by Holly Taylor
Gwen frowned. “But I’ve seen you use the gift, and it never takes this long. You don’t even use the triskale—you just do it. Why can’t I do it like that?”
“You can. It’s only a matter of practice. With clairvoyance or telepathy the person must be in a relaxed state. Visualizing the Body of Light and using the triskale are means of relaxing you. With practice you can relax your mind in seconds, without the use of anything else. The important thing is to learn control. A highly emotional state, like rage or fear or even joy can release the gifts, but the person has no control.”
“Psychokinetics use a different way, don’t they?”
“Yes. The Druid must be in a state of intense concentration—not relaxation.”
“And that’s why you can’t teach me how to use it.”
“Yes, that’s why. I don’t know anything about how that is achieved.”
“Then how will I learn if you don’t know?”
How indeed, Rhiannon thought. The knowledge that she had made a prison for her daughter came crashing in on her. So she spoke more sharply than she intended, “We’ll talk about it at another time.”
Rhiannon abruptly got up from the table and moved to the entrance, pushing aside the curtain and gazing through the gentle waterfall into the night. Beyond the waterfall she could see the full, silver moon rising over the forest. Seen through the curtain of water the moon wavered and rippled across her eyes. Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, goddess of the Moon, don’t judge me too harshly, she begged. I’ll put it right. Just give me time.
Taking a careful breath, she turned back to face Gwen who stood forlornly by the table, fingering the snowdrops that were scattered there. “It’s time to celebrate Calan Morynion,” Rhiannon said.
Gwen fixed a spray of snowdrops behind her ear. “Brush your hair first,” Rhiannon said. Sighing, Gwen plucked the sprig out and went to get the comb. Rhiannon unbound her black hair from its tight braid. “Let me use the comb when you’re done,” she called, as she picked up the large golden bowl from the shelf and set it on the table. She placed three candles in the middle of the bowl, fixing them to the prongs set at the bottom. She set eight candles around the outer rim and filled the bowl to the brim with water, scattering the delicate, white snowdrops. The tiny white flowers, the first flowers of spring, floated gently on the surface of the water.
Gwen handed her the comb, then went to the hearth. As Rhiannon combed her hair Gwen scraped the burning coals off to one side, then laid the branches of an ash tree into the fire pit. They both fixed sprays of snowdrops in their hair and stood by the table, looking down into the golden bowl.
“This is the Wheel of the Year before us,” Rhiannon chanted. “One candle for each of the eight festivals in which we honor the Shining Ones.” As Gwen lit each candle, Rhiannon named them. “Alban Awyr, Calan Llachar, Alban Haf, Calan Olau, Alban Nerth, Calan Gaef, Alban Nos, and Calan Morynion, which we celebrate tonight.”
When the eight outer candles were lit, Gwen lit one of the three inner candles. “Great Goddess of the Moon, Lady of the Waters, we honor you,” Rhiannon said.
As Gwen lit the second candle, Rhiannon went on, “Nantsovelta of the Pearls, Lady of the Swans, we honor you.” As the third candle was lit, she said, “Silver Queen of the Night, the Bride of Day, we honor you.
“Let the Shining Ones be honored as they gather for the wedding of the Sun and the Moon. Mabon, King of Fire, Bridegroom to the Moon. Taran, King of the Winds and Modron, Great Mother of All. Annwyn, Lord of Chaos and Aertan, Weaver of Fate. The Protectors, Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood and Cerrunnos, Master of the Hunt. Y Rhyfelwr, Agrona and Camulos, the Warrior Twins. Sirona, Lady of the Stars and Grannos, Star of the North and Healer.”
“We honor you,” Gwen said in a solemn tone.
“With water are we refreshed and cleansed. With fire are we purified. Blessings on the marriage of fire and water,” Rhiannon said, gesturing to the candles floating in the bowl. Then they chanted together,
O silver flame of the night,
Enlighten the whole land.
Chief of maidens,
Chief of finest women.
Dark the bitter winter,
Cutting in its sharpness.
But Nantsovelta’s mantle
Brings spring to Kymru.”
Then they each picked up a candle from the bowl and went to the pile of unlit ash wood in the fire pit. “Now let the Bridegroom, Mabon of the Fires, come to claim his Bride.” They lit the fire with the candles and the wood began to blaze, bathing the room in its cheerful glow.
They stood for a moment, watching the fire. If there had been others here, it would now be a time for music and dancing around a huge bonfire in the sacred grove. But many years ago Rhiannon had condemned them both to solitude, and so they celebrated alone.
“Oh, Mam,” Gwen said excitedly, “I have a present for you.”
“A present?”
“It’s your name day.”
“Oh. You remembered,” Rhiannon said flatly. Gwen’s face fell and Rhiannon was instantly repentant. She went on gently, “Thank you, Gwen. That’s very thoughtful.”
Gwen smiled tentatively, as Rhiannon put her arms around her daughter and hugged her. “Wait right here,” Gwen said as she scurried off into the storeroom.
Gwen ran back in, holding something behind her back. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” she said.
Rhiannon did as she was told, and Gwen gently placed something in her hands. It was a bracelet, intricately woven with thin strips of leather. From the band a tiny, wooden heart dangled. It was made of ash wood, and polished to dazzling whiteness. Gwen pointed to the heart, “So you always have my love with you, wherever you are.”
Rhiannon’s eyes filled with tears and her throat was tight. “I’ll wear it always. Help me put it on.”
Gwen tied the strip of leather around her mother’s slender wrist. “It’s not too bad. It took me four tries to get it right.”
“It’s perfect,” Rhiannon laughed and hugged Gwen again, holding her daughter close to her heart. And she thought in despair that the time was coming soon when she would have to send Gwen away from Coed Aderyn, back into the world beyond the wood, alone. That fact, now squarely faced, set her heart to beating wildly with the loss and sorrow and pain that she knew would come. And set her to pleading hopelessly and silently that she would be given be more time—just one more year, she begged—before she would have to endure a broken heart, again.
LATER, AFTER THEY had eaten, Rhiannon sent Gwen to bed. Gwen protested, but only halfheartedly and more out of habit, for her eyelids drooped noticeably.
“No arguments, Gwenhwyfar. It’s been a big day. And you must be well-rested for more practicing tomorrow.”
Sighing, Gwen kissed Rhiannon’s cheek. “Night, Mam,” she said, her words slurred with exhaustion.
Rhiannon helped Gwen to undress then settled her into the pallet, tenderly covering her daughter with a woolen blanket. Rhiannon kissed Gwen’s forehead, then made her way back to the bench before the fire. Even before she sat down she could tell by Gwen’s breathing that the child was fast asleep.
Rhiannon tried to settle down in front of the fire but she was too restless. She felt it again—that feeling that someone was thinking of her. Thinking very hard. Perhaps actually beginning to look for her. She sensed an indomitable will. She shivered, for that will felt carved of ice, or stone—implacable, commanding, pitiless. He, or she, would never give up, never stop looking, and never leave her be.
She shivered again, and told herself that these thoughts were ridiculous. She was going into a panic over nothing at all. Nevertheless, she didn’t feel like sitting still. Rising, she wrapped herself into her white woolen cloak and left the cave.
The cold night air was like a slap in the face. A few droplets from the waterfall splashed her as she went by and made her way down the rocks to stand by the pool. The full moon shone down brightly, turning the droplets in h
er hair to glittering diamonds, and turning the pool into molten silver.
Her doeskin boots made a crackling sound against the hard-packed snow. She stopped halfway around the pool, facing the waterfall. She gazed into the pool, her eyes tracing the path of the moon as it ran across the surface of the water.
Rhiannon stood silently by the pond. She remembered how she had first come to find this place, the year before she had been forced to go on with her life alone, with no one’s love to sustain her. For after her aunt had died, she had always been alone.
RHIANNON’S MOTHER, INDEG UR DREMAS, was a woman of the House of Llyr, daughter of the tenth Dreamer of Kymru. Indeg was Dewin, and she had passed the gift of clairvoyance to her daughter.
Rhiannon’s father, Hefeydd ap Con, was a Bard of humble background. He passed the gift of telepathy to his daughter. It was the only thing he had ever given her.
Rhiannon was born in the town of Geneur, in Prydyn, her father’s home. Indeg had refused to give birth to her daughter at Caer Dathyl, for her family had not been kind to Hefeydd, and she had loved him. After hours of labor, Indeg had finally brought forth a girl. And in that moment her life’s blood had gushed out of her in a flood, and she died.
Hefeydd had gone mad with grief. He refused to see his tiny daughter. He spent hours next to Indeg’s body, holding her cold hand, pleading for her to come back to him.
Finally, they had forced Hefeydd away from Indeg’s lifeless shell, and sent her body back to her mother at Caer Dathyl. But Darun would not see Hefeydd to offer comfort, nor did she take any interest in her granddaughter. Hefeydd returned to Neuadd Gorsedd, for he too had no interest in the newborn baby girl. It fell to Llawen, Hefeydd’s sister, to bring up this unwanted child.
Many years later Rhiannon came to understand that her Aunt Llawen had not been a beautiful woman. She was plain and plump with brown hair and muddy hazel eyes. But to Rhiannon her aunt was beautiful, for Llawen knew how to love. And that love had shone through her in everything she said or did. Llawen’s love for her husband, Dudod, for her son, Elidyr, and for her niece, Rhiannon, permeated their home, making the simple house seem a palace.
Uncle Dudod, the brother of the Master Bard, was a traveling Bard, kind and charming and restless. Her aunt used to say that Dudod could charm the birds from the trees, and Rhiannon believed her.
The times when Dudod was home were the best of all. He would slyly appear from nowhere, simply walking into the house as though he did it every day. His green eyes would dance with joy, and Llawen would always drop what she was doing and throw herself into his outstretched arms. And they would kiss—a kiss that would often go on too long for the patience of Elidyr and Rhiannon. Then Dudod would grab his son, swinging him high in the air. He would pick up Rhiannon ever so gently, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her what a pretty child she was.
And always Rhiannon would ask if her father were coming home. Had her uncle seen him? Had her father asked for her? And always Dudod would say that perhaps Hefeydd would be along momentarily. He would say that Hefeydd was very busy, for being a Bard was hard, hard work. He would say that Hefeydd thought about her all the time and loved her dearly. And when her face fell Llawen would take her into her arms and stroke her dark hair and whisper, “Never mind, cariad. Never mind.”
When Rhiannon was five years old her cousin Elidyr was sent to Neuadd Gorsedd to learn to be a Bard. Elidyr would be trained as heir to his uncle Anieron. One day Elidyr would be the Master Bard.
Rhiannon cried then, for Elidyr had been kind to her. But Llawen promised that they would go to Neuadd Gorsedd to see him one day. Rhiannon dried her tears for she knew that she could trust Llawen. So she waited confidently for the day when they would take their journey.
She thought that perhaps her father would be there. And he would take her into his arms and kiss her and tell her how proud he was to have such a wonderful daughter. She spent a year spinning these dreams out of nothing, until the day that Llawen told her that the time had come for their visit. Rhiannon begged for a new dress to wear. “So my Da will think I’m pretty,” she said, her eyes shining with the memory of her daydreams. “And then he’ll love me.” And Llawen, her eyes sad and wise, agreed that Rhiannon must indeed have a new dress.
At last they began their journey, traveling on horseback with Uncle Dudod. After a few days they came to Coed Aderyn, the wood on the border of Prydyn and Gwytheryn. They stopped to eat at a tiny pool, fed by a gentle waterfall. And Rhiannon, exploring, discovered a cave hidden behind the flowing curtain of water. All three of them marveled at such a perfect little place tucked away in the quiet forest.
When they reached Neuadd Gorsedd, Elidyr himself came running down the steps, wearing his apprentice robe of white. His light brown eyes were filled with happiness as he threw himself into his mother’s arms. And then he picked Rhiannon up and manfully negotiated the huge stone steps that led into the college.
Rhiannon whispered, “Is Da here? I wore a new dress.”
“He’s not here,” Elidyr answered in dismay. “He left yesterday.”
“But—but did he know we were coming?”
Although Elidyr was only eight years old, he knew better than to tell her the truth. “No,” he lied. “I guess someone forgot to tell him.”
And though she tried not to, Rhiannon began to weep, tears trickling down her tiny cheeks. “But I wore a new dress,” she whispered, forlornly.
Elidyr looked around in panic at his father, and Dudod took Rhiannon into his strong arms. “Come, let’s go meet your Uncle Anieron.” And Dudod kissed her tears away and Rhiannon wished passionately, hopelessly, that her father might come to love her one-day. Wished passionately, hopelessly that one day a man would come into her life that would love her.
IN THE COLD winter night, Rhiannon, remembering, knelt down by the still pool. She stared at the water, dark where the moon did not shine, bright where the moon’s path cut through. Light and dark rippled across her eyes. Shadow and brightness, one and the same, she thought. One and the same.
Slowly, with a trembling hand she reached out, her palm hovering over the shimmering water. And, oh gods, oh gods, she thought that the fear would kill her, slay her in the snow and leave her lifeless body by the pool. And slowly, slowly she dipped her hand into the dark, into the light, and the cold made her hand tingle in shock as she remembered the day when she had begun to fear the water. The last occasion she had witnessed the living face of the only mother she had ever known.
The day that her life changed forever began just like any other day. Llawen and Rhiannon were eating breakfast when Dudod walked in from a month-long absence, as casually as though he had never left. Llawen shrieked and flung her arms around him. It was then, that Rhiannon noticed the stranger. He stood uncertainly in the doorway. He tried to smile, but the expression seemed ill suited to his sober face. He was not old, but there were sharp furrows on either side of his mouth and deep lines above his brows. He was thin and his scanty hair was dark. His eyes were the brown of freshly turned earth—earth that had been cut and scarred by the blade of the uncaring plow.
Llawen, at last releasing Dudod, caught sight of the man in the doorway. “Hefeydd,” she breathed. “Oh, Hefeydd,” and she went to him and held him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. Slowly, awkwardly, the man put his arms around Llawen. And Rhiannon knew that her Da had come to her at last. Dudod picked Rhiannon up and kissed her, but she had eyes only for her father.
Dudod carried her to the man. “This is Rhiannon,” he said. “And this,” Dudod went on as he looked down at her, “is Hefeydd ap Con, your father.”
Rhiannon launched herself at him, grasping his neck in a stranglehold. “Da,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. But after just a few moments Hefeydd set her down on her feet, grabbing her thin arms, pulling them firmly away from his neck.
“Rhiannon,” he said, and stared at her as though memorizing her face to carry away with him. “Daughter.”
He was silent for a long time and his silence seemed to freeze everyone in place. “Your eyes are your mother’s,” he said at last, his voice strained. “I must, I must—” he broke off, looking around in confusion.
“See to the horses,” Dudod finished for him.
“Yes,” Hefeydd said in a grateful voice. “I must see to the horses. Excuse me.”
Rhiannon stood where he had left her, paralyzed with bewilderment. “He doesn’t like me,” she said in astonishment.
“Oh, but he does,” Dudod said heartily. “Why, he came all the way here from Neuadd Gorsedd just to see you.”
But Rhiannon turned to Llawen for the truth. And sadly, Llawen shook her head. “Give him time to know you, child. He doesn’t know you well enough to love you.”
This struck Rhiannon as perfectly sensible, so she took heart and vowed to be very, very good so that he would come to love her.
Hefeydd returned and the four of them sat down for a late breakfast. Dudod spoke almost continuously, saying that he had bullied the Bards to letting Hefeydd come to visit. “He’s very, very busy, you see,” Dudod said confidently to Rhiannon. “Very busy indeed. But I made them let him come, because he wanted to see you so much.”
Meanwhile, Hefeydd said scarcely a word. His movements were slow and careful. Llawen, too, said very little, merely pressing her brother to eat more. And Hefeydd and Rhiannon stole quick glances at one another when each thought the other wasn’t looking. It was Dudod who suggested that they go to the lake to catch fish for supper. They walked to the small lake at the edge of the forest, not far from the house. The day was clear and warm with a slight, gentle breeze, and the lake rippled as the wind danced across its shining surface.
Dudod helped Rhiannon bait her hook, while Llawen and Hefeydd began to cast expertly as they stood on the rocky shore. Dudod warned Rhiannon to step carefully among the rocks, for they were wet and slippery. Then Llawen caught a fish, and Hefeydd caught another. Dudod, his strong hands placed over Rhiannon’s tiny ones, helped Rhiannon reel in a fish, too. Llawen exclaimed over the fine catch as she helped Rhiannon to bait her hook again.
