The Well of Tears

by Trahan, Roberta

  “Don't be silly.” Eirlys crossed her arms across her chest imperiously. “This is no ordinary day, and you are no ordinary woman.”

  Alwen paused. “I suppose the occasion warrants a bit of fuss. A very small bit.”

  Eirlys tugged her mother to the divan and ordered her to sit, gleeful to be indulged. “This place is grand, but so somber. Such a small number for so many rooms, but then, I suppose it wasn’t always like this. Still, it seems to me there is a lot of worry here. The attendant who showed me to my rooms told me there is a discontent in the ranks.”

  Alwen was disturbed by this news. “In what way?”

  “They’re not all discontent, only some. Those that think Madoc should wait, and those that think he should not, whatever that means. There are many here near my age, all pledged to your cause, and all of them with duties to perform.”

  “They are readying themselves for what is to come,” Alwen explained, thinking on the underlying issues of the guild. There had always been differing opinions on the interpretation of the prophecy. Madoc held true to the original decree that the king could not be seated until the Circle of Sages had been joined. However, there had always been those who felt that this was too strict adherence to the order of events as he saw them, but how and when to bring the king to power had been the cause of heated debate for generations.

  “But what, exactly, is to come?” Eirlys prodded as she carefully plaited Alwen’s fair tresses from the nape of her neck to her waist and then tied off the twist with a leather thong.

  “And what am I to do about it? Has Madoc duties for me as well?”

  “You know the prophecy, Eirlys. The Stewardry has begun to prepare for the arrival of the one king, the ruler ordained by the Ancients to restore order to the world and bring the old ways back into the light.” Alwen was not so sure how to answer the rest. “Now that you ask, I confess I hadn’t thought how you might serve. We’ve never seriously discussed what place you might take in the order. Do you mean to say you have interest in such a life?”

  Eirlys grinned. “My only interest is in becoming Odwain’s wife, but if I am to be here with him, I might as well find some way to be useful, don’t you think?”

  “Well yes, of course.” Alwen felt a swell of pride. “I shall speak to Madoc about it. There must be some place in the Stewardry for a girl with faerie blood burning in her veins.”

  “There,” Eirlys announced, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “All done.”

  When Alwen stood to inspect her reflection in the looking glass angled on the mantle, she saw the beauty in herself she rarely acknowledged. Eirlys had added an unexpected air of sophistication to what Alwen normally considered a plain appearance. Perhaps it was the soft light and familiar surroundings, but Alwen thought she looked as different as she felt.

  “Wait.” Eirlys skittered across the room to snatch something else from the pile of clothing on the bed. “Wear these.”

  Eirlys had chosen a pair of camlet slippers, souvenirs from Bledig’s travels to the east. They were a delicate fashioning of bluish-gray goat hair, embellished with a gold thread design that complemented the indigo velvet and the Steward’s insignia. Alwen approved, of both the style and the sentiment.

  “A lovely thought,” she smiled at her daughter as she pulled off her riding boots and slid her feet into the shoes. “Most appropriate.”

  Eirlys was pleased, as much with herself as with her mother, and not afraid for it to be known. “As you say, I have a flair for such things. You look wonderful.”

  Eirlys lifted the Steward’s mantle from the bed. “And now, the cloak.”

  Alwen trailed her fingers over the thick velvety weave, almost hesitant to take it. “It has been more than twenty years since I last wore this.”

  “About time, then, don’t you think?” Eirlys held the robe out to her mother. “After all, this is who you are.”

  The words gave Alwen pause. After so many years in obscurity, she had lost sight of part of herself. She was a high sorceress of the Stewardry, a guardian of the realms, a member of the first Stewards council assembled in a thousand years. The cloak’s deep indigo color signified her rank and seniority as second only to Madoc and his heir apparent. “So it is.”

  She allowed Eirlys to sling the cloak over her shoulders and then fasten the silver chain that anchored it. Alwen’s skin trilled under the weight and great import of the mantle. She felt taller, stronger. It seemed as though, in taking it onto her body, she had donned an entirely new identity. Indeed, she supposed that she had.

  A sudden clang resounded through the halls, and moments later, a slightly pale and harried Glain arrived. “Whenever you are ready, Mistress.”

  Alwen smiled at her, hoping to encourage the girl to relax a bit. “Cerrigwen has finished her visit?”

  Glain swallowed hard and nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Was that her chamber door?” Eirlys did not even try to hide her amusement. “She is a high-minded one.”

  “Eirlys,” Alwen reproached.

  Her daughter merely rolled her eyes. “Come now, Mother. Truth be told.”

  Alwen thought to caution her daughter about her manners, but Glain interceded. “Madoc is ready.”

  “And so am I.”

  Alwen shot Eirlys a warning look and followed Glain into the hall. Meaning to forge a more casual acquaintance with the girl, Alwen attempted to walk alongside her rather than behind her. As soon as Alwen stepped up, Glain hopped ahead, trying to maintain the requisite formal distance. After several tries, Alwen grabbed her arm. “Please, Glain. A moment.”

  The girl stopped, wide-eyed and unsure of herself. “Yes, Mistress?”

  “It would honor me greatly,” Alwen said kindly, “if you would not honor me so greatly.”

  The corners of Glain’s lips curved upward, however brief the twitch. She squelched the smile before it escaped, but bemusement still twinkled in the girl’s eyes. Even if Glain could not yet bring herself to behave with familiarity, Alwen had made her point.

  “You won’t need me to find your way.” Glain gestured ahead, toward Madoc’s chambers. “But I’ll escort you. It is customary.”

  “Well, if you must.” The long walk down the hallway suddenly seemed too brief. “Lead on.”

  Alwen proceeded with careful steps, aware that her emotions were beginning to get the better of her. The energy it took to tamp the anticipation and exhilaration rendered her light-headed and wobbly. By the time she reached the doorway to Madoc’s rooms, her mind was awhirl and her knees were weak. She was about to stand in the presence of the Ard Druidh, the highest power in all the earthly realms, and the divinely anointed sovereign of the Stewardry. Alwen could barely breathe.

  Just before she crossed the threshold to announce their arrival, Glain turned toward Alwen with the warmest of smiles. “Take a deep breath, Mistress, and then let it out. You’ll be fine.”

  Eight

  Madoc stood in the center of the room, regal in his golden-trimmed, indigo velvet mantle. His appearance had hardly changed. Whatever worries she had carried with her across the threshold melted away in his presence. Alwen felt as though she had stepped into the very source of benevolence and wisdom. These were the lost comforts of her youth.

  “Welcome home, my child.” Madoc spread his arms wide.

  Alwen thought her feet would fail her, or perhaps her sensibilities might, and either way she would be mortified. Madoc smiled kindly on her and waited with patience as she hesitantly brought herself before him, but Alwen could not bring herself to speak.

  She beheld his well-worn face and gentle, wizened eyes and remembered all that he had been to her. Anguish and relief rippled through her, and Alwen ached from the rush of emotion. It was as if she had been living only half a life all these years, and now, finally, she was whole again. Her exile had finally ended. And it was almost too much to bear.

  Madoc reached out to touch her cheek and she began to tremble. “Alwen, dear girl.�
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  He laid his hand on her shoulder to offer his comfort and give her time to overcome the moment. Restraint was more difficult to manage than she expected. Tears threatened to pour from some deep well of abandoned feelings she hadn’t known existed within her. Until that moment, Alwen had never allowed herself to acknowledge how homesick she had been.

  After what were more likely minutes than the eons she thought them to be, Madoc gripped her by both arms and squeezed. “Come now, child.”

  Alwen was finally able to recover her senses, though she was more than a bit embarrassed. She cleared the emotion from her throat and began to apologize, but Madoc shushed her with a slight shake of his head and a wink.

  “This has been a long time coming.” He squeezed her shoulders before releasing her, and though he had removed his hands, their warmth remained.

  “I am overwhelmed,” she admitted, hoping she could look at Madoc now without worry of further disgrace. “It can’t be helped.”

  Madoc smiled. “Nor should it be. You’ve a right to that little bit of honesty, and more.”

  He took her hands in his and regarded her closely. “I am very pleased. You, Alwen, are a woman of substance.”

  Alwen wondered what she could possibly have displayed that would impress him. As she puzzled over Madoc’s meaning, Alwen began to feel love and pride welling within him. In the same instant that she felt his emotions, she realized she had sensed them because he had wanted her to.

  “Yes.” Madoc nodded to himself as he peered at her. He was sensing her as well, but with more depth. “Formidable, I would say, in character and conscience, and every other way that matters. And you have done well for yourself by way of a fine family. Children,” he smiled. “A boy, and a girl, eh? And their father? Ah, yes. The Wolf King.” Madoc shook his head. “He is late.”

  “All of this at a glance?” She laughed, astonished. “Such a penetrating intuition is remarkable.”

  “Well, I am the sovereign, after all. I have great skills upon which I rely, masterful instincts, you know.” He chuckled. “And, of course, the scrying stone.”

  “Crystal gazing,” she remembered.

  Madoc walked to his chair and gestured toward a second chair placed facing him. “Sit for a moment.”

  He settled into his seat and waited for her to join him. “Aslak sends his regards, and his apologies. Had I given him the time I am sure he’d have made a proper farewell, but I’ve tasked him with yet another urgent journey.”

  “Oh?” Even as she queried, his thought came to her. “Tanwen, of course.”

  “He’ll be some weeks in search of her. In the meanwhile, Finn and Fergus will lend their experience to Emrys and the rest of the guard.” Madoc nodded. “Now then.”

  Alwen understood that the pleasantries had been dispensed with and that serious business was at hand. As was his nature, Madoc wasted no time in coming to the point.

  “The king of our prophecy has reached the eve of his ascent,” he began. “And, as our ancestors foretold, a Stewards council will guide him. It is the greatest honor ever bestowed upon our kind. You and Cerrigwen, Branwen and Tanwen, were selected to become the first such council convened in a thousand years.”

  Madoc paused, peering at her intently as though to gauge her readiness for what he would say next. Alwen sat forward, hands clasped in her lap.

  Madoc took on the air of the pontiff and began to expound. “In the time of the Ancients, the Stewards held tether on the whims and ways of the world through the guidance we offered to great leaders. We guided the fates of man from the shadows, until the people were strong enough to steer their own course. Then, for a time, we served openly, alongside our mortal brothers. The Stewards had the ears of the kings and chieftains of every known tribe. But those were days when men had tolerance and love for each other and respect for things greater than themselves.

  “When men were wont to listen to wiser voices, there was reason and rhythm in the forces of this place. As it is, we live in times when most men will follow rather than lead, even when it comes to ruling their own hearts. Mankind is the only beast on this earth that will forsake his instincts in favor of a false promise.”

  Madoc’s hands waved all as he spoke. To Alwen, it seemed his voice had the power to move the air and the earth, if he so wished. She recalled these teachings from her early training, but now the tenets had a new depth to their meaning.

  “There are invisible strands of light and life coursing through all living things that bind us to one another,” he continued. “They make us all accountable for the good and evil that befalls our fellows. But, the push and pull that evens the tension in the threads is a delicate balance to hold. When the weave is pulled too taut, order becomes oppression. Freedom of will is subjugated, and life itself is choked into submission. Then again,” he shrugged. “If the threads are loosened too much, the netting unravels and we are all thrown awry.”

  “The absence of all order is no better than tyranny,” Alwen said quietly.

  “Exactly.” Madoc appeared quite pleased with her response. “Precious few among men accept this truth, and fewer will live abiding it. What the people of the world fail to accept is the power in their own existence. They fail to notice the subtleties in their own control. This, my dear, is why you are here. Through you and your sisters, our magic will have its place in this world again. And so, here we are.”

  Madoc tossed both hands in gesture to the sky. “We have waited nine generations for our time to come again, and finally we have arrived. When Hywel gains control of the remaining unaligned kingdoms he will have the power, and with the council, he will have the wisdom. But, his rule will not come without peril. He will need the protection we have pledged to him.”

  Alwen still wondered what role she was expected to play in all of this. “Explain to me, Sovereign, just what this council is. And how am I to serve it?”

  Madoc smiled as though he had been waiting for her to ask. “A Stewards council is the Circle of Sages — a combination of four unique vessels of strength and vision, four individual voices that combine to offer a balanced perspective of the world Hywel will inherit.”

  “Yes.” This she had already acknowledged. “But how?”

  “Therein lies your quandary, Mistress.” Madoc smiled. “That is something you must discover for yourself. For now it will have to be enough for you to trust that when the time comes, you will know what to do and how it will be done.”

  Alwen was not so certain. “For now it will have to be enough to trust in your good judgment, Sovereign. You must see things in me that I do not see in myself.”

  “Yes,” he said. Madoc had relaxed against the back of his great chair with his arms draped over the arms. “I see a great deal that you do not, at least not yet.”

  His gaze grew stern and piercing, commanding her eyes to meet his. “Each arc in the Circle of Sages is equal in span and strength, but every circle must begin and end somewhere — a point of convergence, if you will. And, so it is that I have proclaimed that this circle will begin and end with you.”

  Madoc could only mean that she was to lead the council. This was unexpected. “You flatter me, Sovereign. But are you certain it is me you want?”

  “Humility is an admirable trait, in small doses. In too great a measure, it is a hindrance.” Madoc sat forward to take her hand. “True strength comes from embracing everything that makes you who you are. You are destined to lead but to seize that destiny you must muster true strength. You must not shy from your place in the circle.”

  Alwen took comfort in his firm grasp. Despite her misgivings, she found herself eager to prove his confidence in her was well founded. These were the very aspirations she had returned to embrace.

  “I must tell you, though, that I have already spoken with Cerrigwen. She is intolerant of disappointment, or at least unaccustomed to it. It may take her some time to accept that the destiny she imagined for herself is to be yours.”

  “I ha
ve found her to be somewhat…” Alwen searched for the most appropriate word, but settled for the most diplomatic. “Difficult.”

  Madoc patted the back of her hand. “I expect that will only get worse before it gets better, but she’ll come around. Cerrigwen is proud, no doubt about that. She is also decisive and determined — qualities that will serve her well, in time.”

  There was still one question to be answered. “Why me?”

  He was surprised by her bewilderment. “Forgive me, Alwen. I have forgotten how little you know of yourself.”

  Madoc reached for the chain around her neck and pulled the amulet free from the bodice of her dress. “This should not be hidden, not anymore. You should display it proudly. The amulet is far more than just a token of your identity. It is a source of immense power. But then,” he smiled as he sat back in his chair, “I would guess that you have already discovered that.”

  Alwen had long sensed there were deeper truths to her talisman, mysteries that she yearned to understand. “I…suspected.”

  Again, Madoc nodded. “Any witch or wizard can be taught to wield magic. We are, by our very nature, gifted with such powers. Some rare few among us are born with a singular kinship to the gods, a bond with the unseen forces that arises sparingly in any one generation. You and your sister sorceresses were selected for the council because you possess such kinship. Each of you has a unique strength to bring to the Circle. Cerrigwen, for instance, has uncanny influence over the earthly realm. Her affinity to the organic elements of this world allows her to call upon its resources in profound ways.”

  Alwen remembered. “She has dominion over all things that spring from the soil.”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “She is a natural healer of ills, among other things. And then there are the other two. Branwen has the celestial eyes of the oracle, and Tanwen the keys to the divine art of alchemy. The earth, the air, the fire of the forge, and so forth.”