The Well of Tears

by Trahan, Roberta

  And then came the flood. It was as if every body in the room had taken a breath and let it out all at once in a rush of questions and demands. The hum of many voices pitched toward a roar as emotions heightened.

  To Glain’s surprise, Alwen did not attempt to dun the din. Rather, she stood quietly while the membership reeled. Glain questioned the wisdom of this. The collective unrest was so unnerving she began to worry that she should have summoned the guard. Thank the gods Rhys and Bledig were there.

  “By what decree?” At the rise of her voice the entire order quieted again, and Nerys stepped forward. “I will see your proof.”

  Blast Nerys, Glain muttered to herself. Such insolence was unheard of. Further proof of betrayal was no longer needed, not as far as Glain was concerned.

  “As you wish.”

  To Glain’s surprise, Alwen complied, turning to her with an outstretched hand. “Madoc’s proxy.”

  “Oh.” Glain had forgotten she carried the scroll. “Of course.”

  Alwen offered the parchment to Nerys. “Take whatever time you need to satisfy yourself, Nerys, but I caution you, I will not suffer a fool’s challenge.”

  Nerys turned her back to Alwen, an obvious affront, and examined the edict in full view of the crowd. Glain was shocked, and all the more resolved in her loathing. When she finished, Nerys addressed the order directly. Yet even further insult. Glain could hardly stand it.

  “It is in Madoc’s hand,” she reassured them. “Or so it appears to be.”

  Glain looked at Alwen, expecting some show of anger or offense. Surely she would not allow this spectacle to continue. But she did. Alwen sat patient and calm, as if all were but a minor annoyance.

  Nerys turned again to Alwen and approached the steps to the dais, stopping just short. “You have his ring,” Nerys pointed out. “And the decree. But what of Madoc’s staff ? It is also an instrument of his power.”

  “Buried with him,” Alwen answered flatly.

  “And Cerrigwen?” Nerys demanded. “Should she not be standing here, with you?”

  “Cerrigwen has betrayed us.” Alwen spoke as if it were an everyday matter. “She has abandoned her vows, and the temple. As has Machreth.”

  Nerys paled, quite visibly, but remained composed. “Well then” — she briefly bowed her head in a belated show of respect — “we are your servants, Sovereign.”

  Alwen allowed the silence to settle again in the wake of Nerys’s capitulation, creating a dramatic tension that only intensified Glain’s agony. She understood that the honor about to be handed to her was rightfully hers. Terrified as the whole idea made her, Madoc would have wanted this, and Glain felt bound to serve him in whatever way she could. But it would be difficult, to say the least. While Nerys or any other member of their order would never have seriously challenged Alwen, the same would not be true for her.

  “It is customary for the sovereign to name her second,” Alwen continued. “And so I name Glain to take Machreth’s place as proctor to the order.”

  Glain would have sworn her heart stopped beating while she waited for some sign of acceptance, or more likely, objection. She had never felt more alone than she did in this moment. This was impossible. What had possessed Alwen to give her such a role? Glain had never had any real test of command, no experience to speak to her abilities that warranted the title of second. Could she still refuse? The thought brought a hint of relief, and Glain began to give it serious consideration as she looked over the audience in search of a nod of approval or some sign of dissent. Glain found evidence of neither in the sea of somber faces, which only served to unsettle her more.

  She looked to Rhys then, for his encouragement. He did not fail her, nodding in response to her pleading glance. A slight movement drew Glain’s gaze toward the center of the room. Ariane had raised her hand just a bit, to offer a wave of reassurance. But Ariane’s support would not be enough on its own. For the first time in her life, Glain began to consider the value in strategic alliances.

  “Look to Glain for direction in the days to come, and to each other for comfort, and strength.”

  Alwen’s voice startled Glain’s heart back to beating. It was too late to withdraw. But knowing she was committed brought her to a place of resolve, and Glain began to feel right with herself. Good thing, too, as there was no turning back.

  “This is the time of trial we have waited generations to meet,” Alwen continued. “The purpose to which we owe our lives. We must work together to rebuild our home and our defenses, and to prepare for the battles that must yet be won. Our king will sit his throne and we will rule at his side. The prophecy will prevail.”

  Alwen’s steady calm and air of authority quelled the anxiety in the room. Glain was impressed and made a quiet vow to strive toward Alwen’s grand example. Madoc would expect no less of her, and there was nothing she would not do for his sake.

  Feeling a swell of confidence, Glain finally looked at Nerys, who stood a mere three steps below her. Glain was not afraid to see Nerys’ disdain; she expected as much. What she did not expect, as Nerys calmly returned her glare, was the glint of unmasked loathing in her eyes and the malevolent smile on her lips.

  * * *

  Glain entered the room silently, but Alwen sensed her presence. “What is it, Glain?”

  “I came to see if there was anything else you needed.” Glain made a quick sweep of the rooms, clearing away the remnants of the day. She tried to be discreet, pulling the draperies closed to shut out the night air, and the view.

  “Thank you.” Alwen began to pace in a loose circle that skirted

  Madoc’s throne. “I don’t expect I’ll need you again tonight.”

  “If you’re certain,” Glain insisted, loitering near the door.

  Alwen bit her tongue, stopping herself just shy of a very curt dismissal. It was near the last hour of a long and trying day, and Glain’s hovering was trying her patience. As she paused to reconsider her words, her attention turned toward a niggling thought that had entered her mind the moment Glain had entered the room. “Something troubles you.”

  “I’ve been weighing whether or not to say anything at all,” Glain ventured. “It may well be nothing more than my own prejudice and pettiness.”

  Glain’s hesitation told more of what was in her heart than any words. Alwen ceased her pacing to focus on this young woman who had been so close to Madoc and was now so close to her.

  “Whatever it is,” Alwen counseled, “I’d rather you let me decide whether it warrants real worry or not.”

  “Nerys,” Glain blurted.

  Alwen had suspected as much. “I know you find her difficult to deal with.”

  “It is more than that,” Glain protested. “I am convinced she works harder at furthering her own ends than at anything else. She has secrets.”

  “As do we all, Glain.” Alwen was reminded of Cerrigwen. Glain had deep insights that deserved to be examined, but Alwen wondered if her personal dislike of Nerys was influencing her perceptions. “Does she continue to defy you?”

  “Not directly,” Glain admitted. “But Ynyr informs me that she leads late-night rituals and clandestine meetings with some of the older acolytes. She claims they are advanced tutorials, gatherings of the more experienced of us for the purposes of training.”

  “You believe these activities to be something else?” Alwen asked.

  “I believe they are training, sure enough,” Glain struggled to hold a diplomatic tone. “For what, I cannot say.”

  “What about your dreams.” Alwen had known for some time that Glain was a true oracle, born with the sight. Madoc had relied upon her skills. “What do your dreams tell you?”

  “Nothing,” Glain confessed, her sigh tinged with defeat. “Nothing beyond the Hellion’s wrath, and Madoc’s death.”

  One more blind spot, Alwen noted, masking her distress with a nod and a sympathetic smile. The loss of yet another of their meager defensive measures was a greater concern than she want
ed to let on.

  “I have no proof, no vision — only my instincts.” Glain continued to plead her case. “But I tell you, Mistress, my instincts are screaming ‘conspirator.’”

  “I understand.” Alwen laid a reassuring hand on Glain’s shoulder. “Someone wise once reminded me to trust my instincts. It was good advice, and so I give it to you. Be wary, and watchful, and we’ll soon see where those instincts lead you. The answers will come.”

  She felt Glain relax. “Thank you.”

  Alwen smiled and waved her away, giving serious thought on the aleberry pot warming in the coals. The spiced brew might help her find a deep enough sleep to dream. “It’s late. I think you can put your worries to bed now.”

  Glain took her leave, more contented than when she’d come, but Alwen knew that she still struggled with self-doubt. Confidence would come, but Glain would be challenged, tested to the ends of her wits and her heartstrings. As would they all.

  Thirty-Four

  Alwen glared at Madoc’s scrying stone, wishing that the sheer force of her will could bring the visions that would not come on their own. She had spent nearly every hour in the days since Madoc had fallen in devotion to meditation and the incantations, and still the stubborn orb revealed nothing. It remained dark and clouded, as did her dreams, on the few nights she had actually fallen to sleep. The ancient voices and mystic guidance promised with the dream-speak had yet to visit her, and Alwen had begun to wonder if she possessed the power at all.

  Had the gods abandoned her? She had lived in Madoc’s rooms these past several days, enshrouding herself with all that was left of him in the vain hope of bringing herself closer to his wisdom. If anything, she found herself all the more adrift.

  Alwen pushed the crystal away and rose from the seat at Madoc’s hornbeam and hazelwood writing table to pace frustration away, again. Twenty steps across the thunderstones from desk to hearth and twenty more back again. She no longer paused at the window. Alwen could not stand the sight.

  The devastation of the temple grounds was complete. What had not been razed by the Hellion had been destroyed by Madoc’s last stand and the windstorm Alwen had summoned. And alas, sorcery was unable to undo what it had done. It was an ugly irony that, without Cerrigwen, an imbalance of power existed in the mystical realms and Alwen’s magic was not enough. Eventually, time and careful tending would renew the grasses and gardens, but for now, the scarring of the land was too painful to behold. And then there were the funeral pyres.

  Alwen sensed an unexpected presence outside her chamber door. “Come,” she called.

  The hinges groaned as the heavy door swung in, and Rhys stepped through. “You might at least allow me to knock. You nearly startled me out of my skin.”

  Odd, she thought, glancing at the curtained window. He was dripping wet. “It rains?”

  The hint of a snicker barely flickered across Rhys’s gloomy face. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and it seemed to her he’d aged years in the last few days. It showed in his eyes, and in his carriage. “I’m relieved to see you haven’t lost your gift for sensing the obvious.”

  Her son was too much like his father, with his charm and practical logic. Alwen felt the pang of longing. Bledig had only been gone a few days, but already she missed him.

  Glain appeared to deliver a fresh pot of aleberry and then excused herself, but Alwen noticed the subtle exchange of glances between her second and her son. She found it interesting that they worked so hard to hide what was obvious to everyone else.

  “Your boots are wet. Get them off, before you sicken yourself.” Alwen pulled a woolen blanket from the divan and held it out to him. “Take this and sit near the fire.”

  He began to take the blanket and then hesitated. “It’s late. I can come again in the morning.”

  “Don’t be daft.” She let the wool drop, expecting him to catch it, and folded her arms. “Take it, and do as I say.”

  Rhys snagged the corner of the blanket as it fell, and his quizzical gaze met hers as Alwen’s own words echoed in her ears. They were so foreign they sounded silly, and Alwen had to laugh. “Listen to me,” she said, “chiding a grown man.”

  “Even a grown man can stand a bit of mothering now and then.” Rhys wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and crossed in front of her to squat before the hearth. He reached for the aleberry pot and gestured for cups.

  Alwen retrieved two cups from the sideboard near the window and then perched on the edge of the divan in front of the fire. Rhys handed over her drink and stretched his feet toward the blaze.

  “I hadn’t expected you so soon,” she said. “But you have news.”

  “Hmm.” Rhys nodded as he swallowed. “Yes. Hywel’s whereabouts are unclear. I gather he prefers it that way, but it may be several days until he’s found. Maybe even a week’s time or more. I didn’t think this should wait.”

  “Do tell, then.” Alwen curled herself into the cushioned divan, nestling her cup in her lap. “Wait,” she stopped, wondering. “How did you find your way back through the veil?”

  “Strange thing,” he said. “At first I thought it was that I remembered on my own, and then I realized I was guided.” He shook himself, as if to toss off dark thoughts. “I don’t mind saying, I am not at all fond of those woods.”

  “The unseen is unsettling.” She smiled. “Now, tell me, what have you found out?”

  “The village remains unaware of our existence,” he reassured her. “As is the world at large, as far as I know.”

  “Did you find this man, Aldyn? The tavern keeper?”

  “I did,” Rhys said. “An interesting fellow, sly and calculating, but I have to say I like how he handles himself. While he may be a skeptic where magic is concerned, he is loyal to Hywel’s cause.”

  “You trust him, then.” Alwen was relieved that Rhys had confidence in their only connection to Hywel.

  “I do, and he has Hywel’s trust, which makes him a reliable go-between. While I was there, Hywel’s messenger arrived. I sent word as you requested, and this man of Hywel’s had word for you — well, Madoc, really — but now Hywel will know what has happened.”

  Alwen nodded for him to continue, eager to hear.

  “It seems that Machreth has formed a new alliance, with another son of Cadell. The brothers have been at odds over Seissyllwg for years, and it seems Machreth has taken advantage of the rivalry, promising Clydog that he will be king, instead of Hywel.”

  “So first he turns them against each other, and then against us.” Alwen’s blood curdled. Soon they would be waging war on two fronts. “What of Cerrigwen? Any sign?”

  Rhys shook his head and slurped the last of the brew from his cup. “Not Finn nor Pedr, neither. But then, I never ventured off the road.” He grinned at her sheepishly. “I didn’t quite dare.”

  “I don’t suppose you would.” Alwen smiled, remembering Rhys’ last trip into the White Woods. “Cerrigwen will turn up eventually.”

  Rhys pulled the pot from the coals using the hem of the blanket and refilled his cup. “Things seem quiet now.”

  “Yes, well, this is only a momentary reprieve, you realize. Machreth will make his move soon enough.”

  “What about the tunnels? Can they be cleared?”

  “I’ve thought long and hard on that,” she said. “In the end I decided that it was best to leave the underground passages blocked. True, we won’t have them as an escape route, but neither shall Machreth have them as access.”

  Rhys sighed. “We’re long on enemies and short on allies, and stuck squarely in the path of a storm. I’ll feel better when Bledig and Aslak return.”

  “As will I,” Alwen admitted. “But for now, I believe Odwain has things as well in hand as can be expected.”

  “All from his sickbed?” Rhys shook his head in disbelief.

  “His body is mending nicely,” said Alwen. “But I’m not so sure about his heart.”

  Her comment caused Rhys’s brow to furrow and his sho
ulders to sag. “Some things are hard to get used to.”

  Alwen’s breath stalled in her breast, cut off by the cold clench of an invisible vise. She had succeeded in avoiding such a moment, until now. Even a grown man can stand a bit of mothering. Alwen winced as the echo of his words pierced her heart.

  “Some things you never get used to,” she advised. “You’re not supposed to. That is how it is meant to be.”

  Rhys nodded and nearly smiled, as if her insight reassured him, or at least made him feel a little less alone with his loss. Alwen offered her silent thanks to the universe and a sigh of relief into her cup. She had not considered that giving comfort might actually be comfort, but she felt the tiniest bit better herself. “I am glad you’re here, Rhys.”

  Rhys offered her the pot. “Have you found your answers yet?”

  “Not all of them.” Alwen declined the mulled ale, tempting as it was. “But I am beginning to master the workings of this place, thanks to Glain.”

  Glain’s name brought color to her son’s expression, and Alwen hid her bemusement. She approved, but would not embarrass Rhys by saying so. It was none of her business unless he cared to make it so, which he had not.

  “These are traitorous times,” he muttered. Alwen was amused at his play on the phrase. Traitorous or treacherous, it was all the same. Glain’s appointment put her in a difficult, if not dangerous, position, which worried Rhys a great deal. “She is young, and unprepared.”

  “She is young, yes, but she is prepared, Rhys. She is also a wise little mouse, and smart enough to know how to keep you interested.”

  Rhys grinned at her. “Little gets past you, I see, even all the way up here in Madoc’s throne room.”

  Alwen gave an all-knowing smile. “Very little.”

  Rhys’s sly look quickly turned critical. “You aren’t sleeping enough. It’s not good for you.”

  Alwen snorted. “So now you’re the sage.”

  “There are some things I can sense for myself.”