the kennels where her dog got buried and set a small wood cross on the grave.

“Mother?” she asked. “Do dogs go to heaven?”

“I don’t see why not,” her mother said. “God made them, too.”

************************

MONDAY

After the trouble in Banner Bein, there are tales and secrets to tell… Until Monday, Happy Reading

M3 Margueritte: Trouble in Banner Bein, part 2 of 3

November 24, 2020November 7, 2020M G Kizzia 1 Comment

Almost exactly a year after that day, when Elsbeth, now seven came with her, Maven found them by the stream near the grotto where the sheep were watering. Elsbeth liked to dance through the clearing. In truth, Elsbeth liked to dance as much as she hated to cook.

“Come along,” Maven said. “Bring your sheep up to the meadow. I have special treats for you today.”

“Elsbeth.” Margueritte called, but Elsbeth did not answer. Margueritte stepped to the clearing and reached out while Elsbeth danced. She took hold of Elsbeth’s scarf and pulled, expecting her sister to come along, but the scarf came free and Elsbeth stuck out her tongue as she continued to pirouette across the grass.

“She’ll be along when she’s hungry enough,” Maven said, as she turned to climb up out of the hollow. Margueritte shrugged but held on to Elsbeth’s scarf as she took her crop to drive the sheep to the meadow. Her old dog followed but he did not really help. He was more of a hunting hound than a sheep dog, and of an age where he had a hard-enough time getting himself up the hill without trying to drive sheep as well.

Atop the hollow, on the meadow’s edge, Maven huffed and puffed right along with the dog. Margueritte smiled as the sheep spread out to graze. “What special treats?” She asked, not really expecting an immediate answer.

“Heavy ones.” Maven feigned her need to sit and rest, as she always did.

“Well, as long as they weren’t cooked by Elsbeth, I am sure they will be good.” Margueritte joked, mostly to herself.

No sooner had Maven set down her burden by the old oak, and the dog prepared to curl up in his usual spot, a scream from Elsbeth pierced the air. Margueritte turned. Maven looked ashen and the dog perked up his ears.

“Elsbeth!” Margueritte shouted, but Elsbeth screamed again, and then a third time as Margueritte began to run. Maven waddled after as fast as she could, and the old dog paced Margueritte and began to bark wildly at something unknown. Elsbeth screamed again, but the scream echoed from some distance downstream. Margueritte and her dog turned to follow, but Maven raised her voice, and that alone was so unusual it made Margueritte stop in her tracks.

“Hold where you are!” Maven shouted as she puffed up the last few steps. “Someone’s taken her, that is certain, and I’ll not have you follow and get lost or taken yourself. Quickly, now, home to your father. Let him raise the men to follow proper and be quick. The quicker, the better.”

“No,” Margueritte protested and turned after her sister, but Maven grabbed her by her arm.

“I’ll not argue. And I’ll not lose you, too,” Maven said, sternly.

“But the sheep.” Margueritte reminded her. Maven paused and looked toward the meadow. “I’ll not leave them.” Margueritte pressed her words. “And I’ll have Ragnar with me to protect me.” She pointed at the dog.

Maven spat at the dilemma, but she let go and began to waddle at top speed toward the triangle, saving only enough breath to shout back. “You better be here and safe when your father comes, or it will be my life.” She knew the risks.

Margueritte did not really know what to do. “Elsbeth,” she breathed. She knew, especially if the kidnappers were on horseback, they were well out of her reach by then. She turned slowly, the dog panting beside her, and climbed back to the meadow with her head hung low. When she arrived, however, a surprise greeted her. The sheep were gone, everyone. Look as she might, she found neither sight nor sound of any of them. She wanted to cry, and might have, if a voice in her head had not said, “Leave them alone and they’ll come home.”

“Wagging their tales behind them,” Margueritte said out loud in a flat voice while she fingered the cloth in her hand. The dog barked. Margueritte took a closer look at Elsbeth’s scarf, the dog, and had an idea.

They went back to the stream and she rubbed the scarf all over the poor old hound’s nose. She repeated the word, “Elsbeth,” as she did. Then she let go, pointed downstream and tucked the scarf into her dress. “Elsbeth.” She said it again, several times. The dog was slow but got it in the end. He began to sniff the ground, round and round where Elsbeth danced, and he snorted several times at what was probably a strange scent before he at last settled on a direction. The dog trotted, and Margueritte had to trot along to keep up. A good hour passed before Margueritte wished she had brought some of Maven’s dinner with her, and another hour before she absolutely had to stop and rest.

“Thank the Lord you are old and can hardly move fast,” she said, as she patted Ragnar’s nappy head. He had never wavered in his trail. They left the stream behind and headed right through the woods called the Banner. These were much wilder and untouched than the woods of Vergen. There were no roads here at all, and no sign at all of human encroachment. The terrible rocky soil made it impossible to farm, and the ridges of rock that broke it up made it worse. The greatest ridge was Banner Bein, and people said it was full of caves where kings of old were buried. This was not a place Margueritte wanted to be alone in the dark, but as it turned only an hour or two beyond noontide, Margueritte imagined she had plenty of time yet before she should have to worry.

“Okay.” She got again to her feet and gave the dog another good whiff of Elsbeth’s scarf. “Time to move. Elsbeth,” she said. “Elsbeth,” she repeated, and then she realized that two hours of her own dress pressed against the scarf might have the poor beast confused. Still, he picked up a scent of some kind and started out, and Margueritte stayed right behind.

At one particularly rocky place, the dog stopped. It appeared to be confused. They were in a small dip covered with eons of fallen leaves. All around were rock facings, boulders of various sizes, some that seemed to grow right out of the ground along with the trees, both birch and pine.

“What is it?” Margueritte asked the dog as if he might answer. Suddenly, the dog growled and leapt. A black bear came growling and staggered into the little clearing.

Margueritte screamed several times while dog and bear went at each other. The dog got a good hold of the bear’s shoulder with his old jaws, but the bear knocked him off and with a great paw swipe and sent the dog into the nearest boulder. Fortunately, the bear seemed to have had enough and rushed off down the hill to lick its wounds. The dog, however, did not move when Margueritte fell on it. The dog stopped breathing, and Margueritte began to cry as her foolishness suddenly came to mind with a vengeance. She had gotten herself utterly lost in the Banner, and it would be dark soon enough. She became wracked in tears, and for Elsbeth as much as herself, and she stayed that way, crying on the poor dog’s face until something rather sharp poked her in the side.

Margueritte jumped back. She thought for a brief instant that the bear had returned, and her quick motion almost frightened off the beast. It pranced a little but settled down to stare at the girl with sad, deep-set and intelligent eyes. The one, long horn that grew from its’ forehead looked silver in color, while the beast looked white, yet the horn sparkled ever so slightly, and the beast glowed a bit in the shadow of the trees. This told Margueritte that this was a creature not entirely of this world.

“Will you help me?” Margueritte asked, with great hope in her voice, and never doubted for once that the unicorn would understand exactly what she asked.

The unicorn nodded and shook little sparkles from its mane. It lowered one leg to invite the maid to ride. Margueritte did not hesitate. Faith guided her. She got up on the unicorn’s back and immediately the unicorn started out at a gentle pace.

“Are we going to Elsbeth?” Margueritte asked. The unicorn nodded again and Margueritte said “Thank you,” and cried some more into the unicorn’s glorious mane.

Another hour passed of up-hill and down, through the trees and across unexpected meadows. One meadow showed signs of a recent fire, which might have been a ritual fire of some kind. Margueritte did not want to look too closely.

At last they came to the face of a rock outcropping on Banner Bein and stopped. Margueritte got the message and slipped off the unicorn’s back. She faced the rocks and saw writing of some kind, but it looked like runes—clearly pre-Roman. She squinted at it, but the runes made no sense except for one name: Danna, Danu or Don, depending on the accent. “This is the place where kings are buried,” Margueritte said and the unicorn nodded and stomped its’ foot. “And where gods of old were buried in the time of dissolution,” she added, and again the unicorn nodded and stomped. “But how may I get in?” She asked and stepped aside while the unicorn stepped up. The unicorn touched the very name of Don and stepped back. Something creaked, groaned, and it sounded like rocks scraping against rocks, but slowly a door opened in the hillside. The opening stood ten feet tall and eight feet wide.

Avalon 3.11: part 5 of 5, Wedding Day

September 8, 2015August 28, 2015M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Hathor sat in the front on the aisle next to Teti, Anak, and Mother Nephthys. Mingus sat beside Nephthys and left a seat empty for Decker, the best man, if he should need it. That was on the groom’s side Horus sat on the other side of the aisle next to his friends Lockhart and Katie, with Sakhmet squeezed between them on the bride’s side. Lincoln was beside Katie and had a seat open for the maid of honor, Alexis, if she wanted it. Everyone else, gods and little spirits, sat behind.

They waited until sundown for the ceremony so the dark elves and others could join in the festivities. That was not a problem, because it took all day to shape Boston’s fairy weave into a bridal gown she liked. Hathor kept trying to change the color to pink because it matched Boston’s red hair so well. Teti finally explained that white was traditional, and let Hathor read a small bit of her mind concerning the matter. Hathor’s eyes got big and said, “Oh,” more than once. Teti could not swear that Hathor did not see more than Teti intended.

Finally, Boston had her flowers and said she was ready. They only had to tell her she was beautiful for the millionth time.

Elder Stow acted as usher, and when they were ready, he went to sit behind Horus. Lenanni and Mia got to be the flower girls. They joined Elder Stow on the bride’s side where Kotemmi, now cured, watched them. The priestess of Mehit helped, a lovely girl who kept glancing at Sakhmet and for some reason could not stop crying.

Ankar was the ring bearer, and he made Koteph walk for one of the few times in his five years of life. They sat behind Teti on the groom’s side where Kidrash and her husband corralled them with their own children.

Decker was good and hardly complained. He only once suggested that Roland was doomed, and otherwise stood at his military best, in his fairy weave imitation full dress marine uniform with his gold leafs proudly on display. Roland, beside him, kept nervously fiddling with the bow tie on his fairy weave tux.

Roland almost lost it when Isis came at sundown. She walked from behind to not cause a scene, and stood facing the congregation at the very front. She looked about thirty-five or so, a mature woman, but she could not help appearing supremely beautiful and supremely powerful. Hathor was a beauty beyond reckoning, but it was easy to see where she got her looks. Teti wondered how they might look side by side, mother and daughter, if they both appeared to be twenty-five or so. Then she figured Aunt Isis put on a few years because of the stress over caring for Osiris.

By contrast, Mother Nephthys made herself appear more like a fifty-year-old. “Mother?” Teti started to speak, but Nephthys hushed her, and then knowing her daughter’s mind, said, “I am just the right age for a grandmother. Hush.”

Lincoln pulled out the database and started the wedding march music. Alexis walked in, slowly, while everyone stood. Boston came after, with Lockhart to give her away. Mother Nephthys started to cry, and Teti almost joined her, but then Lockhart kissed Boston on the forehead and put her in Roland’s hands and sat. Roland and Boston knelt before the goddess, and everyone else sat and quieted.

“We are gathered here today … “ Isis began, and did a perfect job, of course. Thoth even praised the little sermon and said it was succinct and not one word too many. When she got to the part that said, “Do you Roland—“ Roland interrupted.

“I do.”

“And do you Mary Riley—”

“I do,” Boston said.

###

That evening, Teti explained to the women, even while they were going back for seconds on cake, that the wine was a gift from Silenus, “For that red headed girl that he liked so much.” Roland and Boston made their way to the hastily erected hut out in the field the travelers had crossed four days earlier. It would be their honeymoon suite, and they were very happy, but first they were interrupted by an apparition.

“The wraith,” Roland said as he went to stand in front of Boston. “From Tetamon’s days.”

“Can’t be,” Boston said, but she tried to see over Roland’s shoulder.

“You are mine, little spirits of life,” the wraith said in her glee filed, but frightening voice. “I waited for your happy day.” The wraith cackled and began to suck out their life and joy like a dementor straight from Azkaban It did not get far before forty pounds of wildcat let out a roar much bigger than its size would suggest. A moment later, a streak of white light came racing across the fields.

The wraith looked at the cat and knew it was in trouble. Then it saw what the white light represented and it let out a high pitched wail. The people at the reception looked up at the roar, The wail woke those who left the reception to go to bed.

Suddenly, there were gods and goddesses all over the front of the honeymoon house yard, but the wraith was fleeing for its life across the wastes, headed for the desert where it might find a place to hide.

“Like Mut,” Boston said. “It was so focused on getting us alone, it had no idea what was actually going on here.” Then she turned to the unicorn, glowing as bright as ever. It tapped its front hooves three time in the dirt, while several young goddesses gushed over the creature. “Goodbye,” Boston said, and felt very sad, while the unicorn reared up and took off back across the field. Boston looked at the gods and goddesses, and especially Ma’at, who caught the bouquet, and confessed that she wished Thoth might notice her some day. Boston did not know, but she saw that Katie had to hold her tongue. “Good-bye,” she said to them all. “Thank you for coming,” and then her mouth got busy kissing Roland, and they went over the threshold and closed the door.

Bast, the wildcat laid down on the doorstep to be sure they were not disturbed in the night.

Back at the reception, Decker asked. “So we get to leave in the morning?”

“Dear, no,” Mother Nephthys said. “Give them a few days at least.”

“How about a week?” Alexis asked.

“How about a few days,” Mingus said then he shook a finger at his daughter. “You could learn from your brother. You might have married one of your own kind.”

Alexis looked at Lincoln and he shook his head. “I would not make a good elf,” he admitted, and was a bit put off with the speed with which everyone agreed with him, especially Mingus.

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Be sure and return next Monday for the final episode in Avalon, season three: episode 3.12 The Moon Goes Down.