I Am Morgan le Fay by Nancy Springer Page A

fine new boots to ride in, put on a blue velvet gown with my oldest frock over it to protect it, decided I would need a straw bonnet to keep the sun out of my eyes and jammed it on my head so I wouldn’t forget it, brushed Annie by moonlight and braided her mane with gossamer hair ribbons, and I am sure I looked like a madwoman. I packed what I could and left the rest behind. At first dayspring light I saddled Annie and hooked my bags behind the cantle. In one of them, Ongwynn had packed one of her precious parchment charts, though I protested that I did not need it; Morgause and I had studied those charts. I knew the ways of the rivers, the mountains, and the warring lords between me and Avalon.
    I hugged and kissed Morgause, hugged Ongwynn—I think it was the first time I had ever hugged Ongwynn. I had hugged Morgause sometimes in play or mischief, just as I had sometimes pinched her or yanked her hair, but I had seldom touched Ongwynn except that one time when I healed her. Hugging her was like hugging a warm mountain as solid as bedrock. I kissed her timidly on her cheek. It was heathery dry.
    It was not until I had mounted Annie that the enormity of what was happening gripped my heart. Till then I had dithered from chamber to chamber and task to task, but now there stood Ongwynn and Morgause like doorposts outside the portal of Caer Ongwynn, and the air hung thick with rainbow mist, and for some reason I noticed the roaring of the sea as I looked at my sister and Ongwynn, my rock, and already they seemed far, far away. Whether I would ever see them again only the goddess—or whatever fey force had taken charge of my life—only the moon knew.
    â€œYou’re a sight,” Morgause said, trying to make me smile, but I couldn’t.
    â€œDo you have your stone?” Ongwynn asked, and for a moment I heard in her voice an echo of Nurse—my nurse of so far ago and long away. I felt tears trying to sting their way out of my eyes. I wouldn’t let them.
    â€œOf course I have my stone,” I grumbled, lifting my hand to make sure even though I could feel it nestling warm between my half-grown breasts—at least I hoped they were only half grown, for they did not amount to much.
    Morgause said, “Come back safely,” and although I am sure she tried to keep her voice as level as Ongwynn‘s, it wavered.
    Come back. And the thought that I had been trying not to think burst from me. I blurted, “If Thomas comes back while I am gone . . .”
    â€œI’ll marry him,” Morgause said, trying to tease.
    I could have breathed fire at the thought. I scorned her, for a moment I hated her, and the moment freed me to go. “Good-bye,” I whispered, and I raised my hand to wave farewell as I sent Annie cantering away.
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    On that journey I discovered that Annie, also, was mine only to lose, like everything else I had ever counted on.
    That was very long ago, and now I fly with the cloud shadows, and one would think I could stop caring. But looking back, I still hate myself for my stupidity. For three years Annie had been ridden seldom and had been feeding on thistles and scant grass, yet I thought only of myself—I expected her to be a swift messenger pony again and carry me like the wind to Avalon. And it pains me still when I remember how loyally she tried to do so.
    The first few days on the springy turf of the upland moors I galloped her until her ribs heaved and sweat foamed on her neck. And I thought all was well. I could see unto the horizon in every direction nothing more dangerous than sheep, and the honeybees suckled at the heather under a vast blue sky, and I felt like a half-fledged young hawk just out of the nest; I wanted to fly.
    I saw no reason to be secret so long as I told no one my true name. It had been three years; I hoped Redburke and others who might want me dead had forgotten about me. Also, if there was fighting between me and Avalon, I wanted