The World Above the Sky (6 page)

“I've seen it.”

“Forgive me, My Lady. Will you?”

“In moments of prayer and meditation, I feel the sacred past pulse through me: back past our Lord Muhammad, blest be his name; back to my brother, My Lord Christ and His beloved wife the Lady Magdalene. Back to the Royal House of David; beyond Solomon, to the ancient tribes, yet further back, to Hector and Osiris, back beyond our ancient Goddess kin, to the Ones Before Time. Back to the One True Mystery—God and Goddess incarnate; back to the Two Made One.”

“This same blood spilled upon the Holy Rood by the Prince of Peace, lost to the sons of men? Not possible. No. It cannot be. In your veins runs the very blood of God. You are the last. You are the Sacred Vessel.”

“I am the Holy Grail.”

Eugainia laid her hands on her too-hard belly. “Why do you linger, little stranger? You're afraid. I cannot reassure. Prince Henry. A moment may soon come when I give you an order, an order you must obey.”

She withdrew her dagger.

“No, Lord Henry. No! Do not object. If this child dies because I...because I failed...everything for which thousands of men and woman have suffered, bled and died perishes with us. Please.” She offered the dagger, handle forward, to Henry. “If I die, God wills it. The child must live. I've nowhere else to turn.”

The figure in the trees stepped forward. Keswalqw took his arm and pulled him back.

“Don't ask this of me,” Henry said.

“I'm not asking. As you became father to me, when my earthly father's blood was spilled at Albi, so you'll be earthly father of this reluctant child.”

“My Lady, please—”

“Whom do you serve?”

“The Kingdom of The Holy Grail.”

“Just so. Swear.”

“My Lady—”

“Swear!”

“If your soul departs…and your child lives, I swear...”

Henry's chin fell to his chest. Eugainia took his hand. She laid the dagger handle in his open palm. She closed his fist around it.

“Henry, whom do you serve?”

“Madam. I serve Thee.”

“And…?”

“My Lady, I swear: the Royal and Holy Blood will reign again.”

“It has been spoken.”

“God wills it.”

Eugainia lay back. She prepared her soul's ascent to her Heavenly Father.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk emerged from the forest. He smiled to reassure. Vine tattoos rose from either side of his navel, spiralling outward to circle his ribs. A red sunburst circled his heart. A tattooed serpent climbed his arm, draped itself across his shoulders. A soft hide
cache-sexe
, held in place with a braided thong, gave a contradictory sense of virility and vulnerability. His right hand clasped an artfully wrought spear. Its stone head glistened black as the rock against which Eugainia in her agony reclined.

Henry rose, dagger poised. His free hand found his sword hilt.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk offered sprigs of willow. Eugainia nodded. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk set the willow on the ground. He slipped quietly back into the woods where Keswalqw waited, aware the drama unfolding before them had not reached its climax, knowing soon she would be required to play a major role.

“Lord Henry?” Eugainia turned, seeking the young man in the shadowed forest beyond the fringe of birch. “Is he man or God?”

“The young man from the canoe.”

“Yes.”

“Real enough.”

Morgase thrashed into the clearing. She grasped uprooted plants, her face, skirts and mantle smeared with earth. She rounded on Antonio, who followed closely behind.

“Venetian viper! Clement's evil clings to you like stink from barbarous death. Stand back!”

“She takes me for some scarlet Prince of Rome. I'm a humble merchant, m'am—”

“You want my death—he wants my death! Evil. Evil! I have seen it!”

“The old witch is mad.”

“You knew my weakened state and bewildered me, on purpose—”

“She dug the earth, chewed grass and bush, crawled about, sniffed the soil like a rooting sow, then fainted dead away.”

“Yes, I fell.”

“I tried to raise her up. She turned on me—”

“Liar! Viper!! Brute!!! You struck me to the ground—”

“You sunk your filthy teeth into my forearm!”

“I couldn't breathe. You stood by, amused by my agony. Amused! When I asked your help, you thundered reprimands, cursing me and all women to the lowest depths of your unchristian hell.”

“I stand amazed—”

“You purposefully provoked this killing rage in me. Purposefully! We may worship but one God, you said. There are no other gods to worship, you said. One God made all the world? One God, one male God rules heaven and earth? My ancient Goddess? Her Druid priests? No longer living? Oh, My Lady....Can this be? How have I failed you? Why have you deserted me?”

Antonio Zeno believed Christ's blood had been spilled for him alone. He fingered the cross at his neck, finely wrought gold filigree—at its centre a single discreet ruby, red as his Redeemer's blood. Red as the blood of the heretic bleeding to death before him. Red as the fires of hell, which would claim her soul. God's plan was clear to Antonio: Eugainia's death would pay the balance. Order would be restored. Their lady dead, the resurgent Templar connivance would dissolve for good in complete disarray. The rational world of the virtuous Christ would once again prevail.

“Come, Morgase.” Eugainia extended her hand. “Your ancient Goddess lies before you, here.”

Antonio made the sign of the cross, sank to his knees, near Eugainia. “Intercede, Holy Father, on this poor child's behalf—”

Morgase strode to him. Antonio blocked the blow. Morgase twisted away.

Her speech began to slur. “Cruel boys grown to murderous men. Your astonishing tale tells that through woman all evil enters the world.” She retreated to her Lady and the rock. “You torture us, burn us for witches. You slaughter our sons, rape our daughters, butcher our nurslings in your unholy wars.” She glared at Antonio. “You drove the Goddess from the earth. You and your kind. Viper! Deny it if you dare.”

“The King of Kings dispatched your pagan Gods to free the world of Goddess tyranny—”

“Who would you be, you runtish puffed-up little peddler, without the power of the pope at Rome?”

“Your pagan women's sacraments were obliterated by the one true God and his one true church, at the behest of His one true Son, Christ the Lord himself.”

“Christ hacked and burned our sacred groves of oak? No. It was you. Christ broke our bodies with rack and wheel? No. It was you. With hammer and spike, Christ nailed us to the bloodied gates of your unholy Papist hell? No. It was you. Roman men. Catholic men. Men! You place your foot upon our necks. You throw us a crumb— Mary, the poor bewildered mother of Christ, condemned forever, poor unwitting creature, to wipe the snotty noses of your cutthroat Christian whelps.”

Morgase stood before Eugainia. She squatted, cupped her Lady's face. “But we're still here; aren't we, My Lamb? We rose and still we rise through Phillip the Cruel and grim Pope Clement's smoke, up to the uncharred air where God and the Goddess make us whole again.”

Morgase lost herself in Eugainia's tender glance. “Morgase?” Eugainia spoke gently, as to a child. “Morgase? Your face is fire. Your hands are ice. Morgase, my dear. Can you hear me?”

Morgase stood, her face half twisted in pain. “They've poisoned the well! Flaming balls of tar o'er sail our castle walls and set the court aflame. Listen! They batter the great doors. I hear the voice of the unborn child: ‘Run, Mother of God,' it cries. ‘Flee the dying world!'”

“And so we have, my dear...Lord Henry, tell her.”

“Morgase. We fled Castle Rosslyn and Edinburgh months ago. Papal Rome is two thousand leagues behind us now.”

Morgase turned away, entranced. “Look! It is Herself. The Goddess emerges from her last great standing oak, branches of silver fir and lady's yew in either hand. She speaks…”

Morgase turned, addressed Eugainia who, from that instant, did not recognize her lifelong companion. The Shepherd of the Grail, round and solid as the earth itself, was rendered insubstantial as air. Morgase's body rose from the earth, light as a thistledown. She spoke with the voice of the Selkie Garathia, not her own.

“Eugainia. Daughter. Successor. Go where water, rock and tree sprites lead you.”

Eugainia strained to rise. “Mother?”

“Lord Henry,” Morgase said in the voice not her own.

Henry fell to his knees.

“Lead my daughter to the Well of Baphomet. Let her drink from the sacred vessel. She will be restored. Then set her free.”

“Set her free?”

“Let the Goddess reign refreshed in the forests and plains beyond the five inland seas.”

Morgase's mortal remains slumped to the ground. Eugainia strained toward Her Shepherd's lifeless form. She kissed Morgase's forehead, closed her staring eyes. Despair fell upon the clearing like a shroud.

The tattooed young man re-emerged from the forest. “Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk.” He indicated himself. “I am Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk.”

Henry accepted the willow branches, which he proffered. “My Lady,” Henry asked, “what am I to do with the willow?”

Keswalqw emerged and stood at Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's side. “Keswalqw,” she said. “My name is Keswalqw. I can help this woman.”

“What are they saying?” Antonio asked.

Eugainia gestured the woman forward. “Kes…wal…?”

Keswalqw approached. “Kes— wal— qw.”

“Kes-wall-qwah,” Eugainia repeated carefully.

Keswalqw nodded.

“I am Eugainia. Good soul, have you come to help me?”

Keswalqw chewed then spat a fibrous plug of pulped twigs into her palm. Eugainia opened her mouth and received the poultice.

“Good, little sister. You're safe. You will live.” Keswalqw stroked Eugainia's brow. “Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. Take these men from this place.”

“Yes, Aunt.” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk turned to Henry and Antonio. “Come, kin-friends. Come.” He moved to the edge of the clearing, expecting them to follow. They did not. He beckoned. “Come. This is no place for us. Birthing blood will weaken us...we...us...men....Aunt? They don't answer.”

“They don't speak our tongue, poor things.”

Henry hesitated. Eugainia reassured him: “Henry this woman, Keswalqw, is sent to the Goddess by God Almighty Himself. I have no fear. Nor shall you.”

Henry bent to remove Morgase's body.

“No. Leave her.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk led Henry from the clearing. Antonio followed.

Life, it is said, begins with a miracle and ends with a mystery. Eugainia cried in ecstasy. Geese in flight, the full moon sailing. She lay precisely positioned on the fulcrum of the finest of balances. The memory of her swift flight with her mother through salt sea waters cleansed her blood. Seas of thunder, she whispered, great with whales. Garathia in Selkie form rose to the surface of her consciousness and opened her nostrils: she exhaled the scented earth alive and seeded. Eugainia threw her head back, opened her eyes. The sky hung blue, an open question begging no answer. Eugainia foresaw her destiny. The names of the Two Made One be praised. The sigh became a groan. She would soon become a frightening mystery to herself, unrecognizable to those who loved her. She would survive the birth of this child. She would have another. She compressed these assurance into one ecstatic push. In the thrust of muscle and gush of blood, seventeen-year-old Eugainia St. Clair Delacroix came to know the joy of the miracle that heralds life's beginning and, in the same instant, the sorrow that masks the mystery of death.

Keswalqw said a magic word she knew. She unfolded a square of soft hide. She received the silent infant.

“Keswalqw?”

Keswalqw showed Eugainia her misshapen, stillborn child, its frail torso blackened, as though shot through with a searing bolt of light.

The green world vanished. The golden cord snapped. Eugainia fell into the shadow world of ash and dust. Descent seemed without dimension and eternal. The Royal and Holy Blood purged of its purple bruise by Keswalqw's potion, rushed scarlet through her veins. She rode new waves of ecstasy propelled by Keswalqw's infusion. Fear dissolved in shadow. Anguish became transparent as the air and upon the air floated away. Eugainia turned and rose to heights unimagined, pulled up through wheels of pulsing light where Morgase, waiting, hovered. She reached down for the crippled child. The broken boy swept up too fast for her to capture. Morgase sped in pursuit. Eugainia could not follow. She plunged into the God's good sleep, her sorrow too great to bear or comprehend.