The Dark Chronicles Ch 11

Epilogue - The Old Crooked Tree

I am here.

I was old before this story began, I am ancient now at its end, but if I don't tell it, who will?

As it turns out, priests and pretenders, sycophants and Welshmen, they'll all have a go. They queue at the door. But no-one can forget truth as easily as me and make lies up to compensate, painting pretty tales on parchment pages with the edges curled up. It's the rain makes them do it, or the tears. I can never tell which is which, they all seem to drop, especially when the wind blows this old crooked tree and the shutters at the windows bang open, snap shut, rattle rattle, drip, drop.

Well.

Lilith came back to Camlann with her brother's head on a pole, and I surmised that circumstances might have been better. She told me, tears ravaging her beautiful face, of Mordant's final betrayal of their father, my beloved friend, with his blood spilled red on the snow.

I washed my hands for hours, knowing I'd birthed the sod, and it was only when Lilith took my hands in hers and said, "But Maerlyn, you held me too with those hands," that I stopped.

Nymue came and said, "I took him to Avelynn and laid him to rest in a cave, still sleeping." She wouldn't tell us where he was hid, of course, even though Lilith asked. "It would break your heart trying to get there, girl, you mustn't know." The girl didn't really want to know, but I think she walked the shores of many lakes and walked many high hills, a looking.

I knew better than to ask, but I suspect Nymue told Morgayne his sister, and between them they sealed the cave up.

Sweet Miryamme never properly understood what happened to Artur, the poor child, so we took her to the Isle of Glas in a wagon, and gave her to the Mothers to care. Later, when she was older and her golden hair turned grey, I found that the Sisters of Ursula were good women of Christ and an acceptable version of that foolishness, and the dear little queen went to their house with her doll and lovely blue eyes. She was calmer by then and wasn't frightened so much, and only walked in her sleep once a year.

Young Lancilet, he too grew grey after many years gone mad in a forest, wandering about like a lunatic when the moon rises - which I do so much better - and in time he found his way to Miryamme's window at her nunnery and they let him in. I don't know if he ever fitted the little queen's front passage, but a back door is almost the same, if you close your eyes and use imagination, and your hands around the front.

Well, well.

Young Elayne got the biggest belly from her rut with Lancilet, all confused by faces, dreams of Miryamme, and stories told by the spineless fool. She counted nine months, and almost to the minute, popped out a boy, whom she named Galahad.

He was a bright and inquisitive lad, given to ponies early on. When he was an appropriate age he went a wandering, searching for quails. Or grails. I never could hear it clearly. His tale might be worth a tell, along with fishers and virgins all vestal, if only I could bear hearing about Christian chapels and chalices. Something about thorns, too, or is it roses? Some plant which popped up by a spring, grow, grow. I'll talk to Brother Joseph, he might remember some of it, and if he doesn't, I can make up all of the rest.

Emmelyne and Rednock converted the stables into a drinking house, and hung a sign with horses' heads upon it. Emmy remembered my birthdays regularly and indulged me in them pleasantly - that might be why I'm older than I look. So many birthdays in one year, I quite forget to count them. But then those two said, "Don't encourage him, Em, we'll look after him now."

Well, well, well.

They did, and they do.

It's a big oak they've got me in, hollowed out and high up, and oh what a view! There's Nymue to the left of me with her long white hair, and Morgayne to the right, all grey now, but still she moves so slow, her fingers on my arm all teasing. My ankle only itches on cold nights, but it's snowing outside. It's a gentle rub, to remind me.

They've made a curious truce, these two, as if the making of Artur was a necessary thing to go so wrong, but the Goddess made them do what they dId, and who were they, but to try?

I'm in the middle, and don't want to be anywhere else.

Sometimes Lilith comes to visit, and when she does, I try not to look into her eyes. Because when she looks at me I see her father's eyes all blue, and it all comes thundering back. And I remember every moment, every thing, and my old heart creaks and one day might break.

Ah there, see, it rains outside, and I can't see any more, because I weep.

I am here, and cannot forget.

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