Morgan Le Fay: Giants in the Earth

I

STARS AND ARROWS

The unfamiliar countryside rolled on and on as if it would never end.

Morgan had spent hours that day and the day before staring out of the window at rocky hills, autumn woodlands, and grassy valleys she had never seen before. Occasionally the Sun would peep out from behind the clouds, but for the most part the sky was grey and hazy with the oncoming of winter. Branches of brightly-coloured red and gold trees bowed under the weight of water from rain showers that fell on and off, spattering through the glassless window. Morgan wondered if the Hyades, the Rainy Ones, were crying so much from the sky because she and her family had left Tintagel.

They were travelling in a wooden covered wagon with beams arching from the roof, dividing the sides into windows. At first Fleur looked eagerly out of the window with Morgan, but then the little princess got bored and went to sit beside their tutor Sebile, who was quietly reading one of the bound books she had brought with her. Morgan’s mother Igraine was lying on some sacks stuffed with feathers and covered with an ornate quilt. Morgan’s twin sisters Anna and Blasine, a year younger than her, played with their straw dolls on the floor inside. Lady-in-waiting Halwynna watched them seated on a pile of cushions, clutching the side of the wagon and looking deathly white.

Morgan and Fleur’s young maid Angharad was travelling behind them in an open cart with the pinch-faced kitchen maid Janniper and the food supplies. Morgan hadn’t been happy at all when she’d seen that Janniper was coming with them, knowing how cruel Janniper had been to the kitchen servants back at Tintagel. But it seemed Igraine had insisted on taking a cook to Dimilioc and Halwynna had picked Janniper.

Prince Vortimer had refused to ride in the covered wagon with them and rode on his horse alongside the guards. About twenty soldiers accompanied their party, chosen by High King Vortigern and Morgan’s father Gorlois, the Duke of Belerion, to protect them on the journey. Vortimer had insisted that his pasty-faced companion Prince Urien of Rheged ride with him, so the two boys rode outside together in the cold and the rain.

The only boy inside the covered wagon with them was Merlin. Being the same age as Morgan and Fleur, he was too young to ride with the others. He sat cross-legged in a corner on the opposite side of the wagon to Morgan. His face was expressionless as usual, his eyes dark as ever. He was holding a book in his hands, but Morgan didn’t know if he was reading it or not since she resolutely refused to look at him. He hadn’t looked at her or said a word to her either – or to anyone at all, in fact.

Morgan had tried to read as well, but the wagon was so bumpy that reading made her feel sick. Sebile had looked at her keenly and said that such nausea was usually something people felt at sea. The tutor said a famous physician called Hippocrates had discovered how sailing on the sea proved that motion disordered the body, but Sebile herself had observed that the same travelling motion could also affect people on land. The tutor gave Morgan an infusion of ginger to drink and told her to sit by the window and breathe deeply in the fresh air.

So Morgan sat and watched the strange countryside go by, all the while taking deep gulps of cold rainy air. The journey took them past wooded hillsides of wet green grass and dark-barked trees of yellow, brown and crimson leaves tinged with a touch of evergreen. Leaning out, Morgan saw the road beneath was covered with damp and decaying leaves, all dull and wet and soggy, sticking to the wagon’s wheels as they passed over them.

On a couple of occasions she peered through the trees towards a raised clearing, where through the woodland she could see a circular hedge on a hill surrounded by a ditch enclosing several thatched roundhouses. When she asked Sebile about it, the tutor said they were settlements of people who grew crops, kept animals or hunted in the woods nearby. At the second settlement Morgan saw black smoke rising from the houses and wished she was there inside by the fire.

The air inland felt different, heavier, more pungent – totally unlike the salt-water freshness of Tintagel’s coastal breezes. But Morgan tried hard not to think about Tintagel; it made her heart ache and her stomach sick.

The previous night they had had to make camp in a woodland clearing beside a brook. The soldiers had erected several patchwork animal-skin tents, and they all had to sleep in makeshift beds of reeds and blankets on the cold, damp ground. Fleur hated it and so did Anna, who had whined loudly until Igraine, in an uncharacteristic display of impatience, had snapped at her to be quiet.

Morgan wasn’t sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, she hardly slept at all despite being so tired, because she missed the softness of her bed in the castle. On the other hand, being able to lie on her back and peer through the folds of the tent at the open night sky so full of twinkling white stars and swirly black clouds gave her a great thrill.

She wasn’t fond of travelling by wagon. It was cold and uncomfortable and bumpy, and it made her ache all over. She also missed the sea. The soft bubbling of the brook near their night camp had been nothing like the constant roar and swell of the ocean. For the first time in her life, Morgan hadn’t been able to hear the sounds of the sea as she lay in bed at night. Everything had sounded unnaturally quiet.

She could never have imagined there would be so much land stretching across the world with no sea in sight. She remembered the Moon Moor, and how vast and endless that land had seemed with no sea there either. But on the Moon Moor she had been too worried about what she had had to do to think about how there had been no sea. Now, sitting in the wagon during the day and lying in the tent at night, she really noticed the sea not being there.

She noticed how the land was different too. The trees were bigger, the hills higher, the woodland more dense. Thin layers of frosty snow were beginning to form on patches of land the further away from the sea they went. At night, the Moon’s white eye was opening wider and Orion the Winter Maker accompanied her, brandishing his starry sword and shield high in the sky.

Looking up at them, Morgan thought about Diana and Wodan, Artemis and Orion, the Moon Huntress and the Winter Maker. She thought about how they were together in the sky but couldn’t talk to each other. How Diana rode with her shining Wild Hunt in the moonlight and Wodan rode with his terrible Furious Host in the storm. Lying in the tent, Morgan had held the silver spearhead close to her chest; the spearhead that was one day going to bring Diana and Wodan together again. The spearhead that she was going to use to bring them together again.

At least she hoped she could. She desperately wanted to see Diana again. She wanted to talk to the Moon Huntress. Seek comfort from her. Hear Diana say nice things to her.

The night she had freed the Giant Cormorac, Morgan had declared to Joan the Piskie that she, Morgan, was powerful and that she could do anything. At night, looking up at the stars, remembering Diana and how she had ridden with her in the Moon Huntress’ chariot across the sky, she could still feel like that.

But in the light of day things seemed very different. In the daylight of the grown-ups’ mortal world, Morgan still felt like a small, unimportant little girl. Even though she knew now, more than ever, that she was not.

***

After Ambrosius’ attack on Tintagel Castle, Gorlois had decided it was too dangerous for his wife Igraine and their children to stay, so he had sent them to his inland fortress of Dimilioc. Morgan knew nothing about Dimilioc, except that it was on a great hill surrounded by forest. That’s what Safir had told her and Safir would know, being squire to Gorlois. It was still amazing to Morgan to think how Safir had become so important in such a short time – a young Saracen girl living in disguise as a boy, who had stowed away on a ship that was wrecked off the coast of Tintagel. Yet Gorlois, unaware of Safir’s secret, had come to greatly admire, respect and value her as his squire, and Safir loved her new life.

High King Vortigern had sent his son Prince Vortimer to Dimilioc with Igraine. Vortimer was angry about it but there was nothing he could do. Morgan wished the prince hadn’t come; she hated Vortimer just as much as she hated Vortigern. It was Vortigern’s fault that Tintagel had been attacked in the first place. If Vortigern hadn’t come to stay there, Ambrosius would never have attacked them. It was Vortigern’s fault. And Myrddin’s fault. And Merlin’s fault.

It was astounding to think back to everything that had happened. On the night before All Hallows’ Eve, or Samhain as the Druids called it, Morgan had secretly followed Merlin down to a secluded bay where the boy had met up with Myrddin, the dark Druid. Morgan and Fleur were the only ones who knew Merlin was Myrddin’s secret apprentice. Taliesin, still a little boy but already apprentice to the old Druid Grand Master Cadwellon, had been following Myrddin that night on his master’s instructions. Cadwellon didn’t trust Myrddin.

That night, Morgan had discovered she could make herself invisible with her magic. Not only that, but she could even extend that invisibility to anyone who held her hand. Hand in hand with Taliesin, she had watched in horror as Myrddin and Merlin had guided two men into the bay. They were the half-Giant brothers Caradoc and Turquine, who had come to Tintagel to try to get Gorlois to join Ambrosius, Vortigern’s enemy. Others had wanted Gorlois to join Ambrosius too: Sir Mark of Gore and his beautiful sister Heliabel, Queen of Lyonesse, who hated the Saxons. Morgan had loved Heliabel and it still hurt to remember how the Queen of Lyonesse had turned against Gorlois.

Gorlois had refused to betray Vortigern, and had ordered Caradoc and Turquine to be thrown into Tintagel’s dungeon. In revenge, Caradoc had threatened Morgan’s life. She had used her magic against him and Caradoc now thought she was a witch. Heliabel and Mark had escaped from Tintagel and no one had seen them since.

The following night of Samhain had been the darkest of Morgan’s life. After attending Christian service at Tintagel’s chapel with the priest Father Elfodd, Morgan and her friends Fleur, Safir and Taliesin had snuck out of the castle wearing disguises so they could see the Samhain celebrations for themselves. Morgan had insisted on taking Merlin’s twin sister Ganieda, who was blind, deaf and mute, though she and Morgan could communicate through their thoughts.

Morgan had been determined to summon Diana, the Moon Huntress, for whom she had ventured into the realms of the Piskies and the Muryans to rescue the souls of twin babies Mabon and Maglore. She had wanted to prove to her friends that she was telling the truth about her adventures: that she did have magic, that she did meet the goddess Diana, and that she had been to the faerie realms.

The children had gone up to the bone-fire on the hill with Angharad and her uncle Gornemant, a merchant seaman, to watch Cadwellon perform the Druid ceremony. They had partaken of the feast, and had thrown tokens of stones and hazelnuts into the fire to divine their future. Then they had discovered that Merlin, disguised as a ghost, had been following them all night.

Tragedy had struck. The faeries had attacked them in the shape of a whirlwind and carried off Ganieda. Morgan had tried to summon Diana and her beautiful Wild Hunt, but instead roused the Furious Host, the demonic hunters who roared through the sky in search of souls who died violently, unbaptised or who simply got in their way. Led by Wodan, the terrible one-eyed Dark Huntsman, on his eight-legged horse Sleipnir, the demonic hunters had taken the soul of Merlin, whose dead body they had left in the night-darkened field as they galloped through the sky towards Tintagel. There Ambrosius and his fleet had launched a surprise night-time attack.

Morgan shuddered as she recalled the horrific scenes of the ensuing battle. Bloodied bodies and severed limbs and screaming wounded. And the Giants. The man Giant Cormoran, hacking at soldiers with his colossal axe, sweeping them off the cliff in a single blow. The woman Giant, whose name Morgan didn’t know, beating men to a messy pulp with her bulky club. And the boy Giant Cormorac, their son, knocking down the foregate of Tintagel Castle with his huge fists.

Then the charge of Vortigern and Gorlois with their horsemen. The fleeing of Ambrosius’ army back to their ships. The capture of the boy Giant Cormorac, shot through with arrows like needles sticking out of him. Then the discovery that Taliesin’s fisherman father Elffin had been taken prisoner by Ambrosius’ forces. Taliesin’s grief and tears. And Aldan, Lady Aldan, Merlin and Ganieda’s mother.

Morgan had seen Aldan, drenched in blood, dead in her room, having been brutally killed by Ambrosius’ soldiers. It was an image she would never forget. Ganieda’s mother had gone, as had Ganieda herself.

***

The further away the journey took them from Tintagel, the more Morgan thought about Ganieda. She stared out at the passing rain-dripping trees and woodland, remembering the thick dark forest of criss-crossed stalks and dead daisy heads she had walked through in her dream. In that dream, she had seen where the faeries had taken Ganieda: their winter barrows, underground, beneath an ancient grave.

Ganieda had come to her there, had seen her, listened to her, talked to her as if she had never been blind, deaf and mute. Ganieda could see, hear and talk in the faerie world. But still Ganieda wanted Morgan to get her out; she did not want to stay. To any mortal, it was a living death, as Morgan knew all too well.

Morgan’s memory of Agnes, the human girl who had been kidnapped by the Muryans long, long ago, was as vivid as ever. Morgan had tried to save Agnes. But Agnes’ mortal life had been long over, long forgotten. When Morgan had taken her out of the faeries’ realm, Agnes had withered and died like a flower without sunlight, like a plant without water, turning from flesh to bones to dust in a single moment. No one knew where Agnes’ soul had gone and there was no one left to care. No one to remember her. Morgan could never think of Agnes without tears.

It was awful to think of Ganieda stuck there under that terrible grave, never being able to see the daylight or breathe the fresh air. Just as Agnes had been trapped for all those years … but Morgan wasn’t going to think of Agnes, she told herself firmly, blinking away her tears. Ganieda was not going to end up like Agnes. Morgan would find a way to save her.

The previous night, while lying awake gazing at the stars through the fold in the tent, Morgan had kept a keen eye out for the tiny blue light of Joan the Piskie in the darkness. Joan, who had saved Morgan from the faerie whirlwind; who had helped Morgan free the boy Giant Cormorac. Joan, who had said she would help Morgan only one more time, despite the fact that Morgan knew Piskies weren’t to be trusted. Still, she would have liked to have seen Joan, out there in the wilderness. But the Piskie hadn’t returned.

Thinking about Ganieda also made her think about Merlin, much as she didn’t want to. She wouldn’t look at him, but she was always aware of him in the corner of her eye. He had told her the day after Samhain that he was going to find Ganieda. He had said that Morgan had to help him find her. But Morgan didn’t want to help Merlin rescue Ganieda. She was going to do it without him. She didn’t trust him.

During Ambrosius’ attack on Tintagel, the half-Giant Caradoc had tried to grab Morgan again, but she had been whisked away by Wodan on his eight-legged horse into the sky. Wodan had known that Morgan was special to Diana, had been chosen by her. He wanted Morgan to give Diana a message from him. The Dark Huntsman had given Morgan the silver spearhead from Diana’s Sacred Spear, which Wodan had stolen from the Moon Huntress long ago. He wanted Diana to know that if she would free him from the curse of being leader of the Furious Host and return him to his rightful place as a king among gods, he would find for her the remaining shaft of the Spear that had been stolen from him. He would serve Diana again.

Morgan now knew that Wodan had once been the hunter companion of Diana, known long ago as the Giant Orion, who now shone as the brightest constellation in the sky. She had agreed to deliver the spearhead and give Diana Wodan’s message when she saw her again. But she would only do it in exchange for something Wodan could do for her.

Morgan had bargained with the Dark Huntsman to bring the dead Merlin back to life. She had asked him to restore Merlin’s soul.

Wodan had not wanted to do it, but he had done it. He had told Morgan she might come to regret it. So had Safir, who had warned her about changing fate. But despite her dislike of Merlin, Morgan had still thought it was right to save him – especially now that Aldan was dead and Ganieda wouldn’t have any other family when Morgan freed her from the faeries. She had wanted Wodan to bring Aldan back too, but Wodan said that he couldn’t because he had not taken her soul, it had not been his to take, so he couldn’t restore it.

Merlin had since severely tested Morgan’s belief that she’d been right to bring him back from the dead. When Morgan had found out that the captured boy Giant Cormorac was going to be tortured for information about Ambrosius’ army, she had been horrified. She had previously helped Sebile heal Cormorac’s wounds and knew he was just a scared, simple, but sweet boy. Together with Joan the Piskie, Morgan had snuck down to the Giant’s prison at night, used her magic to break his chains, and, with Taliesin’s help, had set Cormorac free.

But Merlin hadn’t wanted her to. Merlin hated Giants. He thought they were evil. He had tried to stop her. He had been so maddened he might even have killed her if Taliesin hadn’t hit him on the head and knocked him out.

After Merlin had tried to stop Morgan freeing the Giant, after he had tried to use his magic on her, after he had threatened to tell everyone about her, after he had come at her with death in his eyes that night … she didn’t like him or trust him at all. There was something strange about him. Something wrong with him. Something nasty about him.

He had come back from the dead without his magic. They had both realised it when he had tried to use his magic against Morgan and failed. Merlin’s soul had been returned by Wodan, but his magic hadn’t.

Maybe that was what was wrong with him. He was even more different, even stranger, even nastier, because he didn’t have magic anymore. But magic or not, Morgan wasn’t going to let him help her rescue Ganieda from the faeries.

Without Ganieda, a prisoner of the faeries; without Taliesin, who had gone with Cadwellon to King Vortigern’s meeting at Calleva with the Saxons; without Safir, who had stayed behind with Gorlois to defend Tintagel against Ambrosius; and without Joan the Piskie, who had disappeared, the only friend Morgan felt she had left was Fleur. She knew without any doubt that Merlin wasn’t her friend.

***

As the wooden-covered wagon trundled further inland, Morgan missed the sea more than ever. Once, when she caught a glimpse of shimmering silver-grey in the distance, she cried out in excitement and bade the others come and look. But Sebile came over to the window and told her that it wasn’t the sea, merely a lake; a big body of water with land surrounding it on all sides. Morgan craned her neck to look back at the lake until it was gone from view. The raindrops were creating thousands and thousands of interlapping silvery circles on the lake as they fell and rippled across the water. She wanted to go there, to stay beside the big body of water. She didn’t want to leave the lake behind.

Beyond the lake, the woodland trees spread more thinly among stretches of rough ground scattered with rocks. Barren hill peaks towered above them piled with flat boulders that looked like tables stacked on top of each other. It all seemed oddly familiar to Morgan. It looked like the landscape of the Moon Moor. She would have liked to talk about the land they were passing through and how it looked like the Moon Moor, but the only other person who had seen the Moon Moor was Merlin. And she wasn’t going to talk to him.

Further on, the rain hardened to an icy sleet and the air grew even colder. They were passing muddy furrowed fields, divided by walls of green hedgerows speckled with brown and gold. Occasionally a settlement of round thatched houses on a hill made an appearance and again Morgan wished she could be with the people in one of the houses there, sitting by their warm fire. Anywhere but in the cold, bumpy wagon.

It was soon early afternoon and everyone started getting drowsy. Igraine fell asleep under her quilt with Anna and Blasine curled up with her. Halwynna napped on her pile of cushions, wrapped in a woollen cloak, her head resting on the side of the wagon. Even Sebile had her eyes closed and seemed to be dozing over her book. Fleur was resting her head on the tutor’s knee and Merlin, as far as Morgan could tell, still appeared to be reading in the far corner. Morgan stared out of the window, contemplating the latest settlement they were passing and remembering the smoky, smelly, but warm and comforting interior of the house of Taliesin’s father, the fisherman Elffin, in Trevana.

An unwelcome voice interrupted her daydream. We could stop there if I wanted to.

Prince Vortimer had pulled his horse up alongside the wagon and was riding beside Morgan’s window. He was wearing a richly embroidered woollen hood and cloak to protect himself from the rainy sleet. The boy’s eyes were narrow and he was looking at Morgan strangely. The last time she had seen him, Morgan had smacked him so hard using the force of her magic that she had knocked him to the ground. The look he was giving her must be of fear or dislike – she wasn’t sure which. Maybe it was both.

She knew she felt nothing but dislike on her part, though. The sandy-haired, freckly-faced boy had his usual superior look on his face and his nose in the air. But Igraine had warned Morgan not to lose her temper, so she ignored him and didn’t respond. Vortimer, however, seemed determined to talk to her.

They’re my father’s people which makes them my people too, the prince said. They have to do whatever I tell them to. If we stop, they have to look after us. We could turn them out of their houses and they’d have to sleep in the forest. Isn’t that right, you?

Startled, Morgan realised that the last remark wasn’t addressed to her. Vortimer’s companion, the pasty-faced boy Urien, was riding behind him on a horse that looked as mopey as he was. Urien didn’t answer Vortimer either, merely inclined his head. Vortimer didn’t seem to expect an answer from him. But, as usual, Vortimer’s words annoyed Morgan and she felt the blood rushing to her head. She knew she shouldn’t speak to him, but she couldn’t help herself.

That’s not fair! Why should anyone sleep in the forest for you?

"I told you – because they’re my father’s people, you pied-eyed brat. Vortimer had a smirk on his face now, as if he’d won something. Which means they’re my people."

Morgan clenched her fists at his taunt about her different-coloured eyes.

"That’s stupid! What makes them your people? Or your father’s people? What does your father do for them?"

Vortimer gave her a strange look. Do for them? My father is the High King! It’s not for my father to do things for the people. It’s for the people to do things for him.

That’s not true.

Fleur had joined Morgan at the window. The little princess was looking out at Vortimer with a dislike that matched Morgan’s.

"My father is King Pellinore and he says a king’s job is to serve his people," she said coolly.

That’s what my father says, too, Morgan agreed, backing Fleur up immediately. He’s the Duke of Belerion, and he says he has to protect and defend his people. That’s why he stayed at Tintagel.

Vortimer scoffed.

Your father stayed at Tintagel, pied-eyed brat, because my father told him to. He’s not doing it for the people, he’s doing it for his king. The prince then cast his gaze on Fleur and his expression turned to contempt. "And as for your father – he’s no king. He’s just the chief of some poxy island no one cares about!"

Fleur’s mouth fell open.

Ynys Môn is the biggest island in Cambria! she exclaimed indignantly. "And it’s the most beautiful!"

Cambria! Vortimer laughed rudely. What, you mean the poorest and most pathetic part of Britain? Its kings are useless, its soldiers are cowards, and its people no better than animals!

Behind her, Morgan sensed that Cambrian-born Merlin was bristling in his corner, listening to every word. But she didn’t turn around.

Vortimer’s mouth twisted cruelly as he rode alongside the wagon window, still looking at Fleur.

Pellinore’s not your father anyway, the prince said smoothly. Nobody knows who you are – or what you are. You’re just a thing he found on an empty ship and his wife wanted to keep you as a pet. Then when you got older they realised what an ugly freak you are. The people of your precious island didn’t want to see you anymore because you were so weird and scary-looking. That’s why they sent you away to Tintagel!

Fleur looked as though Vortimer had just punched her in the face.

Morgan was so angry she didn’t care what Igraine said. She was going to hit that boy again. She was going to leap out of the wagon and knock him off his horse and hit him over and over in the face. How dare he say such horrible things to Fleur?

Uh-uh!

Vortimer whistled and pulled his horse away from the wagon. A huge armed soldier rode in front of the window, blocking Vortimer from view. Morgan felt Fleur’s hand on her arm. From behind the armed soldier, Vortimer looked round at Morgan.

"I haven’t forgotten what you did, pied-eyed brat. Don’t think you’ll get away with it. You will pay one day."

And with that he clucked at his horse which cantered forward at once. Urien, following behind, said nothing, but his eyes met Morgan’s briefly before he rode after Vortimer.

Morgan turned at once to Fleur. She was about to say something, then stopped abruptly. Fleur’s dark eyes were full of tears.

Oh, Fleur! Morgan put her arm around the princess’ shoulders and pulled her close. Don’t cry! What he said was stupid!

What if it’s not? Fleur sniffled and brushed her hand across her eyes. Is that why my parents sent me to Tintagel? You see me, Morgan – you know how different I look to everyone else. My eyes are different to everyone else, my face – everything! I’m a freak! Mother said I was coming to Tintagel to study with you and Sebile, but what if that’s not true? What if they sent me away because the people in Ynys Môn were afraid of me?

Morgan was suddenly aware that Merlin had moved closer to them. He was now sitting in a corner on their side of the wagon. But she still had no intention of looking at him or speaking to him.

Vortimer’s a liar, she told Fleur firmly. The people in Ynys Môn weren’t afraid of you, Fleur! The people in Tintagel weren’t afraid of you, were they? Well, were they?

I – I don’t think so, Fleur said, choking back a sob.

No, they weren’t! So why should the Ynys Môn people be afraid? Your parents sent you to Tintagel to stay with us and to study, like they said. Because you’re my cousin!

Fleur smiled through her tears. I never thought of that.

Of course you are! Morgan squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Our mothers are sisters – that makes us cousins. And more than that … we’re best friends!

Best friends, Fleur repeated. Her eyes shone and she threw her arms around Morgan. The two little girls hugged.

I’m so happy I came to Tintagel! Fleur exclaimed. I’m so happy I met you, Morgan!

I’m so happy I met you, too, Morgan said. And I’m so happy you came to Tintagel. I didn’t want to leave. I miss Tintagel.

I miss it, too, Fleur agreed. It seems so long since we left.

It did seem like a long time. But it had only been a day and a night, Morgan thought. She had spent the whole journey so far trying not to think about it, but now, feeling heartsick, she cast her mind back to the journey’s beginning.

And to the terrible consequences of her actions Sebile had warned her about.

***

It hadn’t been easy to free the boy Giant Cormorac. He’d been kept chained to a boulder in a specially-made palisade prison at Vortigern’s camp just outside Tintagel Castle. Morgan had sent Joan the Piskie for poppy juice from Sebile’s stores to send the guards outside the palisade to sleep. The guards had been led by Cunomor, a handsome, cruel, black-haired young soldier who had enjoyed the thought of torturing the boy Giant.

Morgan, making herself invisible, had put the poppy juice in the guards’ ale and drugged them, making them all fall asleep. Then, using Diana’s silver spearhead, she had channelled her magic and rage through a lightning bolt which had broken the boy Giant Cormorac’s chains.

Stomping out of his palisade prison, Cormorac had taken Morgan and Taliesin down to the shore. There Morgan had summoned the phantom lights, the souls of the drowned, to guide the boy Giant home. She had made a similar bargain with the phantom lights as she had with Wodan. She had promised them that she would intercede for them with Diana, if in return they would help Cormorac. The phantom lights had done so and had lit up the ocean like stars in the sky, creating a path out to sea for Cormorac to follow.

Once Cormorac had gone, Morgan and Taliesin had then realised they had left Merlin behind, lying unconscious on the ground in the Giant’s prison. They had gone back for him, only to find that Merlin had awakened and had roused Vortigern, Gorlois, and Vortigern’s allies, the Saxon sons of Hengist, to tell them the boy Giant had escaped.

Morgan had tried frantically to make herself and Taliesin invisible again so they wouldn’t be spotted, but for some reason it hadn’t worked. However, she had kept her head at first and had coolly lied to Gorlois instead, saying that she and Taliesin had snuck out to see the Giant, only to find he had gone before they got there. She’d been believed, of course – after all, how could little children have anything to do with freeing a chained-up Giant? But then everything turned into a blur, like a distantly remembered nightmare from which feelings were even stronger than images – feelings of fear, horror, sickness, and dread.

High King Vortigern had been angry, but not as angry as the Saxon sons of Hengist. Oisc, Octa and Ossa, Igraine’s brothers, had been furious that they had lost their prize. Vortigern, to show the Saxons that he was still a powerful king, had had all the Giants’ guards – the guards whom Morgan had sent to sleep – lined up and killed by his soldiers. They had been stabbed to death with swords, in horrible scenes of blood and guts and agonised screams.

Morgan had seen all of it. She had to fight to keep the memories of it out if her mind, to push the images away into dark corners where she wouldn’t think about them, or she would be violently sick. Grand Master Cadwellon and Father Elfodd had said that the guards’ deaths were nobody’s fault except Vortigern’s, but deep down inside her Morgan still felt what had happened was partly her fault. She wasn’t sorry that she had freed the Giant. But she was desperately sorry that she hadn’t thought of another way of freeing him so the guards wouldn’t have been blamed.

Of all the guards, only black-haired Cunomor had got away. He had escaped from the soldiers, jumped on a horse and ridden off into the dawn. Morgan had stood aside to let him get away and he had seen her do it, smiling a crooked smile through his blue-black beard as he galloped past her. She supposed she should feel better for at least helping to save one of the guards, but she didn’t. Cunomor, handsome though he was, made her feel very bad and sick inside. There was something horrible about him, something cruel and vile. He repulsed her. She hoped she wouldn’t see him again.

***

As she and Fleur looked out of the window at the sleet-sodden hillsides and woodlands going past, Morgan felt the leather satchel that she still wore across her body to keep it safe. She had placed Diana’s silver spearhead inside it, alongside Cadwellon’s talisman and Elfodd’s book. She thought about her gifts from the Druid Grand Master and the Christian priest that they had given her before she left Tintagel. Then she recalled Elfodd’s gift to Fleur.

Do you have that book Father Elfodd gave you when we left? she asked her friend.

Yes! Fleur replied eagerly.

The little princess stood up awkwardly, struggling to keep her balance in the bumpy wagon as she went over to where she had left her cloak. Merlin was still sitting in his corner on their side of the wagon, his eyes fixed on his own book.

Fleur returned with Elfodd’s book as Morgan drew hers out of the satchel. At first glance, the books looked similar, but on closer inspection it was clear that Fleur’s was newer and more elegant. It was bound with a smooth reddish leather, while Morgan’s was only a worn-looking brown.

Inside, they were completely different. Fleur opened her book to reveal a beautifully coloured and illustrated volume, glittering with gold paint and bright hues of blue and red and green. The writing was beautiful too, with all the capital letters painted in warm colours. Morgan’s book on the other hand, the Almagest, was nothing more than faded black writing and geometric drawings of stars and patterns and numbers on dirty-white parchment. It had no colours or pictures at all.

What is it? Morgan asked, staring fascinated at the lovely array of images in Fleur’s book.

It’s called a psalter, Fleur told her. P-S-A-L-T-E-R, but you don’t pronounce the ‘p’ –

"Like the writer of my book! Morgan interrupted. Ptolemy – P-T-O-L-E-M-Y – you don’t pronounce the ‘p’ either!"

– and Father Elfodd says it’s a book of songs and poems and prayers praising God and asking him for help, Fleur went on, as if she hadn’t heard Morgan. He says the songs and poems were written thousands of years ago, when the Old Testament was written. And it has a prayer to God and Jesus and Mary and all the saints, asking them to help us and pray for us. He says I can learn about God from it and it’ll make me feel better if I read some of it every day.

It’s really beautiful, Morgan admitted, a hollow feeling developing in her stomach. It was a wonderful book.

Father Elfodd said it was made by the monks in Penmôn, in our homeland, Fleur explained. Then she drew something out of her pocket and held it out in her hand. He gave me this, too.

What she held out looked like a black knotted silk necklace with a number of evenly divided dark pink beads. A tassel on the end was smoothly tied in the shape of a cross.

It’s called a prayer rope, Fleur said. Father Elfodd says they use it in the countries in the east where he went to study. The beads are made of crushed rose petals. See? The princess held the prayer rope up to Morgan’s nose and a sweet scent of roses filled her nostrils. You use the beads to count the number of times you pray. You can say ten Hail Marys and one Our Father if you like. Or ten Our Fathers and one Hail Mary. Or five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers and one Gloria. One after the other. It protects against evil.

The hollow feeling in Morgan’s stomach grew bigger. Fleur’s presents from Father Elfodd were so pretty. And they were important too. Songs and poems and prayers to God. Why hadn’t he given her a prayer rope too?

What book did he give you? Fleur asked.

Reluctantly, Morgan showed her the Almagest; worn, plain, and full of black and white star diagrams. Fleur wrinkled up her nose.

What is it?

It’s about the stars, Morgan said. It shows what the stars really are – what they look like in the sky. He said it’s like a map.

How can stars be a map? Fleur said, eyeing the book warily, and refusing to reach out and touch the pages when Morgan offered it to her. Why did he give you such an ugly book? It’s all shapes and numbers and lines! There’s no prayers, no pictures. It’s not pretty at all.

Morgan felt bad and hastily shut the Almagest. She had loved it when she first saw it. But now, having seen Fleur’s book, she felt ashamed of her book’s plainness and lack of beauty.

Didn’t Father Elfodd give you anything else? Fleur asked, winding her lovely prayer rope around her wrist.

Morgan shook her head. No. But Grand Master Cadwellon did.

She pulled out the Druid Master’s small, round, red-brown wooden talisman and showed it to Fleur.

You see that black Spiral carved into it? That’s the sacred symbol of water. It’s made of yew wood for protection. The Grand Master says it’s the symbol of the Goddess and change and the water of life, and it’ll guide me and help me.

It’s heathen! Fleur said, turning away in disgust. And it’s ugly! You shouldn’t have it, Morgan.

Morgan couldn’t help but agree that, compared to the sweet-smelling prayer rope, the talisman was ugly. Just like her Almagest was ugly compared to Fleur’s psalter.

Upset, she threw the talisman and book back in her satchel, not wanting to look at them anymore. There was a lump in her throat.

Why did Fleur have a pretty silk rose petal prayer rope, while she only had a stupid wooden talisman? Why did Fleur have a book with beautiful coloured illustrations, while hers only had ugly black and white drawings? Morgan’s Almagest was supposed to be all about the stars, so why wasn’t it pretty like the stars? Why were Fleur’s things all pretty while hers were all ugly? Why was Fleur being so nasty about her presents when she had tried to make her feel better after Vortimer was mean to her?

She thought again about the three gifts she had once thought were so precious. The spearhead, a sharp, pointy slice of metal. The talisman, a small, crudely carved piece of wood. And the book, a bunch of unadorned parchment pages bound together. They were nothing, really. They weren’t pretty and important like Fleur’s gifts. They were ugly and worthless.

Morgan turned to stare out of the window again. The sleet had turned into a light rain, but the Sun was slowly finding its way through the grey haze, shining weakly on the glistening wet leaves and fields. She didn’t want to look at Fleur at that moment. Even looking at her friend made her feel hurt and upset.

In the corner of her eye she saw that Merlin had looked up from his book and was now watching her, his dark eyes alert with interest. But she still refused even to glance his way.

***

Morgan. Morgan? MORGAN!

Morgan was brought back from her daydream with a start.

Blinking, she looked around her. She was sitting in the wooden-covered wagon by the window beam. The rain had finally stopped. The feeble light of the late afternoon Sun shone through the dark grey clouds, but it was still very cold and everything was soaking wet.

Their party had stopped. The guards accompanying them were tethering their horses and pulling the animal-skin tents out of the open cart behind. Angharad had climbed down from the open cart and was helping the cook Janniper unload pots and pans and food sacks.

Come, Morgan. It was Igraine who had spoken. She was being helped down from the wagon by Sebile and a couple of the guards. It’s time to stop for the night, the Duchess said.

Morgan got to her feet, holding firmly onto her satchel. Halwynna struggled down from the wagon by herself, then lifted out Anna and Blasine, grimacing as she did so. Fleur followed, jumping nimbly and gracefully down by herself while still clutching her precious psalter and prayer rope. In his corner, Merlin closed his own book and stood up. Not wanting to be alone in the wagon with him, Morgan hurriedly followed Fleur, jumping quickly out of the wagon and looking around her.

They were in a grassy clearing surrounded by trees of all sizes. Some were ancient and rough-barked, thick and knobbly with age, their wide branches contorted. Other trees were not so old, slender and smooth-trunked, with streaks of light green moss creeping up the trunks towards the higher branches. The leaves on most of the trees were shaded with red and gold, drooping with raindrops sparkling in the late sunlight. A few trees still had green leaves while other trees had no leaves at all, looking stark and bare and forlorn. Morgan recognised some of them from Sebile’s lessons – oak trees, ash trees, beeches, elms. The ground beneath was muddy and soggy, covered with dead brown leaves and patches of wild green grass. Nearby, a stream trickled in between big dark mossy boulders, disappearing into a dense forest at the edge of the clearing.

Morgan watched the guards putting up the patchwork animal-skin tents, hacking off branches from the neighbouring trees, placing them upright and across, and suspending the sewn-together animal hides over the frames. Igraine sat on a wooden box to the side, holding her belly, which was growing quite large. Morgan wondered if the reason her mother was getting tired so much was because she was growing fatter and heavier. Sebile was leaning over the Duchess, administering a vial of medicine. Then the tutor turned to Halwynna, who was standing close by. Sebile seemed to be urging the lady-in-waiting to sit down too.

Morgan looked away and let her eyes wander round the camp. Vortimer was with the guards, haughtily supervising the raising of the tents while not actually doing anything himself. Urien was assisting with the placing of the uprights in the ground. Fleur had gone over to help Angharad, who was collecting stones for the pinch-faced cook Janniper to build a fire. Morgan watched Fleur and Angharad, the little black-haired, dark-eyed princess and the blue-eyed young maid with the red-gold curls. So different and yet so pretty together.

The lump in Morgan’s throat returned. She had a bad feeling, though she couldn’t describe what it was. She had noticed from the journey’s beginning that since becoming their maid, Angharad was paying much more attention to Fleur than to Morgan. Well, why shouldn’t she? Fleur was everything Morgan wasn’t: pretty, graceful, good, kind. All Fleur’s things were beautiful; everything Fleur did was perfect. Fleur might look different from everyone else, but it was a good different. Morgan felt she would love to be different the way Fleur was.

A wave of loneliness hit her. It was the same feeling she had had watching Queen Heliabel of Lyonesse going off with Fleur in the apple orchard at Tintagel all that time ago. Heliabel had chosen Fleur over Morgan as well. Just like Angharad.

Why aren’t you with them? a familiar voice asked.

Her little sister Anna was standing beside her, watching her curiously.

What do you mean? Morgan said, pretending not to know what she meant.

Anna’s brown eyes narrowed. "Why aren’t you over there with Fleur? Isn’t she supposed to be your friend?"

Morgan didn’t like Anna’s tone. None of your business!

Anna smirked. She likes Angharad better than you, doesn’t she?

Shut up!

Ha, ha!

Morgan took an angry step towards Anna, who hastily stepped back, suddenly afraid.

Don’t, Morgan!

Anna’s twin, Blasine, had joined them. Her tone was eager, almost pleading. You can come with us if you like! Halwynna says we can go and help her collect water from the stream.

Morgan didn’t answer. She pursed her lips and walked away from both of them. The lump in her throat hurt. She thought about Taliesin’s farewell hug and Safir putting her arm around her to say goodbye. Thinking that she might not see them again for a long time made tears well up in her eyes. She was out here a long way from home, in an unknown place. Her best friend didn’t like her having Druid things and was mean about them. And she preferred to be with their maid.

Morgan wanted Safir and Taliesin. And Ganieda, trapped by the faeries in an underground realm. She wanted them so much. She wanted her friends; the friends who knew about her, who understood her.

Her skin suddenly prickled. Merlin was close by.

He too was watching what was happening in the clearing. He wasn’t looking at her as usual, but she could feel him sidling near to her, ever closer.

Suddenly angry, Morgan wished Merlin would just go away. She hated him. She hated his horrible black eyes with no light and his stupid stone-faced expression. She wished he would go away forever so she wouldn’t have to see him anymore.

She saw Sebile crossing the clearing to one of the first erected tents and ordering one of the guards to bring her a trunk from the wagon.

Sebile. She still had Sebile. Sebile knew about her. Sebile understood her.

Stay close to Sebile, Gorlois had said.

With a stab to her heart, Morgan remembered the last time she had seen her father, kissing Igraine farewell and helping his wife onto the wagon. Then he had lifted up Anna and Blasine and kissed them each on the cheek. Finally, Gorlois had picked up Morgan and held her close. Remember what I told you, the Duke had said, looking into her eyes and smiling. Then he had placed Morgan in the wagon with the others.

Morgan had strained to watch him as the wooden covered wagon rolled away from Tintagel. He had stood at the castle foregate with Safir, and Morgan had watched until they had become specks in the distance.

Stay close to Sebile.

Morgan scurried after her tutor and followed her into the tent. Sebile had opened one of her small trunks and was rummaging through her parchments and vials of medicine. She looked up as Morgan came in and, seeing the little girl’s face, stood up immediately.

What is it, child?

Morgan found she couldn’t express how she felt – a mixture of upset, hurt, angry, lonely. She just stood there, unable to swallow the lump in her throat.

But Sebile’s old eyes seemed to understand somehow. She beckoned Morgan over and knelt back down beside the trunk.

Come here and give me a hand.

Morgan went over and knelt down beside her. The trunk was stacked full with rolls of parchment, bound books, and glass vials with different coloured liquids.

I had to pack everything in a hurry, Sebile said, as she sorted through the things. It was difficult deciding what I should bring and what I should leave behind. Still, it’s a skill I’ve had to acquire over the cen … years.

What are you looking for? Morgan asked her.

I want to find where we are – aha!

The tutor held up a roll of parchment in triumph. I knew it was here! Grab that blanket over there and lay it on the ground. Then we’ll roll it out.

Morgan obeyed, getting up to fetch a brown blanket from a pile of things in the corner and carefully spreading it out over the ground. Sebile brought the parchment over and unrolled it across the blanket.

It was a map. A very old map. Morgan had never seen its like before. It showed a pair of jagged islands in the middle of a sea. To the left was a smaller, fairly ordinary-looking island. To the right was a larger, very odd-looking island that looked like it had had its top part snapped sharply to the right.

It’s from my land, Sebile said by way of explanation. The tutor pointed to the bottom left hand corner of the larger, odd-looking island. This patch of land here is your land, Morgan, where we are now. Belerion.

Morgan stared at the piece of land on the map. It looked almost blank, having less writing on it than anywhere else.

Is that really us?

Sebile chuckled. "I’m not sure it’s exactly correct. The man who drew it never came here – he based it on other people’s information. He was a very clever and learned man, though. He did a lot of study before he drew all his maps, including this one, in his book the Geografia. His name was Ptolemy."

Morgan gasped. Ptolemy!

She reached into her satchel and grabbed Elfodd’s book, proffering it to Sebile. Father Elfodd gave me one of his books, too! See? It’s all about the stars!

Sebile laughed softly as she took the book.

"The Almagest! I can’t believe it. That Christian priest is just full of surprises. Where in the world did he get this?"

He said it was given to him years ago by a teacher of his, Morgan recalled.

Sebile’s eyebrows rose. He had a teacher who taught him this? I didn’t know any Christians in this part of the world were even aware of it.

The tutor leafed slowly through the book. Her blue eyes seemed to turn a little misty. Then she saw Morgan watching her, round-eyed. Sebile smiled, closed the book and handed it back.

Guard this book well, Morgan. It’s a very rare and very precious gift. It’s been many, many years since I even saw a copy of it. Take good care of it.

The lump in Morgan’s throat subsided as she heard Sebile’s words. It didn’t matter what Fleur or anyone else said. Her book was very rare and very precious; like a jewel. It didn’t have to be pretty to be precious.

Eagerly, she opened the book, wanting to show Sebile what Father Elfodd had told her about the Little Bear and Stella Maris, the Star of the Sea. But as soon as she saw the diagrams, Sebile knew exactly what they were.

Helike and Cynosura, the tutor said, nodding. The nymphs Ida and Adrasteia. They were the ones who hid the child Zeus from the wrath of his father Kronos when he wanted to kill all his children.

"When he wanted to eat all his children!" Morgan exclaimed, remembering.

That’s right. But Gaia hid Zeus on the Holy Mountain, and there Ida and Adrasteia raised him, the father of the gods, in secret. Zeus was so grateful to them that he placed them both in the sky, as Helike, the Circling One, and Cynosura, the Brilliant One, the Beauty, the Centre of All. Others call those constellations the Great Bear and the Little Bear because … What is it, Morgan?

Father Elfodd says those stories aren’t true, Morgan said, troubled. He says people created them. He says this book shows what the stars really are.

Sebile laughed. And Father Elfodd knows this for a fact, does he? Didn’t he also tell you that Diana wasn’t real?

When Morgan smiled too, the tutor went on. "But he’s right that this book gives you a very different view of the stars. Ptolemy wasn’t interested in stories. He used mathematics to study the celestial sphere. The Almagest will show you how many of the stars move about in the sky; they don’t always stay in the same place. Cynosura’s brightest star is now the star that will direct you north if you follow it."

Sebile pointed to the star in the book and then indicated a point on the northern coast on the map of Belerion. You see this point here? That’s Tintagel. That’s where you come from. It’s to the north of where we are, which is around here. The tutor traced her finger to a point further down. If you want to go north, to go home, find Cynosura in the sky. She will guide you in the right direction, see you safe.

That star’s Stella Maris, Morgan told her. Father Elfodd said that’s the Star of the Sea. She’s the Virgin Mary.

I see. So the priest’s not averse to stories about his own gods being created around the stars. Well, far be it from me to contradict him. Sebile gently closed Ptolemy’s book. Remember, Morgan, there is often more than one story. Never assume that a single story is the only story, or that the single story you think you know is the only story worth studying or discovering. That way lies only ignorance and stupidity.

The tutor cupped Morgan’s chin affectionately in her wrinkled old hand. Always question what is assumed to be true, child. Always look further. Never, ever think that you know everything. Never, ever assume that what you already know is all there is to know.

The flap of the tent opened and Fleur came in, followed by Angharad.

There you are, Morgan! Fleur said. Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking for you!

Though she felt lots better after talking to Sebile, Morgan still felt a little cool towards Fleur. Especially seeing Angharad still with her.

Why? she asked shortly.

If you please, my lady, Angharad said, stepping forward. Your mother the Duchess is asking for you. Janniper’s cooking the stew for supper and we’re all to gather round the fire for it to be served.

Very well.

Sebile got up with some difficulty. Morgan reached out to help her up, but the tutor brushed her aside. Come now. Let’s all go out and get something to eat. It’s been another long day.

***

It was twilight by the time Janniper had finished cooking the stew. In the campfire’s flickering light, Angharad passed round bowls to Igraine, Anna, Blasine, Halwynna, Sebile, Morgan and Fleur. A couple of guards took bowls to Vortimer and Urien, who were seated a little way away in the clearing, while the other men gathered round the fire to help themselves. Pinch-faced Janniper even started smiling as the guards spoke to her. Morgan watched the formerly mean-looking kitchen maid exchange long glances with the men who sidled up to her a strangely friendly way.

Morgan also noticed that Merlin helped himself to a bowl of stew, then went away to sit alone under a tree. For a second Morgan felt bad for him. Then she remembered the night she had rescued the Giant and how Merlin had behaved towards her. Her anger came rushing back. She didn’t care if he stayed by himself forever.

The entwined dark branches of the trees made a pretty embroidered pattern against the grey sky now stained with pink and mauve sunset. To Morgan, the tall tree trunks – thick and thin alike – seemed to form a natural barred enclosure, encircling them, keeping them safe from the outside.

Seated snugly around the blazing campfire with the others, eating Janniper’s tasteless but hot and filling stew, and feeling warm for the first time that day, Morgan’s heartache and sickness at leaving Tintagel grew fainter. She began to feel happy and excited about the journey. Sebile was there with her to talk to and help her. Fleur was talking animatedly to her about the journey and was her friend again. And they were out in the open, near an unknown forest, in a part of Belerion she had never seen, on their way to a thrilling new place – the fortress of Dimilioc. Dimilioc was very high, Safir had said, on top of the highest hill in Belerion with miles and miles of forest around it. It sounded so different from Tintagel. Morgan couldn’t wait to see it.

After supper everyone seemed more contented and relaxed. It was getting darker and a few of the guards stood watch with their spears at the ready, lighted lanterns raised on poles stuck in the ground beside them. The others sat and played games of dice and tafl. Fleur opened her psalter to read its prayers and look at its beautiful illustrations. Igraine drew Anna and Blasine onto her lap and began telling them a story about a cow that never stopped giving milk.

Morgan didn’t like to think about cows. Every time she did, she remembered the cow at Trevana village that had been left out in the field at Samhain and was therefore not allowed to be killed. She recalled it bellowing in the field, the cow’s terrible loneliness that she herself had felt. But the cow’s eventual fate had been even worse: after Ambrosius’ attack it had been brought to Tintagel to be killed for meat. Gornemant had told her that the cow wouldn’t feel any pain; that it would be cut in one place only and its blood would spill out until it lost all its strength, until it didn’t have enough to keep it alive. A kinder kind of death,