The Fate of Avalon

The forest of Glastonbury lay under a blanket of glistening snow and the grip of a relentless winter. An icy north wind drove heavy clouds across the night sky, and occasional giant snowflakes covered Albion with all of its hills, forests, meadows, and valleys in a heavy silence. A cold and frosty calm before the soon-to-break spring, as if the world seemed to wait patiently in its whitewashed standstill for the change of seasons.

Wafts of mist slid between the rows of ancient trees, their gnarled branches reaching for the sky like withered fingers. Delicate hoarfrost patterns and ice flowers adorned their trunks and branches, while a skilfully woven wedding veil and fine ice crystals glittered in the full moon’s light, whose pale glow repeatedly broke through the drifting clouds.

On the shores of a vast lake, whose banks and marshes extended deep into the surrounding land, the monastery of Glastonbury rose in the shadow of a tall hill, a lonely defender of Christianity in a place associated with so many as the home of the Old Religion and even the mythical Otherworld.

A wintry breeze swept through the undergrowth of these strange lands, gently whispering mysterious words that had been spoken in ages past. An eerie murmur that only those whose hearts were open to the old rites could hear.

The silvery moon’s light made its way through the frosty cold to the water’s mirror-like surface, causing its waves to sparkle like thousands of diamonds. The water shimmered and sparkled along the shore, but just a few meters further, dense wafts of mist enveloped the light, casting an impenetrable veil over the middle of the lake.

A complex dance of light and shadow, with its breathtaking beauty and the white cloak of snow and frost, almost covered the melancholy and filth of the world.

But wherever the magnificence of nature is on display, some people want to stain its face with hatred and blood.

The stars in the night sky blinked out from behind the clouds, silent witnesses to the dark deed to be done on the edge of Glastonbury Forest...

The stars in the night sky blinked out from behind the clouds, silent witnesses to the dark deed about to be done on the edge of Glastonbury Forest...

“What are you waiting for? Better weather? Let’s get it over with already! It’s cold as hell out here, and I’m freezing my ass off!”

Three heavily armoured soldiers, wrapped in coarse wool cloaks, stood over two terrified girls, barely older than seven summers, throwing long, dark shadows amid the white, powdery snow. The way they towered over the two children, broad-shouldered and grim-looking, they appeared to the girls at that terrible moment like the malevolent giants from their darkest nightmares.

The chain mail, which kept appearing between the padded gambeson and the dark green tabard, clinked loudly as soon as the men shifted their positions. With their steel caps, the nasal helmets glistened like arrowheads in the little moonlight that filtered through the branches, and at least two of the three soldiers exchanged hesitant glances.

“If you want to get out of here so quickly, do it yourself,” one of the two murmured, pursing his lips under his blonde full-beard as he gave his impatient comrade a contemptuous, even reproachful look.

He cursed fate and the king for finding himself in the deepest thicket with two innocent children, entrusted with a terrible mission. No, he couldn’t even look the two girls in the eye; so deep and heavy was his guilt and shame. His disgruntled comrade was made of ice. How else could someone be so heartless and careless about ending the lives of two children? He fit right in with his shivering backside in the damn eerie forest.

As if one of the girls wanted to emphasise his guilty thoughts, the youngest of them sobbed loudly at that moment, catching the attention of the three soldiers.

Whimpering and whining, the two clung to each other as if the other were a rope and there was a deep abyss below them. Their cheeks, usually so pale, were wet with tears, and the cold pinched their rosy cheeks, making them look like blushing apples.

The black-brown hair of both girls had been plaited and coiffured not too long ago in comforting warmth before they were put on the horses out of the blue and led into the forest, far away from their home.

Now, the two girls trembled all over, for the delicate, precious loden dresses with embroidery patterns only moderately protected them from the biting cold. Their green-brown eyes were wide with terror.

The three men looked even more uncomfortable as they sobbed. One shifted from one foot to the other, the snow crunching loudly under his boots. The soldiers exchanged meaningful glances again.

“Why should we do this? You’ve got a sword too, as far as I can see,” said the dark-haired of the three, pointing to the hilt of the blade on the leather belt around the freezing bastard’s hip.

“What are we discussing here? Orders are orders. Since when have you defied the orders of the goddamn king? Do I have to report you when we get back?”

The threat completely missed its effect. Instead of intimidating his comrades, it ignited the dry tinder of the other two’s displeasure.

“It’s also your order, asshole!”

“Exactly! Why should we be the only ones to get our hands dirty?” the other soldiers protested.

The three of them were so wrapped up in their bickering that none noticed how little Morgause, surrounded by the squabblers, stretched out her trembling fingers.

Time suddenly slowed down, and Morgana, the younger of the two sisters, first saw the meaningful, rebellious look on her older sister’s face and then the knife that Morgause pulled out of one of the guards’ belts – and then rammed it into the thigh of the grumbling, murderous creep in a flash.

A scream of pain, as bright and hot as glowing steel, pierced the night’s silence – then the two girls suddenly ran off.

“Shit!”

“After them!”

“Get them! Chase them! Cut their damn heads off! Bloody hell, does that hurt!”

The heavy armour of the pursuing guards took an immediate tribute, for they sank to their knees in the freshly fallen snow while the two girls sought their chance to escape and protection in the thicket of the pathless forest.

The soldiers’ voices and shouts sounded as fierce as dogs’ barking, and they chased the children with every hasty step.

The forest was dark and full of horrible, frightening shadows. The girls ran, panting and stumbling, through the deep snow, jumping over roots and climbing stones. Their feet sank into the cold, white snow, and their leg and foot wrappings became wet and clammy. In front of their lips, their breath formed white clouds scattered in the icy night. Behind them, the sound of snapping branches and the muffled stomping of heavy boots could be heard – the men were getting closer.

“Run, Morgana! Run faster!” Morgause gasped, dragging her younger sister along behind her.

Morgana tried hard to keep up with her older sister. Panic made her little heart beat as wildly as a bird caught in a cage, flapping its wings desperately to escape. As she turned around, she tripped over a root and fell with a thud into the snow.

Morgana swore and hastily pulled her little sister up by the arm when they heard a rough voice in the darkness:

“Did you hear that? This way! There they are!”

Morgana felt like her whole body had frozen like a young deer that had spotted the hunter. Morgause, however, did not seem paralysed by fear. Her big sister had always been braver than she was. There was a fire burning in her clear, young eyes! They would escape and survive!

Morgause dragged her sister further into the heart of the forest. The dark outlines of the trees passed by as they stumbled through the snow and squeezed under fallen tree trunks. Behind them, they heard the angry shouts of their pursuers. Branches snapped repeatedly, and somewhere, an owl hooted, its eerie and intimidating sound filling the darkness of night and shadows.

The forest seemed endless and terrifying to the girls, yet they ran on without a destination—just away—because if those men caught them, they were both aware that they would die. They must not stop!

Crooked, thorny branches hung low over the forest ground, and the two fought through the increasingly tangled thicket. The scrawny branches scratched their cheeks, got caught in their hair, tugged and tore at their clothes.

Somewhere, the long howl of a wolf sounded... then another.

A shiver ran down Morgana’s sweat-soaked back. If she didn’t die by a sharp sword, she would surely fall to hungry predators.

Pure fear drove the girls, their fingers tightly entwined, as their steps laboured and their hearts beat loudly like wild drums.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound from behind them. One of the men seemed to have stumbled, for they heard clearly how something large had landed in the snow. A foul curse preceded the rattling of chain mail and the metallic clanking of a helmet.

Morgause pulled Morgana’s hand, wanting to escape further, but a deep hollow opened before them. The ground fell off abruptly, hidden by snow and leaves.

Tumbling, Morgause came to a halt, flailing her free arm to keep from falling and, in sheer desperation, grabbed a rotten branch to catch and hold herself up. But Morgana was too quick, stopped too late, and plunged headlong down the slope.

“Morgause!” Morgana’s panicked scream cut through the night, a shrill call full of fear and panic.

Morgause reached for her sister and tried to catch her, but the small hand slithered away like a wet, slippery fish.

Helpless, she watched as her helpless sister plunged down the slope until her tiny body disappeared in the low-hanging mist of the dell.