The Celtic Veil of Avalon
The Celtic Veil of Avalon
Petunia Evans stepped onto the dew-drenched grass of Glastonbury Tor, the air thick with mist that coiled around her ankles like spectral hands. The vision had led her here, whispering in dreams, tugging at her soul until she could no longer resist. The moment her boot touched the ancient soil, the world shimmered. A ghostly hum resonated through the air, and the veil of reality thinned.
A swirling portal of silver mist opened before her, cold and inviting. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through, the fabric of the world wrapping around her like icy silk. When she emerged, she was no longer in England. Before her stretched an emerald island suspended in twilight, its rivers aglow with eerie blue light, its trees whispering in a language older than time. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, salt, and something electric—magic.
A figure awaited her on the shore of a crystalline lake, draped in flowing blue silks that shimmered like liquid moonlight. The Lady of the Lake, her form both solid and spectral, gazed at Petunia with knowing eyes.
"You seek the Merlinian spell," the Lady intoned, voice rippling like water. "But knowledge is earned, not given. Prove your worth."
From the depths of the enchanted forest, a guttural growl echoed. The trees trembled, the wind stilled, and then—laughter. Wicked, mischievous laughter. The Púca had awakened.
A flash of movement. One moment, it was a crow with eyes like burning coals, the next, a sleek black horse with fangs too sharp to belong to any natural beast. It circled Petunia, each step deliberate, hooves sinking into the ground without a sound.
"A creature of chaos," the Lady said. "To tame it is to prove your mastery over fate. Fail, and you will be lost to Avalon forever."
Petunia clenched her fists, pulse hammering. The Púca shifted again, taking the form of a wolf with fur as dark as midnight. It lunged, and she dove to the side, barely dodging its snapping jaws.
Heart pounding, she reached for the magic within her. Words of power, inherited from her Shafiq bloodline, stirred on her tongue. But the Púca was not a foe to be bested with brute force. It was wild, unpredictable—a trickster spirit. It had to be outwitted.
Steadying herself, she met its glowing eyes. "You revel in games, don’t you? Then let’s play one."
The Púca hesitated, intrigued. It tilted its head, its form flickering between a snake and a fox. "A game? What game?" it purred, voice like rustling leaves.
"A riddle," she said. "If I win, you yield. If you win, I stay in Avalon forever."
The creature grinned, all teeth. "Very well, little seer. Speak."
Petunia inhaled sharply. She had read many riddles in her studies, but none that would fool a creature as old as this. Instead, she called upon her visions, her gift. The answer lay not in tricking the Púca, but in understanding its nature.
She spoke softly: "I am not alive, yet I grow. I do not breathe, yet I can die. I am warm in the night and gone by dawn. What am I?"
The Púca narrowed its glowing eyes, shifting rapidly between forms as if searching its endless knowledge. It paced, snarled, then fell silent. The Lady of the Lake watched, impassive.
Finally, the Púca let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Clever girl," it said, tail flicking as it assumed the form of a great black stag. "Fire."
Petunia’s stomach dropped. It had answered correctly.
The Púca grinned. "I win. You stay."
But then it paused. Studying her. The game had been fair, and fairies—however mischievous—abided by the rules of play. The beast let out a long, considering hum before stepping closer.
"But you did not cheat. You faced me with wit, not force. That is rare among mortals." It lowered its great horned head. "You may leave, seer. With my blessing."
A pulse of magic shot through her as the Púca brushed its nose against her forehead. The world spun, the air filled with the scent of wildflowers and storm-churned sea. And then—
She was back on Glastonbury Tor, the dawn breaking over the misty hills. But something was different. A warmth pulsed in her palm, and when she opened her hand, a single black feather rested there, shimmering with hidden power.
The Lady’s voice whispered on the wind. "You sought knowledge and found wisdom. The magic of Avalon will always be within you."
Petunia Evans smiled. This was only the beginning.