THE MEDALLION   

BOOK ONE ““ THE PROPHECY

By Sunni Morris

PROLOGUE

“Noooo!”  Lady Glynis wakes with a start, gasping for breath.  Her scream brings her handmaidens running from the adjoining alcove.  They move with haste to the Lady’s bedside where she’s sitting up in disheveled bedding, panting and grasping at the coverlets with boney fingers, her dark hair wild and tangled.

“My Lady what has happened?”  Annalisse grabs her thin arms shaking her as her gray eyes stare into space.  The Lady’s bedclothes are damp with her own sweat.  It trickles down her neck bringing a chill and a shutter.

“Quick Gerta bring a blanket.”  Annalisse looks wide eyed at her companion who rushes to the chest in the corner, the lid creaking open, as she pulls a wrap of white yarn from it.  The old chest lid shut with a bang as she races across the space with the spread trailing behind her, her green gown rustling softly as it brushes against the stone floor.

“Was it a bad dream, my Lady?”  Annalisse sits on the bed wiping the oracles face with a soft cloth dampened from the basin on the chest.  Glynis moans, beginning to come around as they drape the coverlet over her frail shivering form.

“I’m alright now.  Please I must get ready for the celebrations.”  She feels weak from her nightmare and finds it hard to push the maidens’ aside and stand.

“Just sit my Lady.  You’re dazed and must rest.  We have time to get your bath.”  Annalisse keeps a firm grip on her arm as she signals Gerta to bring forth some watered wine.

“I’ve seen my own death.  The winds of change will blow.”  Glynis speaks solemnly keeping a rigid grasp on the goblet with both hands so as not to spill it.  Shaken by the experience and not prone to nightmares, she slowly gains control over herself again.  She must accept the fact she’ll come to the same end as her mother.  This thought frightens her greatly as she remembers well caring for her mother the last years of her life.

“Tell us my Lady.  What was your dream?”  However, the handmaidens know she will not speak about it and look fearfully at each other wondering what kind of change is coming and when.  Who’s to rule the Isle if the Lady dies?

“Where’s Meriona?”  The Lady’s voice interrupts the maiden’s silent contemplation.  Startled Annalisse looks over at her companion for the answer.  She knows Lady Glynis is seldom wrong in her predictions and this thought scares her.  Whom will they look to for guidance if she meets her demise as she predicts?  There’s no one trained to step into her place.  A pensive expression crosses her face.

“She sees to preparations for tonight’s feast.”  Gerta’s words were hardly out when they heard the commotion out in the commons.  Peering across the vast grassy area, she could make out the men as they struggled to lay the large bonfire for the coming celebration.  The clang of pots shattered the silence in the lady’s quarters as the village women wrestled with the large containers and the tables as children frolicked about.

Shaking her troubled thoughts away Annalisse reaches for the lady’s hand.  She would give this some thought later.  All the activity on the grounds signaled there was no time to waste.

“Do you think you’re strong enough now to prepare?”  Annalisse and Gerta help Glynis up, then down the passageway to the bathing room.  The sweet smell of lavender permeates the small space as it wafts in curls of steam from the vessel.  A blue gown and veils adorn a lounging bench nearby.

Lady Glynis sits in a trance gazing into the crystal pool.  The skirt of her long blue garment spills over the rocks that sit like sentinels guarding this sacred place.  Thick and jet-black, her hair tumbles over thin shoulders to form a curtain over her face as she rests her lithe body beside the boulders propping herself up with slender pale arms.

The Isle of Tiernay De Ochern is heavily wooded with abundant streams and cascading waterfalls.  Rugged boulders in shades of gray and brown lay throughout the countryside, which lies in a veil of mists most of the year keeping it hidden from the rest of the world.  The Isle sits alone surrounded by water and only accessible by boat once the brave adventurer has made his way through the rugged mountain trails to the bank where a boat is available.

Raised to be an oracle, Lady Glynis is a leader to her people.  She stepped in without question to fill this position when it was time to do so.  Her job is to oversee preparations for and to preside over the festivals and feast days as well as to watch over all the inhabitants of the isle.  The villagers bring their disputes before her and they seek her guidance for the perplexities in their lives.

Glynis has always been thin and pallid.  She looks even more so now against the rich backdrop of the massive trees and boulders.  Water trickles from some unknown source above her head making its way over the bumps and crevices and into the pool.  The water is so deep it appears black and bottomless.  Small ripples spread outward where the stream enters the pool across from her perch.  Here an endless supply of round rings spiral away to the edges where it falls silent against the rocks and reeds that grow there.  A frog croaks nearby and a brief rustling in a bush that grows on the bank signals some small animal going to its evening rest.

As twilight falls, a crescent moon ascends over the mountain in the eastern sky.  Stars begin to take shape in the darkness and as if by magic, they appear in groups and patterns twinkling and blinking in the night sky.  A gentle wind ruffles her hair and clothes but she doesn’t stir keeping her gaze fixed upon the water looking for the prophecy to come.

The faint ringing of a bell on a distant hill pierces the stillness.  Ragged strips of cloth tied to the rowan tree above the pool flutter in the breeze, all the wishes and prayers from the people in the village who venture here to ask for blessings.  Glynis can smell the smoke of the numerous bonfires as it drifts up to her.

Ah, the celebration of Candlemas has begun.  She shifts slightly and lets thoughts of the ceremony fill her soul.  She feels such joy that her people have survived another winter and it’s time once again to welcome the sun back to warm the earth.  Her lips curve up gently for she has always loved the spring best of all the seasons.  The celebrations on the Isle transcend time and centuries as the traditions pass from one generation to the next.

Her gray eyes glow like mercury as a picture forms in the water before her.  Two daughters will be born to a peasant couple in the small village of Amesby On Tor.  The youngest and fairest one will receive the medallion cast in the finest silver.  She will be kind and brave and possess the strength of leadership.  Her parents will be people of the old ways, though there will be hardship they will raise this child well, and she will endure for she will be resilient and full of hope.  Glynis sees the newborn infant in swaddling clothes and resting in the grasp of a loving mother.

The water ripples again and she sees famine and starvation.  Many lives will be lost as the people struggle to get through yet another winter.  Food and medicine will be scarce and living conditions grow crowded as people move in together to help each other and save on supplies.

The next vision is two sisters playing in a mountain meadow and running through the forest.  Their laughter brings a smile to her delicate lips.  Then her face grows still and serious as her eyes stare into the rippling water once more.

She sees bandits with swords.  The flames of numerous fires crackle amid clouds of black smoke, consuming the village.  It falls to the ground in an echo of many crashes.

The picture before her fades and another takes its place.  She sees a young girl struggling alone, her face sad but hopeful.

The image in the pool begins to flicker and is gone.  Once more Glynis looks down into a black still pit.  She stirs and a young maiden in the green robe of a novice comes soundlessly from nearby to help her to her feet.  Reaching down with small slender fingers, she clasps the Lady’s hands to pull her up; long red curls tumble over her shoulders hiding half the freckles on her young face as she eases her arm around Glynis’s small waist to help her to the footpath where they start down the steep hill together.

“You have seen, my Lady?”

“Yes Annalisse.  I have seen.”  Her voice is hoarse and she speaks barely above a whisper as she stumbles, weak from the experience.  They walk in silence down the path that meanders through the trees and boulders as it makes its way back to the village at the base of the hill where the bonfires crackle and spit red sparks into the night air.

The men sit in groups on the grassy knolls while the women busy themselves with setting up the feast on trestle tables.  Children dart around chasing each other, their reflections casting ever-changing shadows on the ground.  All activity and chatter stop as Lady Glynis comes out of the forest and into the clearing.  The children hang on the garments of their mothers and everyone stands at attention waiting to hear the prophecy.