Merlin pc-2

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  She raised her hands to the moon and began to sing. The tune was the old changeless melody of the hills, but the words were newly composed in my honour, recounting my life with the fhain. She sang it all: the night I had come to them, and my near sacrifice; my struggles with their language; our firelight lessons together; the incident with the tallfolk; the herding, the lambing, the hunting, the eating, the living.

  When she finished, all sat in quiet respect. I rose to my feet and embraced her and then, one by one, the fhain came to say farewell – each taking my hands and kissing them in blessing. Teirn gave me a spear he had made, and Nolo presented me with a new bow and a quiver of arrows, saying, 'Do take this, Myrddin-brother. You will need it on your way.'

  'I do thank you, main-brother Nolo. I will use it gladly.'

  Elac was next. 'Myrddin-brother, as you are big as a mountain' – in truth, I had grown in my time with them and now towered over them all – 'you will be cold in winter. Do take this cloak.' He wrapped a handsome wolfskin cloak around my shoulders.

  'I do thank thee, fhain-brother Elac. I will wear it with pride.'

  Vrisa came last. She took my hands and kissed them. 'You are a man now, Myrddin-brother,' she said softly. 'You will need good gold for a wife.' She removed two golden bracelets from her arm and placed one on each wrist and then hugged me close.

  If she had asked me to stay, I would have done so. But the matter was settled; she and the other women slipped away among the standing stones and in a little while the men went to them so that their eager love making would ensure another fruitful year. I returned to the rath with Gern-y-fhain, who offered me a blessing cup of heather beer, which I drank and then went to sleep.

  Heavy-hearted, I left my Hill Folk family the next morning. They stood outside the rath and waved me away, the dogs and children running alongside my black pony as I made my way down the hill. I came to the stream in the valley where the children and dogs stopped, for they would not cross the water, and I looked back to see that the fhain had vanished. All that remained was the hilltop and the grey, sunless sky beyond.

  I was in the tallfolk world once again.

  EIGHT

  I travelled south and east, hoping to strike the old Roman road that extended north of the Wall as far as Arderydd – or farther, for all I knew. This would lead me to Deva, City of Legions in the north, and the mountains of Gwynedd and the place where I had last seen my people. I had no better thought than to return to the hills and glens around Yr Widdfa where I had last seen the men searching for me. I never doubted whether there would be anyone there; I was certain of it, as I was certain of the sun rising in the east. They would search until they received word or sign that I was dead; without that they would search for ever.

  I had only to cross their path. Time was growing short, however; one day soon the weather would break and the searchers would return home for the winter. Already the days were crisp and the sunlight thin. If I did not find them soon, I would have to ride all the way to Maridunum – a most difficult and dangerous journey for one alone.

  By riding from before sunrise until well after sunset, I was able to traverse the wide, empty land with some speed. The main had come far north with the seasons. I did not realize how far north until I saw the great Celyddon Forest raising its black hump before me on the horizon. Apparently, we had skirted the forest to the west a year ago when travelling to winter quarters. And though the quickest route to the south lay through the forest's dark heart, I was loathe to take it.

  But time was no friend to me with winter coming on. So, with my spear in my hand and my bow ready, I turned towards the forest track,.hoping to pass through in three or four days. The first day and night proved uneventful. I rode along pathways aflame with autumn colour – burning reds and golds, yellows that glowed in the falling light. Only the swish and crack of my pony's hooves in the dry leaves, and the occasional shriek of a bird or natter of a squirrel, marked our passing. Among the great stands of oak and ash, their iron-dark boles hoary and bearded with green moss, spreading elm and rowan, slender pine and massive yew, silence reigned and gave us to know with every step that we were intruders there.

  The second day began with a mist that turned to a weepy, sodden rain which soon drenched me to the skin. Wet and cold, I pursued my miserable way until I came to a fern-grown clearing beside a racing stream. As I sat deciding where to cross, the rain stopped and the cloud-cover thinned so that the sun appeared a pale white disk. I slid from the pony's back, led it through the pungent fern to the water's edge and gave it to drink.

  I suppose the clearing with its patch of sky above seemed a convivial place, so I started shrugging off my soaking clothing and spreading it on the rocks along the stream-bed in anticipation of the sun. And I was not disappointed.

  But, as the clouds parted, I heard a crashing in the wood nearby. I dropped instinctively into my invisible posture. The noise increased, coming directly towards me, and of course I recognized the sound: a boar in full flight with a hunter right behind.

  A moment later a gigantic old tusker broke through the underbrush not a dozen paces upstream. The great beast's hide was criss-crossed with scars marked in white tufts against the bristling black. And, like the battlechief that it was, the fearsome creature did not pause in its heedless, headlong flight, but plunged straight into the water, thrashed across in a frothing spray and disappeared into the wood on the other side.

  Right behind came the rider. The instant the horse cleared the underbrush and leaped to the bank the sun broke through the swift-scattering cloud and a shaft of light struck like a spear heaved from on high, illuminating a most unusual sight: a mount the colour of grey morning mist – a handsome animal, long-legged and graceful, by appearances more hart than horse, white mane flying, nostrils flared to the scent of the boar. And a rider, slender and fierce, eyes wide with the excitement of the chase, hair like midnight streaming unbound behind, the sun striking the polished facets of a silver breastplate, slender arm hefting a long, silver boarspear so thin it appeared a frozen moonbeam caught in her hand.

  In an instant, I knew this hunter to be the raven-haired girl I had seen while fire-gazing.

  A heartbeat later, I doubted whether I had seen her at all, for the horse gathered its legs and leaped the stream as lightly as a bird taking flight. Horse and rider landed on the opposite shore and disappeared into the greengrowth on the other side, hot on the trail of the boar.

  If not for the sound of the continuing chase, I might have dreamed them. But as the crackling and thumping of the hunt receded into the wood, I snatched up my clothes and threw them on again, led my pony across the stream, and rode after.

  The trail was not at all difficult to follow. Still, they moved surprisingly fast, for I did not catch another glimpse of hunter or game until nearly tumbling over them in a grassy hollow in the dim forest.

  The huge boar lay on its belly, legs collapsed under it, the slender shaft protruding through the massive hump of its shoulder into its chest where the leaf-shaped blade had cleft its heart; the great tusks were curved and yellow, the cunning little eyes glittered bright with bloodlust. The girl still sat her mount, and the grey horse snorted its triumph and raked the ground with a delicate forehoof.

  She did not turn to me at first, although I surely made a fearful din as I burst blindly through the yew hedge; her attention was absorbed in the kill. It was a prize worthy of a champion and no mistake. Mind, I have seen boars of all sizes, and I also have seen experienced spearmen quail at the sight of a charging tusker. But I have never seen a boar so big, nor a maid so coolly composed.

  Was it courage or arrogance?

  The exultant glimmer in her eye, the set of her jaw, the regal posture… there was power in every comely line of her. I was in the presence of a woman, however young – she could not have been above fifteen summers – who chanced everything, quailed at nothing, admitted no defeat.

  Only when she had drunk deep of the sight of her
kill did she deign to notice me. 'You intrude, stranger.' Her speech, after the singing Hill Folk tongue, sounded odd in my ears; but I understood, for it was very like the speech of Llyonesse.

  I inclined my head, accepting her appraisal. 'Forgive me, I am indeed a stranger.'

  'That,' she pointed out, 'is not your transgression.'

  She crooked a leg over her mount and slipped to the ground, then walked to the boar and stood gazing at it with pleasure. 'This one fought well.'

  'I do not wonder. By the look of him, many have tried to bring him down and failed.'

  This pleased her. 'I did not fail.' She loosed a wild war whoop of sheer pleasure. The cry echoed through the wood and faded, whereupon she turned to me. 'What do you here?' Her manner implied that the entire forest belonged to her.

  'As you see, I am a traveller.'

  'As I see, you are a dirty boy in reeking wolfskins.' She wrinkled her nose imperially. 'You do not look a traveller tome.'

  'Accept that I am.'

  'I believe you.' She turned suddenly and, placing a booted foot against the boar's shoulder hump, pulled sharply on the spear and drew it out. The silver shaft dripped dark red blood. She observed this for a moment and then began wiping the spear on the beast's hide.

  That skin will make a fine trophy,' I remarked, stepping closer.

  She levelled the spear at me. 'So would yours, wolf boy.'

  'Is everyone hereabouts as ill-mannered as you?'

  She laughed, a light fillip in the air. 'I am admonished.' Her tone denied her words entirely. She returned the spear to its holder on her saddle. 'Will you stand there like a stump, or will you help me carry back my kill?'

  Truly, I did not see how the monster before us could be carried back without a wagon, nor heaved into a wagon without the help of half-dozen brawny men. Certainly, neither horse could carry the weight. But the girl was not dismayed. She removed a hand axe from behind her saddle and directed me to start felling a few of the slender birches from a stand across the hollow from where we stood.

  I did as I was told and together we began hacking the branches from the trees and lashing the clean poles together with rawhide strips to form a crude litter. The work went quickly and pleasantly for me, for I had the opportunity of observing her graceful body in motion.

  She had removed her silver breastplate while I was cutting the trees and now worked beside me in a light blue riding tunic and checked kilt of the sort that many of the remote hill tribes wore. Her boots were soft doeskin, and at her wrists and throat were narrow silver bands set with blue stones. Long-limbed and slender, her skin smooth and delicate as milk, she nevertheless gave herself to her work with a passion I suspected she lavished on all things that happened to capture her interest.

  We spoke little while we worked, enjoying the challenge of the task before us, and the rhythm of two people working as one. Once the poles of the litter had been secured, then came the difficult part: rolling the enormous carcass onto the platform. I brought my black hill pony to the boar, and we looped a length of rawhide around the boar's forelegs, and with one of the remaining poles as a lever half-dragged and half-rolled the huge carcass into position.

  Grunting, sweating, heaving at the dead weight with all our strength, we nudged the carcass onto the Utter, where it slipped and rolled sideways onto my leg. The girl laughed and leaped to help me; as she bent near, I drank in the warm woman-scent and the light aromatic oils she used as perfume. The touch of her hands on my skin was like a dancing flame against the flesh.

  I struggled free of the boar and we continued the laborious task. Some while later we finished tying down the beast, then stood looking at one another for a moment, both flushed with pride and exhaustion at our accomplishment, and dripping sweat. 'After a hunt,' she told me, amusement glimmering in eyes the colour of cornflowers, 'I am accustomed to swim.' She paused and looked me up and down. 'You could do with a bath as well, but… ' she lifted a palm equivocally, 'it is getting late.'

  In truth, the prospect of bathing with this beautiful young woman sent a ripple of pleasure through my loins. I did not think it so late, but she moved away without waiting for my answer, mounted her horse and rode a few paces before turning back to me. 'Well, I suppose you have earned a crust by the fire and a pallet in the stable. You had better follow me, wolf boy.'

  I needed no second invitation, and likely would not have received one anyway, so took up my reins and followed. Getting the boar home was far from easy – fording the stream was the hardest part. But as the sun was touching the, western hills we came within sight of a large settlement – at least twenty fair-sized timber dwellings crouching along the shores of a deep mountain lake. On a mound at one end of the lake stood a palace consisting of a great hall, stable, kitchen, granary, and temple – all of timber.

  We rode down to this settlement through the trees, and the people came running to greet us. Upon seeing the boar, they shouted and gave the lady loud acclaim, which she accepted with such poise and modesty that I knew her noble born. Her father ruled here and these were his subjects and his beloved daughter. For loved she was, I could see it on the faces of those around us – she was their treasure.

  As this was so, I received a rather cooler reception. Those who noticed me at all frowned, and some pointed at me rudely. They did not like seeing a filthy foundling beside her. Indeed, with very little encouragement they would have taken up the stones at their feet and pelted me away.

  Did I blame them? No, I did not.

  I felt decidedly unworthy riding beside her. And looking at myself through their eyes… Well, trotting beside their beautiful lady on a shaggy pony was an even shaggier boy dressed in leather and wolfskin, looking like something fresh out of the northern wastes, which I was; foreign and certainly not to be trusted.

  But the girl did not seem to mind, and took no notice of my unease. I looked this way and that, with a growing feeling that it had been a mistake to come, that I should have fared better in the forest. We rode through the settlement, along the shingle beside the lake, and up the mound to the palace. The villagers did not come up, but remained a respectful distance away.

  'What is this place?' I asked as we dismounted. Servants were hurrying towards us.

  'This is my father's house,' explained the girl.

  'Who might your father be?'

  'You will see soon enough. Here he comes.'

  I turned to where she looked and saw a giant strolling towards me with great, ground-eating strides. He was as tall as any two of the Hill Folk, taller even than Avallach, and broadly built as well, with heavy shoulders, a thick chest, and limbs like yew stumps. He had long brown hair which he wore pulled back tight and bound in a golden ring. His soft boots came to his knees and his kilt bore the red-and-green checked design of the north. Two enormous black wolfhounds bounded at his heels.

  'My father,' said the girl and ran to meet him. He caught her up and lifted her off her feet in a fearsome embrace. I winced, fearing the cracking of her ribs. But he set her down lightly and came to where I stood.

  The giant took one glance at the boar; his eyes grew round, and he opened his mouth and laughed, so that the timbers of his house shivered and the sound echoed from the tree-clad hills. 'Well done, lass!' He clapped hands the size of platters. 'Well done, my darling girl.'

  He kissed her and turned suddenly to me. 'And who might you be, lad?'

  'He helped me with the boar, father,' the girl explained. 'I told him he could have supper and a bed for his trouble.' 'It was no trouble,' I managed to squeak out. 'So that is the way of it,' the man said, neither pleased nor displeased as yet, but certainly reserving judgement. 'Do you have a name then?'

  'Merlin,' I replied. The word sounded strange in my ears. 'Myrddin ap Taliesin among my own people.'

  'You have people, do you?' Was he mocking me? 'Then why are you not with them?'

  'I was taken by Hill Folk and was not able to escape until now,' I said, hoping that answer woul
d save further explaining. 'My people are in the south. I am going to them now.'

  'Where in the south?' 'In the Summerlands and Llyonesse.' The man frowned. 'So you say. I do not recall hearing of such places myself – if places they are. What name do your people go by?'

  'Cymry,' I told him.

  'Them I have heard of at least.' He nodded, looking at my silver tore and the gold bracelets Vrisa had given me. They are your father's people?'

  'Yes. My grandfather is Lord Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir who was king of Gwynedd.'

  'Was?'

  'He lost his lands in the Great Conspiracy and moved south.'

  The huge man sighed sympathetically. 'A very bad time that. Aye, but still he was lucky – many a man lost more.' His voice was a rumble like wagon wheels going over a wooden bridge. 'Your father is a prince then.'

  'My father died soon after I was born.'

  'What of your mother? You did not mention her.'

  This was odd; I had never had so much attention paid to my lineage. But then, I had never before accepted lodging from a king's daughter. 'My mother is Chads, a princess of Llyonesse. My grandfather is King Avallach of Ynys Avallach.'

  He nodded approvingly, but his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be weighing me, perhaps calculating how far he could throw me into the lake, and how big the splash. At last he said, 'Royalty on both sides then. Good enough.' His eyes slid past mine to his daughter and then to the carcass of the boar which his men were gutting on the spot. 'Look at this now! Have you ever seen a finer prize? We will feast on it this time tomorrow.'

  With that the remarkable man turned and strode back to the great hall, the dogs trotting after him. 'My father likes you, wolf boy. You are welcome here.'

  'Am I?'

  'I have said so.'

  'You know all about me, and I do not even know your name – or that of your father, or where I have come, or… '