“I am certain that is why Esclados, Lord of the Fountain of Barenton, intends to bestow a precious gift upon you at the ceremony tonight.” She lowered her eyes and smiled softly. His heart sank as she released his very warm hand.
“You must be hungry after spending several hours in here. We’ll eat a light meal that the servants have prepared for us in the alcove by the kitchen. After that, I’ll lead you to the clearing at the sacred spring, where the others await. To induct you intoour Tribe.” Nolwenn handed him his tunic with a soft smile. Her violet eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Please put this on and come with me.”
As Tristan dressed, Nolwenn unbraided her long hair and shook out the rich, dark tresses. She adjusted her blue robe with the long, fairy-like sleeves, placing her talisman underneath, close to her heart. The intriguing artist cleansed her tools and replaced the stoppers in the vials, verifying that everything was in order. She turned back to face Tristan and flashed him a bright smile. His breath caught in his throat.
Taking him by the hand, she led him to the kitchen alcove, where they ate a light meal of anomelette aux fines herbesand fresh summer fruit. The pungent burst of basil and tarragon and the juicy sweetness of strawberries delighted his palate. He and Nolwenn washed everything down with rich, earthy wine, then exited thechâteauinto the front courtyard, where two awaiting grooms brought forth their saddled horses. He watched her effortlessly glide into the saddle, the warrior priestess of Dana whose touch still lingered upon his alert body. He mounted his own horse and followed Nolwenn as she rode off into the forest to join the members of the Tribe of Dana.
When they arrived at the clearing, the muffled roar of the fountain bubbled in the underground well where Esclados had summoned the storm. The dark, enchanted forest ofBrocéliande, embalmed with the crisp scent of pine and the earthy richness of decaying leaves, sheltered the sacred spring in the verdant, protective embrace of the Goddess.
Encircled by smooth stones, the flickering flames of a small campfire danced and crackled in the darkening twilight. Stars were just beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the crescent moon smiled down upon the sacred ceremony which would welcome Tristan into the Goddess Tribe.
Tristan recognized many familiar faces seated around the circle of stones, where acrid smoke from the campfire emitted the heady scent of burning herbs. Kirus, leader of the Tribe, with his brutally scarred face. Dagur, his black beard and bushy hair reminiscent of a cave bear. Solzic, whose blond hair gleamed golden in the firelight. Lancelot raised his head, his twinkling eyes shining with brotherhood and pride as he flashed him a hearty, boyish grin. Tristan’s body thrummed, his heart thumping in his throat.
Nolwenn and Tristan dismounted, and two members of the Tribe came forth to take the horses. They led the animals to an area where others grazed, tied to nearby trees.
Esclados greeted Tristan, and Nolwenn went to sit among the warriors and priestesses gathered around the fire. The Lord of the Fountain motioned for Tristan to come forward and face the Tribe as he addressed the group.
“Members of the Tribe of Dana, we meet tonight to induct a new member.” Esclados grinned at Tristan, nodding his head in approval. “Sir Tristan of Lyonesse. The Blue Knight of Cornwall, heir to King Marke of Tintagel.”
The warriors and priestesses smiled among themselves, the murmurs of their hushed voices carrying words of praise and acknowledgement to Tristan’s heightened ears. He took in the eager faces of the heads nodding in approval as the Tribe smiled upon him, welcoming him as one of their own.
“Sir Tristan, you have been invited to join our Tribe. In recognition for your courage in defending the sacred Fountain of Barenton.” Esclados gestured to the well behind him, the sacred spring where he had summoned the storm.
The Red Knight turned to face him, his commanding voice reverberating across the campfire. “Kneel before the sacred Fountain of Barenton. At the base of the sacred stone of Merlin. In the heart of the sacred forest ofBrocéliande.”
Tristan knelt, bowing his head in reverence. Every muscle in his body was tightly coiled, ready to leap. Sweat dampened his trembling palms.
“Place your right fist upon your heart. Raise your left hand and swear your oath of fealty to the Goddess Dana.”
The baritone voice of the Red Knight bellowed through the sacred forest. “Do you, Sir Tristan of Lyonesse, the Blue Knight of Cornwall, solemnly swear to defend the sacred elements of the earth, the magic of the Celtic Druids, and the divine power of the Goddess Dana?”
Tristan’s mouth was parched, his muscles quivering. From the depths of his pounding heart, his deep voice rang out clear and strong. “I do so solemnly swear.”
Esclados turned to the sacred pine tree and removed the golden basin, which he filled with water from the sacred spring. He carried a silver chalice to Tristan, still kneeling before the Fountain of Barenton. The Red Knight poured the water into the goblet and handed it to Tristan.
“Drink, Sir Tristan. May the water of the holy fountain you defended nourish your body. And grant you the sacred protection of the Goddess.”
Tristan drank deeply from the goblet. Esclados, Lord of the Sacred Spring, pronounced, “Welcome to the Tribe of Dana, Sir Tristan of Lyonesse. The Blue Knight of Cornwall.”
Esclados took the chalice from Tristan and placed it—and the golden basin—on top of the sacred stone. The members of the Tribe seated around the fire cheered heartily amid cries of “Welcome to the Tribe of Dana!”
Tristan, beaming with pride, thrumming with adrenaline, noticed a Druid—with long white hair and an equally long white beard—emerge barefoot from the forest. He wore the white robes of a priest, and carried in his arms a parcel, carefully wrapped in white cloth, which he reverently placed atop the flatsurface of the sacred stone where Esclados had summoned the storm.
The Druid took the golden basin to the fountain, withdrew water from the sacred spring, and washed his hands, which he dried with a white cloth. Next, he refilled the basin, carried it to the flat stone, and placed it beside the silver goblet.
He cautiously unwrapped the white cloth of the parcel he had carried, revealing an unusual plant. From his robe he withdrew a small vial, which he placed beside the basin, followed by a golden sickle, with which he meticulously carved a small section of the plant, placing it in the silver goblet. Tristan saw the druid’s lips move, as if murmuring an enchantment. He placed three drops from the vial and a small amount of the sacred water from the spring, pouring it into the chalice from the golden basin. The druid lifted the goblet from the stone, cradling it in his hands, while he made three revolutions around the sacred fountain and stone, his head bent as if in prayer, whispering incantations as he walked. When he completed his ritual, the druid walked to Tristan, who still knelt before the spring, and spoke in a voice wizened by age and knowledge.
“Tristan of Lyonesse, Blue Knight of Cornwall, I have been requested by Sir Esclados, the Lord of the Fountain of Barenton, to bestow upon you a most prestigious gift of Druidic magic.” The solemnity of the druid’s words rang like a heavybourdonbell across the sacred forest.
“Lord Esclados has chosen the gift ofl’herbe d’or—the golden herb—to express his gratitude for the safe deliverance of his beloved wife Laudine, the Lady of the Fountain.” Tristan, still humbled before the sacred spring, searched the crinkled eyes of the ancient druid. A thrum of power and mystery radiated from the bent, wizened frame.
The druid handed Tristan the goblet. He accepted the silver chalice with damp palms and shaking hands.
“The golden herb will grant you the means of communication with certain creatures of the Goddess.” The archdruid fixed Tristan with sage eyes, his face withered by wisdom of the ages.
“You will be able to communicate wordlessly with birds, dogs, and wolves. Command them with your thoughts. Understand messages which they convey to you.” The druid motioned for Tristan to drink.
Tristan raised the goblet to his lips. “Drink this sacred brew, the gift of Druidic magic from the Lord of the Spring. May this divine blessing of the Goddess Dana protect you, valiant warrior of Her Tribe, as you defend the sacred elements of the Celtic realm.”
