'The shaveling youth smiled and bowed to the Great King. "Truly, you are a sovereign worthy of the name," the lad replied. "You have but to grant my plea, and reap the reward."
'Manawyddan sighed. "Would that it were so."
' "Rest assured, you will never hear a word of reproach from me," said the youth. "Give me a sword only, then stand aside and watch what I will do."
'Lord Manawyddan, Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty, gave the youth the sword from his hand, and called for his shield-bearers to arm the lad with spear and dagger, helm and belt as well. But the young man shook his head firmly, saying, "Either this blade will suffice, or it will not. If it will, then nothing else is needed; if it will not, then nothing else will help. Summon the giant, and let us set to. The day stretches long, and I am growing hungry."
The Black Oppressor, who had long since retired to his hall to gloat over his loathsome triumph, was duly summoned by a blast of the king's horn. "What is this?" the giant grumbled in a voice like low thunder, "Who disturbs my rest? Can it be the Mighty Manawyddan has finally gathered his courage into a heap and wishes now to weigh its worth against the standard of my blade?"
' "Say nothing you wish not to regret," the valiant lord advised. "It is not myself who is judge over you, but whatever god made you – and that soon. Before you stands the youth who will do for you as you have done for so many others."
The Black Giant laughed long and hard at this. Then he looked upon the youth, standing white and naked before him, armed with nothing but a sword that was so overlarge, he had to clutch it tight in both hands just to raise it.
' "Lad," rumbled the giant, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "of all the warriors I have slaughtered, I cannot remember killing any as foolish as you."
The slender youth stepped smartly forward, dragging the sword with him. "Only sow what you wish to reap," the lad replied evenly. If there was the slightest quiver of fear in his voice, no one heard it.
'In his eagerness to kill again, the giant licked his thick, foul lips and grinned down at the fair youth. Hefting his war axe, and testing the keenness of its blade with his thumb, the Black Oppressor said, "Come, then; it will be a joy to send you hence."
' "Beware, I am not so easily killed as you might think."
'Angered by the youth's indifference, the Black Giant gave a roar that curdled the marrow of all who heard it for twelve hides around. He raised the iron axe high above his head and brought it down with such a vicious chop that everyone looked away lest they see something they devoutly wished later to forget. When the axe made no sound, they opened their eyes and turned once more to where the youth stood – expecting, no doubt, to see his body halved like a carcass for the spit.
'But no! The young man was still standing. What is more, he appeared more hale than before. Indeed, he seemed to have grown a handspan taller, and his slender limbs were thicker. The giant gaped in amazement, and looked at the axe in his fist as if he expected it to offer an explanation. Rage bubbled up like molten lead within him, and he roared again, shaking the ground with the blast. Up swept the axe blade, and down. The youth, effortless as a willow in spring, stepped lightly aside as the wicked blade shaved the empty air.
' "My father always taught me that war is a bane, and the chief of man's afflictions," the youth intoned mildly. His voice had deepened and his arms, well muscled now, raised the blade and held it steadily before him. "Perhaps it is a lesson you should have learned."
'Glowering murderously, his black face growing blacker in its fury, the giant screamed, "How dare you condemn me! Just you stand still, and we will see who is the master here."
'The giant lunged wildly at the youth, who met his charge with a swift kick which stopped the black enemy in his tracks. The giant, stunned by the blow, doubled over in pain. The youth stood leaning on his sword a few paces away as his adversary heaved his dinner onto the ground. "It is a shame to waste a good meal," taunted the youth, "but then you were always a wastrel and a destroyer. Tell me, how does your victory taste now? Is it still as sweet in your mouth – or has it all gone sour?"
'With a cry to crack the sky, the Black Oppressor heaved up the iron axe. The cruel weapon seemed much heavier now, and it took all his strength just to raise it and balance it above his head. The blade hung in the air, its honed edge glinting sharp in the sunlight.
'The youth, head and shoulders rising level with those of the Black Oppressor's, raised the king's sword and flicked the axe blade away as if it had been a feather. The ease with which he had been disarmed inflamed the giant beyond all restraint or reason. Lowering his head, he threw wide his arms and ran at the young man, intent on crushing the youth in his all-encircling grasp.
'The giant made but three paces before his legs gave out and he toppled face-first onto the ground. The collision drove the breath from the wicked foeman's lungs, and caused the earth to tremble and shake as if to draw the mountains down. But the young man, towering over the giant now, stepped to the Vile Enemy and lopped off his head with an easy stroke of Manawyddan's sword, saying, "Never more will you trouble the good people of this realm."
'The king and all his tribe stood blinking in astonishment at what they had seen. For the space of six heartbeats, not a sound was to be heard in all the world, and then, with a great shout of relief, they all rushed forward to acclaim the wonderful youth and his astounding triumph over the Black Oppressor.
'Manawyddan was first to laud the youth, and led his people in a song of praise in the young man's honour. The Grey Lady threw off her hood, ran to the youth, and put her arms around his neck – for, as soon as the giant was dead, the lad had assumed his former shape and size. The lady kissed him, and declared loudly for all to hear: "Truly, you are a champion among men. This day you have won your kingdom, and your queen."
'Abashed by the tumult, the young man blushed crimson from top to toe. Taking the lady's arms from around his neck, he said, "Though your offer is kindness itself, I must ask your pardon and decline. My course is set before me, for I am directed by another hand."
'Lord Manawyddan was saddened to hear these words. "What?" he cried. "Will you not stay with us? My champion is slain, and I have need of another. You, I think, more than deserve that place."
'The youth only smiled, and begged to be excused the honour. "Alas, I cannot stay even a moment longer," he said, and explained how it was his geas to roam the width and breadth of the world and offer his aid wherever it was needed.
' "Leave if you must," said Manawyddan, "but please do not go away empty-handed. You have but to name your reward and, to the half of my kingdom, it is yours."
'Smiling still, the young man declined once more. "I have what is needful, and more would avail me nothing." Looking at the warriors gathered close around, the young man said, "Good king, honour me instead in these who have been given you. Do not hold their fright against them – men are only dust, after all."
'The king marvelled the more at these words. "Go, then," said Manawyddan, "and with my blessing. Yet, I would not have you leave us before I learned your name."
'The young man smiled at this. "Do you not know me yet?" he asked.
The king answered, "Son, I never laid eyes on you before this day. Who are you, lad?"
'To which the stranger replied, "I am the Youth of a Thousand Summers." He then bade everyone farewell and, passing among them, disappeared in much the same way as he had arrived: unseen and unguessed.
'When he had gone, the Grey Lady threw open the gates of her stronghold and invited Manawyddan and his warrior host to feast with her and her people in celebration of their deliverance. The king, though still less than elated with the fainthearted behaviour of his warband, accepted. They all went into the queen's hall and feasted for three days and three nights in the most pleasant fellowship they had ever known. Men and women sat down together and soon found themselves sharing the feast with the one they loved best. One by one, each couple came before their ruler to beg t
he boon of marriage. All were duly married, and the celebration continued as a wedding feast, and their joy was made complete.
'Gazing out upon all the feasting couples, the queen observed, "It is right and good that our people should unite our kingdoms in this way. I only wish that I could share their happiness and increase it with my own."
To this Lord Manawyddan replied, "God knows I am setting a poor example for my people if all of them are married and I myself have no queen." Turning to the lady beside him, he said, "I may not be a giant-slayer, but I know I would be a better king than I have ever been if you would be my wife. Lady," he said, taking her hand in his, "will you marry me?"
The Grey Lady smiled easily and said, "And here was I thinking you would never ask. Yes, my king, I will marry you."
This pleased the king greatly. "Here we are to be married," he declared, "and I do not even know your name."
' "My name is Rhiannon," the Grey Lady answered. So saying, the queen threw off her grey hood and cloak to reveal a dress all of gold, with jewels – each more costly than the last -and tiny pearls sewn with thread of braided silver. Her hair was red-gold and braided fine, her skin white as milk, her flesh supple, and her smooth-cheeked face lovely to look upon. The sight of her pleased Manawyddan well, and he married her at once lest she somehow slip from his grasp.
'The king then presented his new queen to the people, and the noble couple made their way through the hall, giving gifts to one and all. The celebration was renewed to the delight of every creature, high or low, living in the realm.
'Behold! When they rose from the table, three hundred years had passed them unawares. Nor had they suffered the predations of age, for every man and woman was as hale as the moment he or she had first sat down. Indeed, not so much as a single silver hair was to be seen on any head, and even those whose brows had been creased by care were seen to be as smooth and cheerful as the day each was born.
'From that moment, the combined kingdoms of Rhiannon and Manawyddan became known as the Isle of the Everliving. The realm flourished as never before, producing a bounty of all good things, and becoming the envy of all the world.
'Many tales are told of this enchanted island, but this tale is finished. Let him hear it who will.'
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Grail is mine! The single most potent talisman in all the world, and it is mine!
Oh, Morgaws, my lovely one, you have done better than you know – better, even, than that simple sot of a nephew of mine will ever know. And to think Avallach had it all this time! All these years, Avallach kept it hidden away, never sharing the secret with anyone.
Of course, if I had so much as imagined Avallach possessed such a relic, I would have taken it long ago. He would never have given it to me; when did Avallach ever give me anything? Truly, if he had ever favoured me with even the crumb of consideration he shows the hound sniffing around his stables, things might be far different now.
But did the mighty Fisher King ever lift a finger for me? Never! It was all for Charis, always for Charis. She had everything, and I had nothing. Taliesin should have been mine! Together, we would have ruled Britain forever.
Charis, Goddess of the Stinking Masses, will yet curse the day of her birth. I might have killed her any of a thousand times – it would have been so easy! But death would merely end her suffering, and I want her torment to linger long.
No, it will not be Charis who dies; it will be the wretched Merlin and his clumsy creature, Arthur, swiftly followed by his simpering slut of a queen and her ox-brained champion. They will all go weeping and wailing to their graves – but not before they have seen their ridiculous dream destroyed by the one real power in this world. They had the Grail, the fools, they had it in their hands and failed to discern what it was they held.
Well, before I am finished, they will rue their ignorance. They will gnaw out their own bowels with regret. They will claw out their own eyes as they watch their absurd Kingdom of Summer, all sweetness and light, shrivel away like dung on a hot rock.
This will cause Avallach no end of pain – literally. For, now that I have the Grail, the pain will truly last forever.
Rising the next morning, we formed the columns and journeyed deeper into the Wasteland. The wind was cold out of the northwest, but the sky stayed clear and bright, and I took heart, for the Pendragon was in better spirits than I had seen him since the Grail disappeared. This, I surmise, was to Myrddin's credit; his song had put everyone in fine mettle. Though far, far ahead on the horizon I could see the dark grey-blue cloud line of a winter storm rising in the south, I considered we were more than a match for whatever came our way.
By midday the storm had made little progress, and I began to think it might pass us by, or hold off altogether. When we stopped to make camp for the night, I walked with Myrddin to a nearby hill to see what we might learn of the region. The sun was setting in a violent blaze of red and grey. Pointing to the heavy band of blue-edged darkness clearly visible on the horizon, I said, 'I have been watching it all day, but the storm has not advanced a whit.'
'Yes,' he murmured absently. Squinting his golden eyes against the glowing sky, Myrddin surveyed the long blue-black line. I observed that the wind, which had been at our backs through the day, had died down now, and the land was quiet -save for a small, distant rhythmic rumbling, like that of ocean waves pounding against cliffs.
At last, the Wise Emrys said, 'When we discussed your sojourn in Llyonesse, you said nothing about a forest. Why was that, Gwalchavad?'
'Lord Emrys,' I said, turning my face towards him, 'I mentioned no forest for the simple reason that there was no forest.'
Lifting a hand to the squat stripe sitting thick and dusky on the far horizon, Myrddin replied, 'There is a forest now.'
'How can this be?' I wondered aloud; doubting him never occurred to me. 'I did not think we had come so far out of our way. We must have wandered further astray in the fog than I imagined.'
'No, Gwalchavad,' Myrddin said, 'we have not wandered out of our way.' He turned and began walking back to camp, leaving me to ponder the more subtle implications of his words.
Did he mean, I wondered, that the forest had grown up since I had last passed this way? Or that the forest was always there, but I had not seen it? Could I have ridden through a forest and never noticed a single tree?
Either alternative was as unlikely as the other. Possibly, some bedevilment had blinded me to it, or caused me to forget. I decided to ask Peredur about this, and discover what he remembered.
I found the young warrior helping raise the picket line for the night. As when in war, Arthur had commanded the horses to be picketed, rather than tethered, so they might be readied more quickly should need arise. I called him from his work. 'Follow me. I have something to show you,' I said, leading him away.
He fell into step beside me, and I asked, 'Do you remember when we were here last time?'
'I have been trying my best to forget.'
'Well, I would ask if you recall passing through a forest during our sojourn in Llyonesse.'
'Forest!' he exclaimed. 'Why, the place is barren as a desert -as you very well know. If we had – ' Realizing that I was in earnest, Peredur stopped and regarded me strangely. 'Lord? Forgive me, but I thought you in jest. Why would you ask such a thing?'
We gained the hilltop where Myrddin and I had just stood. There, I pointed to the bruise-coloured line hugging the gently undulating southern horizon, and said, 'See now! A forest where none was seen before.'
Peredur gaped at the sight, glanced at me, and then returned his gaze to the tree line, visible now as a blue-black band below a swiftly fading twilight sky. 'It might be clouds only.'
'The Emrys is in no doubt,' I replied. 'Trees – not clouds.'
The young man's face squirmed into a frown. 'Myrddin cannot be faulted, I suppose,' he allowed reluctantly. 'It must be that we strayed far from the trail when we rode in the fog.'
His tone did nothing to que
ll my suspicions, but I agreed and we returned to camp and helped finish the picket by tying horses to the central line, before hurrying to one of the four large fires that had been lit to keep us warm through the night. There was a stew of salt pork, black beans, and bread for our supper: bland-tasting mush, but hot and substantial after a cold day in the saddle. When the meal was finished, some of the warriors tried to get Myrddin to sing again, but he would not. He said a sword is made dull by dragging it out all the time, and he wanted a keen blade when next he reached for it.
So we huddled near the fire and talked and dozed instead, and night tightened its grip on us. One by one, the Cymbrogi succumbed to the all-pervasive silence of the blighted land. We wrapped ourselves in our cloaks, closed our eyes, and tried to sleep. Sometime during the night, the wind rose again, this time gusting from the south, colder. I tasted snow on the icy air, and edged closer to the fire.
We awoke to a hard frost and wind like a knife cutting through our cloaks. There was no snow, but a low grey sky spat dry sleet on us, making for a miserable slog as we began the day. We broke fast, and started out, only to halt again as we crested the first hill.
Myrddin flung out his hand, and Arthur pulled hard on the reins; his mount reared. The company stopped behind us, alert to danger. I heard the dull ring of weapons being readied. The Emrys glanced over his shoulder and motioned me to draw alongside.
I was beside the king and Myrddin in an instant, and saw what had brought them up short. The forest, last seen as a thick line on the far southern horizon, now rose directly before us -a dense growth of hornbeam, elm, and oak standing just across the valley.
Astonished beyond words, I stared at the wood as if never having seen a tree before. There was, so far as I could determine, nothing at all to suggest that the trees I saw before me were not what they appeared: solid and thick and, like all trees everywhere, deeply rooted to their places through years of slow, inexorable growth.
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