Then I turned and followed the Pendragon and his Wise Emrys back to the land of the living, where the Summer Realm was waiting for its king.
See, now: more seasons have passed than I care to count. I see the land blossoming with peace and plenty under Arthur Pendragon's reign, as under the warmth of a bright summer sun.
To be sure, the drought and plague persisted into the following year, giving way only slowly and grudgingly. They continue to bring painful memories to all who survived them, and we will be a long time restoring the damage. As always, there is so much to do.
And in the doing, there is blessed forgetting. Most of those who followed Arthur into Llyonesse do not willingly talk about what happened, and very few outside the Dragon Flight have heard what took place during that long snowless winter. Britain will never know how close she came to destruction. Yet it seems that not a day passes but I find some reminder of the terrors we endured. It is often that I have sat alone at day's end, gazing into the dying light and contemplating all that took place during those strange, confusing days.
It still seems a dream to me in many ways. I see her face before me, and I feel her breath hot on my neck. My passion stirs within me and I wonder: would I have given in? If it happened again, would I be able to hold out? I would like to say that it could never happen, that I would remain steadfast and strong. In truth, I cannot say I would not fall. Therefore, I pray God I will never be tested beyond my endurance.
The Queen of Air and Darkness was the power behind Morgaws' actions, of that I am certain. Some have said, and some believe, that Morgaws was simply Morgian in a different guise. The Wise Emrys never believed this, however, and after long contemplation, I fear he is right. Morgaws was not Morgian – much as I might wish otherwise. Who, then, was she?
The power of evil is another mystery to me. How was it we believed those endless deceptions? Why did it assume such mastery over us?
Bishop Elfodd, whose advice I have sought on this matter more than once, believes that the power of any evil – great or small, it makes no difference – derives not from its own strength, much as some profess and many believe. 'No, in order for it to succeed,' the bishop explained one day in the spring following our return, 'evil must first remove the preserving goodness of the thing it would destroy. For the truth is that even the smallest good is more powerful than the greatest evil.'
'All appearances to the contrary,' I added wryly.
'Oh, yes!' he exclaimed, growing excited. 'Appearances are always to the contrary – always. Much of Morgaws' power lay in her ability to make herself appear something very different from what she was. It is the Evil One's oldest deception, and we are no less vulnerable to it than we ever were.' He shook his head sadly. 'Yes, and it is also the one deception that must be preserved at all costs, for once mortals truly understand what a weak and contemptible thing evil really is, the Ancient Enemy's destruction is assured.'
I did not fully believe Elfodd when he said that, but as I have puzzled over the thing, I am persuaded he may be right. It would explain why Morgaws stole the Grail and desecrated the chapel – that is to say, she made Llenlleawg do it, because I think she could neither possess nor command the objects she so desired. Llenlleawg also threw Caledvwlch into the well -perhaps because even at his most depraved and hopeless, he could not bring himself to wield that weapon against his king. So it was that by cleansing the altar, Bors, Gereint, and I, however unwittingly, prepared the way for the Grail Maiden to reconsecrate them. Though we did not know it at the time, we helped return a mighty weapon to the battle.
What to say of Llenlleawg? Myrddin and Arthur remain adamant that all men must answer for their actions. Bishop Elfodd, too, is of the opinion that the former champion must be punished for his sins. 'Remember,' the good bishop has said, 'we are not required to defeat evil, but only to stand against it. That is enough – the outcome remains with God; it is His battle, after all. However, we are required to refrain from actively helping the Enemy, and Llenlleawg helped the Enemy greatly.'
That he did. No one denies it. Llenlleawg, exiled and outcast, is paying the price for his treason now. But I know how easy it is to slip, to fall, to be overtaken by a will greater than your own. Perhaps alone of all the rest, I understand Llenlleawg best -because I, too, stood near the flame and was very nearly singed. 'We were all deceived,' as Gwenhwyvar said, and it is true.
Moreover, I believe that deception began long before we knew it. I long considered I was the first to set eyes on Morgaws; however, now I am persuaded that Rhys met her before I did – that day he went out to look for water. He has no recollection of it at all; he remembers neither leaving nor returning to camp, nor the bite on his arm. But I remember, and I think he met Morgaws by that pool, surprised her, perhaps. Or maybe she tried her seductions on him and failed. She tried me next, but found an easier victim in Llenlleawg. Who can say? So much of Morgaws – like the deaths of the Cymbrogi – was illusion, after all.
'Be that as it may,' the Pendragon is quick to point out when asked, 'the fact that their deaths were an illusion does not lessen Llenlleawg's treachery. Let us never forget eight brave warriors died defending the Grail Shrine that night, and fifteen pilgrims were slain.'
He is right to remember, of course. Those deaths are lamentable. Still, the fact that the Cymbrogi were not slaughtered has gone a long way towards softening Arthur's heart where his former champion is concerned. At least the king no longer speaks of taking Llenlleawg's life in expiation of his crimes. Therefore, I will continue to hold out the hope that one day soon a way will be found to redeem the Irishman and allow him to take his place in the king's service once more. Who knows? After that night in the forest, I never again expected to see Bedwyr, Cai, and Cador drawing breath in this world, but here I drink ale with them every night as if nothing had ever happened. So who is to say what miracles may occur?
In the meantime, life goes on. There is Caer Lial to rebuild, and that work takes up most of our time. The old City of the Legions in the north is home once again to Britain's defenders. Upon our return to Ynys Avallach, Arthur understood that the Grail Shrine was a mistake, and that the Grail, most precious and holy treasure, must be guarded with more subtlety and greater vigilance.
Therefore, the High King returned it to its first and foremost Guardian: Avallach now keeps it, and that is only right. But the Grail is known now, and will continue to draw the attention of anyone who hears about it. Thus, the Pendragon has determined that the Grail should be removed to a place of greater safety. Together, Arthur and Avallach are making plans for a new stronghold – somewhere in the north, far away from Llyonesse. Arthur never held a great love for the south, in any event – a northerner myself, I know he finds the southern hills too close and the wooded valleys too cramped; it makes him uneasy when he cannot look out across the wide and empty hilltops and see the distant horizon – and Caer Lial, though long abandoned, yet possesses strong walls, and enough rubble stone for restoring many of the buildings.
Thus we have come north – where my tale began, and where it now ends. I have set the thing down in the best way I know. Make of it what you will. See now: I lay down my sharpened reed and I will not take it up again. Tomorrow, when I arise, I will be a scribe no more. I mean to take my place beside the Pendragon and, God willing, there shall I remain until the end of my days.