Three times I have been in the prison of Arianrhod. The first time was
when I drank the draught of the Cauldron, and the second was when I entered
the heart of the Wood in search of Llacheu. But the third time - ah, that
is a different matter. Three times in these past night I have dreamed of
that third visit, and now I believe it is a sign to me that my work here
is almost complete. I shall therefore write of that final visit, and place
it where it will not be easily found, for I am of a mind that it contains
matters which ought not to be seen and understood by any man. Yet I will
set it down nonetheless for reasons that I only half understand, and in
the knowledge that it is perhaps the last thing I shall write.
[I believe my master to have spoken the truth, and that these are indeed
his last recorded words. His long task complete, the great Chronicle written,
and the tales he had told to me also done, there seemed no reason for him
to remain. Also, perhaps; there was other work which called him. These are
mysteries too great for me to speak of, but I continue to offer prayers
to My Lord Christ daily, that my master shall find rest when it is his time.]
I stood on a hillside, from where I could see a field of standing corn,
still green, still growing. The wind fled across it, combing patterns through
it, parting it like hair. I began to walk, not knowing where I went, nor
why I was there, yet feeling that I must go on. Then, before me on the grassy
plain, there came a shimmer of light that hardened into a door, half open,
through which I glimpsed a night sky filled with stars. I walked towards
it unafraid, and the door opened wider. I stood upon the sill, staring out
at the stars, and before me rose a crystal stair. I set one foot upon it,
then another, and then suddenly I was running, up the stair into the heavens
themselves. I felt like an excited child. On every side the great dark pall
of the sky stretched, and on its surface the stars flamed.
I grew dizzy, climbing. But there before me suddenly was another door, set
in the midst of the heavens. I went through it into what seemed a great
hall, greater than any I had ever been in. Vast pillars stalked proudly
upon either side; the roof was lost in darkness. The floor on which I stepped
seemed of crystal; through it I could see stars below me. On either side,
between the pillars, more stars winked in iridescent chains like bubbles
in a stream of pure water. I felt, as I have felt before, part of everything,
of the whole of creation, as though I had been somehow divided into a million
tiny pieces and scattered throughout the place where the stars dwell.
Then I saw where the hall ended. There was a great mirror, large enough
to reflect worlds in its depths, set in a frame of living, silver trees
- greater than any that ever grew on earth. I looked within the mirror,
expecting to see myself reflected there. But there was only a milky swirl
of stars, as though this were indeed a window upon another place. Then I
saw, coming from far away, a shining figure who wore seven stars on her
brow, and whose raiment glimmered with the light of stars. Very fair she
was, and terrible.
Between the frame of the living trees she stopped, and looked at me. I knew
at once in whose presence I stood. I had seen her before, though always
far off, from the first time I drank of the Cauldron, to the time when I
had walked the secret ways of the Wood - with Merlin at first, then later
alone. I remembered a day when I had stood close by a still pool and sought
within its depths the presence of the Salmon. 'There' - I seemed to hear
the wise one's voice beside me - 'Look down, further, further, see where
he swims, in a lake of stars ' And I looked, as I had done a thousand times
before, and saw, tiny and dear, a shining cirde of starlight, where the
great fish swam. But not only the Salmon was there - another moved within
the pool, one whose presence had been with me always, though I had never
truly acknowledged Her before. Then, I had turned away, left the Wood for
a while, lived again in the world of men. Now, when I fled no longer, I
beheld Her clearly, and felt the power of Her presence.
Words were spoken then, of which I shall not write, save only to say that
they affirmed me in the service of the Wood. And there I learned, also,
much that I had not understood before, for all my wisdom. For She had held
the reins all along, and though I have never been a puppet - for freedom
is affirmed in everything that has its being in the world - yet I have ever
been half aware of those guiding hands . . .