Yes, wolves have a sense of humor. Sometimes a better one than most humans.
A second later, there was light in the niche where Lais’s skull was, and I saw it looking out at me through a thick screen of vines. A shadowy shape in the gloom.
“How do you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?” Lais’s voice asked.
“The light,” I said.
She snorted. “There is no light. I made something happen in your brain so you can see where I am. The one you call Mother doesn’t need light to see—her superior senses tell her all she needs to know without my help. You perceive it as light. Your brain tends to process information in terms of familiar phenomena.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Talking to you is like talking to Dugald.”
“I know a lot more than Dugald,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. Let me fill you in on what has happened since—”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I already know. I’ve been watching you since your last visit. When you sought my help, it created a tie between us. The one you call Mother mediates that tie. Anything I don’t happen to notice, she will tell me.”
“I want Mother to have her rest,” I replied stiffly.
Mother pressed her forehead against the inside of my hand and said, “Love.” As I have told you, it isn’t often said in wolf, but when said, it means a lot.
“Mother is happy,” Lais said. “She’s enjoying herself. In her present state, no one can force her to do anything. Believe me, no one can apply coercion to a ghost. You have really stirred up a broth of mischief for yourself, haven’t you?”
“May I remind you I was minding my own business, trying to shoot a deer when the whole thing started. And I didn’t choose to be abducted—”
“Enough!” she said. “But you have passed well beyond being the injured party. Now you have wrestled yourself to the center of this boil and are preparing to make a power play of your own. You might have done what the slippery British queen wanted you to.”
“In a pig’s eye,” I said. “No, maybe I’m wrong, but I will choose my own life, thank you.”
“You might have been happier if you hadn’t been so headstrong,” Lais said.
“He will be a great king,” I said. “And if anyone knows how to get him back from where Merlin and Miss Snake in the Grass sent him, it will be you. And that’s why I’m here.”
“Yes … yes … he will be a great king. He knows no fear of anything, or he will not admit any fear to himself. Which it is, I cannot know. Even now, tonight, he challenges King Bade’s rule in the summer country. A thing that hasn’t happened in a mort of years. Not for many millennia. But getting him back may not be easy.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If Magetsky is right, they were able to bring him back themselves. What I want to know is how I can force them to—”
“No,” she said. “And they didn’t bring him back. That lecherous sorcerer probably thought he did. So did his paramour, Igrane. But they didn’t, and I think Merlin is beginning to realize that his spells don’t work. When he can get his mind off sex, he tries to find your young king. And he can’t.
“No! What happened was when they tried to pull him back, their spells worked for a little while, then he was returned from whence he came. In much the same way you returned to your proper place when you were finished killing the monster. All she had to do was let go.”
“Then he belongs there!” I was dismayed.
“I’m not sure where or when he belongs,” she answered. “He is one of the great captains, a war leader of distinction. Such leave a trail of blood and tears wherever they go.”
“You were such a one yourself,” I said.
“Yes. And that’s why I tend to want to send him to trouble Bade. But I can tell that you won’t rest until you challenge the order of things to go in search of him.”
“Why does it matter what I want?” You see, I was really surprised that she obviously took my wishes into consideration in this important discussion.
“Oh, you matter,” she said. “And what you want is important because if I fail, you only too quickly will go and find another way to reach your objective.”
“You’re right,” I said. “All the way here I was exploring possibilities in my mind. I wonder if …”
“Ah, yes, you encountered the rainbow road.”
“Does it still exist?” I asked.
She gave an ugly laugh.
“I mean,” I went on hurriedly, “the sea has risen and covered the coast where we struggled, I and the faun—”
“Bosh,” she said. “No earthly power could touch that splendid creation. It has survived cataclysmic events, the magnitude of which are completely beyond your imagination.”
“The faun, he died there,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered quietly. “He did. And you swung the ax. If she was determined on his death, she could just as easily have done it herself. But she didn’t.”
“Oh, hell,” I whispered.
“That is one of her names,” Lais told me.
“I know how,” I said.
“I was afraid you did,” was the reply.
“You told me,” I said.
“Yes, I’m afraid I did.”
“Where are your friends?” I asked.
“In the dreamscape. If we had no relief, we would go mad.”
“Being insane and immortal doesn’t bear thinking about,” I said.
“No!”
“The faun wanted immortality,” I said.
“Yes. Anything that isn’t a god and doesn’t die pays the price. And the price is structured into the gift. We cannot live and can’t die, either, but we are allowed to dream. And I and my surviving companions do that a lot. The rest were killed and were probably fortunate when the assault I engendered took place and life was wiped, or nearly wiped, off the earth. For that is what Bade’s kingdom is. A place of refuge. But it wasn’t quite ready when the long night fell.”
“How?” I asked.
Suddenly, I was standing among the stars, looking down at the beautiful blue earth, a cloud-wrapped orb, the seas and continents dimly sketched out under the veil of air.
I gasped. “Where am I standing?” I asked dizzily.
“In the cave. As I said of the light, this is an illusion.”
And, yes, we knew the world was round. For God’s sake, even the Greeks knew that, and one of their philosophers even calculated the size of it. I can’t remember which one. But Dugald felt it was a pretty accurate guess, though guess it was. Neither of us could follow the mathematics involved. Oddly enough, the Gray Watcher was better able to judge the truth of his speculations than either Dugald or I.
He believed the man was correct. He said truth has a taste, and this had the taste of truth. A wolf would put it that way, but I agree it does. Some things just don’t hang together, but others do. And a lot of times when you encounter it, you say, “I don’t want this to be right, but it probably is, even though it brings me to grief.”
I thought of the faun, the rainbow chamber road, and looked down on the beautiful blue planet and understood, even as I saw the other smaller world moving down through the envelope of air glowing red-hot as it fell and exploded on impact. Even as far away as I seemed to stand, the flash nearly blinded me, and smoke and debris roared up into the sky like a black whirlwind limned in red as whole forests burned.
I saw the second and again was almost blinded when it, too, exploded on impact. When it landed, the sunset was moving over the now-gray orb beneath us. When the earth turned toward the sun again, the clouds were dark and so thick I couldn’t see the surface any longer.
“It became very cold and very dark,” Lais said.
I remembered that once Dugald had taken us to a remote spot to watch an eclipse of the sun. The druids have ways of calculating when such events will occur.
Black Leg and I loved to beachcomb. In a sheltered cove we f
ound an oyster bed. Mother, Black Leg, and I were making a meal of them when the sun began to grow dark. For a few moments, I didn’t remember Dugald’s prediction and I understood the terror such events created in the minds of our ancestors.
It was amazing—with the darkening of the day star—how quickly the wind went from pleasant to brisk and then to cold and freezing. We lit a driftwood fire on the beach, trying to cast out the gloom that oppressed our spirits. But none of us felt really easy until the sun fully loosed its light again and brightened the world around us.
“A whole world perished under that cloud,” Lais said. “And though your kind will probably never know it, a whole civilization, also.”
Then the illusion vanished and I stood in the cave once more.
“Are you a bit less sure of yourself than when you entered?” Lais asked.
“Did you do this?” I asked.
“Yes …” She hesitated. “Yes, we did. We had our reasons. To this day, I don’t know if they were satisfactory reasons or not, because we never returned to tell the tale. To find out if our strategies were successful. And no one ever tried to pick us up, which indicates we may have failed and our force perished. Our enemies abandoned us here, believing we had been punished enough, as indeed we have.
“But to continue, horrible as that happening was, that wasn’t what I wanted to tell you. This refuge was created by the—they weren’t human, but I will call them people—living here. But Bade is the only one who got in. The only one of them who survived. The rest of the animal and plant life that shared the planet with them perished. In order to live, he must steal from the world he left behind. So he, too, is a prisoner of his deeds, as we are.
“Now, do you still want to find your king and bring him back to your world? Do you still want to begin this war with Merlin and his allies, the Saxons? And, truth be known, he has friends in Rome and Constantinople.”
“I thought they abandoned us long ago,” I said. “The Romans.”
“Oh, they still meddle where they can’t dominate,” Lais said. “And if this Arthur becomes the king I think he will, they will be anxious to seize him, also.”
I chewed my lip until I tasted blood.
“Well?” she asked.
I added it up and saw the whole. Before he was born, the druids in Ireland and Britain saw a wave of omens surrounding this king. But they knew—my mother knew, I think—that his wife would be crucial. She had to bring him an army.
If I could do what Kyra wanted me to do, seat myself on the Dragon Throne, he would become the most powerful high king since the legions marched away. Between the two of us, we would have the power to crush the Saxons and bring any other faction to heel. Extend our rule over the whole country, break the power of the Romano-British landowners in the south, end the slave trade, put down piracy, and restore order throughout the realm.
It wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done.
“Yes!” Lais said. “You know.”
“Is he?” I asked. “Is he … do you think … able to take command of such a force and win?”
“Oh, yes. And don’t give yourself too many airs and graces. He might even be able to do it without you. Though I don’t like his chances if he hasn’t the backing of the Painted People and a strong queen by his side.
“Well, then,” she continued. “I think your time is up. Farry will sail with the tide. You haven’t much time.”
The light was beginning to fail. She seemed to withdraw.
“Mother!” I said, and felt the furry bulk press against my leg.
“Wait!” I said. But the light vanished. I had more questions; they weren’t important, though.
Mother accompanied me down the stair. I stopped and drank from the holy well. And when I looked up from the water, Mother was gone.
A thing can be very old and still beautiful. Or, at least, beautiful was my judgment.
Dugald sniffed. “Primitive,” was his.
Maeniel said the word is meaningless and is most often used as a pejorative to demean something we do not understand.
Still, looking back over the whole of my life, I think the great hall and assembly room of the Painted People is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. It was very big, almost as big as a small Roman amphitheater.
Farry landed us near the coast, not on it. A ship cannot dock there. The wind and wave action is too fierce, the rocks too jagged, and the climb to any habitable place too steep for a harbor. But I was surprised once we reached the cliff tops how many people were present.
Kyra said that probably every village had sent at least one person, and most came in groups to this most important Beltane assembly. All the most influential among her people would be present, men and women both, to aid in choosing the new queen.
They were a hard-looking and dangerous bunch, Kyra’s people. They looked to be well off, also. Both men and women carried a variety of weapons and wore boiled-leather or quilted armor.
It was cold here, even in May, and the sky was an icy blue, hazed with high clouds crisscrossing it in pale streaks. The wind was blowing a gale, troubling the long woolen dresses of the women and the furs both men and women wrapped around their bodies.
We were known to them, and they greeted us with a mixture of suspicion and awe. Dunnel, the chieftain of the village where we once lived, was present, accompanied by Issa, his daughter, and a rather chastened Bain.
I saw no reason not to be polite, and I was cordial in my greetings to all three. Issa was swelling with her third child: the first had died; the second, a boy, survived and was walking now. I congratulated her on her present condition. She smiled and was deferential toward me.
Bain slipped away and would meet neither Dugald’s nor Maeniel’s eyes. But Dunnel kissed me on the cheek and asked after Black Leg. I told Dunnel he had left to begin his warrior training. Then he and Issa accompanied us to the great hall.
It is, as I have said, a magnificent thing. The people who built it long ago as a seat for the queens took advantage of a natural hollow in the ground. It stands in the midst of a mysterious oak wood. Oaks are always solid trees, but these were far stronger than any I have ever seen before or since. Given the wind and the cold, none were very big, but the boles were thick and strong as rocks, some of them, I judged, more than fifteen feet in diameter.
Each trunk gave rise to equally thick, gnarled and twisted branches, which held clusters of leaves that shone like green polished rock. The bark was deep, matte black, and the leaves glowed against them. I suppose they were tall enough; they were all over my head and the ground was thick with their leaves, acorns, and deadfall branches.
“How old?” I asked Kyra.
“No one knows,” she said. “It is said that they were here long before the hall was built, when the first people to flee the rising sea came to gather acorns for their winter food. For the nuts they drop are very sweet and good. So the first people knew they would prosper even here.”
We were still climbing, and the slope was steep. Then we got to the top; a wide, flat rock overlooked the surrounding countryside. We stood looking out over what seemed the whole world.
All around us the mountain slopes were covered with forest. The most rocky slopes held trees like these—oaks twisted and windblown but stubborn and hard. Like the people who live among them, I think. In places where the soil was thicker, the tall Caledonian pine clothed the slopes. It was wet here, wetter than you would think; and numerous creeks and streams tumbled down, whispering, gurgling, and sheeting over the rocky beds into lakes small and large scattered within the forest.
The rest of the way was not a difficult climb. Kyra’s friend greeted us at the arched door to the hall.
This was where I first met Mondig. He was a short man, strongly built. He rather reminded me of Gray, but his face was so ugly. His eyes were slightly protuberant, his mouth weak, and he had no chin at all.
“Kyra,” he said. He didn’t sound at all happy. “I had believe
d you dead.… ”
“Or worse,” Kyra finished the sentence for him.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. I suppose that’s right.”
He glanced at me. “I suppose this is the one.”
“She is,” Kyra answered.
“Yes, yes.” He rubbed his hands together. They made a dusty, rasping sound. “Another God child, I suppose. Well, at least this one’s pretty. The other two, the ones already here, could be set out to scare mice.”
I was nettled. “What!” I asked Kyra. “Have you brought me before another fool who wants to say my mother was a loose woman?” The talk at Igrane’s court had cut me more deeply than I realized. I’m not so easily angered, but I was tired of people casting aspersions on Riona, who was, by all accounts, a brave, strong woman.
Mondig drew back, looking startled. Something like respect flashed in his eyes.
“She’s direct enough,” he told Kyra. He still looked dubious.
Maeniel held my arm. A gust of wind hit, blowing my dress and hair wildly. It was strong enough to make everyone clutch at their clothing and duck their heads against the dust, twigs, and dead leaves set flying.
“They liked this place,” Mondig muttered. “I can’t think why. Don’t stand outside in the cold. Come in where it’s warm.”
As I said, the builders of the hall had taken advantage of a natural depression when they built it. The arched door was so low even I had to duck down to enter, but once inside I was stricken with awe at its size. As I said, it resembled an amphitheater. Most of it was underground. In this climate, that made sense.
There were staggered rows of seats on each side. They were made of stone, obviously carved out of the limestone that made up this mountain. Aisles led down toward a central court around a fire pit. In that sense, it was like a conventional house, only much, much larger. The roof was braced by many posts, each bearing different carvings.
“Each tribe has a place here,” Kyra told me. “They know by the carvings on the posts where they are to sit. You will be seated in the center.”
The posts held up a lattice of curved beams that in turn held a woven osier dome, covered by cowhides. In turn, green turf waterproofed the roof. From the outside, it looked like our house used to—a green mound near the sea. Every exposed bit of wood was carved in the most wonderful way I have ever seen. The largest of the chiefly halls paled by comparison to it. Salmon leaped, dragons swam, wolves hunted, bears roared, trees bloomed, vines climbed; and above, stags gamboled, antlers high, holding the osier lattice that held the roof.
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