Marion Zimmer Bradley's beloved Avalon saga continues with the dramatic story of the ancestors of Avalon, from their life on the doomed island of Atlantis to their escape to the mist-shrouded isle of Britain. Magical... ["The Mists of Avalon"] devotees won't feel let down by "Ancestors"...provides plenty of pleasurable reading hours. ("Publishers Weekly") "Ancestors of Avalon" may be the best of the Avalon tales. ("Midwest Book Review") An elegant stylist, Paxson captures the awe, tragedy and resounding mystery of ancient Britain and mist-enshrouded Atlantis. ("Publishers Weekly") Magical... [ Magical... Ý"The Mists of Avalon"¨ devotees won't feel let down by "Ancestors..".provides plenty of pleasurable reading hours. ("Publishers Weekly") "Ancestors of Avalon" may be the best of the Avalon tales. ("Midwest Book Review") An elegant stylist, Paxson captures the awe, tragedy and resounding mystery of ancient Britain and mist-enshrouded Atlantis. ("Publishers Weekly") Diana L. Paxson is a noted fantasy author who collaborated with Bradley on many of her later works, including Priestess of Avalon . She has written twenty books, including the Arthurian series, The Hallowed Isle. Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon By Diana L. Paxson Roc Copyright © 2005 Diana L. Paxson All right reserved. ISBN: 9780451460288 Chapter One Tiriki woke with a gasp as the bed lurched. She reached out for Micail, blinking away tormentingimages of fire and blood and falling walls and a faceless, brooding figure writhing in chains. But she lay safe in herown bed, her husband by her side. "Thank the gods," she whispered. "It was only a dream!" "Not entirely-look there-" Raising himself on one elbow, Micail pointed to the lamp that swungbefore the Mother's shrine in the corner, sending shadows flickering madly around the room. "But I knowwhat 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 theprotection of the wall as plaster showered down from above. From somewhere in the distance came a longrumble 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. "They're getting stronger-" she agreed. The palace was solidly built of stone and had withstood manytremors over the years, but even in the uncertain light Tiriki could see a new crack running across theceiling of the room. "I must go. Reports will be coming in. Will you be all right here?" Micail stepped into his sandals andwrapped himself in a mantle. Tall and strong, with the lamplight striking flame from his red hair, heseemed the most stable thing in the room. "Of course," she answered, getting up herself and pulling a light robe around her slim body. "You areprince as well as priest of this city. They will look to you for direction. But do not wear yourself out onwork that can be done by other men. We must be ready for the ritual this afternoon." She tried to hide hershiver of fear at the thought of facing the Omphalos Stone, but surely a ritual to reinforce the balance of theworld 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 ofus 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 ofspring, 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 theOmphalos Stone lay hidden, all was still. Tiriki held her torch higher as she followed the other priests andpriestesses into its deepest chamber, suppressing a shiver as the hot flame became its own shadow, greenishsmoke swirling around the pitch-soaked brand. The Omphalos Stone glimmered like occluded crystal in the center of the room. An egg-shaped thinghalf the height of a man, it seemed to pulse as it absorbed the light. Robed figures stood along the curvingwall. The torches they had set into the brackets above them flickered bravely, yet the shrine seemedshrouded in gloom. There was a chill here, deep beneath the surface of the island of Ahtarrath, that noordinary fire could ease. Even the smoke of the incense that smoldered on the altar sank in the heavy air. All other light faded before the glowing Stone. Even without their hoods and veils, the faces of thepriests and priestesses would have been difficult to see, but as she felt her way to her place against the wall,Tiriki needed no sight to identify the hooded figure beside her as Micail. She smiled a silent greeting,knowing he would feel it. Were we disembodied spirits , she thought warmly, still I would know him ... The sacredm