PROLOGUE: THE WITCH-QUEEN AWAKENED
September 1066, Somewhere in the Welsh Marches
“Surely we must be close by now,” hissed the man who called himself Godric, “We’ve been searching for over three hours!”
“Be patient,” whispered the taller of his companions, a greying bard who answered to the name of Taliesin, “They say it only appears at midnight in the last few weeks before the vernal equinox. Surely you can afford to wait a few moments more for something so rare.”
“You’ve said that every night for the past fortnight,” said Godric, “I swear, if we don’t find it tonight I’ll have your guts for garters. I’m starting to think this is just an old wives’ tale.”
At this, the eldest and most taciturn of the three companions spoke up. “We of the Hwicce have long remembered the old tales,” said old Iorwerth, “Do not dismiss them so hastily. They all say he’ll return when Britain faces its direst need. What need could be more dire than the one facing us now?”
The three men grew quiet for a moment. They well knew the double threat posed by the two armies invading from both north and south. Finally it was Godric who broke the silence.
“Hmph,” he scoffed, “What do you know, you daft old fool? Just hold your torch and your tongue and keep your silly old wives' tales—“
“Hush!” said Taliesin, his voice the lowest of whispers, “Will you look at that!”
The mists had cleared a little, revealing a clearing in the midst of the dark forest, less than fifty yards distant. At the center of the misty glade rose the rocky silhouette of an ancient barrow. It seemed to glow dimly with an unearthly light.
“That’s got to be it!” said Taliesin, “The lost barrow of the king!” The trio made their way stealthily to the massive edifice, which was marked by a clearly defined, ovular stone slab.
“You’re the expert, Taliesin,” said Godric, pointing to a runic inscription on the cold stone door, “What does all that say?”
“I can’t be sure,” admitted the old bard, “I’ve never seen runes quite this old before.”
“Well that’s a laugh,” said Godric, “I search for months to find the last man who knows anything about old druidic lore and he can’t even figure out some silly old symbols.”
“Wait,” said grey, old Iorwerth,” “That one there, the circle with the star in it. I know that one. It was on the old scroll of stories my grandsire used to read from. The one about old Emrys Myrddin from ages past. I never could make head or tails of all that stuff, but I’d bet a silver penny that’s old Myrddin’s crest!”
Taliesin couldn’t suppress a gleeful laugh. “This is it. This is it! After all this time I can’t believe we finally found it!”
“Fine,” said Godric, “But what good does it do us if we can’t get inside? If we fail tonight we’ll have to wait a whole year before we can try again!”
“Steady on,” said Taliesin, “I know I can figure this out. Just give me a moment.”
He touched each of the runes in sequence, before letting his finger rest on an engraved dragon.
“Our need is dire,” said Taliesin, “The time has come. We are here to awaken the great king!”
He traced the circular etching of Myrddin’s symbol with his finger, then pressed his thumb into the center of the glyph.
“Open!” he cried, a little louder than Godric would have liked.
Nothing happened. They waited for a full minute in tense silence, each on his guard in case something should happen. Nothing did.
A wolf howled somewhere in the distance. The clouds parted slightly overhead, bathing the giant stone slab with a tiny glimmer of moonlight. Taliesin blinked, his face a mask of bewilderment in the torchlight.
“That does it!” growled Godric at last, “I’m heading back right now and I’m telling his lordship that—“
He was cut off by the booming noise of stone grinding against stone as the monolithic door slowly moved aside.
“This is it!” repeated Taliesin, “Told you I could do it!”
“Good God!” gasped Godric, his mouth agape. Iorwerth just grinned, showing several gaps in his yellowed teeth.
The three of them entered a low earthen passageway, lined with rough stonework and rotting timbers. Here and there, long-forgotten talismans and banners hung from the ceiling. At length the passage narrowed and they entered a small circular chamber at the heart of the barrow, filled with dusty, decomposing, old artifacts.
At the center of the hollow stood a crude stone altar, just about long enough for a person to lie upon. In fact, as they drew nearer, that is exactly what the three of them saw.
“That’s no king,” said Godric, his breath catching in his throat, “It’s a woman!”
Sure enough, the occupant of the ancient stone bed (for that is what it now appeared to be,) was a beautiful young woman with a mane of raven-dark hair. Her face appeared to be unmarred by time and her body untouched by decay. Her long black gown appeared as fresh and clean as the day it was sewn.
“Is she dead?” asked Godric, reaching out to touch her pallid, porcelain skin.
“Wait!” said Taliesin quickly, “Careful now. We don’t know how long she has lain like this, but it’s clear there’s powerful magic at work here. One wrong move and…“ He let the sentence trail off.
Cautiously, he placed two fingers upon the woman’s wrist—and gasped.
“What is it?” asked Godric.
“She’s warm!” stuttered Taliesin, “Her heart’s beating. She’s—she’s alive!”
“This is very wrong,” said old Iorwerth ominously, “This is not what we came looking for. We should never have come here. Better leave now while we still can.”
At that moment, the young woman took in a deep breath and opened her eyes with a start.
She groaned as she slowly rose from the slab, as if she hadn’t moved a muscle in centuries.
The three interlopers began to back away, but she appeared not to notice them. She seemed to look past them, or through them.
“Wizard!” she wheezed, “Where are you hiding? Wherever you are, I will find you and you
will suffer!”
“You fools!” cried Iorwerth, “You’ve awakened the Morrigan! Get out of here! Get out!”
The three of them ran for the doorway, but the raven-haired woman was too quick for them, moving to block their escape in the blink of an eye. In fact, it was as if she hadn’t moved at all. One moment she had been sitting on the old stone altar, and now as if by magic she was simply standing there in front of them, barring the way.
“Tell me everything,” she said, her piercing green eyes glaring into them, “
Now.”
***