by J. M. Hofer
She dismounted, pulled her hood close, and went up behind him. “Lord Irwyn?”
Irwyn turned around, squinting at her skeptically for a moment before recognizing her. “Arhianna?”
She put her finger to her lips and said in a low tone, “I must see Lord Elffin, but no one can know I’m here.”
Irwyn nodded without protest and took her horse by the reins. “Come.” He escorted her to the castle, handed her horse off to a stable boy, saw her to a fire, and brought her food and drink.
“What has happened?”
“So much…”
Irwyn shook his head. “Never mind. Tell us when I return with Elffin. Warm yourself. Eat something. I will not be long.”
“Thank you.” She settled back in her chair to wait for her host, feeling safe for the first time since leaving Caer Glou.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Lady of the Lake
Time came alive again for Taliesin in the form of his heartbeat. Like a seed within the earth that had slept through winter, he felt the sun call, promising him life if only he would exert himself. His blood began to move sluggishly, flowing like the spring thaw through the once-frozen landscape above. One by one, his nerves awoke, piercing the fog of his mind. He sensed the sun’s warmth, and it sparked something hot and primal within his belly. It spread through his body like a fire devouring dry brush, until his muscles exploded with its power. Desperate for the light, he ripped himself free of the Blackthorne. He stabbed upwards with the dagger Cerridwen had given him, digging toward the surface, until, at last, he broke through and crawled out of the earth that had smothered him.
He spit earth out of his mouth and cried out, blinded by the sunlight. He shook the dirt from his ears and hair and rubbed his eyes until they adjusted. The first thing he saw was his fist, still clutching the dagger. Furious, he turned to stab the Blackthorne, but found it was no longer there. A hawthorne in full blossom now stood in its place.
Dazed, he looked down at his body. Dozens of thorns were still lodged in his skin. He pulled them out, one by one, releasing rivulets of blood. When he emerged, he was surprised to discover he had grown hair on his body. Unlike Gareth, his skin had remained smooth and hairless when the two of them had come of age. They had both grown tall, but Taliesin had retained the voice and skin of a child. Now, his arms, legs and groin were covered with the hair of a man. With shaking fingers, he reached up to touch his face and felt a beard.
He regarded his surroundings, but they were wholly unfamiliar. After turning around a few times, he chose a direction and stumbled off in search of a brook or stream to relieve his parched throat. At first, walking was difficult, but soon, the joy of moving his limbs became so pleasurable he broke into a run. On and on he ran, bounding through the trees like a stag, until he came upon a brook. He bent down, put his lips to it and gulped down the cold water.
It was then that he first noticed his hunger—a deep and ravenous hunger, unlike any he had ever felt. He had never eaten meat or fish before. He simply could not bring himself to do it. Living within the clan, such a lifestyle had been easy. There were always nuts, fruit, cheese and bread to eat. Yet, try as he might to satisfy his hunger with berries or mushrooms, his stomach refused to relinquish its demand—a demand for meat.
He ran through the woods, his mind singular and focused on nothing else. It did not take him long to track down his prey. The buck did not smell him, for Taliesin smelled only of earth, roots, and clear water. There was nothing of the odor of a man upon his skin. He sat silently, crouched close to the ground like a cat, his dagger gripped within his hand. When the time came, he attacked, killing the buck with one swift and merciful motion.
For days, he lived off the meat of his kill and slept on the ground without shelter, for the thought of anything over or around his body abhorred him. He moved and breathed as a beast, for that is what he had become. He knew what it was to swim like the otter, fly like the birds, hunt like the wolves, and run like the stag, but beyond that, he was unaware.
One night, he was startled awake from a deep sleep by an owl’s call. He looked up to see the owl staring down at him from above, her white feathers illuminated by the moonlight.
You left something behind, Taliesin. You must go back for it.
Taliesin. The name hit his mind like a stone thrown into the middle of a deep lake, sending ripples out across his thoughts. Echoes of the past called to him, faint and dreamlike, but he could not remember them. He stared back at the owl, trying to make sense of what was happening.
You must go back, before you forget.
She spread her wings and flew away, silent as death, disappearing into the night.
Taliesin did not move. He lay there, his mind spinning in circles, until his desire to know what the owl had spoken of grew stronger than his fear of returning to the site of his winter tomb.
He stood up and ventured into the darkness of the forest, his heart pounding. He returned to the place where the Hawthorne now grew. Sick with dread, he forced himself to approach the disturbed place in the earth he had crawled out of. Somewhere, in there, I left something behind. But what? His entire being recoiled at the thought of digging back into the earth. The more he thought about it, the more his instincts rebelled, until he could no longer resist the urge to run away.
He sat on the edge of the forest and waited for the sun to rise, all the while pondering the message from the owl.
The sun rose a few hours later, making the forest seem less foreboding. Taliesin returned to the Hawthorne a second time. He summoned his courage and dug back down into the pocket beneath the tree that had held him for nearly four moons. He sifted through the dirt, handful by handful, until something silver glinted in the sunlight and caught his eye. An owl feather. He grabbed it and held it up to the sun between his fingers, and his soul cried for joy. Taliesin. My name is Taliesin.
He fled the forest with the feather, not stopping until he reached the banks of the lake. There, he collapsed to his knees and regarded his prize, rolling it between his fingers, fascinated by its silver-white color. Thoughts begin to spark and flicker in his mind, like stars winking to life out of the twilight. At first, the images were soft and benign, like a daydream, but they soon grew more sinister, like bolts of lightning ripping across a dark sky. A torrent of visions surged into his mind like a flash flood, dislodging everything in their path. Taliesin became disoriented, feeling as if his head were being pulled from his body. He curled up on the ground, crying out in pain, but did not let go of the feather.
As it had happened before upon the Great Wheel in Caer Sidi, all the lives he had ever lived marched toward him and entered his mind and body, but, this time, he could embrace them fully. Now, he knew darkness and pain; he knew suffering. He could remember the sum of their sorrows and struggles as well as their joys and triumphs.
Day turned to night, and night turned to day, and still, the memories came. His body cried out in protest, hungry and cold, but Taliesin did not listen. He would not move until he remembered them all.
Three days later, the torrent slowed to a lazy current and his memories began to repeat themselves. Only then did Taliesin let go of the feather.
It was then he understood what it meant to be reconciled with Cerridwen. She had blessed him, not cursed him, for only hand in hand with the darkness can the light know itself and be exalted.
He stared up at the sky and clouds, eyes wide open, and wept for joy.
***
Taliesin struggled to his feet, fully aware of himself for the first time. He waded into the lake and swam out into the middle of it, letting the water wash the dirt and dried blood from his skin and hair. When he became tired, he turned and floated on his back. He felt weightless, free and clean, and enjoyed the sun shining on his face.
When he returned to shore, he did not recognize where he was. The trees looked different, and the land around him had changed. Confused, he wandered down the shore. His feather and dagger still
lay upon the sand, but everything else had changed. He began searching for anything that looked familiar, surveying the horizon all around him. Then, like an answered prayer, he realized where he was. Nimue’s woods—I’m in Nimue’s woods! The thought of seeing her again filled him with a joy so intense he felt as if he were still weightless, floating within the lake. He went in the direction he remembered the apple grove had been. If he could find the grove, he knew he could find her.
He wandered away from the lake, through meadows and into the woods, singing the song that had originally brought him to her. He felt surprised by the sound of his own voice, so much deeper in tone than before. He listened for her response, but none came.
Occasionally, he spied footprints or found one of her long blonde hairs upon a tree branch. He followed the clues until his efforts were blessed by the unforgettable scent of the silver apples upon the breeze.
He ran toward the scent, stopping frequently to smell the air, like a dog on a hunt. As he neared the grove, the air grew warmer and the scent grew stronger, until, at last, he spied the luminous silver apples beckoning to him from deep within the canopy. He dared not blink, fearing the grove might disappear before he opened his eyes again. He ran with everything he had in him until he burst into the trees. He hugged the nearest apple trunk and felt its rough bark against his cheek. It’s real. I’m here.
“Nimue!” he cried out. “Nimue!”
The smell of the apples intoxicated him as he called out for her. Over and over he called, praying she was still there. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how long he had been gone. How long was I in Caer Sidi? How long have I lain beneath the earth? Nimue might be long dead. He choked back a pang of despair.
As if the gods had heard his fearful thoughts and taken pity on him, a faint voice came floating on the air from somewhere ahead of him. “Taliesin?”
His heart leapt. He ran toward the voice, calling out Nimue’s name, until he saw her standing at the edge of the grove. “Nimue!”
“Taliesin? Is that you?”
He walked up to her.
Her face twisted as she regarded him, her expression suspicious. “You’ve changed.”
“Yes.”
Being near her, he felt a sudden and overwhelming desire to hold her. His mouth watered to taste hers, his hands ached with the desire to touch her body. It was a feeling he had never experienced before. His heartbeat quickened with it, causing his blood to course, and his manhood reached out for her.
She shook her head and backed away. “Who are you?” Her voice was trembling.
“Who am I?” A thousand lifetimes of answers came, and he did not hold them back. He let them spill from his lips. “I’ve been a herdsman, and roamed all the lands of the earth. I’ve slept on a hundred islands, dwelt in a hundred cities, and been the guest of a hundred kings.”
Nimue ventured closer. Taliesin could feel Nimue’s eyes on his body, looking at his scars, and his hair, and his beard, and the physical evidence of his desire for her.
“I’ve been a fierce bull, a yellow stag, and a spotted snake upon a hill. I’ve been a drop of rain, the foam upon the sea, and a wave, breaking upon the shore.”
He touched her face. “For nine months, I was little Gwion, in the womb of Cerridwen. On a boundless sea I was set adrift, and, at length, I became Taliesin, son of Elffin.”
Nimue peered into his eyes as if she could see the lifetimes he described within them.
“I know the names of the stars, from north to south, and my country lies within the region of the summer stars. I’ve knelt at the throne of the distributor and stood high upon the White Hill. I’ve been stretched out upon the wheel of Arianrhod. I’ve been a teacher to all intelligences; I was fluent before being gifted with speech. I am the tetragrammaton, a wonder whose origin is unknown, and so it shall always be, until the last day upon the earth.”
He stared at her, filled with unbounded love. “Let me hold you.”
“No,” she whispered, backing away again.
He reached for her, and she bolted from him like a doe.
Taliesin’s legs responded instantly, surging forward instinctively to give chase.
She ran with swift purpose, dodging between the trees and leaping over fallen logs and ditches as if she had wings suspending her, until she reached the banks of the lake. There she threw off her robe and dove in, disappearing beneath the water.
Taliesin did not hesitate and dove in after her. The water was dark, obscuring his view, but he remembered the way to the underwater cave. He was certain that was where she would go. He plunged deeper into the lake, until he saw the mouth of the tunnel. He swam through and then surged up into the luminous waters of the crystal cave.
Nimue was standing in the water nearby, smiling. “It is you.”
He swam over and stood in front of her. She touched his face, his hair, and his beard, as if searching for him beneath them. “Your hair no longer shines like the sun. Nor does your skin.” She touched his arms and shoulders, traced her fingers along his chest, and then looked up at him. “But your eyes—“ She smiled. “They are the same.”
Taliesin pulled her toward him, easily lifting her in the water, driven by her soft yielding flesh beneath his hands, and kissed her. Her mouth tasted like the juice of the apples in her grove, and her skin smelled cold and clean, like stones in an icy river. He held her tight and felt her heart leap toward him, as if it were a bird, frantic to break free of its cage and fly to him. Her breath quickened with his kiss. He wrapped her legs around him and found the place he hungered to be.
As they joined, the relentless torrent of emotions and memories that had assaulted him for days ceased their attack upon his ragged senses; mercifully, they waned away, like storm clouds lifting, until there was nothing but her.
His soul knew hers. She had been his inspiration for a thousand lifetimes, the muse for the song of his soul, and the answer to all of his questions, asked and unasked.
Nimue, my eternal love.
***
Taliesin was healed through his love for Nimue and her love for him. He learned, as he had learned in many lifetimes before, to walk with a lithe and balanced step upon the sword’s edge that divided madness from grace. With his vast knowledge, oblivion and chaos were ever-threatening. It was their love that kept them at bay, just as offerings keep a wild beast from attacking.
He and Nimue became one. They shared everything—all labors, all knowledge, all joys—and nothing gave Taliesin more joy than holding her in his arms at night.
As spring matured into summer, and summer aged into autumn, a new song came floating upon the wind—but this song, Taliesin did not want to hear. He tried his best to ignore its call, but the song would not fade. It came to him, night after night, while he slept, like someone trying to wake him from a heavenly dream, but each night he rolled away from it, refusing to rise. This is my home. This is where I belong. I shall never leave.
One night, he lay awake staring at the full moon, listening to the song asking for him, and noticed a small dot in the sky. Bat or bird, he could not tell at first, but felt compelled to watch it. It grew larger and larger, until finally its wings came into view. It flew straight for him.
Taliesin sat up with a jolt, waking Nimue, who turned and looked to see what had caused him to stir. It was an owl—an owl they both knew well. She transformed into a woman when she arrived, except for her wings. They kept her hovering above them, silhouetted against the moonlight.
“Arianrhod,” Taliesin whispered with reverence. He bowed his head to his knees. Nimue did the same.
Taliesin, you are not meant to stay here. You have been blessed by the gods to do great work. You carry the light of wisdom, and are meant to inspire earthly kings to nobility and greatness. You can no longer ignore the song that calls to you.
Taliesin felt Nimue’s hand squeeze his. It was shaking, and his heart broke. She was sobbing.
He heard Arianrhod’s great wings
surge with power and rise back into the air. He raised his eyes and watched her fly back toward the center of the moon.
Taliesin pulled Nimue to him. He could feel her tears on his chest.
“I knew this day would come,” she said. “I knew you could not stay, yet I, too, have been turning away from your destiny.”
“Come with me,” Taliesin proposed. “Be my wife. I want no woman but you. For as long as I live, and beyond, I will want no one but you.”
Nimue looked up, her eyes wide. “You do not understand. I am not of your world.”
“Not of my world?” Taliesin asked, yet a part of him had known this all along.
“No, my love.” Nimue whispered sadly. “I am the Lady of the Lake. Here, I must remain.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Wandering Bard
Taliesin finished his song and the crowd erupted into a roar of enthusiasm. The inn nearly shook with the sound of clapping and the cries of men and women demanding yet another.
He smiled graciously, accepting both coin and compliment as well as more ale. His cup had not been empty in moons, for none would suffer it to be so. Nor did he want for food, a warm bed, good boots, or anything else. His reputation had spread quickly from inn to inn, and town to town, until he had become the most sought-after bard in the kingdom of Rheged. It was rumored that tales of his bardic prowess now reached beyond its borders as far as the kingdoms of Gwyneth and Powys, and that, soon, he would be asked to play in the courts of kings.
“Wouldna that be exciting!” the barmaid asked him, setting a bowl of stew in front of him. “To play for the king!”
“Which king might that be?” Taliesin asked her, his mouth full. “They say Vortigern has fled the Saxons and now hides in the mountains of the Eryri.”
“’Tis what I’ve heard as well,” she answered. “I was thinking a bit closer to home. In the court of our own king,” she said with a wink. “Seems there’s a new king every day, seekin’ to carve out a kingdom for ‘imself.”
