The Well of Tears

by Trahan, Roberta

  “Madoc’s personal testament is missing. It names his one true heir, his only living descendant.” Alwen laid the scrolls beside her and pulled the coverlet Bledig had wrapped around her tighter. The cold in the cave had chilled her to the bone. “Is there aleberry in the pot?”

  Glain poured a healthy dose of the mulled ale for Alwen and offered the drink to Rhys and Bledig. Alwen took the cup and tried to focus her thoughts.

  “Cerrigwen is nowhere to be found. Finn and Pedr have disappeared as well, though this is to be expected,” she said. “Finn will follow Cerrigwen to her death, or his.”

  “The Cad Nawdd is devastated.” Rhys spoke with the timbre of a man burdened by loss. It pained her to see him so somber. “Fewer than half our soldiers survived.”

  “But we’ve lost none of our membership.” Glain perched on the hearth and clasped her hands in her lap. “Not a one.”

  “Hmm.” Alwen sipped the drink. “They may all be alive, but I fear we have lost some of them, nonetheless.”

  “There must be others who have turned,” Bledig said. “Machreth did not accomplish all of this without a following.”

  “Cerrigwen’s is only a piece of a much larger betrayal,” Alwen agreed. “Eventually we’ll need to find them all out, but first we must secure the Stewardry. And then, the prophecy. Cerrigwen’s place in the Circle stands empty now, and it will fall to me to fill it.”

  “What will you do?” Bledig asked. “Hunt her down and drag her back? What good is she to you if she has turned?”

  “I need her amulet.” Alwen began to feel a bit more composed. The aleberry dulled the pounding in her head and eased the aches and pains. And as the feeling returned to her limbs, so did her resolve. “Another healer from her bloodline could be trained to take her place, if one can be found, but the amulet cannot be replaced.”

  “You’re sure it couldn’t have been Cerrigwen who made off with the scroll?” Bledig paced back and forth in front of the hearth, assessing the options with his usual tactical logic. “Or Machreth?”

  “I can’t imagine how. Neither she nor he had the opportunity to take it.” Glain dragged the slat-backed oak chair from the desk and joined the others in the sitting area near the hearth. “Madoc would have been wary of their every move in his presence, and no one is ever allowed into his rooms in his absence. And, I have the keys.”

  “Then perhaps it is still here, somewhere in the Fane.” Bledig leveled a stern gaze on Glain. “And, you have the keys.”

  Rhys was quick to come to Glain’s defense. “Any one of the attendants in her charge could have made off with Madoc’s decree or whatever it was.”

  “Glain’s loyalty is not in question, Rhys.” Alwen gathered the three scrolls onto her lap and repositioned herself on the divan cushions to keep her sore muscles from cramping. “We must assume that however the scroll was secreted away, it has ended up in Machreth’s hands. He has information that we do not, which puts us at yet another disadvantage.”

  “But you have Madoc’s proxy,” Bledig said. “It is binding, is it not?”

  “It is, once I claim his seat. But we must also see to the safety and security of this place, and to the prophecy.” Alwen pulled the sheet with Madoc’s directives from the pile. “There is a man in the village who awaits our messenger. He is our contact with Hywel.”

  “I will go,” Rhys said. “How will I find him, and what am I to tell him when I do?”

  Alwen smiled at her son, grateful for his courage and dedication. “According to Madoc’s notes, the man is called Aldyn. He keeps the tavern in town. Send word through Aldyn that Madoc is dead, and that the new sovereign seeks an audience with King of Seissyllwg. Wait in Pwll for Hywel to arrive, and then bring him to me.”

  “And how am I to find Pwll?” Rhys asked. “It’s not as though there is a road to follow.”

  “There is,” Glain spoke up. “Just not one you can see.”

  “I’m afraid the road is clear as day. Cerrigwen all but destroyed the veil,” Alwen reminded them. “Which brings me to the next of my concerns, Bledig. Aslak needs to know what has happened here.”

  Bledig was not as quick to respond as Rhys, but Alwen understood his reluctance. He no longer had Fergus to rely upon for her safety, and so many other things remained unresolved.

  “I suppose Odwain can manage the defenses here, such as they are,” Bledig decided, tentatively. “Can you repair this veil of yours?”

  “It is a spell I’ve never tried,” Alwen explained. “But I’ll do what I can. We need its protection, especially while we rebuild our resources.”

  “I know the spell.” Glain had spoken with strength and confidence, but when they all turned to look at her, she retreated. “Well, I don’t actually know the spell, but I do have it. Madoc left it with me for safekeeping.”

  Glain pulled a folded parchment from the sleeve of her robe and handed it to Alwen.

  Alwen unfolded the paper and glanced at the writing. In his distinctive script, Madoc had detailed an incantation that involved a blood offering. It was very old and very complex. “Have you ever worked this spell?”

  Glain shook her head.

  “Seen it worked, then?”

  “No.” Glain looked defeated now, as if she wished she’d never brought it up at all. “I’m not much help.”

  “That’s not true at all, Glain.” Alwen set the small parchment aside to study later. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  Next, she separated Madoc’s map from the pile and handed it over to Bledig. “This will show you Aslak’s route, among others. There is no one else I would ever trust with it, Bledig.”

  “I’ll take Domagoj and leave in the morning.” Bledig nodded his understanding as he accepted the map, looking hard at her. “After we’ve all had a good night’s rest.”

  “Rest will have to wait a bit longer.” Alwen turned to Glain. “I have decided that you shall take Machreth’s place as proctor, as my second.”

  “What?” Glain leapt to her feet and then dropped back to her seat. “Me?”

  “Come now, don’t look so surprised.” Alwen tried not to be brusque, but she was too exhausted to argue. “It is what Madoc would want, and you know it. When we’ve finished here, I want you to call the assembly.”

  Glain’s eyes popped wide with fear. “Today?”

  “Strong leadership is needed in uncertain times.” Bledig offered Glain reassurance, which would please Rhys. “Until you find faith in yourself, you can trust in the faith the rest of us have in you.”

  “I know it will be awkward, at first,” Alwen allowed. “But the sooner we establish our authority, the better. And let there be no question. There are still traitors among us. Until we know who they are, we can trust no one else with what has been shared here tonight.”

  * * *

  As soon as she reached the garden gate, Alwen felt a tugging at her soul. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving an amethyst haze in its wake. Soon the moon would rise, and the veil that shielded the otherworld would thin. The closer she came to the meadow and the faerie ring, the more her instincts trilled. Eirlys.

  A delicate breeze grazed the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of mint leaves and honey cakes. Her heart soared, and Alwen gave quiet thanks for the blessing she had received.

  Bledig stood in the shade of an old oak, the guardian tree that stood at the edge of the field. She had known she would find him here.

  “What brings you here?” Bledig joined her at the edge of the faerie ring.

  “You,” she said. “And her.”

  “Her very essence fills this place,” he said, his voice strained with sorrow.

  “Yes.” Alwen was reluctant to open herself to his emotions, for fear that Bledig’s pain added to her own would be more than she could bear. “I wanted to come to you sooner.”

  “Well” — Bledig folded his arms across his chest and widened his rigid stance, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as he was, but he met
her gaze straight on — “you are here now.”

  Alwen wanted to reach for him, or for him to reach for her, though she knew neither of them would. Not yet. “Tomorrow we will repair the veil.”

  “Good,” he said, still staring into the meadow. “You’ll have some defense beyond what a handful of Obotrite warriors and what’s left of your soldiers can offer.”

  “I hope it will be enough.”

  “It is,” he said. “It must be. And if not, you’ll find some other way.”

  Alwen suddenly felt defeated. She had thwarted Machreth, but in so many other things, she had failed. “How is it that you are so certain?”

  Bledig turned to look at her with a quizzical frown. “How is it that you are not?”

  “Madoc is gone,” she reminded him. “As is Fergus. Machreth has been deterred, yes, but not destroyed. The temple is in ruins, the order in chaos, and I am left with more questions than answers.”

  “Your enemies are at bay, the temple is still standing, the order has survived, and the prophecy has been protected,” he countered. “These are not small victories, Alwen.”

  Alwen sighed. “I do not feel victorious.”

  Bledig nodded with the knowing of a warrior and a king. “That is the bitter truth of battle,” he said. “Victory is rarely triumphant, and it always has a price.”

  How true this was, Alwen thought, grateful for Bledig’s wisdom. How she would miss his counsel, and his comfort. Yet there was one more tithe to be paid. “Before you leave tomorrow, there are other things that should be said.”

  Bledig waited, expectant, while she steadied her emotions and her voice. Deciding to offer amends was one thing; doing it was another. Alwen was suddenly desperately nervous.

  “Madoc once told me that true greatness lies in having the good sense to know when to trust in the wisdom of others. I failed to heed this advice when it would have helped us all the most. If it were not for you, our daughter would be lost.” Alwen forced the words past the lump of grief that suddenly congealed in her throat. “And so would I.”

  Bledig’s posture relaxed, as if the weight of worry had been lessened a bit, but he made no move toward her. “You’d have come around eventually.”

  “I was arrogant,” she admitted. “It was you who knew what was best for Eirlys, and I should have accepted your judgment and your help when you offered it. In the end, it was your magic that saved her, not mine.”

  “Who’d have thought, eh?” Bledig shrugged. A hint of tenderness hid in his voice. “But I wager it will be yours that finds a cure one day.”

  “Perhaps.” She sighed. “In the meantime I intend to find out who called that black curse and bring them to their knees. But at least for now she is safe.”

  Alwen averted her eyes, suddenly aware that she was talking through tears. “I was wrong, Bledig. I won’t expect your forgiveness, but I will hope for it. With all my heart.”

  There was nothing left to say, nothing else to do, but to wait for whatever response he would give. Her own emotions were so strong they eclipsed his, and she was unable to intuit his intentions or his thoughts. When at long last he took breath to speak, Alwen forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Tears had pooled in his own eyes, and he was not afraid for her to see them. Bledig’s raw honesty tore at her heart.

  “All we really have in this life is one another,” he said. “Faith and trust in ourselves and our purpose is what keeps us strong. At least, it is what I hold on to. Sometimes the bonds of family and friendship are all that hold me up, and too much has already been sacrificed. Whatever has been done or said, it is behind us now.”

  Bledig paused to clear his throat. “I am not without fault in all of this, too stubborn for my own good, I know, and too proud.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Seems to me we deserve each other. After all, who else would have us?”

  Alwen nearly sobbed aloud with relief. “I love you, Wolf King.”

  “And I love you, Sorceress,” he said, finally gathering her into his arms. “I always have and always will. You should know that by now.”

  Thirty-Three

  Glain posted herself at the entrance to the great hall, taking count and careful note of each face that entered the room. She had no idea what it was she expected to see in their eyes or on their persons. Treachery must have a telltale sign, she thought, some subtle giveaway that she could detect.

  As she watched, anticipation gave way to dread. What if betrayal actually presented itself ? What was she to do then? Intuition alone could hardly be considered an indictment. If it were, though, that snob Nerys would be at the top of her list.

  “What news, Glain?” Nerys sidled up close and hovered close alongside, feigning a friendly tone in hopes of being taken into her confidence. “Tongues are wagging, you know. All sorts of fantastic tales are being told. They say Madoc is dead.”

  “Alwen will speak to us all, when she’s ready.”

  “Alwen?” Nerys was beyond curious now. “It is true, then? And where is Cerrigwen? I’ve looked for her everywhere.”

  “We’ll find out together, inside.”

  “We?” Nerys smiled Cerrigwen’s sly smile. “You mean the rest of us, don’t you? Come now, Glain. You already know.”

  Glain tried hard to ignore her. “Take a seat, Nerys.”

  Nerys turned cold, just as Glain had known she would, once she realized she would not have her way. Giving an indifferent shrug, Nerys walked away, as quick to dismiss a person as inconsequential as she was to lavish attention on someone whose favor she wanted. Nerys had no true fidelity, not that Glain knew. Friendships to Nerys were temporary conveniences, means to an end. And yet, Nerys was never alone. Moments later, she was surrounded by a half dozen of her peers, male and female alike, all drawn to her vibrant personality and the self-confidence she exuded. Though everyone knew her for what she was, arrogant and self-serving, they flocked to her anyway. It was beyond perplexing.

  “Shall I wait for you?”

  “Ariane.” Glain had gotten lost in her thoughts. “Go on ahead. I must wait for Alwen.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Ariane hovered as well, but Glain did not consider her a bother. Awkward and ill at ease perhaps, but Glain understood. Ariane simply wanted to feel included. “You look as though you’ve the weight of the worlds on your shoulders.”

  For half a moment, Glain considered how comforting having a confidante would feel. In the last year, as Madoc had taken her into his private service, she had come to know solitude. Glain had been forced to sacrifice the communion of thought and deed that came with close fellowships. Out of necessity, of course, but she missed it.

  “I’ll be fine, Ariane.” Glain ushered her inside, remembering what Alwen had said. “Really.”

  Once again, Glain assessed the membership. They gathered in huddles, feeding their worries with half-truths and innuendo. Alwen had been right not to wait. The sooner she took control, the sooner some sort of calm could return to their lives.

  “Are they all inside?” Rhys had snuck up behind her. “Have you found out the spies?”

  “Everyone is here.” He stood so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Glain turned round to face him, in order to keep her mind on her duties. “I can’t say about spies, yet, but I do have my suspicions.”

  Rhys nodded, uncharacteristically grim in expression. “Are you ready for all of this, Glain?”

  “Of course.” She answered with more assurance than she actually felt, not entirely sure what “all of this” was. With shoulders squared and chin held high, she gave him a look that should have shown nothing but grit and determination. Rhys looked on her with kindness, but the twinkle in his eye undermined her bluster.

  “Gods help me,” she sighed. “I have all the authority and dominion of a dormouse.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  Rhys flashed a brash grin, right before he kissed her. It took her by such surprise that Glain hadn’t the cha
nce to gather wits enough to kiss him back. Oh, but his lips were warm and soft, even at a glancing pass.

  “Are we all assembled?” Alwen had arrived with Bledig at her side.

  Glain panicked, wondering what they had seen. “We are.” Glain stepped aside. “Sixty-two Stewards in all, counting me.”

  “All right, Glain.” Alwen was so regal, even in plain clothes and after all she’d been through. “Now or never.”

  Alwen led the way with dignity and poise, up the indigo carpet strip that laid an aisle across the room to the dais. A murmur rolled over the hall as she passed clusters of the devoted. Conversations died and everyone’s attention turned to follow. The silence was intimidating.

  Glain walked close behind, acutely aware of the curious stares. She took her place at Alwen’s right side, and rather than meet the eyes of the order, Glain scanned the crowd until she found Rhys. He stood with his father near the doors, watching. It gave her courage to know he was there. She was not so alone, after all.

  Alwen turned to face her audience. The quiet deepened as she waited, stretching the moment to give it the weight it deserved. Glain redoubled her grip on her composure, half dreading what was to come.

  “Madoc is dead.”

  Alwen’s voice carried over the hush with strength and clarity. Her words hung in the void, as if they had stopped time from moving. No one spoke. No one breathed. No one moved.

  “I have claimed the sovereign’s seat.” Alwen raised her blackened right hand high, brandishing Madoc’s signet ring. “By right of the laws of succession, as set down to the order of the Stewardry at Fane Gramarye by the first Ard Druidh, and as proclaimed by Madoc himself.”

  Alwen allowed an appropriate pause, opportunity for anyone who dared to make an objection. When none was forthcoming, she made her first proclamation. “So be it.”