by J. M. Hofer
They both meant well, but Bran was feeling worse by the moment. “Gods, I didn’t ask for her to do this!”
“Of course not.” Gwion shook his head. “But you must understand, it was the only way. Had she not done this for you, you would surely have been taken by the lake. Make no mistake about that. No amount of strength or will could have saved you. Besides, Tegid Voel is not a tyrant. Much worse situations have befallen the selkie than becoming the wife of as powerful a guardian as Tegid Voel.”
Bran considered this, but it did not comfort him. He sat down and put his face in his hands, thinking of poor Ula and what she had done for him. “Well,” he resolved after some time, “I’ll not disgrace her by sitting here idly, when she’s made such a sacrifice for me.” He stood up. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”
“Not too far from my villa.” Lucia pointed toward some trees and hills in the distance.
Bran walked over to Gethen. “We’ll need another horse. Gethen can’t carry three of us.” He turned to Lucia. “Could you call upon one of the farmers who worked your land, perhaps?”
She nodded. “There is one I know who will surely help me. He lives not far from here.”
Bran bent down and picked up the pack Lucia had been carrying. “Let’s go, then.”
***
Within an hour, Lucia had led them to an old farmhouse.
“Wait here. I want to speak to him alone.”
“Are you sure?” He did not like the idea of her venturing off on her own.
“Yes, I’ll be quite safe.” She smiled at him, and he felt his heart quicken.
A few hours later, she returned with a dappled mare. He was pleased. “Well done. We’ll make much better time now.”
“We will,” Lucia agreed. “This is Braith.” She stroked the mare, and then looked over at Gwion, her eyes welling with tears.
Gods, what is it now? “Lucia, what’s wrong?”
She wiped her eyes. “Colwyn thought we had all died in the fire, or had been taken by the ‘blood-drinkers’—that’s what he called them. He saw the villa burning. He and his boys ran to help fight the fire. His wife insisted on going as well...” Her voice broke down and Bran surmised the rest. She was struggling not to sob.
He put his arms around her. These are the first friends or family she’s lost to the enemy, he realized.
After a moment, she managed to compose herself and pulled away. “He asked about you and your mother, Gwion. I told him we’d been living with family, and that I’d come back to check on the villa and found it burned. He asked if I had plans to rebuild it, so I know it still sits in ruins. Camulos lied to me about having it rebuilt. He had no plans to bring me back here.”
“He would have taken you to her,” Gwion said with certainty.
Damned bastard. If our paths ever cross, I’ll crush him. He took a deep breath. “Well, shall we go?”
Lucia and Gwion nodded.
The narrow trail they were following led to the main road and opened up. It meandered through the trees for awhile until it began to climb upward toward the crest of a long ridge. When they reached the top, Bran looked over to see Lucia smiling into the wind, gazing down onto the vast rolling moor that unfurled in front of them. “Let’s see how fast you are, shall we?” she said to her mare, kicking her in the flanks. The mare took off like a lightning bolt and Lucia shrieked with joy.
Always eager to run, Gethen gave chase and the two horses thundered across the moor. Lucia’s hood flew back in a gust of wind, releasing her copper curls. They exploded in a wild dance around her head like flames. Even with Gwion’s added weight, Gethen could not be outrun, and he was quickly alongside the mare. The two horses ran head to head until they reached the river.
“I don’t recognize any of this,” Lucia said breathlessly as they stopped.
Her cheeks were red from the cold wind. Bran felt stunned by how green her eyes looked above them. “We’re not traveling the same way you came before,” he explained. “This is faster.” He nodded toward Lucia’s mare. “She’s a good horse.”
“Colwyn said I could keep her.” Lucia reached down and patted her side. “He can’t afford to feed her anymore.” She shook her head, her mouth twisted with concern. “Poor man. He’s all alone now, trying to take care of that farm without his sons or wife—I don’t see how he can possibly manage.”
She feels responsible for what happened. He knew well how guilt ate away the soul. “Lucia, I’ll make certain he has help, or a place in our village if he wishes it.”
“You will?”
“Yes. I know where to find him.”
She smiled at him in such a way that he knew she would have run to kiss him if she had not been in a saddle. That’s thanks enough.
***
The rest of their journey was uneventful. By mid-morning on the third day, they neared Bran’s village. “Almost there.” he smiled, eager to see his people.
Lucia looked over at him. “These times have brought many men back from the dead. You’ll be one of them today.”
“Yes, I will.” Bran reached up and fingered the brand upon his neck.
They crossed the open meadow, where he knew they would be seen approaching.
Soon, a young man rode out to meet them. The look on the boy’s face as he recognized him was a mix of shock and joy. “Lord Bran! You’re alive! Lady Seren will be so pleased!”
“Yes, boy—ride back and tell her.”
“Right away, my lord!” The boy turned his horse around and rode hard back across the meadow.
Bran looked over at Lucia and smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bran’s Return
“My Lord Pennaeth!” Gawain yelled, galloping into the battle camp.
Aelhaearn tossed his ax aside and glanced at the youth running toward him. “What is it?”
Gawain lowered his voice so that none but Aelhaearn could hear his message. “Lord Bran has returned.”
No. It’s not possible. “Are you certain? You’ve seen the man with your own eyes?”
Gawain nodded, breathless. “Yes. I spoke to him on the meadow path. He arrived yesterday afternoon with Lady Lucia and a boy.”
The gods are full of surprises, it seems. Aelhaearn clapped a hand on Gawain’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. I’ll leave for the village at once.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Aelhaearn walked off, his mind teeming with questions. How did he survive the caves? Before leaving, he went to seek counsel with Einon. He found him in the makeshift forge he had set up, mending horseshoes.
Einon noticed him enter and looked up from his work. “How do you fare this morning, Pennaeth?”
“I may not hold that title long.” Aelhaearn wrinkled his brow. “Bran’s returned to the village.”
“What?” Einon set down his hammer and looked up toward the unseen deities, gratitude on his face. “Gods be praised!”
Aelhaearn stroked his beard, thinking through all of the repercussions Bran’s return might have. “Do you think his return will divide the clan?”
Einon frowned at him. “Gods, Aelhaearn! Must we talk of such things so soon? The man has survived the caves!”
“Must we?” Aelhaearn raised his eyebrows. “Yes, of course, we must!”
Einon nodded, holding up his hands in surrender. “Will it divide the clan? Perhaps. You can’t deny that Bran may wish to reclaim his position. It will depend much on Seren and what stand she takes. The Council looks to her in matters they cannot decide upon themselves.”
That’s certainly not reassuring—she loves him more than anyone. Seren bore her brother a love and respect that he had never been able to compete with. It had always bothered him.
Einon raised a finger. “I would have you remember, though, that Bran was never actually sworn in as Pennaeth—you were—and you’ve carried the title with honor—it’s you who’ve kept the cauldron-born from our doors. I know of no man who doesn’t bear you respect for it.”
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Aelhaearn took a deep breath. “Good to hear.”
Einon gave a nod. “Well, let’s go. I’m anxious to see him.”
They left the forge together. Aelhaearn barked orders to the warriors in the camp as they made their way to the stables. He let them know he and Einon were going to the village and would be back the next day, but said nothing more.
They arrived in the village by mid-day and found Bran and his companions surrounded by the clan in the motherhouse. Einon impatiently pushed his way through to where Bran was seated. “Thank the gods, Bran! Embrace me!” he bellowed, throwing his huge arms around him.
“Uncle.” Bran beamed, returning the warm greeting. “I’m so glad to be home. This is Gwion.” He reached back and put his hand on his small companion’s shoulder, leading him forward. “He is grandson to the High Priestess Rowan, and a friend of Lady Lucia, who has also returned with me.”
Einon smiled at the boy. “Your grandmother is well-respected among our people.” He nodded respectfully in Lucia’s direction. “Welcome back, my lady.”
Aelhaearn made his way over much more slowly, preferring to watch from a distance. Gods, he’s wasted away. And what the hell is she doing here?
Bran seemed to feel him watching, for he looked his direction. He stood up to make his way over with Lucia, Seren and Gwion at his heels.
Like three little lap dogs. Aelhaearn felt a wave of disgust, but masked his disdain. “Bran, it’s good to see you alive, brother. We all thought you’d surely met your end in the caves.”
Bran nodded. “I thought I’d never see the light of day again. Seems the gods have spared me.” He looked Aelhaearn up and down and glanced around the room. “Much has changed.”
“Much indeed,” Aelhaearn replied, his tone a bit cautionary. “You’ll have to tell us how you escaped the caves tonight. I’m sure it’s a tale that’ll keep everyone close to the fire.”
“It will, indeed.” Bran gave him a somber look.
Aelhaearn then looked at Lucia. “Where’s your husband?” He glanced at Bran for a reaction, hoping this would stir the hornet’s nest.
Before she could answer, Bran spoke up. “They ran into cauldron-born on the road and became separated. Lucia and Gethen were badly wounded, but made it to the Isle. Her husband’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“I see.” Aelhaearn felt disappointed. He walked up very close to Lucia, and bent down to whisper in her ear. “Let it be said, that if your husband ever comes here in search of you again, I will not hesitate to part his head from his shoulders.”
“Understood, my lord.” She cast her eyes down.
“Pennaeth,” he corrected.
“Understood, Pennaeth.”
He turned back to Bran. “We sent many men into the caves to search for you, but most did not return. Your cousin, Gareth, went in searching for you, and he’s still missing as well.”
Bran sighed heavily. “He’s not missing, I’m afraid. I found his body in the caves. I’m grateful you didn’t send any others.”
Aelhaearn noticed Seren fighting back tears, but she did not break down in front of her people. Within moments, she was herself again. “I’m sorry to hear this. Seeing you alive, I had hopes he might yet live as well.”
Bran simply shook his head.
“There’s more you need to know, now that Aelhaearn is here,” she said, looking at Aelhaearn and then back to her brother. “We needed a chieftain in your absence, more desperately than ever, as the cauldron-born suddenly began attacking nightly…”
The clanspeople around them quieted down, waiting to see how Bran would react to the words that followed. Aelhaearn tensed, prepared to fight Bran for the title if he chose to challenge him.
“We’d given up hope that you still lived, and the Council and I made the decision to swear in Aelhaearn as Chieftain.”
Aelhaearn readied himself for a confrontation. To his surprise, Bran seemed unfazed by the news.
“I understand.” Bran nodded. “I’m glad there was such a man here to do what I could not.”
What? Aelhaearn had been prepared for any reaction but acceptance.
Bran looked him in the eye. “Lord Aelhaearn, I’ve come home to present you with the sword of our people. Let it be done tonight, amongst the warriors.” He held out his hand.
Seren looked concerned, but Aelhaearn ignored her. He stepped forward to clasp Bran’s forearm in return. “I must admit, I didn’t expect this.”
“Gwion brought me the news of all that had happened here in my absence. At first, I’ll admit, it was my intention to return and reclaim my place. Now, I see it’s yours. You’ve clearly proven yourself more than worthy. My destiny lies elsewhere.”
Aelhaearn was more than pleased by his good fortune, but was wise enough to be wary of it. Seems too good to be true. He knew such things almost always proved to be just that.
***
“Seren, how can you be sure he has not been bewitched?” Aelhaearn asked. He had been arguing with her for an hour but she would not see reason.
Seren’s eyes flashed with rage. “Speak no more! I’ve mourned my brother every night since he disappeared, and now that the Great Mother has returned him to us, you would have me believe he’s bewitched? No! This rottenness comes from your jealousy! You should count yourself fortunate that he brings no challenge to your title!”
Choose your next words carefully. He waited for a moment, and lowered his voice. “All I’m saying is that he spent two moons in the caves, and we must be wary of this possibility. That’s all,” he said calmly. “Think also on the boy. Tell me, how is it that the finest trackers in the Eastern tribe could not find Bran, yet a boy of no more than twelve years or so was able to, supposedly in the northern wilderness? Not even Taranis’ people venture that far north! You know this!”
She was quiet a moment, considering his words. “I admit, what the boy has accomplished is—impressive,” she finally conceded.
“Yes, it is.” He gave her an encouraging nod. “I know you love your brother more than anyone upon this earth. I would be a cruel man to try and rob you of believing he has wholly returned. I ask only that we watch him and his companions closely over the next few days. That’s all. Would you fault me for this? It’s my sworn oath to protect this clan, and I don’t take my oaths lightly. I make no accusations—I merely ask for caution.”
Seren stood and faced him. “Be cautious, then, but know this—if you should plot against my brother behind my back, or attempt to bring him any harm, I’ll see to it that you suffer well for your efforts. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re more powerful than I am.”
Aelhaearn was taken aback by the vehement force exuding from Seren, and his blood boiled at her threats. He lost his temper and grasped her by her arms, pulling her face close to him so she could not help but look into his eyes. I could crush her if I wanted to.
“Priestess or not, do not speak to me like that,” he warned through clenched teeth. “You would do well to remember that I am Pennaeth of this clan, whether you regret it or not, and our people respect me and do my bidding. You will as well!”
She stared back at him defiantly, but she could not fool him. He saw the proper amount of fear filling her eyes, and it satisfied his ego. He released his grip on her and left her alone to think on it.
***
Earlier that morning, Aelhaearn had sent for the warriors to come to the village to welcome Bran home and witness the handing over of Drynwyn, as well as collect supplies for the camp and spend a night with their women. Now the work was done and dusk had fallen. He could hear everyone gathering in the motherhouse, eager for some ale and a bit of warmth and comfort. They deserve it, Aelhaearn thought. Even the most hardened of warriors grows tired of blood.
He stopped for a moment at the great doors to the hall and tilted his head back to look up at the stars. He took a deep, long breath and said a prayer of gratitude. The threat that had been prickling him for moons was gone now.
He entered and noticed Seren sitting next to Bran, speaking with Lucia and the boy. His good mood turned a bit sour. What lies are they telling her? He kept his eyes on them as he went to his place and sat upon the furs laid out for him. A servant rushed over to fill his drinking horn.
Once he was settled, Bran stood to speak. All eyes looked toward him. “Brethren, I’m grateful to be back among you again.”
Cheers erupted through the motherhouse, the clan crying Bran’s name, wishing him a long life and children, and other such things.
“I stand here tonight to acknowledge the great Aelhaearn as Chieftain and Protector of the South. I’m honored to present him with the sword of our people.”
Bran approached, knelt down in respect, and held out Dyrnwyn.
Aelhaearn was filled with immense joy at the sight. Bran, kneeling at my feet, offering me the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything in my life. Could it be any more perfect? He looked down at the scabbard holding the beautiful hilt of Dyrnwyn, took it from Bran, and drew the beautiful sword, holding it up, watching in amazement as the light danced along its blade from hilt to tip. What a glorious sight! Mine.
The dream he had held since his boyhood had come to pass—Chieftain of the Clan, with Dyrnwyn at my side. He turned it around, staring at it in awe and respect. He still could not believe Bran had parted with it. The clan cheered, and his dream was complete.
“A weapon fit for a king,” Einon smiled.
“Yes.” Aelhaearn nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“With your skills in the forge, Pennaeth, you can appreciate it more than most,” Einon added. “I know I do.”
Aelhaearn smiled. “I can scarcely believe it will now hang by my side…after thinking we’d lost it forever…”
“It’s a blessing to have it back where it belongs.”
Aelhaearn suddenly found his fear of Bran and the situation ridiculous and chided himself for it. Let them make any move they wish—what kind of match is an emaciated warrior, a woman and a boy against a Firebrand wielding Dyrnwyn, with a tribe of southern warriors at his command? None at all.
