The Willow Branch

by Lela Markham

  That’s getting very far ahead of myself, Padraig reminded himself sternly. I first need to explain it to Tamys.

  Yet, he had not come to any decisions as the caravan drew near Dun Wllead. A day shy of the city, the scouts noted movement on the heights and the men drew swords. The movement never materialized into anything, but at the early morning of the day they would reach Dun Wllead, the caravan drew to a halt when a young lad in ragged clothes stepped into the canyon. Muleteers growled, riders drew their swords, but Duglas rode forth with Braeden beside him and they surveyed this novelty in the track.

  “Lad, you’re a long way from the town, in a dangerous place,” Duglas greeted.

  “I’m not from the town,” the lad explained. “My brother is a brigand. We came out here thinking we’d get a caravan and go back with lots of coin, but I’m tired of starving. I can’t get back through the gates on my own. I need a ride.”

  Duglas tugged on his mustaches and looked at Braeden. The freesword weighed and judged the lad without passion.

  “He’s just a child. He can’t carry off even one of the bars of gold.”

  “True-spoken,” Duglas agreed. “We’ll give you a ride, lad.”

  “Thanks to you, merchant,” the lad said with a smile. Braeden swung down and helped the lad into the wagon. Padraig and Tamys, who’d been riding further back in the column, came riding up then to ask what was going on.

  “We just found a brigand’s whelp who’s decided an honest life makes more sense,” Duglas explained to them. “We’ll give him a ride into the city.”

  Padraig glanced at Tamys, who looked suddenly pale under the tan that he’d developed since leaving Dun Celdrya a month before.

  “Somewhat the matter, lad?”

  “Wha – ? Nay, geese walking on my grave is all.”

  They fell into the forward movement of the column.

  “Lad, I’ve been meaning to ask you of your plans,” Padraig said.

  “Aethan and some of the others say they’re headed to Dun Llyr to find a hire. I’ll likely be traveling with them.”

  Padraig’s heart contracted painfully. Did he dear risk missing this opportunity? What if his suspicions were correct?

  “You don’t need to, lad,” Padraig insisted. “There’s no reason to sell your soul.”

  “It’s what I know, Padraig,” Tamys explained. “I can’t see taking up a trade or becoming a farmer. I’m no farmer, Padraig.”

  “Neither am I, Tam, lad. I found another way that incorporates both the warband training I received as a child and a trade that’s honest and supports me quite nicely.”

  “Padraig, I thank you, but I’m not a herbman. I am naught but a lousy freesword and you know that. There’s no stopping what was set in motion when my father turned me out.”

  “There is, if you’ll but decide to stop it.”

  Tamys shook his head and they said no more about it. For Tamys, silence was a means not to destroy a friendship. His mind was made up. For Padraig, it was to avoid Tamys’ becoming defensive, for he knew naught but the power of God could dislodge the lad from his chosen course.

  The entry into Dun Wllean took most of the day. The gates would only allow one wagon through at a time and two riders at any one time. Duglas set up his pay table as before. He asked Padraig and Tamys if they would be remaining in Dun Wllean. He had a second caravan going through the Pass in a month.

  “I’m journeying south. I still can find lots of work along the way and I need to put in an herb crop for the winter.”

  “And you, Tamys lad?”

  “I need to find a hire for the winter,” Tamys explained. “Winter is coming.”

  “Aye, true-spoken. I’m sorry there were no lords in Mandorlyn. You might want to try Morglen, or Denygal, if you’ve got your heart set on a warband. I hear the lords there are less particular about points of honor and such.”

  “Thanks to you,” Tamys said. He and Padraig turned to leave. The town of Dun Wllean stretched before them.

  “Will you be staying at the caravanseri?” Padraig asked, hopeful for one more chance to persuade him.

  “Nay. I’ll find an inn with some lasses to dance with,” Tamys admitted. “I’ll stop by on my way out, though.”

  They paused. Padraig held out a hand to his friend. Tamys took it.

  “I can’t say I agree with your decision, but I’ll be praying for you. The Lord will open your way, I believe, if it’s His will.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep my ears open for a herbman with an Eastern Regal. Mayhap we’ll see each other again.”

  “Aye. Lad, remember, just because it seems the only course, it isn’t necessarily. The One has a great path for you, if you will but open to it.”

  Tamys nodded, then shook his head. They clasped hands again and parted. There was naught more to say. Padraig could only hope that somewhat opened the lad’s eyes before he rode down the road with Aethan and the others, because truth be told, he suspected this was the king of all Celdrya walking away from him.

  Founding Year 1028

  Dun Wllean

  Aethan seemed determined to spend all his wages on getting his mates drunk. He’d already bought three rounds for Tamys and the other two young freeswords who had formed a unit out of Duglas’ larger troop. There were some of the other men from the caravan at the Blue Goose and all were singing and laughing. The serving lasses returned their friendly chivvying with banter of their own. Tamys had already had a bowl of quite excellent stew and fresh brown bread, so that Aethan’s coin was not having the desired effect as soon as might be expected, but after the third tankard even he was starting to feel a bit off-kilter.

  “Which one do you want?” Aethan asked him, indicating the harlots who were intermixed with the men and serving wenches.

  “I think I’ll pass this night,” Tamys replied.

  “Surely not.”

  “I wish not to spend my coin. Winter’s coming sooner than we think and the price of a harlot will pay for an eightnight in a dormitory.”

  “You jest!” Aethan insisted.

  “Nay, I do not.”

  Snorting, Aethan got up to fill his tankard, grabbing Tamys’ off the bench. The two others had already found their pick for the next little while and gone off to the sporting stalls. Aethan and Tamys had rented a room on the third floor and Aethan rather thought he could have it for a while.

  Truth be told, Tamys was weighing going to talk with Padraig. He was headed south to Morglen, mayhap, and the lords there were less strict about history and honor. Tamys was tempted to see if that were really true. He rose from the bench, preparing to catch up his cloak from the peg by the door and set out for the caravanserie outside the walls.

  The door opened to admit a woman and Tamys froze in mid-movement as the chaos of the tavern room dropped away. She turned toward him -- tall and shapely with black hair that rippled over her shoulders, dressed in a purple dress with gilt threading the bodice. She seemed to see naught but him as she wove through the crowd to stand before him.

  “Tamys ap Manahan of Mulyn, I would have sport with you this evening,” she said and her words seemed to bind him with iron chains cushioned with velvet.

  “I would gladly sport with you, lass,” he agreed.

  She held out a soft hand that was surprisingly firm and they walked up the stairs to the third floor where Tamys unlocked the room he shared with Aethan. He did not think that Aethan would mind a night in the hay loft. The room was not large and only had one bed, but it smelled more of bread than piss and had a nice window over the innyard. Tamys and the woman kissed and he felt heat like warm honey flow through his entire body. He undid his sword belt and lowered the weapon to the floor. Now she was all over him, fingers working his siarc free of his belt, fumbling to remove the belt itself, moving him back across the room until he felt the windowsill at the back of his thighs and … then naught but open air at his back. He grabbed for her with one hand and the window frame with the other, but both ha
nds missed. He screamed as he fell and then knew naught more.

  Founding Year 1028

  Dun Cenconyn

  Ryanna sat up in the darkness of the tent she shared with Cai, heart pounding, sweat slicking her breasts, breath harsh in her chest. Her hands closed on nothingness and she expected to feel her back slam into the pavement.

  A dream? Yes, but a dream of deeper stuff. She channeled fire and lit a lantern. Cai rolled to bury his face in the leather pillow formed by a saddlebag. Ryanna drew on a shift and left the tent. Outside, a gibbous moon shone when none should be and she was not the only one to note this.

  “There’s something amiss in the spiritual,” Jotham, one of the guards, noted.

  “Yes,” Ryanna agreed. She walked into the shadows and stared into the flame of her lantern, thinking of Padraig. She saw him curled in the dark of a tent somewhere far to the west. He seemed fine. Yet, she could not shake the fear she felt. She probed through the flame and felt a responding mind, so turned her thoughts that way.

  You are needed, elf-girl, the dragon asserted. Destruction is at hand and the world cannot wait for you to decide if you want to serve the One. There is only need. Want must wait for a another time.

  Destruction? she thought-asked.

  Of course, child. Did you think I would be called back into the world of men for anything less?

  What must I do?

  You must follow the path that is shown and do so immediately.

  Then upon the wall of the tent before Ryanna, she could see a map of Celdrya, only with the ancient Kindred names upon it. A golden line stretched from Avalirad -- that which Cenconyn sat above -- to Lindanmadan.

  Commit it to your soul, child, and march at the orders of the One.

  Ryanna knew she could refuse. The One never commanded blind obedience. Her will remained her own and she’d promised to return to the holt; she’d meant to keep her word. However, she also knew that when the One commanded, you obeyed or you stood the consequences. Sometimes you stood the consequences even when you obeyed. She hesitated for only a moment and then put her hand upon the tent side and let her gifts absorb the vision into her soul.

  There is hope, the dragon announced and then its presence faded from her mind. Ryanna turned to view the camp, seeing the people she loved, who gave her strength and acceptance. She stood stalk-still for several heartbeats before turning to gaze up at the dun. She would need assistance from Reyn and his people. Good that he was a Believer.

  One step at a time, hasty one! Gly’s tutoring came to mind. Truth be told, she had a more difficult task to accomplish before going to the dun. She must needs tell her brother that she would be continuing onward without him, but with a far more powerful Companion than even Sabre.

  Destruction is afoot, but so is hope, the dog spoke into her mind. We will find God’s will together and bring it to Him as I might a fine bird or a polished beaver stick.

  Something lay across the ground before the tent flap and she bent to pick it up. When the winter people had brought the prophesy to Padraig in the winter, their leader had carried such a stick, a six-foot-long willow branch that had been worked and polished until the natural jewel-shaped furrows had formed decorative elements all long the twisted length. Ryanna felt power flow through her into the walking stick. Holding it before her, she felt it would make a fine fighting staff and took it with her as she went to wake Cai to tell him that “destruction is afoot, but the One intends to use me to provide hope.”

  Ryanna smiled, assured she was exactly where she was meant to be and through absolutely no agency of her own.

  ###

  To Be Continued …

  Time Flow, Geography and Culture in The Willow Branch

  This book occurs in a number of time periods. The first quote in Fate explains why – the present is built on the past and when we forget the past we imperil the future. This is also why the larger series is entitled Daermad Cycle – daermad meaning “forgetful” in Gaelic. Pay attention to the subheadings because they tell you whether you’re in Founding Year 931 or 1028. There are two main stories. The past with the doomed princes Maryn, Perryn and Donyl follows the destruction of the kingdom. The present with Padraig, Tamys, Gregyn and Ryanna follows the restoration. Unless the present actors can figure out what went wrong in the past, they are doomed to repeat it. Yes, Talidd shows up in both time lines as does the Morrigan.

  In writing The Willow Branch, I found that I had two separate stories that could run in different books or different sections of the same book, but really were not stand-alone stories. They need to be told together to arrive where I want to arrive, so please bear with me because the past really is the foundation of the present in reality as well as in Daermad.

  I tried to make it easy for you by obeying my own rules. Each chapters starts with a quote from the literary history of the peoples of Daermad, followed by a scene from Founding Year 931 (the past). The rest of the chapter focuses on FY 1028 (the present), though there are a few subchapters that follow Gilyn, who would be the destroyer of worlds. If you pay attention to the subchapters, you should have no problem staying oriented.

  The people of Celdrya are the descendants of a Treverri tribe of Celts that somehow stumbled through a “portal” back in the 4th century AD, which was the early Christian era for parts of Northern Europe. They have been in Daermad for about a millennia and so they are not exactly European Celts anymore, but they share some common history. You will also find other familiar Earth cultures living in Daermad. Where did they come from? You’ll have to buy more books to find out. Where did the Kin and dwarves come from? Daermad!

  The Kin speak Elvish, which is rendered largely in American English. The Celdryans speak some form of Gaulish, which accounts for the lilting narrative voice in those sections. In a nod to my immense admiration for Katharine Kerr, writer of the Deverry series, I’ve tried to follow her language conventions as to spellings. I make no claims to perfection.

  Those extremely long names for the Kin are their full names. Just as I would be Lela Amanda Davis Markham, Morynsionryanna is Ryanna, daughter of Sion from Moryn. Similar to Asian naming conventions, the clan name is given first. Because Ryanna’s father is Denygal, his place of birth is listed rather than his clan, following the Celdryan fashion of common names.

  A Word About Language

  This is a fan’s nod to Katharine Kerr, writer of the phenomenal Deverry series. I tried as much as possible to render the writing of names in keeping with her linguistic guidelines from that series. Any errors are my own.

  Celdryan is a Celtic language, which is closely related to languages that exist in our own world, principally Welsh. However, it is not identical. The Celdryans left Gaul a millennia ago. Of course, their language has drifted. The following guide might be helpful in pronunciation.

  DD is voiced “th” as in thin or breathe. There is also a hard form of TH, as in The or breath.

  Y is never a consonant. When long it is voiced as the “i” in machine or the “ee” in teeth, when short it is voiced as the “e” in butter.

  DW, GW, and TW are single sounds as in Gwendolyn or twit.

  Wmgleadd would be pronounced “um – glath”, for example.

  Ll is a breathy l sound, somewhat like combining l with an h.

  Some terms to know –

  Daermad – derived from Gaelic for “forgetting” or “mistake” It is what the Celdryans call the world they live in. It’s the equivalent of Earth or planet.

  Kin – Daermad native race of elven type. They tend to be tall, slender and long of limb, with large cat slit eyes and furled ears. When they mate with humans however, these resulting “elflings” can have a mixture of features. They are naturally psychic, though some are more gifted than others.

  Celdryan – the descendants of Celts who arrived in Daermad a millennia ago.

  Denygal – a mixed race of nominal Celdryans who share ancestry with both Celdrya and Kin.

  Basketlands –
the former home territory of the Kin, it has been under Celdryan rule for centuries. It is the fertile lands of the valleys between the great mountain ranges and the Stormmor.

  Aver – Celdryan for “river”

  Temple of the Moon – women’s religion dedicated to the worship of goddesses, principally the Morrigan. Psychically gifted priestesses are called domas.

  Cult of Lugh ¬– a sect of the Celdryan religion that has done away with personal sacrifices and relies on political power to control society. They oppose all magic and reject diversity of religious beliefs.

  Cult of Bel – a sect of the Celdryan religion that emphasizes academics and charity. Their druins are ecclesiastical-approved mages.

  Old Faith ¬– a sect of the Celdryan religion that performs personal sacrifices and emphasize honor and community. Their priests are known as druids and have the gifts of mages. Their granias are herb women who also work in psychic gifts.

  Mages – there are various sects from various traditions. Sometimes they work together and sometimes they work against each other.

  Goi’tan – a voluntary period of servitude in Kindred society for the purposes of repentance. It involves a public acknowledgment by wearing grey robes, shaving one’s head and keeping silence. After a period of goi-tan, a Kin’s transgressions are never to be mentioned again.

  Cotan – a soft fabric similar to our cotton that is cultivated by the Kin and highly valued by the nobility of Dublyn.

  Breecs – baggy woolen pants worn by Celdryan men. Nobles wear plaid breecs that distinguish their clan.