Read End of the Century for Free Online

Galaad. And…” He broke off, his breath catching in his throat. He'd already forgotten his own name, so nervous was he, and now found that he'd forgotten what he meant to say. That is, he knew what he had in his head to say but could not for his life recall the words he needed to say it.
    â€œRelax, friend,” Artor soothed, folding his hands on the sheathed sword that lay across his lap. “There's no reason to be afraid.”
    â€œBut I'm afraid there may be, majesty,” Galaad said, eagerly. “That's just the problem. I don't know what the woman is showing me, but I think it could be something fearful indeed.”
    The High King narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. “What woman?”
    Galaad took a ragged breath and tried to will himself to calm. “I'll try to start at the beginning. You see, two springs ago there was an accident, and I…” Galaad broke off, involuntarily reaching up and touching the scar that ran above his hairline, just above his right eye. “No,” he said, resolute. “That's not the beginning. I'll start again. It was last summer that I first saw her.”
    â€œSaw who?” Lugh asked, his tone impatient.
    â€œThe White Lady,” Galaad answered. “At least, that's what I call her. At first I thought she was the Holy Mother, but then I began to suspect that perhaps she was instead one of the goddesses of our grandfathers. Perhaps shewas Ceridwen, who made the potion greal in her magic cauldron, on her island in the middle of a lake.” He shook his head, lips pursed as though he'd just eaten something distasteful. As a follower of the precepts of Pelagianism, he knew there were many paths to the divine, but still the thought of pagan goddesses contacting him made Galaad uneasy. “But perhaps it doesn't matter who she is, only what she is showing me.”
    â€œSo you see visions of a woman,” Artor said, his tone slow and deliberate, like one speaking to a child or an imbecile. “And she shows you things.” Galaad nodded, eagerly. “What things?”
    Galaad closed his eyes for a moment, and he could see the vision before him, as clear and bright as if he saw it beneath the midday sun. The visions came at first only in his sleep, but in time had visited him in the waking hours of daylight, as well.
    â€œIt is a tower of glass,” he said, opening his eyes. “It sits atop a smooth-sided mound, round on one end and pointed the other, which is itself upon an island in the middle of a lake or sea, connected to the mainland by a spit of land.”
    Artor nodded, his lips drawn into a line. “Go on.”
    â€œThe White Lady is within the tower,” Galaad continued. “I'm not sure how I know, but I do. And I feel that I must go there and help her, but I don't know why.”
    â€œHelp her?” Caradog looked at him askance. “Why does she require help, this imaginary woman of yours?”
    â€œI don't know,” Galaad said. “I simply know that she requires help, and that I must give it to her.” He paused and took in the hostile glances from around the table. “She doesn't speak to me in words, you see. Only images. Only feelings.”
    â€œI have a feeling,” Lugh said with a smile, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back. “I feel like you're a lunatic.”
    Galaad's face burned with shame commingled with anger. He remembered others saying much the same thing, not long before. The townspeople of Glevum had whispered behind their hands as he passed, saying that his injury had done more than give him a scar, but cost him the use of his senses, as well. And his own wife, to whom he looked for support when everyone elsehad turned their backs, had looked away, saying she wanted nothing more to do with him.
    As laughter rippled around the table, Artor steepled his fingers and regarded Galaad thoughtfully.
    â€œThis island you speak