They did not see or hear them coming, but all of a sudden the shore in front of them was teeming with women and girls standing under the apple trees, the sweet scent of the fragile blossoms trembling in the summer breeze replacing that of the marshland and lake water.
Some were dressed in black, flowing robes not unlike those Ginny and Morag wore, others, the younger ones, in loose trousers or long skirts and plain shirts of different shades of brown and green. But none of them wore a wimple-- their uncovered hair was braided tightly around their heads, forming a crown above the small, blue crescent painted on their foreheads, just above their eyes.
Suddenly, they swayed like the reeds growing in the shallows of the Lake when the wind blew, making way and bowing silently as their High Priestess walked through their ranks towards the newcomers.
"Welcome, girls. We've been expecting you." The woman, whose age was as difficult to divine as Abbess Agatha's, smiled at the stunned girls as she reached them.
Before either of them could reply, they were surprised by the peal of church bells-- the sound was faint but distinct, and somewhat alien in this place as it reached their ears through the layers of mists hovering above the waters of the Lake-- and the woman's smile widened.
Ginny stared at her, speechless, trying to express her questions with her look.
The High Priestess, as she could not be anyone else, judging from the love and reverence she apparently inspired in the other women, understood.
"Oh, they just noticed that you have left the convent. Good. The annoying, pig-headed King Gwynedd will leave the shore of the Lake now. His presence there is highly inconvenient, you see. He'll go searching for you, and give up and go home eventually, but not before the tidings of Prince Arthur returning victorious from the battle later this year, anxious because of your disappearance, will reach your father's kingdom, Princess Guinevere."
Ginny gaped at her a little longer, then, finally, forced herself to form a coherent question, "How can you possibly know all this?"
"It's the Sight, my lady. Some, like your friend Myrddin, or the kings' seers, use it mainly to see the world around them better. I use it to see the future... May I see the Sword?" she added, changing the subject unexpectedly. "You see, it's nearly as much of a legend and mystery for us here as it is for you."
Ginny nodded, turning around and reaching for her saddle where she carried it, tied to her saddle bag.
"Wasn't it you who put it in that stone at Tintagel?" she asked tentatively, passing the Excalibur to the priestess.
"No, not me." The woman shook her head. "One of my predecessors, a long time ago... Aah, it's beautiful!" She whispered reverently as she pulled the strange, dark blade out of its improper, unassuming scabbard.
"We will teach you how to handle it well. We will train you in using your Sight. You will be lectured in queencraft..."
"But... I don't think I have any of your abilities..." Ginny muttered, feeling... just too ordinary in front of this woman emanating power and wisdom.
"But of course you do. I can hear the whisper of old Druid blood as it rushes through your veins, the shadow of their ancient wisdom cast over your thoughts. The Sword belonging to the Holy Druid Regalia would not have chosen you if it wasn't so."
"When... when can I return to my own world? I... have things to do... people... to find..." Ginny stammered.
All this, what the High Priestess of Avalon had just proposed to her, was wonderful. But it was all wrong at the same time-- she did not ask for it. The only thing she wished for was a lifetime at Sir Lancelot's side... But Ginny could not say that to this queenly woman standing in front of her, who had sacrificed her life to her Goddess, just like the nuns of Glastonbury sacrificed theirs to their God.
"There is a right time for everything, my lady. You would never have found your way here unless you needed to come, and you'll leave when the time is ripe for you to step up and accept the duty our Goddess laid upon your shoulders. You are the chosen one, Lady Guinevere, you will end all wars and free our isles from the Saxons in her name. But not just yet."
Ginny sighed, thinking that she only really wanted Sir Lancelot, feeling selfish and ungrateful.
The priestess smiled as she bid her and Morag to follow her. "He is a part of it, Princess. Right now, let me only tell you that he loves you as much as you love him, and he will stop at nothing to get to you. But, as I said before, all things with time," she told Ginny in a half-whisper, making her blush and feel that this woman could read her thoughts.
As they reached the first buildings of a small village huddled at the foot of the hill crowned with the coronet of standing stones, the High Priestess beckoned one of the young women who walked silently behind them to come forth. Without a word, she seemed to accept an order from the priestess and motioned for Morag and Ginny to follow her towards a long stone house standing at the outskirts of the settlement.
"This is the House of the Maidens. All novices live here. Lady Nimue, the High Priestess, has her own dwelling," she said, pointing out a smaller house in the distance, close to the encroaching forest. "Most of us," she explained, pulling at her priestess' gown, as black as her hair, "live with her. And that's the house of the priestesses of the oracles, and next to it, the dwelling of the priests and the bards. Welcome, my lady. My name is Morgaine." The short woman finished, inclining her head to Ginny and Morag with great courtesy.
"Just call me Ginny, please. And this is my friend, Morag," Ginny said as they followed Morgaine into the stone house and then into one of its rooms, looking just like the convent cells.
The water for them to wash after the journey and clean clothes-- long skirts and shirts identical to those the other novices wore-- were already there.
"Lady Nimue told us that you would need to rest when you arrive. Take your time to settle and rest then; we'll bring you your bags once you wake up." She bowed to them then was out of the room, beyond the closed door, her footsteps retreating down the corridor before Ginny could start questioning her.
But maybe Morgaine was right, and they needed to rest first. They were so tired after the night's walk through the mists and the waters of the Lake that they did not even speak while they washed and changed into the clean clothes, before they collapsed on their beds trying to sort out their thoughts as they drifted off to sleep.
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