Ancestors of Avalon. Marion Zimmer Bradley
of planting time
The Peacemaker – Virgo
The Sorcerer – Saturn
The Sovereign – Jupiter
The Torch – Leo, also called the Scepter or the Great Fire
The Wheel – Ursa Major, also called the Seven Guardians or Chariot
Winged Bull – Taurus
Ahtarra – capital city of Ahtarrath
Ahtarrath – the last isle of the Sea Kingdoms to fall; home of the House of the Twelve (acolytes)
Ahurabath – an isle of the Sea Kingdoms
Alkona – capital of Alkonath
Alkonath – one of the mightiest of the Ten Island Kingdoms, famed for its seafarers
Aman River – the Avon, in Britain
Amber Coast – coast of the North Sea
Ancient Land – ancestral realm of the Atlanteans, located somewhere near what is now the Black Sea
Atlantis – a general name for the Sea Kingdoms
Azan – the ‘Bull-pen,’ territory of the five tribes of the Ai-Zir, from Weymouth northeast to the Salisbury Plain in Wessex, Britain
Azan-Ylir – capital of Azan, modern Amesbury
Beleri’in [Belerion] – modern Penzance, in Cornwall
Belsairath – an Alkonan trading outpost where Dorchester is now
Belsairath fortress – Maiden Castle, Dorset
Carn Ava – Avebury
Casseritides – ‘Isles of Tin,’ a name for Britain
City of the Circling Snake – capital of the Ancient Land
Cosarrath – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms
Hellas – Greece
Hill of the Ghosts – Hambledon Hill, Dorset
Isle of the Mighty, Isle of Tin, Hesperides – British Isles
Khem – Egypt
Mormallor – one of the Ten Kingdoms, called the ‘holy isle’
Olbairos – an Ahtarran trading station on the continent
Oranderis – an isle of the Sea Kingdoms
The Sea Kingdoms – the islands of Atlantis
Tapallan – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms
Tarisseda – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms
The Ten Kingdoms – the alliance of Sea Kingdoms that replaced the Bright Empire
The Tor – Glastonbury Tor, Somerset
Zaiadan – a land on the coast of the North Sea
Morgaine speaks…
The people of Avalon bring to their Lady their troubles, both great and small. This morning the Druids came to me to say that there has been a rockfall in the passage that leads from their Temple to the chamber that holds the Omphalos Stone, and they do not know how it is to be repaired. Their numbers here are small now, and most of those who remain are old. So many of those who might have renewed their Order were killed in the Saxon wars or have gone instead to the monks who tend the Christian chapel that is on that other Avalon.
And so they come to me as they all come to me, those who remain, to tell them what they must do. It has always seemed odd to me that the way to a mystery that is buried so deeply in the earth begins in the Temple of the Sun, but they say that those who first brought the ancient wisdom to these isles, long before the Druids, honored the Light above all things.
The Sight no longer comes to me as it did when I was young and we fought to bring the Goddess back into the world. I know now that She was already here, and always will be, but the Omphalos is the egg stone, the navel of the world, the last magic of a land sunk beneath the seas so long that even to us it is a legend.
When I was a girl, there were tapestries in the Druids’ Temple that told the story of how it came here. They have fallen to threads and dust, but I myself once followed that passage to the heart of the hill and touched the sacred stone. The visions that came to me then are more vivid now than many of my own memories. I can see once more the Star Mountain crowned with fire and Tiriki’s ship poised trembling on the wave as the Doomed Land is engulfed by the sea.
But I do not believe that I was on that ship. I have had dreams in which I stood, hand in hand with a man I loved, and watched as my world tore itself to pieces, just as Britannia did when Arthur died. Perhaps that was why I was sent back in this time, for Avalon is surely as lost as Atlantis, though it is mist, not smoke that veils it from the mortal world.
Once, there was a passage that led to the Omphalos Stone from the cave where the White Spring flows out from the Tor, but tremors in the earth blocked that way a long time ago. Perhaps it is not meant that we should any longer walk there. The Stone is being withdrawn from us, like so many other Mysteries.
I know all about endings. It is beginnings that elude me.
How did they come here, those brave priestesses and priests who survived the Sinking? Two millennia have passed since the Stone was brought to this shore, and five hundred more, and though we know little more than their names, we have preserved their legacy. Who were those ancestors who first brought the ancient wisdom and buried it like a seed in the heart of this holy hill?
If I can understand how they survived their testing, then perhaps I will find hope that the ancient wisdom we preserved will be carried into the future, and that something of the magic of Avalon will endure…
Tiriki woke with a gasp as the bed lurched. She reached out for Micail, blinking away tormenting images of fire and blood and falling walls and a faceless, brooding figure writhing in chains. But she lay safe in her own bed, her husband by her side.
‘Thank the gods,’ she whispered. ‘It was only a dream!’
‘Not entirely – look there—’ Raising himself on one elbow, Micail pointed to the lamp that swung before the Mother’s shrine in the corner, sending shadows flickering madly around the room. ‘But I know what you dreamed. The vision came to me, too.’
In the same moment the earth moved again. Micail seized her in his arms and rolled her toward the protection of the wall as plaster showered down from above. From somewhere in the distance came a long rumble of falling masonry. They clung, scarcely breathing, as the vibration peaked and eased.
‘The mountain is waking,’ he said grimly when all was still. ‘This makes the third tremor in two days.’ He released her and got out of the bed.
‘They’re getting stronger—’ she agreed. The palace was solidly built of stone and had withstood many tremors over the years, but even in the uncertain light Tiriki could see a new crack running