Afterword
From Atlantis to Avalon
In Marion Zimmer Bradleys The Mists of Avalon, Igraine recollects a past life in which she and Uther were a priest and priestess of Atlantis and watched the building of Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain. Such a notion is not, of course, original. English folklore is rife with reference to lost civilizations. They have become the expected explanation for such disputed features of the landscape as the Glastonbury Zodiac, or the more plainly evident spiral path around the Tor. From Atlantis to Camelot, we have been haunted by legends of a golden age, the shining dream of a realm of peace and harmony, of power and splendor, which flourishes for a time, and then tragically falls. In The Mists of Avalon, Marion told of the ending of Arthurs kingdom, but long before that book was written, she had addressed the story of a much more ancient realm.
As a rule, Marion was not particularly interested in maintaining consistency among her books. The reference to Atlantis in The Mists of Avalon is her recognition of something more personal, a reminder of her first book, a brooding occult romance with the suggestive title Web of Darkness. The distinguishing marks of that private Atlantis can be clearly seen in the otherworldly magic of Avalon no less than in the telepathic Darkovans of her numerous science fiction novels, and indeed in almost every other power-plagued individual (and society) of her fiction.
Web of Darkness was originally written in the 1950s. It was a story of occult mysteries, pride and power and redemption, and above all love, set in the temples of the Ancient Land, parent to the Sea Kingdoms of Atlantis. In the 1980s, when the emerging adult fantasy market made publication of such a story possible, Marion was busy with other projects, and asked her son David, who had read the original version as a child, to revise it. It is Davids knowledge of this material that has made it possible to write Ancestors of Avalon.
In 1983, the year after The Mists of Avalon began its ascent to fame, the book, in two trade paperback volumes from Donning Press, Web of Light and Web of Darkness, at last emerged. A mass-market version was published by Pocket Books the next year. Later it was reissued by Tor in a single volume under the title The Fall of Atlantis. The struggles of the characters in that book result in the birth of two children who, according to the prophecies, will survive the cataclysm in which Atlantis is destined to be destroyed.
When I was working with Marion on the revision of The Forest House, she told me that she had always felt that two of the main characters, Eilan and Caillean, were reincarnations of the sisters Deoris and Domaris, who in Web of Darkness bind themselves and their offspring to each other and to the Goddess for eternity. We concluded that their children, Tiriki and Micail, had reappeared in that book as Sianna and Gawen. After that it was easy to trace the line of reincarnations through The Mists of Avalon, The Forest House, Lady of Avalon, and Priestess of Avalon.
Clearly there was a connection between Atlantis and Avalon. How, I wondered, did the Sea Kingdoms fall? And how did the survivors of that cataclysm reach the misty islands to the north and find the magical Tor that would one day be known as the isle of Avalon? Clearly another story was waiting to be told.
To interlace legend with archaeology has been a challenge. I am grateful to Viking Books for asking me to tell that story, and to David Bradley for his insight and assistance in developing the setting and characters in a spirit consistent with Marions original vision. Thanks also to Charline Palmtag for permission to use the solstice hymn in Chapter Nine.
To those who would like to know more about prehistoric Britain, I would recommend The Age of Stonehenge by Colin Burgess; Hengeworld by Mike Pitts; Stonehenge by Leon Stover and Bruce Kraig; and the English Heritage volumes on Bronze Age Britain and Glastonbury. For the Tor, The Lake Villages of Somerset by Stephen Minnitt and John Coles; John Michells New Light on the Ancient Mystery of Glastonbury; and the books on Glastonbury by Nicholas Mann are recommended. The article Sounds of the Spirit World by Aaron Watson (Discovering Archaeology 2:1, January/ February 2000), which I encountered in my doctors office after I had already decided that the structure of Stonehenge had to have had some interesting effects on sound made within the circle, reports on experiments into its acoustic properties.
One
Tiriki woke with a gasp as the bed lurched. She reached out for Micail, blinking away tormenting images of fire and blood and falling walls and a faceless, brooding figure writhing in chains. But she lay safe in her own bed, her husband by her side.
Thank the gods, she whispered. It was only a dream!
Not entirelylook there Raising himself on one elbow, Micail pointed to the lamp that swung before the Mothers shrine in the corner, sending shadows flickering madly around the room. But I know what you dreamed. The vision came to me, too.
In the same moment the earth moved again. Micail seized her in his arms and rolled her toward the protection of the wall as plaster showered down from above. From somewhere in the distance came a long rumble of falling masonry. They clung, scarcely breathing, as the vibration peaked and eased.
The mountain is waking, he said grimly when all was still. This makes the third tremor in two days. He released her and got out of the bed.
Theyre getting stronger, she agreed. The palace was solidly built of stone and had withstood many tremors over the years, but even in the uncertain light Tiriki could see a new crack running across the ceiling of the room.
I must go. Reports will be coming in. Will you be all right here? Micail stepped into his sandals and wrapped himself in a mantle. Tall and strong, with the lamplight striking flame from his red hair, he seemed the most stable thing in the room.
Of course, she answered, getting up herself and pulling a light robe around her slim body. You are prince as well as priest of this city. They will look to you for direction. But do not wear yourself out on work that can be done by other men. We must be ready for the ritual this afternoon. She tried to hide her shiver of fear at the thought of facing the Omphalos Stone, but surely a ritual to reinforce the balance of the world had never been so necessary as now.
He nodded, looking down at her. You seem so fragile, but sometimes I think you are the strongest of us all...
I am strong because we are together, Tiriki murmured as he left her.
Beyond the curtains that screened the balcony a red light was glowing. Today marked the midpoint of spring, she thought grimly, but that light was not the dawn. The city of Ahtarra was on fire.
In the city above, men struggled to shift rubble and put out the last of the fires. In the shrine where the Omphalos Stone lay hidden, all was still. Tiriki held her torch higher as she followed the other priests and priestesses into its deepest chamber, suppressing a shiver as the hot flame became its own shadow, greenish smoke swirling around the pitch-soaked brand.
The Omphalos Stone glimmered like occluded crystal in the center of the room. An egg-shaped thing half the height of a man, it seemed to pulse as it absorbed the light. Robed figures stood along the curving wall. The torches they had set into the brackets above them flickered bravely, yet the shrine seemed shrouded in gloom. There was a chill here, deep beneath the surface of the island of Ahtarrath, that no ordinary fire could ease. Even the smoke of the incense that smoldered on the altar sank in the heavy air.
