One hundred yards of thick forest later, the trees finally began to thin. Avalon's auburn hair was dark with sweat by the time they emerged into another clearing. This time, though, there was no boundary of trees on the other side. Straight ahead was a long stretch of rocky beach, a single small boat moored to a pylon halfway out into the water. To the right was a path paved with flat, shale-colored stones that glimmered wetly in the bright morning sun. Without waiting for Nimue's guidance, Avalon took to the first step; up and up and up--she climbed along the stairs, knowing that she had to reach whatever was at the top.
The stairs took her up, above the forest, above the highest of the treetops--she could see how the forest graded out to rows of stone… a graveyard? She didn't pause to think about it, and just kept going.
"Page, I don't think you're ready to see that yet." Nimue's voice floated along up to her, but there were no sounds of footsteps. Just Avalon's, pounding against slate, the dual clicks of heel-toe and stone. She didn't slip very often, but when she did, she caught herself on the next stair. The auburn-haired page was well and truly winded by the time she reached the top of the stairs, but the sight of the chapel at the top of the stairs rejuvenated her.
It was constructed atop a cliff, an oblong rectangle of a building, slung low and spreading across the ground like spilled water. A bell tower rose up like a lighthouse over the promontory; from far below, she heard the reassuring roar of waves, the hiss of receding water. And faintly,
so faintly, Nimue's yell as soft as a whisper: "Page! I
really don't think you're ready to see that!" She stopped and waited, then, the wind off the sea salty and rejuvenating, cutting through the tunic and the uniform like they weren't there. Goosebumps rose up along the surface of her skin, and she felt… an abiding sense of peace.
She took the last few steps up onto a terrace with a low-slung wall, overgrown with ivy that was edged in frost. Winter seemed to be coming soon; she looked up to the gray storm clouds gathering overhead, and then turned to the ghostly imprint of the last Knight of Avalon. "This is the reason for this island, isn't it?"
Nimue stood between Avalon and the entryway, her skirt rustling in the wind. "Page, you really shouldn't come in here. You're not ready, you won't
understand. You don't need the signet yet." A tone of pleading had entered the dark-haired woman's voice, and the two knights of Earth stared across at each other for a long moment. Then Avalon walked towards Nimue, heels clicking upon the pavement, slow and deliberate. Pavers shifted beneath her feet as she walked towards her ancestor and put up a hand. It passed through Nimue's flesh, and the elder knight made a distraught noise as her descendant pushed the doors of Avalon's chapel open.
It was truly massive, and it was beautiful. Arcades turning into small rooms branched off the nave; the center of the building arched up high, with an oculus in the precise center. In fresco upon the roof were two paintings of trees; one with silver leaves, and the other with gold, surrounded by what seemed to be a pilgrimage. The floor was constructed of the same slate-gray pavers as the cliffs, as the flooring, with--well, they weren't pews. Avalon couldn't really call them pews.
"Where is this," she asked Nimue, only to receive no answer. Avalon looked behind her, and then back to the groupings of low-slung chairs. There were no skeletons. No bodies. She'd almost expected them, from her ancestor's frightened warnings. It was… a chapel, but for invalids. People who couldn't sit and stand and kneel at will. She passed among the chairs in the preternatural stillness, her footsteps clicking against the stones until abruptly, they weren't.
Simple green carpet covered the way down the center of the nave. It seemed as obvious as it must have to Dorothy that she was meant to follow it, and she did, up into the lighthouse she'd seen from outside.
At the very top of the staircase, she placed a hand on either side of an open window, slipped her knees into the alcove, and inhaled the morning air. Sea salt and the ozone tang of the storm, the light flowing through a green-glass bottle, thick like molasses--it felt peaceful, and she thought she might finally understand what she'd meant ages ago when she'd told Ladon that she was going to marry the sea. This was where she was meant to be. Here, up above the water, so high and far that not even the seagulls could dream of touching her.
"I did that, too," said Nimue in a subdued tone. "Look, here… here's your bed. You need to sleep at least a little before you can look for the signet." She held out an arm, pointing to a small bed nudged into an alcove, left made with the cover turned up. The wind had kept the dust away, and… It should have been moldy, but Avalon unfolded herself from the window to examine it and it didn't seem at all messy. "Where are you going," asked Avalon's ancestor as the auburn-haired girl returned to the window.
Her boots gripped onto the edge of the sill very well, though there was a dizzying moment of vertigo where Avalon was sure she would fall. She grabbed onto the edge of the roof, hauled herself up until she could rest her upper body against the shingles. Her legs dangled in the abyss, hundreds of feet above sea level. A fall would be certain death. "What are you
doing," shrieked Nimue from below her. "You're not supposed to do that! You're supposed to wait! Patience, Avalon Page--"
She didn't want to wait. It would rain if she waited, and then the roof would be far, far too slippery. Instead, she hauled herself up on top of the vaulted roof, finding purchase in the ancient shingles.
There was a golden thing glittering in… something like a gutter. A millchase? Something like that, she didn't know. Avalon approached it warily, slipping onto her a** when she thought it might be too dangerous to walk, and then she reached out and plucked up the sparkling object.
A simple golden ring, covered in muck. Avalon wiped it clean on her tunic, clearing away the dross to reveal a dull rose-gold. It had an embossed symbol--the cross of Earth's sigil inside an apple. Inside were four words in what she recognized as Latin. She even recognized three of them--but what did Dolorem mean?
Per dolorem, ad pax. Through what, peace?
"You're supposed to wait for me to reveal the way to the roof," said Nimue sourly as she materialized from a column of gray-green dust. "A Page of Avalon must have patience before they can
truly serve our Good King."
The rain chose that moment to begin, pounding down on Avalon's head and drenching her. In possibly the unkindest move that the auburn-haired page had seen or experienced all day, including Arawn's pecks, Nimue began softly to laugh, in small rising peals like the bell. "Come inside," she said. "You need some rest, clearly."
Reluctantly, Avalon Page followed her ancestor down into the lighthouse-bedroom, and settled onto her bed. "Can't I just go home," she yawned, slipping the ring onto her finger.
Her dark-haired ancestral guide shook her head. "No," she said. "I want to talk to you, and if you leave now you can't come back. Not for three weeks."
Avalon stared at her for a moment, disbelieving. "I want to go
home," she said, sharply; and when Nimue made to protest, she closed her eyes and thought of her comfortable bed, of being Tate Konstantin, of not being
here--
And then, she wasn't.
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