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The Sword of Mordred: Part II
- The Sword of Mordred: Part II -
Deep were the paths that had led me beneath the great mountain of Yr Wyddfa, in the pleasant land of Gwynedd. My journey across Wales, after having departed Camelot upon a most personal quest, so led me at last here. Something called to me from this place, and had probably been what drove me to set off upon this expedition to begin with. I had thought at first that my quest had been of my own volition, but as I stood now in the place wherein I beheld the unearthly sight before me... I realized that some power was at work which wished to make certain that I came to this hall. For a great hall it was, a hall beneath the mountain! And in the center of it, was a massive golden cauldron filled with blood. The woman that guided me hither, pointed to the object from where we stood regarding it from the place where the deep and winding tunnel we had just trekked down gave way into this unexpected place. She said: “That, is where I am bound, Mordred son of Arthur... and that is from where you must set me free!” I then said to her in a shocked tone of voice: “Lady! Are you a ghost, then... does that mean yonder cauldron contains your lifeless bones?” to which she chuckled in a sinister way before explaining: “In a way, I am a kind of a ghost! And my physical form is indeed within the cauldron there... but it is not bones you shall find when you plunge your hands into the sanguine depths of it.” But she looked physical, she felt physical, and everything about this woman said she was as real and solid and anyone is whilst still living. I said this to her, and she said in a slightly angry tone of voice: “That is because this body is not my own! I... borrowed it... from one of the villagers in order to be able to interact with you properly. Worry not, she was dead already when I took possession of her form. Did I not warn you that all was not as it appeared to be?” I looked at her once again, thinking her to be some madwoman at this point. She was a middle aged, pleasant looking woman with a curvy body for her age. Her skin was light, and she had a bit of windburn across her face from being outdoors so much during colder, windier seasons. She was mostly plain to look upon, with long straight brown hair, and dark brown eyes. She wore a long gown that was dark green in color, with long wide sleeves. Over the gown she wore a thick fur cloak... and upon her feet she wore a pair of fur boots. Now that we were no longer holding hands as we had been when on our way down into this place, she once more held in both of them the bow she carried. An odd gesture given that she had left all her arrows behind with her horse. Nothing about her indicated that she was dead in any way, shape, or form. If this woman had indeed died, it must have been a peaceful death. I said to her: “I do not believe what you tell me... but if there is something to be found within the depths of that cauldron, then I am certain indeed that I am meant to discover it. Something, even if it is not in truth you, still called to me from here. And that, I cannot explain reasonably! I would have answers, and I suspect I shall get none until I have done as you asked of me.” The woman remarked about this: “Do as your heart wills you, Mordred! My kinsman. We must all follow our hearts, and our natures, after all. Mine you shall discover the truth of soon enough.” Previously, the woman had shown me her ears. Like mine, the shape of them was tapered in a way that was a specifically telltale sign of the Elvish blood of the Fair Folk. She did claim to me that this place was where a rather particularly evil group of the Fair Folk dwelt, and she acted as if they did sill live here. But the eight stone thrones that were set about the circumference of this chamber were all empty, dusty, cracked with age, and had clearly not been used in probably countless generations. Perhaps whole ages of time even! The chamber to which she had thus led me... was the central hub, from which ran a great many other tunnels by the look of it. I could not be certain whether or not one of those tunnels, or perhaps all of them, led to a domain wherein this group of Dark Elves yet lived, but one thing I did know for certain. No one was exactly rushing out of any of those tunnels to meet with us. I turned my attention fully to the cauldron, and approached it nervously. The liquid within it was indeed blood, and that blood was fresh! Were people killed to keep it full like this? I did not want to know. The smell of the blood was strong, and the scent of earth all about me did smell just as powerful to my nostrils. “This is going to be very unpleasant.” I said, then looking into it.
Nothing inside of the cauldron could be seen at all, so thick and dark was the blood! For a moment, I closed my eyes and pulled back the left sleeve of my tunic. I intended to plunge my left hand into it, so that if some evil magic was at work here... I might only lose my left hand. Being right handed, this I did hope would be less of an inconvenience for me. But, right before I was about to do this deed... the voice of a young girl cried out to me, shouting: “Wait! Do not do this, kinsman. If you set her free, it will be a black day for all. Leave her in her prison here! Already did one of your other knights discover her fickle nature... and she left him swiftly upon discovering that his heart could only be corrupted so deeply. Did not either your noble father Arthur, or perhaps if not him then his most trusted friend and valued knight Llwch Lleminawg tell you of her? They found her when they went seeking after the very same cauldron that you see here in this place. All the might of Faerie was set against them in that quest, and in the end they failed in it utterly... but before departing back to Camelot, it was Llwch Lleminawg who did claim her for himself. He heard her voice, and she called to him when he saw her floating in the air above the cauldron itself. She seduced him with that voice, and he held her in his hands right up until her power did depart from him, leaving him a less noble man than he had been before. That was a long time ago, however, and you are young! I will forgive it if they forgot to tell you, or thought it to be in truth none of your business at the time. We are a long way from the place where the cauldron was kept back then, and where she of whom I speak was imprisoned by the divine power of the nine maiden priestesses who guarded the cauldron in those days. It was they, who brought the cauldron here, and gave it trustingly to us so that we might ensure no foolish king would ever attempt to steal it again. I do not mock you by so tell you that your father is a foolish man! Nor do I mock your knightly order by telling you that he who is its' most renowned knight is also its' most corrupted soul. Lleminawg of the Lance he is called now... as he once was before he found she whose voice now seeks to corrupt you. Had he rejected her from the first, he might still be considered a worthy man. Do not fall to darkness, Mordred son of Arthur! There is no power worth such a cost as you will pay otherwise.” And as I looked around, I could not see who it was that spoke to me, for the voice echoed from one of the tunnels. “How do you know who I am, or that I am a knight from Camelot? Or who my father is, for that matter! You seem to know everything... the same as she whom you tell me not to trust. And yet, none of you will tell me who you are. Not she, not you! You keep so many secrets, yet I am permitted to keep none from you it seems. For already, it appears you know everything. Very well then! Step forth and let me look upon you. Or are you afraid for me to see your true visage?” I knew that my own visage was frightful enough for them to behold. I was born with unnaturally pale chalk white skin, and my hair was pale blonde with reddish highlights. Though my eyes were grayish blue I looked like an albino otherwise. I had high cheekbones, delicate skin, slender artist's fingers, a small mouth and a somewhat aquiline nose that was noble looking but not overtly long. I had long eyelashes, a soft voice, and almond shaped eyes. Such shaped eyes were a family trait, and my mother and all my brothers shared such eyes. I was of average built, not overly all that strong, and I was the shortest of all my brothers with myself being five feet and eight inches in my full height. I looked more feminine than masculine, and I wore my hair long, down to the middle of my back. I kept my bangs neatly trimmed, and they fell to just above my eyebrows. Sometimes, I got very much mistaken for a woman, and somehow it always felt complimentary to me since I cultivated more a sense of beauty to me rather than any kind of traditionally masculine handsomeness. But it was never my features that people found frightening... it was the extreme pallor of my skin, which caused some to think me a ghost or one who had risen from the dead. Whatever my condition was, it was rare enough in those days that people seemed not to have encountered another like me in all the lands that I ventured through during my time as a knight. Oh, there were some born as albinos here and there... but none who had blue eyes, nor red streaks through their hair. Whatever had affected my birth to make me this way, it was the only case of its' kind it seemed to me. I still waited to hear an answer from out of the tunnel.
It was warm, in that underground domain! I do not know why I had expected it would be cold, but it was not. I wore a long ankle-length black tunic of the finest and softest quality I could find, which also had long sleeves. About my waist I wore a soft leather belt. Beneath that tunic, I wore a pair of baggy... and also quite soft... white trousers that were tucked into a pair of fur boots. And sheathed at my side, was a very elegant short sword of old Roman design... a gift given to me by Arthur, at the festival that was held to honor the occasion of my knighting. Over my tunic, I wore a black cloak with the hood at present drawn back from my head. I took the cloak off due to the heat, and placed it upon the floor as I waited for a reply. Soon, a group of people emerged from some of the tunnels. They were all rather on the short side, with the tallest of them being my height. Many were the size of children, but their faces betrayed the fact that they were actually very much adults. They were slender and willowy despite their shorter heights compared to most, and every one of them was as pale as I was. They all had soft looking hair that was such a pale shade of blonde that it appeared almost white. And their eyes were mostly a greenish shade, though several of them had blue eyes as well. All of them had almond shaped eyes and tapered ears, and high cheekbones too. These seemed more my true kinsman than my own blood family did, and I could see why people called these folk fair. For they all looked beautiful, as if age had never touched them once they reached the prime of their life. They all wore delicate, flowing gowns and robes of the finest silk, which appeared to come in a great many colors, and each person of this group of folk had a regal bearing to them. Their feet were bare, and I noticed they were fond of wearing jewelry for even the men wore necklaces and bracelets, and earrings in their ears. Their leader was what appeared to be indeed a very young girl, though I was certain she was not as young as she appeared to be. She did wear a gown that was golden in color, and she wore a necklace of sapphires about her neck along with a pair of sapphire earrings. Upon her left wrist was a golden bracelet encrusted with sapphire gemstones. Her hair was long, wavy, quite full looking, and cascaded down to her lower back. She had very arched looking eyebrows, and features that could only be described as purely elfin. It was she who spoke to me when I attempted to disturb the cauldron, and she said to me at last: “Now, are you satisfied? Now that we stand revealed to you in all our glory, you can see that we hide nothing from you. Any more it does seem, than we could hope to hide the entrance of this place forever! Mordred, I know all that is within your heart. Your mother... and even your aunt... never told you about us, but we have been a vital part of your life since the very hour of your birth. It is from our blood that your mother is descended, and her sister likewise is of our kind. Whilst your mother was pregnant and awaiting your birth, your aunt used ancient magic upon her womb in order to imbue you with more of our blood than you should have been in possession of otherwise. That, is why you look so much like one of us! Because... you are, one of us. My name I will give you freely now! I am Queen Mab, of the Tylwyth Teg. I am the youngest queen to preside over my people in generations beyond counting, but my advisors tell me I am the wisest. That is why you must listen to me... and heed my warning when I tell you not to disturb the cauldron and not to free she who lies imprisoned within it.” The strange nameless woman whom I had been traveling with then strode over to me and wrapped her arms about me possessively, caressing me as she did so. She whispered into my ear: “Mordred, did I not also call you kinsman? We too... are bound together! And if you set me free, then I can promise... you will never be alone again. For you are a lonely soul, and one I would help to know greater comforts if you would allow me to.” Somehow, Mab was able to hear what was being whispered and she said to me loudly but not quite angrily as such: “Mordred! Stop listening to her, please I beg you. She wears the flesh of a dead kinswoman, but she is not of our blood or yours. She is something older, and more terrible, than you know! If it is a woman's comfort you seek, then I will gladly offer myself to you willingly and fully if it would keep you from falling into her grasp. Do you not realize by now what she truly is?” I said to the child queen quite honestly: “No, your majesty, I quite frankly do not know what she is! She will not tell me, her name. Tell me, then... if you know it.”
And, the child queen stepped forward... her hands in a beckoning gesture towards me: “Listen to me, Mordred, and listen very carefully! You and I... we have known and loved each other, in lives past. If you use the gift that Arawn gave you, you will remember me. You will remember us! And you will in that moment know that I speak the truth to you. I cannot utter her name here! Lest it give her power far greater than she possesses already. Perhaps power enough to break free on her own... we must deny her that, at all costs. Come into my arms, and forsake her! If you do that, she will depart from that body she is using, and go back to her slumber in the cauldron. She will know she cannot touch you, the moment you willingly give yourself instead to me... my love, please remember me. And do not let this chance to turn things around slip away!” I could tears forming in the child's eyes, but the nameless woman said to me, her voice no longer a whisper: “Mordred... she is long dead. They all are! If you go into her arms, it will be the arms of a corpse that hold you. For perhaps but a night... she will make you believe that you are holding someone warm and living in your arms should you take her into yours... but what will it be that your eyes see when you awaken upon the morning? When the glamour spells and the enchantment magic that she is using have all vanished! Indeed, use the gift that Arawn gave you... look deeply back into the past, into every past you have ever known. I am waiting for you there, just like I am waiting for you here, and now. I at least am actually alive in that cauldron! Do you know what lies beyond all those tunnels? This is a burial place now... for the last of the Tylwyth Teg died in this place long ago. All that remains here, are their ghosts... ghosts which animate their old bones and make them appear to be once again clothed in flesh. They are the living dead now, and they slay whomever they will! If you free me, I can help you fight them. They fear my power! They fear you as well. Your body is weak, Mordred, but if you choose to help me, then I can make you strong. All Queen Mab can offer you is the comfort of a girl who is very long dead, and the love of one whose spirit and soul have not yet had even the grace to realize that she needs to allow herself to be reborn properly. Rather than making of herself, and all her people, an abomination! Ask her to show you what she really looks like, Mordred. I wager she will not be willing to do it!” I then did precisely that, I said unto Mab: “Listen to me very carefully. I do think... that I know who you are, who you once were. And what we once meant to each other. Every part of my very being longs to hold you in my arms, to know the warmth of those arms once again. But is there, in truth, any warmth remaining in them? If you ever truly loved me, sweet girl... then I ask that you do not spare me in this. Instead, show me your true visage, and that of all your people gathered here. I promise that, as my heart does indeed yearn for you, it will not frighten me. And if it be revealed that you truly are exactly what it is that my nameless companion here claims... then what have you to lose, by letting the illusion you weave about yourself slip for just a bit? Love is eternal they say, and I believe it is in my heart and soul! What I will do then, is ask you to stop hanging about in your dead bones, and rather please... as I love you I would ask then that you seek the peace of a sweet afterlife in the other world of Faerie, where you will receive as Arawn told me a new body to dwell it until it is time to be reborn into the world once more. But as I do love you, and I know that you love me... wait for me in Faerie, and if you do so then when the hour of my own death comes I can guarantee you that I will find you there. For as we are blood kindred, then I too am bound for the other world of Faerie once this body of mine has breathed its' last. We can be together then, and await our rebirths in blissful joy! But if you remain in this dead form of yours... then how could we be together when I die? I most certainly do not wish to go on as an animated corpse! But let it be as you desire. Which would you prefer, Sapphira?” I swallowed hard, and my hands clutched the edge of the cauldron nervously. All at once, it was like a veil was just suddenly lifted, like as if a curtain had been opened to allow one to see what lies beyond it. Before me, I saw the skeletal forms of the Fair Folk who once lived in this place and called it home. As beautiful as they had all been in life, death had indeed claimed the lot of them, in the end. I turned my gaze away at the sight of what Mab... Sapphira... looked like in death. And, I began to cry... sobbing, uncontrollably.
The child queen's voice made it all the harder to bear as she said: “You remember the name that you once called me by, my love! That makes me so happy, the happiest little girl in the whole world.” and that was more than I could bear: “Please, Sapphira! Please... please, please... go to the other world and wait for me in Faerie. I beg you! Oh gods and goddesses of my mother, how I beg you. Let your bones rest in peace, beloved. For both of our sake! What even is it that holds you here?” and she said to me a terrible thing indeed. She said: “It is the cauldron that keeps us here! It belongs in the other world, as do we. Only if it was destroyed, could we depart this place, and leave our bones to their eternal slumber. It is indestructible, though! Men have tried to destroy it before, and sometimes succeeded... but always at the most terrible and fatal of costs. It is an eternal thing, and it always manages to return in yet another form. Only one being in the entirety of existence has the power to permanently send the cauldron back to the other world! Or... to call it forth from there again after doing so. That being, is Death itself! But were she to come hither and do this thing for us, then at least we would no longer be forced to remain its' guardians. Should it ever return in the future, then new guardians will be appointed to look after it. But our part in the matter would be finished!” and I knew despair for the child queen and her people in that moment, for there was no way that I... or any living person in all the world... knew of, to ever hope to sway Death to one's cause. Death was worshiped as a goddess by the ancients, and they feared her as all who live do. Arawn had spoken of her, to me... and he had said of Death: “Right now, she wears the flesh and the form of one most familiar to you, and to whom you are blood kindred. Whilst she walks in the guise of a living woman, her two twin sisters look after her eternal kingdoms, which are many and as numerous as there are living souls in existence.” It was a riddle to me, and one I still did not fathom at all the meaning of. I spoke of all of this at great length to the child queen, forcing myself to look at her terrible deathly form. But she did not comprehend Arawn's words either, or how they could help in this case. That was when my nameless companion said to me: “Mordred! I know she told you not to be listening to me... and to reject me... but, I know the meaning of Arawn's words that he spoke unto you. Your aunt is Morgan the Fey, is she not! How much do you know of what her personal beliefs are, or the beliefs of those who follow her teachings... has she initiated you into those mysteries yet?” And I said to the nameless woman: “I know nothing at all save that she is the current high priestess of the old and venerable order of the Sisterhood of Avalon. They do not allow men to learn their secrets, and all the women who learn them are sworn to secrecy with oaths so terrible that they fear to break them and it is said prefer death to doing so. Otherwise, folk say my aunt is a witch of the blackest sort... but those who do so are only those of the Christian faith. And I do not count myself among them! I love my aunt very much, and she has always been good to me. She has skin like mine, but her hair is as raven black as night itself can be. Likewise, she has black eyes, and as you can imagine if you know anything of my mother at all... the two sisters look nothing whatsoever alike save that both have high cheekbones and tapered ears, as well as almond-shaped eyes. All family traits, all normal enough. But it means to me... that they had to have come from very different fathers, because aside from those traits it is as I said and so described. They could not look more unrelated!” And the nameless woman explained: “Aye, this is all quite well known to me. The noble Igraine was their mother... the same, as so was mother to Arthur. Uther was Arthur's father, and Gorlois of Tintagel was the father of your mother Morgause... but, then, who was it that fathered your aunt Morgan I wonder!” She said that so playfully, that I knew she knew the identity of the man, and was merely toying with me by not telling me outright. I said unto her: “Tell me, lady, for I suspect you know it after all, and that it is someone I will recognize when you speak the man's name.” and this was her unexpected reply: “The true father of Morgan the Fey is none other than the god of the dead himself, Arawn! There was a time when he was fond of traveling about in the world whilst getting other men to take his place and masquerade as him in the land of the dead. And he could take many forms, and be many different types of men. Or women, if it suited him to take such a form!”
The nameless woman cleared her throat a bit and then continued: “On a lark, he once decided to see if he could be tempted to fall in love with a mortal woman... and chanced to spy the lady Igraine as she sat in her garden and enjoyed the summer weather that year. She had, four years previously... given birth to her daughter Morgause. And, at the time, she was intending to have no more children. Nor did Gorlois, her husband, seem to desire any! But Arawn, in the form of a charming and seductive admirer, came to meet with Irgraine in secret many times, during the course of that summer. Always, he made most sure, that this was only when Gorlois was known to be away. For, he did not wish to be caught at his game... and to him at first a game it seemed to be... until he genuinely fell in love with Igraine, and she for a bit of time fell just as deeply in love with him. That was ever, Igraine's most fatal failing! The fact, that she had too much love to give men, and not enough good sense to remain faithful to only one in order for it to be that the love could last. At the end of the summer season, when at last Gorlois... who had been off and away all that time... did finally return, Arawn realized finally that Igraine was lost to him, for only if something dire were to happen to her husband could he be with her. But even if he made that occur... he was doomed, and accursed, so that he could never remain in the land of the living for very long. He could only walk in this world for but one single season out of every year, and he got always to choose which one it would be. That year, it was summer he chose! And so, in order to keep Igraine he would have to arrange it so she would die instead of Gorlois, and then her soul could join him in his realm. It was something he simply could not do! For because he loved her so much, he could not bring himself to harm her, or to cause her to die. So he left her and returned to his otherworldly domain, and nothing at all happened to either Igraine or her husband... who knew not about her tryst with another man. But she was discovered, ere long, to be pregnant for Arawn's child... and Gorlois was furious for he knew it could not be his child she now carried within her. But try as he did to discover the identity of the man, he could not find him... for obvious reasons of course. All the servants were able to describe him well enough! Tall, with unnaturally pale white skin, raven black hair, and black eyes. High cheekbones, and strange sharply pointed ears like none they had ever seen before. They all believed he had actually been the Devil, and that Igraine had committed a mortal sin in laying with him. Some suggested she be put to death for this, and for the sin of being unfaithful to her husband. But because he could find no trace of this man, and therefore could not prove what the servants said to be true... he assumed the father had to have been one of them, and that whoever it was lied about the Devil in order to deflect blame from their own self in order to escape the angry nobleman's wrath. And so he planned to wait, to allow the child to be born, and then to look upon it and so try and figure out which of all the male servants the child thus looked the most like. When the baby girl was born... at the last... she, was the very image of this 'Devil' that all the servants had described, except that her ears were only slightly tapered rather than pointed at all. Gorlois felt very foolish after that, and believed what the servants had told him. But even believing now that his wife had given herself in body to evil incarnate... still he defended her, for he loved her in his own way even as deeply as Arawn loved her. He said she must have been seduced by the Devil and that she could never have willingly given herself to darkness in such a way. He painted her the victim in this, and felt pity for the child which he pledged to consider his own daughter and raise as such. When the servants called the baby girl a devil's child, he countered that because she was a child indeed... she could not possibly be evil, because every child is born innocent and free of sin. For that was always his personal belief regarding such things! Therefore... he meant to prove that he could raise the girl to be a goodly woman, and one free of any devilish influences. And this silenced the servants at last. The girl was named Morgan, and because of her peculiar appearance she was called Morgan the Fey. But she is not just Arawn's daughter! She is the reincarnation of the ancient goddess known as The Morrigan. Of old, people believed that The Morrigan was the goddess of death itself, and the incarnation thereof. So that is the meaning of Arawn's words to you Mordred. Your aunt Morgan... is actually, Death herself.”
I said to the nameless woman after that revelation: “Now I understand something! My other aunt, who is Queen Elaine of Garlot, once said that the only reason she herself had been born at all is because of the fact that Igraine felt somehow indebted to her husband... over some matter to do with a scandal that nearly got out of control regarding her sister Morgan's birth. Elaine was the youngest of the three sisters and was known to have been born last. So I do not doubt the truth in your words, lady... but I would be put more at ease, if next you were to tell me how it is that you know all of these things. Then, we shall discuss what to do about this nasty cauldron here.” and I tapped the edge of the cauldron, for emphasis. The strange, nameless woman said to me coldly: “That answer, is simple! Just as Morgan the Fey was born into this life with two sisters and is with them a sort of trinity of queens, so also it is that the being who Morgan truly is... also has two sisters, in this case twin sisters, although neither of them were thus reincarnated into this world as she was. For it was expected, nay rather it was fated, for them to remain in their otherworldly domain in order to keep things as they should be there. They were, as a part of that duty, to look after The Morrigan's sword... which they decided to safeguard until she could herself one day claim it. Realizing how difficult it could be... for the now quite mortal Morgan to venture into that place where no mortals are meant to go until they are in living flesh no longer... the sisters of Death did take it upon themselves to place it somewhere closer to this world, but still able to be guarded and kept safe. The sword was kept with this cauldron... and, both objects were held within a mighty fortress that had the power to appear in this world only during the Samhain season. And, in no other! It was a place of peculiar design, and could actually revolve by the means of mechanisms that would probably seem a kind of magic to you if I attempted to explain them and their workings in any meaningful detail. Four times, would it turn, and then the fortress would disappear from one location in this world only to then reappear in another when it turned four times more. It could intersect with other worlds, other planes... and was both a part of them all and also apart from them all at the same time. I do not expect you to in any way fully comprehend such things! But eventually, it was not Morgan the Fey who found her way to that place... it was your father, Arthur who did so. He and the twelve knights who preceded those you know now, they who had been his first knightly order of the Round Table. That first order was far less a virtuous one than that which you are currently a part of, Mordred! Some of those men were wicked in the extreme, and little better than criminals in many cases. But Arthur overlooked their failings, always maintaining the belief that he could help them to change. He led them in quest of that fortress, for tales got back to him about the golden cauldron that it contained... and he grew up hearing the legends of it, and was fascinated by the idea that he could perhaps claim it for the glory of his kingdom. At his side, was his loyal knight Llwch Lleminawg, who was renowned for his skill with the lance. They found one of the many places wherein the fortress appeared, and so, they ventured into it in order to seek to claim the golden cauldron. But the cauldron was never theirs... or any man's... to claim! Arthur heard the call of the cauldron, but Lleminawg only heard the calling of the sword. For the sword was trapped... and it longed to be free. I shall spare you the details of what transpired next... for it is a bloody tale, and quite the dark and ghastly one too. But out of all twelve knights who had gone upon that quest, only seven of them remained, including Lleminawg himself. Only they, Arthur, and Taliesin still lived by the time it was deemed best to flee that place without the cauldron. But they did not leave empty handed! For the sword was claimed by Llwch Lleminawg, who for a long time after that became renowned due mostly to the fact that with the sword of The Morrigan in his hands there was no way for any mortal foe to best him. I do not know why Morgan herself did not come forward to claim the blade after hearing tales of it, which she surely must have during that time. Perhaps she wished to see how others might make use of it, to discover if there was one man or woman in the land who might prove worthy to be the blade's new master or mistress. But Llwch Lleminawg proved unworthy, and so the blade left him. She left him and then allowed other men to carry her away, but they proved to be no more worthy than he had been.”
I sensed that she was speaking of herself now, as she said unto me: “She was lonely, for when a man who is unworthy touches her... it does not feel good, and it makes her long for one who is worthy. My previous master was a thief and a murderer, who sought to plunder these halls and steal the riches that stories said lay within them. He sought to use me against the Tylwyth Teg, but I did not like him... and I wanted to be free of him at the very last... so, I caused the hand he held me with to turn me against him, and made it so he sliced his own throat open with my blade. He died as horribly as ever he had lived! I was unhappy with having to claim his soul and send it to Arawn's realm, which is my function. I cannot choose whose soul I devour and whose I do not... for if I am used to take a life of any kind, the soul of that life will be devoured by me, and sent from within me to Arawn's domain. If he decides they are in fact meant for some other destination, he sends them thence. But none of that is my concern! I... am the Sword of The Morrigan. And, before she first wielded me... I had other masters and mistresses, and on other worlds than this one I existed. Sometimes in the form of a sword, and sometimes in other forms! Occasionally, I was not in the shape of a weapon at all, but instead that of a living being. You know me, Mordred! You were my master once as well. Even if you have forgotten, because you wear new flesh... and walk upon this world now. We even loved each other once, when in a living, fleshly guise I walked for a time! Do not try to remember the name I had then... it will pain you to recall it, and that would in turn pain me to think about. Just know that what I am telling you now, is the whole truth. The Fair Folk of this place think me evil, and so they seek to keep me trapped within the cauldron. Here is the irony! They cannot be free so long as the cauldron exists... but only I, being Death's most terrible weapon, do have the power to destroy the cauldron and set them free from the curse that keeps them trapped inside their own dead bones. None of them can claim me, nor do any of them wish to... and I have waited here in this place, hoping that a worthy individual might someday do so, until I thought I might go mad from despair. Because I am a divine being in origin... a goddess, if you wish to call me such... I am not bound in spirit here simply because my physical form is bound here. Thus, I did send my spirit forth to explore and search, and discover all that lay within the hearts, minds, and souls of the various men and women of this land and all the other lands upon the isle the Romans called Britannia when they still ruled here. That is how I eventually came to learn of you Mordred! And... of your blood connection to my mistress Morgan. For I decided to begin with learning more about the court of Arthur, and that led to me hoping to discover more about his family. Which led me to his sisters, and their history, and their secrets. And eventually, it led me to you! You were the one I sought, I realized that the moment I first encountered your bright... yet also quite very dark... soul. You would not have known I was even there, and to your eyes I could have been in the form of an insect one time, and on another occasion I might have chosen to possess the body of a bird and in that form watched from outside the windows of your home. I have my ways of learning things that I wish to learn! And so I have learned all that I know, and all that I did reveal to you. You were always the master I was meant to have... the true successor to The Morrigan as my wielder. Like her, you hold the power of death itself, within you! Only for vastly different reasons, and those are not known to me. But I do know what I sense within your spirit, and it calls to me even as I have decided to begin calling out to you. We call to each other, Mordred! That is how we are kin... for the goddess I actually am, was once blood kindred to the god who you truly are. Who you so were when in the form of that god you once walked! You can be a god once again... I can help you to become one. All you have to do, is reach into the cauldron and pull me out of it! Then use me to destroy the cauldron and then we can get out of this dark and miserable tomb. And... if you will not do this for me, or even it seems for yourself... would you consider doing this for your poor little Sapphira? She doesn't look quite so pretty now, does she!” and she laughed so evilly after saying that, that it angered me. I struck her as hard as I could, pushed her off of me, forgetting that I was doing this only to a dead vessel. “Be silent!” I screamed at her, and then proclaimed: “I will do this thing... for Sapphira, but never for you, demon.”
I pushed back my sleeves and plunged both of my hands into the cauldron's depths, immersing them fully in the blood that it contained. I could feel something at the bottom... cold metal, as cold as ice. It was the blade of a sword, and was quite sharp... sharper than any blade I had ever felt before. I knew I had cut a couple of my fingers upon it, and was careful to avoid doing so any further whilst I fumbled about looking for the sword's hilt. My hands discovered the handle of it soon enough, and I nearly fell into the cauldron as I wrapped my hands about it and withdrew the sword from out of the blood. What I held was the lightest weapon I had ever carried! I do not know if it was just that perfectly balanced, or if it was endowed with some sort of enchantment that made it feel light to wield despite being so long of a blade... and it was quite long indeed, and of a design I had never seen the like of before... but even as weak as I sometimes felt like I was, I could still manage this weapon with tremendous ease. It was a pure white blade, the whitest metal I had ever seen! It was as if snow was given form in metal, and the hilt was also white as snow, with thick white leather wrappings about the handle to make it comfortable to hold with either one hand or two. It had an ornate cross guard... that almost appeared to be made of ivory... but which was far stronger than such a material. Into the bottom of the sword's pommel was set a red ruby jewel, which sparkled in the light and looked much like blood that had been transformed into the shape of crystal by some black magic I did not wish to imagine the workings thereof. A larger, more circular cut red ruby was set into the center of the front part of the crosspiece, in a place designed to so hold it, and the back of the crosspiece had an identical ruby inserted into it. The sword's blade was most bitingly cold to the touch, and I knew I would need to keep it sheathed once I could get a proper sheath in its' size. In comparison, it was about the length of an English long sword of the late medieval period. The style of the weapon was similar to that as well. But that was what was so strange when I think back on it now, in this current life I am living in this modern era! That style of sword should not have existed yet during the Dark Ages, and yet somehow inexplicably this particular sword did exist and was in that very style. I simply thought it a strange looking weapon back then, but found it easy enough to use even so! It almost felt as if the goddess whose spirit was within it, was guiding my hands and teaching me as I used it how to use it even better and more skillfully. I looked back to smile at her, but the body of the nameless woman now lay dead and lifeless upon the floor. She was no longer speaking to me, but as I swung the blade through the air, practicing with it, the weapon made an almost screeching sound and it was her I realized. She was singing! Happy to be free once again, not longer trapped in that dead form. I swung the weapon and struck it against the cauldron with as much force as I could deliver... and it did nothing whatsoever except create a loud thrumming sound that reverberated for a bit before stopping. “No, that is not how to destroy it!” exclaimed Sapphira, who explained further: “You need to tip it over and spill the blood it contains first... then, it will be emptied of its' magic, and able to be destroyed with the sword.” I smiled at her, and did not find it revolting any longer to look upon her. “We all will look like that someday.” I mused to myself silently, acknowledging my own mortality by admitting this. I did kick at the cauldron and push against it, and it began to wobble... the ground was not all that even, and the cauldron was soon rocking back and forth a bit. My arms and hands were covered in the blood from it as it was, and I quickly retrieved my cloak and put it back on. This way, when it finally did tip over, the cauldron would not spill its' blood unto my cloak and stain it permanently. I kept working at the task at hand, and finally the golden cauldron tipped fully over with a mighty clanging noise, and the bloody contents of it spilled out all over the floor of the chamber, covering the dais on which the great cauldron had been set. It was now no longer on the dais, and had toppled from it, landing below. As I looked, it had been as I suspected... the whole dais had been constructed over uneven ground. Thanks to whoever had constructed this place, I had been able to do what needed to be done. I rushed over, to the toppled cauldron, and swung the white sword down upon it with all my might. The blade screeched as it did cleave through the air, even louder than it had before, and the cauldron was thus cut in half by it.
I jumped back from it instantly, for the cauldron began to spew forth some kind of noxious vapors... and the chamber began to fill up with them. I ran back to the dais, which seemed to be above the level of the vapors, which thankfully were not rising... but remaining confined to the floor itself. The vapors spread, and everything they touched was blackened. The thrones crumbled apart until they were rubble, the pillars began to shake, and I knew that soon the entire place would begin to collapse. For even the walls were beginning to be weakened by the vapors' lethal caress. I saw that the vapors had yet to fully cover the ground behind me, and there was still time to get to the tunnel that led back to the surface. To escape, and see daylight once again! Or night, if it was night by now. Time ran strangely, in places such as this or so it was said. I glanced over at Sapphira... whose spirit departed her bones, in the instant that the vapors reached her. All of her Fair Folk kin, were similarly freed from their accursed state. I smiled and thanked the goddess of the white sword, and then sped for the tunnel as fast as my legs could hope to carry me. I could hear the now truly lifeless bones of the long dead Fair Folk clattering to the floor, as I did at last reach the tunnel I desperately sought... and I could feel everything shaking all about me, as if a terrible tremor was rocking the foundations of the very world itself. I knew that this underground domain could not endure long against such force as was now attempting to tear it all apart. And even as the earth shook beneath my feet, I climbed the tunnel upward... running faster and faster, seeking to be one step ahead of the rumbling if possible. That was not possible! But I ran on anyway, white sword in hand, until I was finally back in the entrance cavern where the wall which was only an illusion waited for me to pass through it. I was at the surface level, at long last! I ran through the false wall, and as I did so all the torches behind me went out... plunging everything inside the mountain into darkness. I could hear the rumbling, below, and crashing noises of such tumultuous noise that I realized at last the entire underground had collapsed... everything likely caving in, from the stresses being put upon it all. I was glad to be outside again, and on the high place on the mountain where I had first come to enter the deep tunnel that brought me to the prison of the white sword. Out of curiosity, I tried to put my hand through the wall which was an illusion... and felt only solid rock there now. The illusion dissipated, and now it truly was solid rock which was there now. The underground domain had collapsed utterly, and nothing was left of it any longer to be found. It was nighttime, as I had suspected... I intended to make my way back down to the village and see about having a sheathe made for my new sword. There was a leather worker's shop not far from the inn, and I still had plenty of coin to spare. As I began to make my way back down the train which led from the high place on the mountain, I spoke to the white sword and said to it: “Thank you once again, goddess! Since you never did, tell me your name... I shall give you one. I will name this sword Albion, for to me it is as white and fair as are the pale cliffs of the southern shores of Britannia itself.” and I used the Roman name for the country, the one that the goddess herself had so used when she spoke to me before. I myself knew the county of Britannia more familiarly, by the name the Welsh called it by, which was Ynys Prydain. It meant something somewhat akin to “Painted Isle”, and from Prydain eventually derives the name Britain. But the folk of that great isle were many during those times, back when I did dwell there as Mordred son of Arthur... and some had their own names for it. But to me it was Ynys Prydain, and to this day that name for it holds a special magic for me and a bit of nostalgia in my heart. Descending from the trail I followed down the mountain, took a great deal of a longer time than it had when I had ascended it in the company of the nameless woman whose body the goddess of the white sword no longer needed. We had horses then, but now it appeared that the animals had either run away or been stolen. At least my money, such as remained of it, was still safe in the coin pouch I kept tied securely to my belt! I would need to purchase a new horse, and fresh supplies for its' saddlebags, before I could depart for Camelot. All after I had that sheathe made for Albion! My quest, was over... and, I had succeeded in it. But my legs ached, my muscles hurt... and I was tired as well as more than a bit hungry, and thirsty too. I would need to rest well... but at least I was alive, and content.
Deep were the paths that had led me beneath the great mountain of Yr Wyddfa, in the pleasant land of Gwynedd. My journey across Wales, after having departed Camelot upon a most personal quest, so led me at last here. Something called to me from this place, and had probably been what drove me to set off upon this expedition to begin with. I had thought at first that my quest had been of my own volition, but as I stood now in the place wherein I beheld the unearthly sight before me... I realized that some power was at work which wished to make certain that I came to this hall. For a great hall it was, a hall beneath the mountain! And in the center of it, was a massive golden cauldron filled with blood. The woman that guided me hither, pointed to the object from where we stood regarding it from the place where the deep and winding tunnel we had just trekked down gave way into this unexpected place. She said: “That, is where I am bound, Mordred son of Arthur... and that is from where you must set me free!” I then said to her in a shocked tone of voice: “Lady! Are you a ghost, then... does that mean yonder cauldron contains your lifeless bones?” to which she chuckled in a sinister way before explaining: “In a way, I am a kind of a ghost! And my physical form is indeed within the cauldron there... but it is not bones you shall find when you plunge your hands into the sanguine depths of it.” But she looked physical, she felt physical, and everything about this woman said she was as real and solid and anyone is whilst still living. I said this to her, and she said in a slightly angry tone of voice: “That is because this body is not my own! I... borrowed it... from one of the villagers in order to be able to interact with you properly. Worry not, she was dead already when I took possession of her form. Did I not warn you that all was not as it appeared to be?” I looked at her once again, thinking her to be some madwoman at this point. She was a middle aged, pleasant looking woman with a curvy body for her age. Her skin was light, and she had a bit of windburn across her face from being outdoors so much during colder, windier seasons. She was mostly plain to look upon, with long straight brown hair, and dark brown eyes. She wore a long gown that was dark green in color, with long wide sleeves. Over the gown she wore a thick fur cloak... and upon her feet she wore a pair of fur boots. Now that we were no longer holding hands as we had been when on our way down into this place, she once more held in both of them the bow she carried. An odd gesture given that she had left all her arrows behind with her horse. Nothing about her indicated that she was dead in any way, shape, or form. If this woman had indeed died, it must have been a peaceful death. I said to her: “I do not believe what you tell me... but if there is something to be found within the depths of that cauldron, then I am certain indeed that I am meant to discover it. Something, even if it is not in truth you, still called to me from here. And that, I cannot explain reasonably! I would have answers, and I suspect I shall get none until I have done as you asked of me.” The woman remarked about this: “Do as your heart wills you, Mordred! My kinsman. We must all follow our hearts, and our natures, after all. Mine you shall discover the truth of soon enough.” Previously, the woman had shown me her ears. Like mine, the shape of them was tapered in a way that was a specifically telltale sign of the Elvish blood of the Fair Folk. She did claim to me that this place was where a rather particularly evil group of the Fair Folk dwelt, and she acted as if they did sill live here. But the eight stone thrones that were set about the circumference of this chamber were all empty, dusty, cracked with age, and had clearly not been used in probably countless generations. Perhaps whole ages of time even! The chamber to which she had thus led me... was the central hub, from which ran a great many other tunnels by the look of it. I could not be certain whether or not one of those tunnels, or perhaps all of them, led to a domain wherein this group of Dark Elves yet lived, but one thing I did know for certain. No one was exactly rushing out of any of those tunnels to meet with us. I turned my attention fully to the cauldron, and approached it nervously. The liquid within it was indeed blood, and that blood was fresh! Were people killed to keep it full like this? I did not want to know. The smell of the blood was strong, and the scent of earth all about me did smell just as powerful to my nostrils. “This is going to be very unpleasant.” I said, then looking into it.
Nothing inside of the cauldron could be seen at all, so thick and dark was the blood! For a moment, I closed my eyes and pulled back the left sleeve of my tunic. I intended to plunge my left hand into it, so that if some evil magic was at work here... I might only lose my left hand. Being right handed, this I did hope would be less of an inconvenience for me. But, right before I was about to do this deed... the voice of a young girl cried out to me, shouting: “Wait! Do not do this, kinsman. If you set her free, it will be a black day for all. Leave her in her prison here! Already did one of your other knights discover her fickle nature... and she left him swiftly upon discovering that his heart could only be corrupted so deeply. Did not either your noble father Arthur, or perhaps if not him then his most trusted friend and valued knight Llwch Lleminawg tell you of her? They found her when they went seeking after the very same cauldron that you see here in this place. All the might of Faerie was set against them in that quest, and in the end they failed in it utterly... but before departing back to Camelot, it was Llwch Lleminawg who did claim her for himself. He heard her voice, and she called to him when he saw her floating in the air above the cauldron itself. She seduced him with that voice, and he held her in his hands right up until her power did depart from him, leaving him a less noble man than he had been before. That was a long time ago, however, and you are young! I will forgive it if they forgot to tell you, or thought it to be in truth none of your business at the time. We are a long way from the place where the cauldron was kept back then, and where she of whom I speak was imprisoned by the divine power of the nine maiden priestesses who guarded the cauldron in those days. It was they, who brought the cauldron here, and gave it trustingly to us so that we might ensure no foolish king would ever attempt to steal it again. I do not mock you by so tell you that your father is a foolish man! Nor do I mock your knightly order by telling you that he who is its' most renowned knight is also its' most corrupted soul. Lleminawg of the Lance he is called now... as he once was before he found she whose voice now seeks to corrupt you. Had he rejected her from the first, he might still be considered a worthy man. Do not fall to darkness, Mordred son of Arthur! There is no power worth such a cost as you will pay otherwise.” And as I looked around, I could not see who it was that spoke to me, for the voice echoed from one of the tunnels. “How do you know who I am, or that I am a knight from Camelot? Or who my father is, for that matter! You seem to know everything... the same as she whom you tell me not to trust. And yet, none of you will tell me who you are. Not she, not you! You keep so many secrets, yet I am permitted to keep none from you it seems. For already, it appears you know everything. Very well then! Step forth and let me look upon you. Or are you afraid for me to see your true visage?” I knew that my own visage was frightful enough for them to behold. I was born with unnaturally pale chalk white skin, and my hair was pale blonde with reddish highlights. Though my eyes were grayish blue I looked like an albino otherwise. I had high cheekbones, delicate skin, slender artist's fingers, a small mouth and a somewhat aquiline nose that was noble looking but not overtly long. I had long eyelashes, a soft voice, and almond shaped eyes. Such shaped eyes were a family trait, and my mother and all my brothers shared such eyes. I was of average built, not overly all that strong, and I was the shortest of all my brothers with myself being five feet and eight inches in my full height. I looked more feminine than masculine, and I wore my hair long, down to the middle of my back. I kept my bangs neatly trimmed, and they fell to just above my eyebrows. Sometimes, I got very much mistaken for a woman, and somehow it always felt complimentary to me since I cultivated more a sense of beauty to me rather than any kind of traditionally masculine handsomeness. But it was never my features that people found frightening... it was the extreme pallor of my skin, which caused some to think me a ghost or one who had risen from the dead. Whatever my condition was, it was rare enough in those days that people seemed not to have encountered another like me in all the lands that I ventured through during my time as a knight. Oh, there were some born as albinos here and there... but none who had blue eyes, nor red streaks through their hair. Whatever had affected my birth to make me this way, it was the only case of its' kind it seemed to me. I still waited to hear an answer from out of the tunnel.
It was warm, in that underground domain! I do not know why I had expected it would be cold, but it was not. I wore a long ankle-length black tunic of the finest and softest quality I could find, which also had long sleeves. About my waist I wore a soft leather belt. Beneath that tunic, I wore a pair of baggy... and also quite soft... white trousers that were tucked into a pair of fur boots. And sheathed at my side, was a very elegant short sword of old Roman design... a gift given to me by Arthur, at the festival that was held to honor the occasion of my knighting. Over my tunic, I wore a black cloak with the hood at present drawn back from my head. I took the cloak off due to the heat, and placed it upon the floor as I waited for a reply. Soon, a group of people emerged from some of the tunnels. They were all rather on the short side, with the tallest of them being my height. Many were the size of children, but their faces betrayed the fact that they were actually very much adults. They were slender and willowy despite their shorter heights compared to most, and every one of them was as pale as I was. They all had soft looking hair that was such a pale shade of blonde that it appeared almost white. And their eyes were mostly a greenish shade, though several of them had blue eyes as well. All of them had almond shaped eyes and tapered ears, and high cheekbones too. These seemed more my true kinsman than my own blood family did, and I could see why people called these folk fair. For they all looked beautiful, as if age had never touched them once they reached the prime of their life. They all wore delicate, flowing gowns and robes of the finest silk, which appeared to come in a great many colors, and each person of this group of folk had a regal bearing to them. Their feet were bare, and I noticed they were fond of wearing jewelry for even the men wore necklaces and bracelets, and earrings in their ears. Their leader was what appeared to be indeed a very young girl, though I was certain she was not as young as she appeared to be. She did wear a gown that was golden in color, and she wore a necklace of sapphires about her neck along with a pair of sapphire earrings. Upon her left wrist was a golden bracelet encrusted with sapphire gemstones. Her hair was long, wavy, quite full looking, and cascaded down to her lower back. She had very arched looking eyebrows, and features that could only be described as purely elfin. It was she who spoke to me when I attempted to disturb the cauldron, and she said to me at last: “Now, are you satisfied? Now that we stand revealed to you in all our glory, you can see that we hide nothing from you. Any more it does seem, than we could hope to hide the entrance of this place forever! Mordred, I know all that is within your heart. Your mother... and even your aunt... never told you about us, but we have been a vital part of your life since the very hour of your birth. It is from our blood that your mother is descended, and her sister likewise is of our kind. Whilst your mother was pregnant and awaiting your birth, your aunt used ancient magic upon her womb in order to imbue you with more of our blood than you should have been in possession of otherwise. That, is why you look so much like one of us! Because... you are, one of us. My name I will give you freely now! I am Queen Mab, of the Tylwyth Teg. I am the youngest queen to preside over my people in generations beyond counting, but my advisors tell me I am the wisest. That is why you must listen to me... and heed my warning when I tell you not to disturb the cauldron and not to free she who lies imprisoned within it.” The strange nameless woman whom I had been traveling with then strode over to me and wrapped her arms about me possessively, caressing me as she did so. She whispered into my ear: “Mordred, did I not also call you kinsman? We too... are bound together! And if you set me free, then I can promise... you will never be alone again. For you are a lonely soul, and one I would help to know greater comforts if you would allow me to.” Somehow, Mab was able to hear what was being whispered and she said to me loudly but not quite angrily as such: “Mordred! Stop listening to her, please I beg you. She wears the flesh of a dead kinswoman, but she is not of our blood or yours. She is something older, and more terrible, than you know! If it is a woman's comfort you seek, then I will gladly offer myself to you willingly and fully if it would keep you from falling into her grasp. Do you not realize by now what she truly is?” I said to the child queen quite honestly: “No, your majesty, I quite frankly do not know what she is! She will not tell me, her name. Tell me, then... if you know it.”
And, the child queen stepped forward... her hands in a beckoning gesture towards me: “Listen to me, Mordred, and listen very carefully! You and I... we have known and loved each other, in lives past. If you use the gift that Arawn gave you, you will remember me. You will remember us! And you will in that moment know that I speak the truth to you. I cannot utter her name here! Lest it give her power far greater than she possesses already. Perhaps power enough to break free on her own... we must deny her that, at all costs. Come into my arms, and forsake her! If you do that, she will depart from that body she is using, and go back to her slumber in the cauldron. She will know she cannot touch you, the moment you willingly give yourself instead to me... my love, please remember me. And do not let this chance to turn things around slip away!” I could tears forming in the child's eyes, but the nameless woman said to me, her voice no longer a whisper: “Mordred... she is long dead. They all are! If you go into her arms, it will be the arms of a corpse that hold you. For perhaps but a night... she will make you believe that you are holding someone warm and living in your arms should you take her into yours... but what will it be that your eyes see when you awaken upon the morning? When the glamour spells and the enchantment magic that she is using have all vanished! Indeed, use the gift that Arawn gave you... look deeply back into the past, into every past you have ever known. I am waiting for you there, just like I am waiting for you here, and now. I at least am actually alive in that cauldron! Do you know what lies beyond all those tunnels? This is a burial place now... for the last of the Tylwyth Teg died in this place long ago. All that remains here, are their ghosts... ghosts which animate their old bones and make them appear to be once again clothed in flesh. They are the living dead now, and they slay whomever they will! If you free me, I can help you fight them. They fear my power! They fear you as well. Your body is weak, Mordred, but if you choose to help me, then I can make you strong. All Queen Mab can offer you is the comfort of a girl who is very long dead, and the love of one whose spirit and soul have not yet had even the grace to realize that she needs to allow herself to be reborn properly. Rather than making of herself, and all her people, an abomination! Ask her to show you what she really looks like, Mordred. I wager she will not be willing to do it!” I then did precisely that, I said unto Mab: “Listen to me very carefully. I do think... that I know who you are, who you once were. And what we once meant to each other. Every part of my very being longs to hold you in my arms, to know the warmth of those arms once again. But is there, in truth, any warmth remaining in them? If you ever truly loved me, sweet girl... then I ask that you do not spare me in this. Instead, show me your true visage, and that of all your people gathered here. I promise that, as my heart does indeed yearn for you, it will not frighten me. And if it be revealed that you truly are exactly what it is that my nameless companion here claims... then what have you to lose, by letting the illusion you weave about yourself slip for just a bit? Love is eternal they say, and I believe it is in my heart and soul! What I will do then, is ask you to stop hanging about in your dead bones, and rather please... as I love you I would ask then that you seek the peace of a sweet afterlife in the other world of Faerie, where you will receive as Arawn told me a new body to dwell it until it is time to be reborn into the world once more. But as I do love you, and I know that you love me... wait for me in Faerie, and if you do so then when the hour of my own death comes I can guarantee you that I will find you there. For as we are blood kindred, then I too am bound for the other world of Faerie once this body of mine has breathed its' last. We can be together then, and await our rebirths in blissful joy! But if you remain in this dead form of yours... then how could we be together when I die? I most certainly do not wish to go on as an animated corpse! But let it be as you desire. Which would you prefer, Sapphira?” I swallowed hard, and my hands clutched the edge of the cauldron nervously. All at once, it was like a veil was just suddenly lifted, like as if a curtain had been opened to allow one to see what lies beyond it. Before me, I saw the skeletal forms of the Fair Folk who once lived in this place and called it home. As beautiful as they had all been in life, death had indeed claimed the lot of them, in the end. I turned my gaze away at the sight of what Mab... Sapphira... looked like in death. And, I began to cry... sobbing, uncontrollably.
The child queen's voice made it all the harder to bear as she said: “You remember the name that you once called me by, my love! That makes me so happy, the happiest little girl in the whole world.” and that was more than I could bear: “Please, Sapphira! Please... please, please... go to the other world and wait for me in Faerie. I beg you! Oh gods and goddesses of my mother, how I beg you. Let your bones rest in peace, beloved. For both of our sake! What even is it that holds you here?” and she said to me a terrible thing indeed. She said: “It is the cauldron that keeps us here! It belongs in the other world, as do we. Only if it was destroyed, could we depart this place, and leave our bones to their eternal slumber. It is indestructible, though! Men have tried to destroy it before, and sometimes succeeded... but always at the most terrible and fatal of costs. It is an eternal thing, and it always manages to return in yet another form. Only one being in the entirety of existence has the power to permanently send the cauldron back to the other world! Or... to call it forth from there again after doing so. That being, is Death itself! But were she to come hither and do this thing for us, then at least we would no longer be forced to remain its' guardians. Should it ever return in the future, then new guardians will be appointed to look after it. But our part in the matter would be finished!” and I knew despair for the child queen and her people in that moment, for there was no way that I... or any living person in all the world... knew of, to ever hope to sway Death to one's cause. Death was worshiped as a goddess by the ancients, and they feared her as all who live do. Arawn had spoken of her, to me... and he had said of Death: “Right now, she wears the flesh and the form of one most familiar to you, and to whom you are blood kindred. Whilst she walks in the guise of a living woman, her two twin sisters look after her eternal kingdoms, which are many and as numerous as there are living souls in existence.” It was a riddle to me, and one I still did not fathom at all the meaning of. I spoke of all of this at great length to the child queen, forcing myself to look at her terrible deathly form. But she did not comprehend Arawn's words either, or how they could help in this case. That was when my nameless companion said to me: “Mordred! I know she told you not to be listening to me... and to reject me... but, I know the meaning of Arawn's words that he spoke unto you. Your aunt is Morgan the Fey, is she not! How much do you know of what her personal beliefs are, or the beliefs of those who follow her teachings... has she initiated you into those mysteries yet?” And I said to the nameless woman: “I know nothing at all save that she is the current high priestess of the old and venerable order of the Sisterhood of Avalon. They do not allow men to learn their secrets, and all the women who learn them are sworn to secrecy with oaths so terrible that they fear to break them and it is said prefer death to doing so. Otherwise, folk say my aunt is a witch of the blackest sort... but those who do so are only those of the Christian faith. And I do not count myself among them! I love my aunt very much, and she has always been good to me. She has skin like mine, but her hair is as raven black as night itself can be. Likewise, she has black eyes, and as you can imagine if you know anything of my mother at all... the two sisters look nothing whatsoever alike save that both have high cheekbones and tapered ears, as well as almond-shaped eyes. All family traits, all normal enough. But it means to me... that they had to have come from very different fathers, because aside from those traits it is as I said and so described. They could not look more unrelated!” And the nameless woman explained: “Aye, this is all quite well known to me. The noble Igraine was their mother... the same, as so was mother to Arthur. Uther was Arthur's father, and Gorlois of Tintagel was the father of your mother Morgause... but, then, who was it that fathered your aunt Morgan I wonder!” She said that so playfully, that I knew she knew the identity of the man, and was merely toying with me by not telling me outright. I said unto her: “Tell me, lady, for I suspect you know it after all, and that it is someone I will recognize when you speak the man's name.” and this was her unexpected reply: “The true father of Morgan the Fey is none other than the god of the dead himself, Arawn! There was a time when he was fond of traveling about in the world whilst getting other men to take his place and masquerade as him in the land of the dead. And he could take many forms, and be many different types of men. Or women, if it suited him to take such a form!”
The nameless woman cleared her throat a bit and then continued: “On a lark, he once decided to see if he could be tempted to fall in love with a mortal woman... and chanced to spy the lady Igraine as she sat in her garden and enjoyed the summer weather that year. She had, four years previously... given birth to her daughter Morgause. And, at the time, she was intending to have no more children. Nor did Gorlois, her husband, seem to desire any! But Arawn, in the form of a charming and seductive admirer, came to meet with Irgraine in secret many times, during the course of that summer. Always, he made most sure, that this was only when Gorlois was known to be away. For, he did not wish to be caught at his game... and to him at first a game it seemed to be... until he genuinely fell in love with Igraine, and she for a bit of time fell just as deeply in love with him. That was ever, Igraine's most fatal failing! The fact, that she had too much love to give men, and not enough good sense to remain faithful to only one in order for it to be that the love could last. At the end of the summer season, when at last Gorlois... who had been off and away all that time... did finally return, Arawn realized finally that Igraine was lost to him, for only if something dire were to happen to her husband could he be with her. But even if he made that occur... he was doomed, and accursed, so that he could never remain in the land of the living for very long. He could only walk in this world for but one single season out of every year, and he got always to choose which one it would be. That year, it was summer he chose! And so, in order to keep Igraine he would have to arrange it so she would die instead of Gorlois, and then her soul could join him in his realm. It was something he simply could not do! For because he loved her so much, he could not bring himself to harm her, or to cause her to die. So he left her and returned to his otherworldly domain, and nothing at all happened to either Igraine or her husband... who knew not about her tryst with another man. But she was discovered, ere long, to be pregnant for Arawn's child... and Gorlois was furious for he knew it could not be his child she now carried within her. But try as he did to discover the identity of the man, he could not find him... for obvious reasons of course. All the servants were able to describe him well enough! Tall, with unnaturally pale white skin, raven black hair, and black eyes. High cheekbones, and strange sharply pointed ears like none they had ever seen before. They all believed he had actually been the Devil, and that Igraine had committed a mortal sin in laying with him. Some suggested she be put to death for this, and for the sin of being unfaithful to her husband. But because he could find no trace of this man, and therefore could not prove what the servants said to be true... he assumed the father had to have been one of them, and that whoever it was lied about the Devil in order to deflect blame from their own self in order to escape the angry nobleman's wrath. And so he planned to wait, to allow the child to be born, and then to look upon it and so try and figure out which of all the male servants the child thus looked the most like. When the baby girl was born... at the last... she, was the very image of this 'Devil' that all the servants had described, except that her ears were only slightly tapered rather than pointed at all. Gorlois felt very foolish after that, and believed what the servants had told him. But even believing now that his wife had given herself in body to evil incarnate... still he defended her, for he loved her in his own way even as deeply as Arawn loved her. He said she must have been seduced by the Devil and that she could never have willingly given herself to darkness in such a way. He painted her the victim in this, and felt pity for the child which he pledged to consider his own daughter and raise as such. When the servants called the baby girl a devil's child, he countered that because she was a child indeed... she could not possibly be evil, because every child is born innocent and free of sin. For that was always his personal belief regarding such things! Therefore... he meant to prove that he could raise the girl to be a goodly woman, and one free of any devilish influences. And this silenced the servants at last. The girl was named Morgan, and because of her peculiar appearance she was called Morgan the Fey. But she is not just Arawn's daughter! She is the reincarnation of the ancient goddess known as The Morrigan. Of old, people believed that The Morrigan was the goddess of death itself, and the incarnation thereof. So that is the meaning of Arawn's words to you Mordred. Your aunt Morgan... is actually, Death herself.”
I said to the nameless woman after that revelation: “Now I understand something! My other aunt, who is Queen Elaine of Garlot, once said that the only reason she herself had been born at all is because of the fact that Igraine felt somehow indebted to her husband... over some matter to do with a scandal that nearly got out of control regarding her sister Morgan's birth. Elaine was the youngest of the three sisters and was known to have been born last. So I do not doubt the truth in your words, lady... but I would be put more at ease, if next you were to tell me how it is that you know all of these things. Then, we shall discuss what to do about this nasty cauldron here.” and I tapped the edge of the cauldron, for emphasis. The strange, nameless woman said to me coldly: “That answer, is simple! Just as Morgan the Fey was born into this life with two sisters and is with them a sort of trinity of queens, so also it is that the being who Morgan truly is... also has two sisters, in this case twin sisters, although neither of them were thus reincarnated into this world as she was. For it was expected, nay rather it was fated, for them to remain in their otherworldly domain in order to keep things as they should be there. They were, as a part of that duty, to look after The Morrigan's sword... which they decided to safeguard until she could herself one day claim it. Realizing how difficult it could be... for the now quite mortal Morgan to venture into that place where no mortals are meant to go until they are in living flesh no longer... the sisters of Death did take it upon themselves to place it somewhere closer to this world, but still able to be guarded and kept safe. The sword was kept with this cauldron... and, both objects were held within a mighty fortress that had the power to appear in this world only during the Samhain season. And, in no other! It was a place of peculiar design, and could actually revolve by the means of mechanisms that would probably seem a kind of magic to you if I attempted to explain them and their workings in any meaningful detail. Four times, would it turn, and then the fortress would disappear from one location in this world only to then reappear in another when it turned four times more. It could intersect with other worlds, other planes... and was both a part of them all and also apart from them all at the same time. I do not expect you to in any way fully comprehend such things! But eventually, it was not Morgan the Fey who found her way to that place... it was your father, Arthur who did so. He and the twelve knights who preceded those you know now, they who had been his first knightly order of the Round Table. That first order was far less a virtuous one than that which you are currently a part of, Mordred! Some of those men were wicked in the extreme, and little better than criminals in many cases. But Arthur overlooked their failings, always maintaining the belief that he could help them to change. He led them in quest of that fortress, for tales got back to him about the golden cauldron that it contained... and he grew up hearing the legends of it, and was fascinated by the idea that he could perhaps claim it for the glory of his kingdom. At his side, was his loyal knight Llwch Lleminawg, who was renowned for his skill with the lance. They found one of the many places wherein the fortress appeared, and so, they ventured into it in order to seek to claim the golden cauldron. But the cauldron was never theirs... or any man's... to claim! Arthur heard the call of the cauldron, but Lleminawg only heard the calling of the sword. For the sword was trapped... and it longed to be free. I shall spare you the details of what transpired next... for it is a bloody tale, and quite the dark and ghastly one too. But out of all twelve knights who had gone upon that quest, only seven of them remained, including Lleminawg himself. Only they, Arthur, and Taliesin still lived by the time it was deemed best to flee that place without the cauldron. But they did not leave empty handed! For the sword was claimed by Llwch Lleminawg, who for a long time after that became renowned due mostly to the fact that with the sword of The Morrigan in his hands there was no way for any mortal foe to best him. I do not know why Morgan herself did not come forward to claim the blade after hearing tales of it, which she surely must have during that time. Perhaps she wished to see how others might make use of it, to discover if there was one man or woman in the land who might prove worthy to be the blade's new master or mistress. But Llwch Lleminawg proved unworthy, and so the blade left him. She left him and then allowed other men to carry her away, but they proved to be no more worthy than he had been.”
I sensed that she was speaking of herself now, as she said unto me: “She was lonely, for when a man who is unworthy touches her... it does not feel good, and it makes her long for one who is worthy. My previous master was a thief and a murderer, who sought to plunder these halls and steal the riches that stories said lay within them. He sought to use me against the Tylwyth Teg, but I did not like him... and I wanted to be free of him at the very last... so, I caused the hand he held me with to turn me against him, and made it so he sliced his own throat open with my blade. He died as horribly as ever he had lived! I was unhappy with having to claim his soul and send it to Arawn's realm, which is my function. I cannot choose whose soul I devour and whose I do not... for if I am used to take a life of any kind, the soul of that life will be devoured by me, and sent from within me to Arawn's domain. If he decides they are in fact meant for some other destination, he sends them thence. But none of that is my concern! I... am the Sword of The Morrigan. And, before she first wielded me... I had other masters and mistresses, and on other worlds than this one I existed. Sometimes in the form of a sword, and sometimes in other forms! Occasionally, I was not in the shape of a weapon at all, but instead that of a living being. You know me, Mordred! You were my master once as well. Even if you have forgotten, because you wear new flesh... and walk upon this world now. We even loved each other once, when in a living, fleshly guise I walked for a time! Do not try to remember the name I had then... it will pain you to recall it, and that would in turn pain me to think about. Just know that what I am telling you now, is the whole truth. The Fair Folk of this place think me evil, and so they seek to keep me trapped within the cauldron. Here is the irony! They cannot be free so long as the cauldron exists... but only I, being Death's most terrible weapon, do have the power to destroy the cauldron and set them free from the curse that keeps them trapped inside their own dead bones. None of them can claim me, nor do any of them wish to... and I have waited here in this place, hoping that a worthy individual might someday do so, until I thought I might go mad from despair. Because I am a divine being in origin... a goddess, if you wish to call me such... I am not bound in spirit here simply because my physical form is bound here. Thus, I did send my spirit forth to explore and search, and discover all that lay within the hearts, minds, and souls of the various men and women of this land and all the other lands upon the isle the Romans called Britannia when they still ruled here. That is how I eventually came to learn of you Mordred! And... of your blood connection to my mistress Morgan. For I decided to begin with learning more about the court of Arthur, and that led to me hoping to discover more about his family. Which led me to his sisters, and their history, and their secrets. And eventually, it led me to you! You were the one I sought, I realized that the moment I first encountered your bright... yet also quite very dark... soul. You would not have known I was even there, and to your eyes I could have been in the form of an insect one time, and on another occasion I might have chosen to possess the body of a bird and in that form watched from outside the windows of your home. I have my ways of learning things that I wish to learn! And so I have learned all that I know, and all that I did reveal to you. You were always the master I was meant to have... the true successor to The Morrigan as my wielder. Like her, you hold the power of death itself, within you! Only for vastly different reasons, and those are not known to me. But I do know what I sense within your spirit, and it calls to me even as I have decided to begin calling out to you. We call to each other, Mordred! That is how we are kin... for the goddess I actually am, was once blood kindred to the god who you truly are. Who you so were when in the form of that god you once walked! You can be a god once again... I can help you to become one. All you have to do, is reach into the cauldron and pull me out of it! Then use me to destroy the cauldron and then we can get out of this dark and miserable tomb. And... if you will not do this for me, or even it seems for yourself... would you consider doing this for your poor little Sapphira? She doesn't look quite so pretty now, does she!” and she laughed so evilly after saying that, that it angered me. I struck her as hard as I could, pushed her off of me, forgetting that I was doing this only to a dead vessel. “Be silent!” I screamed at her, and then proclaimed: “I will do this thing... for Sapphira, but never for you, demon.”
I pushed back my sleeves and plunged both of my hands into the cauldron's depths, immersing them fully in the blood that it contained. I could feel something at the bottom... cold metal, as cold as ice. It was the blade of a sword, and was quite sharp... sharper than any blade I had ever felt before. I knew I had cut a couple of my fingers upon it, and was careful to avoid doing so any further whilst I fumbled about looking for the sword's hilt. My hands discovered the handle of it soon enough, and I nearly fell into the cauldron as I wrapped my hands about it and withdrew the sword from out of the blood. What I held was the lightest weapon I had ever carried! I do not know if it was just that perfectly balanced, or if it was endowed with some sort of enchantment that made it feel light to wield despite being so long of a blade... and it was quite long indeed, and of a design I had never seen the like of before... but even as weak as I sometimes felt like I was, I could still manage this weapon with tremendous ease. It was a pure white blade, the whitest metal I had ever seen! It was as if snow was given form in metal, and the hilt was also white as snow, with thick white leather wrappings about the handle to make it comfortable to hold with either one hand or two. It had an ornate cross guard... that almost appeared to be made of ivory... but which was far stronger than such a material. Into the bottom of the sword's pommel was set a red ruby jewel, which sparkled in the light and looked much like blood that had been transformed into the shape of crystal by some black magic I did not wish to imagine the workings thereof. A larger, more circular cut red ruby was set into the center of the front part of the crosspiece, in a place designed to so hold it, and the back of the crosspiece had an identical ruby inserted into it. The sword's blade was most bitingly cold to the touch, and I knew I would need to keep it sheathed once I could get a proper sheath in its' size. In comparison, it was about the length of an English long sword of the late medieval period. The style of the weapon was similar to that as well. But that was what was so strange when I think back on it now, in this current life I am living in this modern era! That style of sword should not have existed yet during the Dark Ages, and yet somehow inexplicably this particular sword did exist and was in that very style. I simply thought it a strange looking weapon back then, but found it easy enough to use even so! It almost felt as if the goddess whose spirit was within it, was guiding my hands and teaching me as I used it how to use it even better and more skillfully. I looked back to smile at her, but the body of the nameless woman now lay dead and lifeless upon the floor. She was no longer speaking to me, but as I swung the blade through the air, practicing with it, the weapon made an almost screeching sound and it was her I realized. She was singing! Happy to be free once again, not longer trapped in that dead form. I swung the weapon and struck it against the cauldron with as much force as I could deliver... and it did nothing whatsoever except create a loud thrumming sound that reverberated for a bit before stopping. “No, that is not how to destroy it!” exclaimed Sapphira, who explained further: “You need to tip it over and spill the blood it contains first... then, it will be emptied of its' magic, and able to be destroyed with the sword.” I smiled at her, and did not find it revolting any longer to look upon her. “We all will look like that someday.” I mused to myself silently, acknowledging my own mortality by admitting this. I did kick at the cauldron and push against it, and it began to wobble... the ground was not all that even, and the cauldron was soon rocking back and forth a bit. My arms and hands were covered in the blood from it as it was, and I quickly retrieved my cloak and put it back on. This way, when it finally did tip over, the cauldron would not spill its' blood unto my cloak and stain it permanently. I kept working at the task at hand, and finally the golden cauldron tipped fully over with a mighty clanging noise, and the bloody contents of it spilled out all over the floor of the chamber, covering the dais on which the great cauldron had been set. It was now no longer on the dais, and had toppled from it, landing below. As I looked, it had been as I suspected... the whole dais had been constructed over uneven ground. Thanks to whoever had constructed this place, I had been able to do what needed to be done. I rushed over, to the toppled cauldron, and swung the white sword down upon it with all my might. The blade screeched as it did cleave through the air, even louder than it had before, and the cauldron was thus cut in half by it.
I jumped back from it instantly, for the cauldron began to spew forth some kind of noxious vapors... and the chamber began to fill up with them. I ran back to the dais, which seemed to be above the level of the vapors, which thankfully were not rising... but remaining confined to the floor itself. The vapors spread, and everything they touched was blackened. The thrones crumbled apart until they were rubble, the pillars began to shake, and I knew that soon the entire place would begin to collapse. For even the walls were beginning to be weakened by the vapors' lethal caress. I saw that the vapors had yet to fully cover the ground behind me, and there was still time to get to the tunnel that led back to the surface. To escape, and see daylight once again! Or night, if it was night by now. Time ran strangely, in places such as this or so it was said. I glanced over at Sapphira... whose spirit departed her bones, in the instant that the vapors reached her. All of her Fair Folk kin, were similarly freed from their accursed state. I smiled and thanked the goddess of the white sword, and then sped for the tunnel as fast as my legs could hope to carry me. I could hear the now truly lifeless bones of the long dead Fair Folk clattering to the floor, as I did at last reach the tunnel I desperately sought... and I could feel everything shaking all about me, as if a terrible tremor was rocking the foundations of the very world itself. I knew that this underground domain could not endure long against such force as was now attempting to tear it all apart. And even as the earth shook beneath my feet, I climbed the tunnel upward... running faster and faster, seeking to be one step ahead of the rumbling if possible. That was not possible! But I ran on anyway, white sword in hand, until I was finally back in the entrance cavern where the wall which was only an illusion waited for me to pass through it. I was at the surface level, at long last! I ran through the false wall, and as I did so all the torches behind me went out... plunging everything inside the mountain into darkness. I could hear the rumbling, below, and crashing noises of such tumultuous noise that I realized at last the entire underground had collapsed... everything likely caving in, from the stresses being put upon it all. I was glad to be outside again, and on the high place on the mountain where I had first come to enter the deep tunnel that brought me to the prison of the white sword. Out of curiosity, I tried to put my hand through the wall which was an illusion... and felt only solid rock there now. The illusion dissipated, and now it truly was solid rock which was there now. The underground domain had collapsed utterly, and nothing was left of it any longer to be found. It was nighttime, as I had suspected... I intended to make my way back down to the village and see about having a sheathe made for my new sword. There was a leather worker's shop not far from the inn, and I still had plenty of coin to spare. As I began to make my way back down the train which led from the high place on the mountain, I spoke to the white sword and said to it: “Thank you once again, goddess! Since you never did, tell me your name... I shall give you one. I will name this sword Albion, for to me it is as white and fair as are the pale cliffs of the southern shores of Britannia itself.” and I used the Roman name for the country, the one that the goddess herself had so used when she spoke to me before. I myself knew the county of Britannia more familiarly, by the name the Welsh called it by, which was Ynys Prydain. It meant something somewhat akin to “Painted Isle”, and from Prydain eventually derives the name Britain. But the folk of that great isle were many during those times, back when I did dwell there as Mordred son of Arthur... and some had their own names for it. But to me it was Ynys Prydain, and to this day that name for it holds a special magic for me and a bit of nostalgia in my heart. Descending from the trail I followed down the mountain, took a great deal of a longer time than it had when I had ascended it in the company of the nameless woman whose body the goddess of the white sword no longer needed. We had horses then, but now it appeared that the animals had either run away or been stolen. At least my money, such as remained of it, was still safe in the coin pouch I kept tied securely to my belt! I would need to purchase a new horse, and fresh supplies for its' saddlebags, before I could depart for Camelot. All after I had that sheathe made for Albion! My quest, was over... and, I had succeeded in it. But my legs ached, my muscles hurt... and I was tired as well as more than a bit hungry, and thirsty too. I would need to rest well... but at least I was alive, and content.
Published 2nd Dec 2022
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