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covered in my enemy s blood. I fell to my knees beside him on the bloody rock,
and I touched his shoulder, as if I wasn t sure he was real.  I saw you
drown, I said.
He seemed to have trouble focusing on me, but said,  I am sidhe and sluagh. We
cannot die by drowning. He coughed hard enough that he doubled over, throwing
up water onto the rock, as he clung to the white shaft of the spear.  But it
hurts as if it were death.
I embraced him, and he winced, covered in wounds new and old. I held him more
carefully, clinging to him, covering his upper body in Segna s blood.
His voice came rough with coughing.  I m holding the spear of bone. It was one
of the signs of kingship once for my people.
 Where did it come from? I asked.
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 It was in the bottom of the lake, waiting for me.
 Where are we? I asked.
 It s theIslandofBones . It used to be in the middle of our garden, but it has
become the stuff of legend.
I touched what I d thought was rock, and found he was right. It was rock, but
the rock had once been bone. The island was made up of fossils.  It feels
awfully solid for a legend, I said.
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He managed a smile.  What in the name of Danu is going on, Meredith? What is
happening?
I smelled roses, thick and sweet.
He raised his head, looked around him.  I smell herbs.
 I smell roses, I said, softly.
He looked at me. What is happening, Meredith? How did we get here?
 I prayed.
He frowned at me.  I don t understand.
The smell of roses grew thicker, as if I were standing in a summer meadow. A
chalice appeared in my hand, where it lay against Sholto s naked back.
He startled away from the touch of it as if it had burned him. He tried to
turn too quickly, and it must have pained the open wound on his stomach, for
he winced, sucking in his breath sharply. He fell back onto his side, the
spear still gripped in one hand.
I held up the gold-and-silver cup so that it caught the light. It was really
only then that it sank in that there was light here. It was sunlight, glinting
on the cup, and warm on my skin.
For my life, I couldn t remember if there had been sun a moment ago. I might
have asked Sholto, but he was focused on what was in my hand, and whispered,
 It can t be what I think it is.
 It is the chalice.
He gave a small shake of his head. How?
 I dreamt of it, as I dreamt of Abeloec s horn cup, and when I woke it was
beside me.
He leaned heavily on the spear, and reached toward the shining cup. I held it
out toward him, but his fingers stopped just short of it, as if he feared to
touch it.
His reluctance reminded me that things could happen if I touched one of the
men with the chalice. But weren t we in vision? And if so, would that hold
true? I looked at Segna s body, felt her blood drying on my skin. Was this
vision, or was it real?
 And is not vision real? came a woman s voice.
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 Who said that? Sholto asked.
A figure appeared. She was hidden completely behind the grey of a hooded
cloak. She stood in the clear sunlight, but it was like looking at a shadow a
shadow with nothing to give it form.
 Do not fear the touch of the Goddess, the figure said.
 Who are you? Sholto whispered.
 Who do you think I am? came the voice. In the past, she had always either
appeared more solid or been only a voice, a scent on the wind.
Sholto licked his lips and whispered,  Goddess.
My hand rose of its own accord. I held the chalice out to him, but it was as
if someone else were moving my hand.  Touch the chalice, I whispered.
He kept his grip on the spear, leaning on it, as he stretched out his other
hand.  What will happen when I
touch it?
 I don t know, I said.
 Then why do you want me to do it?
 She wants you to, I said.
He hesitated again with his fingers just above the shining surface. The
Goddess s voice breathed around us with the scent of summer roses:  Choose.
Sholto took in a sharp breath and blew it out, like a sprinter, then touched
the gold of the cup. I smelled herbs, as if I had brushed against a border of
thyme and lavender around my roses. A black-cloaked figure appeared beside the
grey. Taller, broader of shoulders, and somehow even shrouded by the
cloak male. As the cloak could not hide the Goddess s femininity, so the cloak
could not hide the
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God s masculinity.
Sholto s hand wrapped around the chalice, covering my hand with his, so that
we both held the cup.
The voice came deep, and rich, and ever changing. I knew the voice of the God,
always male, but never the same.  You have spilled your blood, risked your
lives, killed on this ground, he intoned. That dark hood turned toward
Sholto, and for a moment I thought I saw a chin, lips, but they changed even
as I
saw them. It was dizzying.  What would you give to bring life back to your
people, Sholto?
 Anything, he whispered.
 Be careful what you offer, the Goddess said, and her voice, too, was every
woman s, and none.
 I would give my life to save my people, Sholto said.
 I do not wish to take it, I responded, because the Goddess had offered me a
similar choice once.
Amatheon had bared his neck for a blade, so that life could return to the land
of faerie. I had refused, because there were other ways to give life to the
land. I was descended from fertility deities, and I knew
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well that blood was not the only thing that made the grass grow.
 This is not your choice, she said to me. Was there a note of sorrow in her
voice?
A dagger appeared in the air in front of Sholto. Its hilt and blade were all
white, and gleamed oddly in the light. Sholto s hand left the chalice and
grabbed for the knife, almost by reflex.  The hilt is bone. It is the match to
the spear, Sholto said, and there was soft wonder in his voice as he gazed at
the dagger.
 Do you remember what the dagger was used for? said the God.  It was used to
slay the old king. To spill his blood on this island, Sholto replied
obediently.
 Why? the God asked.
 This dagger is the heart of the sluagh, or was once.
 What does a heart need?
 Blood, and lives, Sholto answered, as if he were taking a test.
 You spilled blood and life on the island, but it is not alive.
Sholto shook his head.  Segna was not a suitable sacrifice for this place. It
needs a king s blood. He held the knife out toward the God s shadowy figure.
 Spill my blood, take my life,bring the heart of the sluagh back to life.
 You are the king, Sholto. If you die, who will take back the spear, and bring
the power back to your people?
I knelt there, the blood growing tacky on my skin. I cradled the chalice in my
hands, and had a bad feeling that I knew where this talk was going.
Sholto lowered the knife and asked,  What do you want of me, Lord?
The figure pointed at me.  There is royal blood to spill. Doit, and the heart
of the sluagh will live once more.
Sholto stared at me, the look on his face full of shock. I wondered if my face
had looked that way when the choice had been mine.  You mean for me to kill
Meredith? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]