We walked for some time in silence, and heard no sound: neither birds nor sea-sounds reached the ear in that place. All was hushed and quiet beneath a heavy pall of dense haze-as if the hand of a god lay cupped over the island. Why this should be so, I cannot say. But I do not think it was a natural thing.
I followed Tegid, still a bit queasy, keeping my eyes to the uneven trail lest I catch my foot on a stone and fall down. When the sheep-track began to rise, however, I looked up to see the great hump of white rock soaring in front of me like an enormous bank of billowing cloud. The white rock formed a lofty promontory with three sides open to the sea. A narrow trail wound around the outer rim of the promontory. Without so much as a backward glance, the Gwyddon led us to this trail. At once the footpath became precipitous; one misstep and I would plunge headlong onto a scree-covered shingle far below.
I continued on, setting my feet to the path winding up and around the giant white rock. Upon reaching the furthest western extent, the track ended in a blank wall of stone. Pressing myself to the smooth rock face on my left hand, as I inched slowly closer, I saw the Gwyddon leading us pass into this wall of rock and disappear. I almost remarked on this, but remembered Tegid's warning and said nothing.
Tegid approached the rock wall, gave a quick sideways turn, and likewise disappeared. Following his example, I too stepped up to the wall, and then saw the narrow cleft-just wide enough for a man to pass through if he swung his shoulders to the side. I did as I had seen Tegid do, and stepped through the opening into a short tunnel. The tunnel floor slanted sharply upward. I scrambled up the last few paces into daylight and onto a huge, flat grass-covered plain. A scattering of sheep grazed over the green expanse, drifting like clouds across a wide green firmament.
In the center of the plain rose a vast conical mound with a flattened top. Whether the mound was a thing of nature, or crafted in some ancient age by human hands, there was no way to tell. Perhaps it was a little of both. Atop the mound, a slender pillar pointed a tapered finger towards the sky. At the foot of the mound were gathered the bards in numbers amounting to nearly a hundred-three thirties and three, I later learned-some dressed in brown, others in gray.
The bards were milling about aimlessly, some carrying their wooden rods, others holding branches of hazel, rowan, oak, and other trees. They moved among one another, crossing one another's paths in random fashion. Every now and again, one of the bards would stop and strike his rod against the ground three times, or raise his branch and revolve it slowly in a circle around his head. Closer, I could hear the low murmur of their voices uttering unintelligible words.
As we approached the steep-sided mound, one of the bards saw Tegid and stepped out from among the others to meet him. Coming nearer, I recognized that it was Ollathir, King Meldryn Mawr's bard. He glanced at me as Tegid and I came to stand before him, and seemed pleased to see me. But he spoke only to Tegid. They conferred with one another head-to-head for a short while, whereupon they were approached by a third bard, emerging from the throng. I recognized him, although it took me a moment to place him-then I remembered him as Prince Meldron's bard, Ruadh. The discussion fmished abruptly as Ruadh, smiling, joined the other two.
At the same moment, Ollathir whirled towards me. «Watch all,» the Chief Bard said, clutching me by the shoulder as if compelling me to understand. «Watch well.»
Then the three removed themselves to the company of the bards. I made to follow, but Tegid placed his hand against my chest and cautioned me with a curt shake of his head. I was left standing alone.
I gathered from Ollathir's cryptic instructions that I was to stay behind and act as some sort of observer, so I determined to find a good position from which to view the proceedings. I found no such place-not even a stone large enough to serve as a seat. I was still looking around when the bards, at some unseen signal, arranged themselves in ordered ranks and began walking around the base of the mound in a slow, sunwise circle.
Once, twice, three times they~ circled the mound, their voices murmuring in that strange, droning tongue. Upon completing the third circuit, they mounted the steep slopes of the mound to gather around the central pillar far above.
From my distant position below, I did not think I would see anything of interest. Certainly, I could not hear a word of what passed on the mound. What then was I to observe? I could, it seemed to me, but oversee the gathering itself. I could vouch for the fact that it took place, but little else.
Nevertheless, I trained my eyes upon the gathering atop the mound. A sonorous humming sound drifted down from above, which I supposed to be the bards chanting or singing.
This stopped after a while, and all became silent-except that every now and then I would hear something drifting down from on high in gusts and bursts: a snatch of debate, mumbled agreement, grumbled disapproval, sharp choruses of affirmation and dissent. What these outbursts signified, I could not say.
The morning passed in this way: I watched restlessly, craning my neck towards the high moundtop, the cloaked bards muttering and murmuring. I began to weary of my chore. Since I did not know what I was watching, and nothing seemed to be happening in any event, I became bored. My mind wandered.
After a while the morning sun burned through the white haze, revealing a deep blue sky beyond. Despite the chill beginning to the day, the sun warmed the plain. I lay back on my elbows in the grass and soon grew drowsy. As my eyelids drooped, it occurred to me that Ollathir would not thank me for falling asleep on duty, so I dragged myself to my feet and began walking slowly around the base of the mound.
This is how I passed the day, sitting in a bored stupor, relieved only by an occasional ramble around the mound. All the while the bards held their assembly, or gorsedd, as Tegid called it. Nothing happened, as far as I could tell-nothing, except the long slow march of the sun across the empty expanse of sky.
Late in the day, I climbed to my feet for yet another of my restless circuits around the broad base of the mound. I made one circle, then another. On my third or fourth time around, the assembly concluded and bards began streaming down the sides of the mound. Most of the bards tarried in separate clusters; still others sat apart on the sides of the mound, their arms folded, gazing out across the grass plain to the sea. However, one small group of a dozen or so bards remained atop the mound, their heads together as if in deep and desperate conversation.
I stood apart from the groups, but no one took any notice of me. The Derwyddi, sour-faced and glum, all seemed preoccupied with weighty matters; at one point, however, I saw one of the Derwyddi steal away from the group and hurry across the plain towards the hilltrack leading down to the strand. I noted it, since that was the only thing I saw the whole day.
As I did not see Tegid or Ollathir among any of the bards lingering on the hillside or plain, I supposed them to be among the group clustered around the standing stone atop the mound-and who, from the look of them, were ardently disputing some point. This palaver continued for a good while and then ceased abruptly. The bards lingering on the plain turned to watch their brothers coming down the slope, gazing, I thought, expectantly towards them.
But nothing was said, and no sign was given. Those who had been waiting took up places behind their leaders, and all moved in procession across the plain to the hillside track and began the long descent to the beach below.
Tegid came and stood by me as the others departed, warning me yet again to remain silent. Ollathir, who had been the last to come down from the mound, walked to where we stood. He neither looked at us nor spoke, but merely passed before us and continued on his way to the path. Tegid took his place behind Ollathir, and I followed.
By the time we arrived at the beach, the boats were plying the narrow channel between the islands. We waited as they worked back and forth across the strait, ferrying the Derwyddi to the larger island and the shore where their horses waited. We were the last to leave. Ollathir wanted it that way, I believe, though it made for a long, hungry wait.
> The sun was well down when we finally touched ground on Ynys Ocr once again. The Mabinogi and all the other bards had gone; only our horses remained in the shelter of the hut. It was as if the gorsedd had never happened. I found my weapons stashed in the stone hut, and a little bundle of food left behind. I retrieved my sword and spear, gathered up the food, and brought it to where Tegid and Ollathir stood in quiet consultation.
«We will stay here the night,» Tegid informed me. «There is much to do yet, and daylight will not last.»
Ollathir, grunting agreement, turned and walked away along the strand. Tegid watched him for a moment, and, seeing my wondering glance, explained, «Yes, he is troubled. The gorsedd did not.. . ,» he paused, hesitated, «it ended badly.»
I nodded. Tegid laughed at me. «You may speak now, my friend, Nothing prevents you.»
Strangely, until Tegid released me from my ban, I had not felt that I could speak-yet I had noticed no impediment. I found my tongue now, hoWever, and said, «Am I to know what is happening now? And why I have been brought here like this?»
Tegid put his hand on my shoulder. «It is for Ollathir to tell you what he will. When he returns, perhaps he will lay all before you.» He let his hand drop, and as he turned away I thought I heard him mutter, «Knowledge is a burden-once taken up, it can never be discarded.»
I watched him walk away, resenting the secrecy and guile. Oh yes, knowledge is a burden, I thought, but ignorance is a burden too-and one I was beginning to find extremely tedious. Someone had better tell me something soon, I vowed, or find himself another beast of burden.
Chapter 21
Cythrawl
Ollathir did not return until the sun had begun sinking behind Ynys Bаinail across the water. I had occupied myself with fetching water and gathering firewood for our use through the night. For Sollen would soon be upon us and, despite the day's warmth, once the sun had disappeared we would feel the cold. Indeed, I was kneeling over a pile of kindling, ready to strike the flame for the fire, when the Chief Bard stood over me.
«Do not kindle the flame,» he said. «Make ready a boat.» He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was distracted. He kept his eyes downcast and his arms crossed, with hands hidden in the sleeves of his siarc. His face was gray, the pallor of illness, although his voice was strong and his eyes clear.
I put aside the metal and flint, and proceeded at once to the strand where the ranks of boats bad been beached. Tegid joined me and we dragged one of the boats over the sand and pushed it into the water. I took up the oar and passed it to Tegid, standing by the prow until Ollathir was settled in, his rowan rod across his knees. Then I pushed the boat out into the water and clambered in.
Tegid worked the oar with some urgency, and I realized what drove him: the time-between-times. The sun was already sinking behind the White Rock; we must hurry if we were to reach the mound before twilight.
We made the crossing to Ynys Bбinail quickly, and just as quickly reached the winding hilltrack leading to the grassy plain. Ollathir led the way and Tegid followed. I came last, and felt once again that strange sensation of expanding– stretching, growing, becoming larger with every step. It was dizzying and unnerving. Yet I did not stop. I lowered my head, gulped deep breaths and plunged after the others. Heedless of my awkward stumbling, I hastened along as quickly as prudence allowed, dreading the return journey– that tight trail would be treacherous to retrace in the dark.
We gained the grassy plain just as the sun sank beneath the rim of the western sea, flaming the wavetops, and staining the sky red-violet and orange. The first stars gleamed in the east as the sky darkened at the advance of night. Ollathir and Tegid hurried to the mound and began climbing the steep sides. This time, since I was not prevented, I went up with them.
The cone-shaped mound was flattened at the summit, much as I had envisaged from below. A few paces in from the outer edge, the circle was marked with several hundred round, white stones-each stone buried in the earth with just the top protruding. Smaller stones marked the radials like the spokes of a wheel, one spoke for each of the four quarters. The tall pillar stone marked the hub of the wheel, and was covered from its buried base to its tapering point with intricate whorls and spirals, and the curious, dizzying circle maze which was a Celtic commonplace-the entire surface covered in a richly patterned union of designs, all intertwining, all cut in sharp relief into the surface of the white stone.
Some of the departing bards had deposited their branches of hazel at the base of the pillar stone. Tegid retrieved one of these and handed it to me. «Hold to this. Whatever happens, do not let it go from your hand.»
I was about to ask him what it was that he expected to happen, when he raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across my mouth. «This, too, is for your protection. See that you utter no sound.»
At once the words forming on the tip of my tongue deserted me; all desire to speak fled. I merely nodded in mute agreement and clutched the leafless hazel branch more tightly. «Stand outside the ring,» Tegid said, pointing to the outer circle of white stones. 1-Ic glanced quickly at the sky, then turned, taking up his oaken staff, and hastened to join Ollathir, who had pulled his cloak over his head and begun pacing slowly around the pillar stone, his rowan rod clenched in his hands and held before him.
The two bards moved together around the standing stone, and the sun-flushed sky deepened into twilight. I looked to the east and saw the rising edge of the full moon just peeping above the sea rim. It was the time-between-times.
In that same moment, Ollathir, Chief Bard to Meidryn Mawr, stopped his pacing and raised his rowan rod to the sky, gripping it with both his hands. He called out in the secret language of the bards, his voice loud with the power of the Taran Tafod.
From the leather bag at his belt, he brought out a handful of the precious dust which the bards call Nawglan, the Sacred Nine. It is a specially prepared mixture of ashes obtained from the burning of the nine sacred woods: willow of the streams, hazel of the rocks, alder of the marshes, birch of the waterfalls, ash of the shadows, yew of the plain, elm of the glens, rowan of the mountains, oak of the sun. This he scattered to the four quarters-and to the four quarters between the quarters-as he began slowly pacing once more in a sunwise circle around the pillar stone, which is the sacred center of Albion, the Island of the Mighty.
Tegid also paced, following three steps behind the Chief Bard, holding tight to his staff of oak, a fold of his cloak over his head. Ollathir spoke out a word, and Tegid echoed it. Around and around the pillar stone they marched, speaking out their strange, secret incantation.
How long this continued, I cannot say. I stood as one bereft of wit or sense, mute and staring at all before me, yet beholding nothing, understanding nothing. Time passed. Long or short the span, I did not attend it. I was caught up in the relentless flow of Ollathir's resounding voice and his peculiar words.
And then the words stopped.
All became quiet and still, It was but the peace before the storm. For, even as the thunder of the Taran Tafod faded into silence, I heard a sound like the rush of waters from a broken dam, or the sudden gush of a flood through a weed-dry riverbed: a boiling, bubbling tumult of sound, confused and striving, clashing, colliding, surging, breaking and forming, splashing and churning as it came.
I turned and saw that the plain below the mound was covered by a filthy yellow fog-inundating the land, whelming over all that stood before it like a plague. Seething, moiling, its ragge&ropy tendrils curling ever and again upon itself, the foul fog began-to swirl around the base of the mound. I watched, my skin turning cold and slick like clay, as the fog mounted up the sides of the sacred mound.
I lifted my head and looked to the sky. The stars seemed to streak and run together like molten silver. The new-risen moon burned red as blood. The darkness heaved and throbbed like the labored flanks of a beast in pain.
From out of the livid sky there came a thin, wailing shriek, bloodless and cold-like that of a Sol
len wind when it howls down from the frozen northern heights. It grew louder, assailing the moundtop, drowning out the churning watersound, filling this worlds-realm with the sound of desolation and malice.
Even as I looked, I saw a ghastly form taking shape, monstrous as it was vast, and it was vast indeed. The thing seemed to come swimming out of the night air, out of the fabric of the sky itself, from out of the spaces between the streaming stars. From the heart of darkness was it formed, taking darkness as its flesh, and night airs and ethers as its blood and bones-screaming as it came, screaming with the agony of its own heinous creation.
The thing was no creature born of earth-it lived, and yet it was not alive; it moved, yet it was not animate; it cried out, yet possessed no tongue. Frightful to behold, it was a creature of the hell pit, possessing in itself not so much a body as a multitude of bodies, all of them forming and growing, separating and dividing, shriveling and decaying and melting into one another, always changing, yet ever presenting the same loathsome shape to view. A shape calculated to freeze the blood and to stop the warm heart beating in the breast.
I saw eyes-ten thousand glowing cats' eyes: baleful, slit-pupiled, bulging and yellow. I saw mouths: gaping, sucking, mewling and drooling venom. I saw limbs: gross, misshapen, writhing, thrashing-many-handed on the ends of convulsive arms; club-footed on the stumped shanks of wasted legs. I saw torsos: bloated and obscene, shrunken, skeletal, rotting and putrid with crusted excrescence. I saw hideous heads: faces ravaged by disease and disfigured, hollow eyepits burning, noses eaten away by cancerous lesions, white skullpates gleaming beneath scragged hair, wattled jowls jiggling, corded necks straining, blackened teeth bleeding pus from suppurating gums.
This hellspawned creature loomed closer, driving down from on high. Cruel and ravening, it drove to execute our destruction. But something yet held it suspended between Earth and the nether regions of its abysmal habitation; held it still, but would not so hold it for long. The thing drew strength to itself and its appalling power increased as it wafted ever nearer, spinning and hovering, its myriad bodies squirming in tortured motion.
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