Lammas Night (59 page)

William managed a queasy smile, and the brigadier laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

“I know, son. You have a thousand questions. Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to answer them just now. I think you'll find that most of them will be answered along the way, however, either by prompting or by experience.”

“There's only one question that's important right now,” William murmured, looking at his hands in his lap. “Who, precisely, will be initiating me? I—was afraid to ask Gray.”

Ellis sighed and gave him a gentle smile. “I know what you want to hear, William. I think you know what I have to say, however. Alix will be principal initiator, as she should be, following the ancient custom that such things must always pass from woman to man and vice versa.” He paused a beat. “It looks like I'll be assisting her.”

William swallowed, imagining he could hear the sound reverberating through the room:

“Not—Gray?”

The brigadier bowed his head. “This is very, very difficult for him, William,” he whispered. “Try to understand. He may yet find the strength to do it, but I mustn't let you raise any false hopes.”

“I do understand,” William breathed, looking away. “It's just that …”

“I know, son,” Ellis said with a sigh. “Believe me, I know.”

C
HAPTER
24

Two hours after moonrise, Graham followed Alix and the brigadier silently along the maze, increasingly aware of a sense of isolation as they wound ever inward.

They had no need of lantern tonight, for the light of the full moon drenched the garden silver. Earlier, several flights of enemy bombers had droned high overhead, obscuring the moon in evil portent of death and destruction, but now only occasional clouds scudded across the lunar face to cast their fleeting shadows. Votive candles in red glass holders guarded the quarters inside the temple rather than the bulkier lanterns used at Lammas, but they were needed less for light than for their symbolism. White-faced in the moonlight, Alix and Ellis mounted the four steps to the temple and entered, leaving Graham alone outside.

As the two set about the business of purifying and casting the circle, Graham bowed his head and closed his eyes to finish centering in, even drawing the hood of his robe farther over his face to further shut out distractions as he felt the betweenness of the place deepen where he stood.

The moment was almost upon them—not for the sacrifice, thank God, for he still held some hope of yet averting that, but another moment just as soul altering in its way. Once William passed through the portal before which Graham now waited and through which Graham had passed so many times, the prince would never be the same, whether or not the sacrifice was consummated. When William walked the between-path of the sacred maze and came to stand in this otherness that was neither of the earth nor of the Second Road, he would feel the change. Never again could there be a return to the innocence of the before-times, when he had known nothing of Graham and his magic.

That alone was an awesome realization. Graham wondered whether he himself could have made the conscious choice the prince was making tonight, were he in William's place. For Graham, the question held little meaning, for he could not remember a time when he had not known what he was, but tonight would touch William in ways none of them could guess.

The sense of insulation, of being cut off from the outside world, increased as those inside wove the circle, until finally Graham was aware that all was done. There in the stillness between the world of men and the realms of the mighty ones, he vowed for the sake of William to set aside his own sorrow, at least for the duration of the night's work. No hint of his own anger and resentment at the roles thrust upon him and William would intrude upon this so-special working and taint it with mere human smallness. If only at Alix's and Ellis's directing, he must be an open channel through which the power might flow.

He was ready when they stepped into the doorway. His mind was stilled and calm, if a little numb, as he mounted the steps to face the god and goddess who stood there glowing like silver in the moonlight. The blade felt hot against his breast as he paused to answer the high priest's ritual challenge. The tang of incense smoke was sharp in his nostrils.

“Who comes?”

“
Din
, a friend of the old ones, duly sworn.”

As always when the sword fell away, Graham experienced that slight rush of relief that his answer had been accepted and he was deemed worthy to enter the circle. The splash of the water Alix sprinkled on him was less of a shock than it sometimes was, but her kiss was sweeter as she drew him inside. He slipped off his robe and hung it beside the others pegged on the wall just inside the doorway, but as he turned, his breath caught in his throat at the sight. From the dim light of altar candles inside the gazebo as well as the moonlight without, both Alix and Ellis seemed limned in silver, a nimbus of light, both physical and psychic, brightening the crowns of horn tips and flowers they wore. Graham had expected to fade into the background at this point, to stand only as witness while they performed what must be done, but something in their solemn, sad expressions told him they had other plans.

“Is something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, the name of the high priest,” Ellis said softly, gnarled hands resting lightly on the quillons of the sword. “You know that, Gray. It is you, not I, who should wield the sword and wear the horned god's crown tonight.”

Graham felt his stomach knot as a chill of dread ran up his spine. Suddenly, despite the carpet underfoot and the twined roses and ivy that kept out wayward breezes from the trellised walls, he felt cold.

“I've told you, I can't,” he managed to whisper, the words tumbling out without conscious thought. “You don't know what you're asking.”

“Ah, but I do,” Ellis replied. “I also know that if you persist in what you intend, thinking it will ease the hurt of what may later have to be, you'll regret it for all times to come.”

With an anguished “No!” and a desperate shake of his head, Graham turned his back on both of them. Clutching at the painted trellis grid for support and crushing leaves in his hands, he trembled. He had prayed Ellis would spare him this.

It was not that he did not long to perform this most sacred office for William—he would have sworn that before all the gods who ever were. Reception into the company of the ancient ones was one of the most precious gifts one being could offer another. The bonds set at such a hallowing extended even beyond a single lifetime.

But such bonds already clutched at him from other lives, and to accept the role as one of William's initiators in this life was also to acknowledge and condone what was almost sure to follow. Deep within him, he knew that he would, indeed, perform that more awful function when the time come—but could he not pretend for just a little longer that it was not so?

With a soft moan of denial, Graham leaned his forehead among the cool leaves and closed his eyes, fighting down the sick fear. He was aware of Ellis moving closer, so close their elbows brushed, but he could not bring himself to look up at the face beneath the horned crown. Somehow he knew that Alix had withdrawn to the other side of the circle to give them privacy.

“Do
you
regret it, Wesley?” he whispered after a moment more.

“Fortunately, there was nothing to regret”—the answer came softly—“though I came even closer than you are now. My friend was at the portal, waiting to be admitted to the circle, before I came to my senses and realized what a precious sharing I was about to deny—for both of us. I've never regretted changing my mind—though I do wish I'd done it sooner and spared us both some anxious moments. It was a very special privilege to be the channel through which the power flowed so that—what had to come later would be the more potent.”

Graham swallowed painfully, finally daring a glance at the brigadier's feet and the point of the sword resting between them.

“Do you really think it would make any difference to William?”

“I think it would make a great deal of difference. He told me so.”

“He
told
you?”

“A little while ago, when I gave him his final briefing,” Ellis said quietly. “He tried not to show his disappointment, but I know he was hoping it would be you. You hurt him when you wouldn't even talk about it earlier this evening, Gray. I tried to explain how you felt, and he
said
he understood, but I think it would mean a great deal to him if he could see
you
wearing the horned crown as he approached the circle instead of me.”

The last of Graham's counterarguments vanished clean away at that. He had not considered how his own participation could comfort William and strengthen the bond between them. He had forgotten the force of the bonds forged between himself and his own initiators so many years before, though both of them had long since passed on. How could he have thought of denying that to his prince?

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he forced the tension out of his body with a sigh and willed himself to relax, uncurling his fingers from their death grip on the trellis, suddenly aware of pain. His palms were bloody from the rose thorns he had crushed. He stared at the blood stupidly, for an instant flashing on the old nightmare.

Alix moved closer as soon as she saw his hands.

“You've hurt yourself.”

His first impulse had been to let the blood stay, but he submitted to her inspection without resistance, wincing as she pulled out several thorns.

“It doesn't matter,” he murmured, allowing her to bathe his wounded hands with a cloth dipped in the consecrated water. “The only thing that does matter is that man waiting outside the maze right now. I've nearly done both of us a terrible disservice.”

As Alix wiped his hands dry, brushing each palm lightly with her lips, Ellis smiled and inclined his head in a slight bow.

“I believe we have a new high priest for this evening, then, my lady—provided, of course, that you agree.”

Alix's face was radiant as she put her arms around Graham's neck and hugged him, the sweet scent of her flower crown obscuring even the hint of incense lingering on the air.

“Your lady could not be more pleased,” she whispered, pulling away to gaze at Graham with tears glistening in her eyes.

She took the sword from Ellis and laid it in Graham's hands, then moved the horned crown from grey head to brown. As Graham bent to receive it, he sensed the familiar mantle of that other, magical identity settling invisibly on his shoulders—the power of the god surrounding and enfolding him as he moved into the doorway with Alix, even as the goddess's perfume had surrounded him only seconds before.

He rested the tip of the sword on the floor in front of him, wounded hands resting on the quillons, and raised his face to the moonlight, inhaling the magic of the night. He seemed to feel himself grow taller by inches until he loomed like some great, primal giant bestriding the world—God himself, but also protector and consort to the one who stood at his side, who was no longer only Alix and mortal.

A slight breeze stirred, caressing his body and lifting strands of Alix's hair to partially veil both of them. Its touch was electric, jolting him to an even higher level of awareness.

His hearing seemed to have turned hypersensitive as well. Far off, he caught the faint crunch of footsteps on gravel. Turning his attention to the maze stretched out in the moonlight before them, he closed his eyes and eased out onto the Second Road. Far toward the outer edge of the maze, he began to sense ripples in the cosmic pattern: William approaching, Michael at his back, to keep an appointment with the gods.

The moon had retreated briefly behind a cloud, but it returned in full glory as William followed Michael through the library's French doors and out into the garden. The moonlight shone bright and silver-sharp against the inky shadows. The gravel underfoot was cold and gritty.

Just inside the maze, he paused for Michael to close the gate and snap a padlock shut on a hasp. The key hung from a nail close to the ground. Michael's black-robed form was in shadow as he turned to face the prince.

“I don't know whether you've been in this maze before, sir,” Michael said in a low voice, gesturing toward the path, “but even if you have, I think you'll find it different tonight. By changing a series of gates, we make the pattern a magical one. Walking it in the right frame of mind produces an effect similar to casting a magical circle, though there will be another circle inside as well. You're to lead. I'll follow along behind. There are no false turnings.”

A little taken aback, William gazed at the path stretching away in the moonlight. Out there, something awaited him—he knew not what.

“Just—follow the path?”

Michael grinned reassuringly, his teeth flashing in the shadow of his face. “I think you'll find there's nothing
just
about it, sir. I don't know whether you have sufficient training yet to actually feel a difference, but after Canterbury and Windsor, I shouldn't be at all surprised. If you should find yourself slipping into a light trance, so much the better.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” William murmured with an uneasy smile.

As William began walking the maze, he could hear only the faint buzz of crickets and other night creatures, the whisper of his and Michael's bare feet on the gravel, and his own pulse throbbing in his temples. He tried to slow his breathing, half closing his eyes and letting his fingertips brush the close-clipped hedges to either side to guide him, and gradually he felt himself relaxing. Just as predicted, he was easing himself into a light, comfortable trance.

He realized as he walked that part of the sound he heard was not his pulse at all but a low throb of drumming, similar to the night at Buckland. Without his conscious effort, his pulse rate and breathing slowed to coincide with its beat. Following the path along its twists and turns, he could feel something that was not quite tension or expectation creeping up his spine, concentrating at the back of his head, at once amplifying and muffling his normal perceptions.