This is the story of the Lady of Avalon, first wielder of Excalibur, spiritual precursor of Arthur Pendragon.
She had had a lover once. Pwill was his name. A kind soul at one with Nature, who spoke to his horse like they were dearest friends (which they were) and sang with the birds like he knew the meaning of their songs (which he did).
Pwill would visit the Lady of Avalon at her lake every morning before the dew was gone, bringing tidings of the birds of Avalon and of all of Albion. Kingdoms flourished and others failed. New growth flourished where fires had blazed.
Every morning, the birds sang and Pwill would sing with them for his lover as she let her mind’s eye flit on the chirps and twirls of the birdsong and the undertones of her lover’s words, and she would catch glimpses of the Otherworlds.
A sickly maiden weeping over nine swords.
Mother Albion laying a hand on four wands of power.
A tenth sword in a rock, blessed by the priestess of the Temple of Air. Blessed by her, by the Lady of Avalon, surrounded by songbirds filling the air with their wise words.
She became the priestess.
The priestess became her.
They had always been one, but never at once. Not until now.
Pwill would be lost to her before the sword was ever forged. She gazed upon him, eyes loving and mournful.
“So it has begun,” sang the Lady of Avalon.
Bio:
A.H. Leclerc is a translator by day and a writer by night. He lives in Kelowna, B.C., Canada with his wife and five boys.