by J. M. Hofer
He stopped to rest, squatting against a nearby tree. A few useful herbs grew around its roots, which he added to one of his pouches. He leaned his head against the tree trunk, gazing skyward into the canopy overhead. Breathing deeply with closed his eyes, he relaxed into the sound of the leaves rustling in the light breeze and the birds singing in the boughs. Ah, the restful company of trees. Is there anything better? After so many moons of following Emrys and his army around the country, ever talking of battles or fighting them, he had grown desperate for the tranquility of the forest. He felt like weeping. Memories of his childhood came back to him, for he had once lived and played in such a forest. Yes, there was that forest, sweet and full of magic; the magic only childhood sees and understands. But that forest was not the one that haunted his dreams—not the one his heart ached for. One day, dear Nimue…one day, I shall return and eat the divine fruit of your trees again. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up, ready to resume his search. I’ve spent too many years in the courts of kings.
***
By the time Myrthin reached the edge of the grove, he felt humbled and at peace. All thoughts of war and kings had been washed from his mind, reduced to mere ripples upon the vast sea of time. That is what they are, after all.
He beheld the most regal and mighty oak he had ever seen, a grand queen with a hundred strong limbs and sensuous roots reaching out in all directions to embrace her children. His heart leapt. At last.
“Hello, friend,” a voice said in his ear.
Startled, he turned to see an elderly man by his side. Ah, this must be my regal queen’s guardian. Myrthin had not smiled at a person in many moons, but felt his mouth curling naturally. He could not remember the last time someone had been able to get so close to him without him sensing it. “I am Myrthin Wyllt, counsel to King Emrys, son of the great Constantine. I have come seeking the solace of the grove you protect.”
The man studied him well and then gave a consenting nod. “I am Islwyn, guardian of this grove. Follow me.” He led the way to a hut on the outskirts of the grove. Inside, a cooking fire crackled, warming the small lodging. It featured naught for furnishings but a simple bed and some mats by the fire. There was, however, an extensive apothecary, which Myrthin eyed with intense interest.
“Sit down,” his host offered, motioning toward the fire. He ladled something into a bowl and handed it to him.
Ah, hot broth. He took a healthy slurp.
“Tell me, Myrthin Wyllt, how did you know of this grove? The Oaks are sworn to secrecy about its location.”
“And they have remained so,” Myrthin replied. “I learned of it from a great warrior among Emrys’ ranks, named Aelhaearn, whom I understand was once a favored son among your chieftain’s former clan.”
Islwyn raised his brows. “Aelhaearn?” He shook his head as he filled his own bowl. “That’s a name I’ve not heard in a very long time.” He sat down across from Myrthin and stared into the fire awhile, sipping his broth, before looking up and meeting his eyes. “I see the man persists in betraying his people, then.”
Myrthin felt offended by his comment. Can the fool not see I’m a druid? I’m the advisor to the high commander of Brython, for the love of the gods! He should feel honored I’m here. Who could be better-suited to safeguard our sacred places than I? He was about to say exactly that, when Islwyn added, “But, you found your way here. Alone. Only those who know how to read the signs can find the grove.” He drank the last of his broth, tipping his head back to get every drop. “That, and I’ve had dreams of someone coming to the grove. Your arrival is not unexpected.”
Myrthin felt his indignance wane. He, too, could often see the shadows cast by things to come. Sometimes, what he saw came to pass, and sometimes, it did not. The future could never be foretold with absolute certainty. It shifted endlessly within a fog of possibilities moved about by the winds of intention. He took a deep breath and looked out the doorway of the hut at the Oak. “I’ve seen her before, you know. She has an Armorican sister.”
Islwyn nodded. “Yes. Our Lady Oak has many sisters. Some I’ve visited in the shadows, yet many remain undiscovered to me.” The grove seemed to sense it was being spoken of, for the breeze picked up and set the leaves to whispering. “So, then, Myrthin Wyllt. I imagine you would like an audience with her.”
“I would.”
“Go, then. You have my blessing. See what she has to say to you.”
Inspired, Myrthin went and knelt beneath her boughs. Lady Oak, it is here I long to be, among the trees and wild beasts. My time in service to men of the world has dulled my ears and eyes…I cannot hear and see as I once did. Grant me your strength and patience to endure the courts of kings.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Called to Serve
Taliesin, Bran and Uthyr returned home from Valhalla borne on the backs of Valkyries. They arrived at dawn on the top of Dinas Emrys, now the center of Emrys’ command. A lone guard saw them land. For the rest of his days, the poor man would question whether or not he had been dreaming that morning.
“Farewell, for now, my friends,” Uthyr said in the pale morning light.
Bran clasped his forearm. “You can count on the Oaks in the days to come. When Emrys is ready to march, we’ll be ready.”
Uthyr smiled. “I know you will.” He turned to Taliesin. “I’m no seer or druid, young bard, but I feel quite certain our paths will cross often in the years to come.”
Taliesin smiled. “The more often, the better.”
The castle still slept, so Uthyr took it upon himself to get them horses, food and water. They were on their way to Mynyth Aur within the hour.
Bran and Taliesin rode home in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. It was a somber day, grey and cold, with a constant light rain that fell like an old woman’s tears off the changing leaves of the trees. The smell of autumn had begun to ride upon the breeze.
They had been on the road scarcely an hour when a sudden darkness descended. They looked to the sky to see a flock of ravens approaching, blocking out the sun.
“Arawn,” Bran murmured, for he felt the god’s now-familiar chill in his bones.
Closer and closer the ravens flew, shifting into the menacing form of a skull in the sky and then dissipating into a flock once more. Soon, they hovered in front of Bran and Taliesin, merging into a towering figure comprised of a thousand black wings.
The trees around them stretched taller, reaching toward the sky, dropping all of their leaves as they did so. Bran and Taliesin found themselves within a cold and ominously quiet winter grove, the moon having stolen the place of the sun in the sky.
The ghastly face of the Lord of the Underworld then appeared from beneath a cowl of raven feathers, his skull visible through his transparent skin.
Speak, Son of Agarah.
Bran did his best to calm his frantic heart, wincing from the pain. Now that they were back in the mortal world, the ache had returned. “Lord Arawn, we were well-received by the gods of our enemies. The one they call Woden has agreed to return our dead in exchange for his own, but only those he deems fit to receive in his kingdom of Valhalla. He asks that you send his dead to the grove of the Oak. In return, he will send ours to the grove of the Ash.”
So it shall be done. Arawn pointed in the direction of a pathway that led through the woods. That is the way back to the world of men.
His face disappeared into his terrible black cape, which then returned to a flock of ravens and took to the sky like a plague.
Bran and Taliesin lost no time in setting their feet upon the path out of the Underworld.
***
Bran spied Lucia and Arhianna running out to greet them by the time they rounded the edge of the fields. “She must have seen us from the Eagle’s Nest,” Bran said with a smile. “Gods, I’ve missed my wife.”
Taliesin had thought of Arhianna often since their last parting. She looked as if she had been riding most of the afternoon. Her cheeks were pink and her
hair windblown. She looks like a wild rose. He smiled at her, feeling a bit spellbound.
“Let’s not keep them waiting.” Bran rode ahead and soon closed the gap to his wife and daughter. He jumped off his horse, wrapped Lucia up in his arms, and then pulled Arhianna close. When Taliesin reached them, he, too, was pulled into the tangled embrace.
“Great Mother, bless that mad druid, he was right!” Lucia cried, grabbing Bran’s face and kissing him.
Bran wrinkled his brow and looked down at her. “Who was right? About what?”
“A druid in service to Emrys came asking for you. I told him I didn’t know when you would return, but he was convinced you would return within a few days. And here you are.”
“He didn’t give his name?” Bran queried.
“He did. Myrthin Wyllt. He’s been with Islwyn in the grove since he arrived. From the look of him, I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew one another. He said to send Taliesin to fetch him when you arrived.”
Taliesin felt intrigued. Ah! The druid Uthyr mentioned. His hunger and fatigue no longer concerns. “I’ll go straight away.”
Bran looked over at him and nodded. “Bring him to me as soon as you can.”
“Of course, Pennaeth.” Taliesin turned to go but noticed Arhianna’s eyes on him. He could not help himself. He glanced toward her parents to ensure they were not looking, and then took her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks, lingering a bit on each one. They tasted like cold apples against his lips. In a sudden surge of desire, he kissed her on the mouth. He had regretted not doing so the last time they had parted. Though surprised, he could feel her lips yield to him, causing his heart to leap. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered to her.
“I…I’ll tell Gareth.” Arhianna’s eyes shifted between him and the ground for a few quick moments before settling on him again. She looked as if she were about to say something but decided against it and rushed off.
Taliesin felt a bit foolish as he watched her leave. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that. He let out a sigh and set off for the grove.
It felt good to be home again, walking the familiar paths of his childhood. There was a particular smell to the land and air that comforted him like nothing else could, besides the smell of the sea. He breathed deeply as he walked, wishing there were some way of remembering it, but scents were elusive. One could not remember them the way one could recall a vision or a song. No, they’re visceral and nostalgic, impossible to capture—perhaps that’s why they haunt us. He knew the way to the grove so well, he did not have to look for the path. Instead, he delighted in the regular appearance of birds and squirrels overhead and the occasional doe or fawn he spotted through the trees.
He soon arrived at the edge of the grove. He heard Islwyn singing from inside his hut. He smiled, eager to tell him about all he had seen and experienced over the past moons. He peeked inside the hut to see his old teacher crushing dried herbs. Islwyn heard him arrive and turned around. “Oh, my dear boy, I thought I recognized your step—you’ve returned at last.” He struggled to his feet and opened his arms.
“Yes,” Taliesin replied warmly, embracing him. “I was told we have a visitor? Is it true he is a druid in service to Emrys?”
“We have, and it is. Sit and eat with me.” Islwyn handed him a bowl, motioning to the pot hanging over the fire.
Taliesin filled his bowl, the smell of the soup stoking his appetite. “Tell me about him.”
“I spoke to him for only an hour, at most, when he first arrived. After I granted him permission to stay, he said nothing more to me. I don’t mind that, of course…” He winked. “He’s spent the last three days wandering the forest and the grove, mumbling to himself or to the spirits, I know not which. Perhaps both. He returns at dusk and sleeps beneath the Oak as you used to do.”
Taliesin knit his brow. “I’m anxious to learn why he’s come.”
Islwyn nodded. He, like Arhianna, looked as if he wished to say something but could not decide whether or not to voice it.
“What is it?” Taliesin prompted, unwilling to let another opportunity expire.
Islwyn looked up from his bowl and met his gaze. “Regardless of what message he has for Bran, I believe the true reason for his journey is the one in which he is now engaged.”
“And what is that?”
“To commune with the Sacred Grove—to listen to our Lady Oak.” Islwyn looked out the door at the Oak, as if to check she was still there. “All these years I believed it would be you who would watch over the grove after I passed on. But I am beginning to think that may not be your destiny.”
Taliesin felt surprised by this but said nothing.
“Some moons ago, I came to realize I do not have much time before Arawn comes for me, so I began to pray to the Oak to choose her next guardian. When you returned, I was certain it would be you. Now, I believe it may be him.”
Taliesin felt as if something precious had just been stolen from him. His curiosity about Emrys’ druid curdled into jealousy and anger. “You truly believe the Oak will choose this Myrthin to be the next guardian of the grove?”
“Perhaps.”
“But he’s only just arrived! He’s not an Oak, nor born of any of the four tribes!”
“We will, none of us, be Oaks, nor belong to any particular tribe soon,” Islwyn said. “It is such division that has given the Saxons their victories over us. We must not think of ourselves in such a way. We must join as one if we are to defeat them. Myrthin advises the one who will accomplish this. After that, I believe, he shall return here to the grove to answer the Oak’s call.”
Taliesin lost his appetite and set down his bowl. Like Islwyn, he had never considered that anyone other than himself might be chosen as the next guardian of the grove.
The sound of someone approaching wrested him from his thoughts. He looked out the doorway of the hut into the grove and beheld the face of the man whom he knew in his bones would become his arch-rival.
***
As soon as the sun began to set, every Oak in the village made his or her way to the motherhouse, for rumors about the druid named Myrthin had spread through the village like wildfire. They gathered in and around the hall, craning their necks to hear what he had come to say.
Lucia stood next to Bran as the druid entered. He looked as if he had been tied to a horse and dragged through the fields. His hair was matted and dusty, full of leaves and bits of twigs as if a bird had attempted to build a nest there.
“That’s Emrys’ druid?” Bran whispered, his brows raised in disbelief.
“Yes.”
He shrugged and beckoned to the man. “Come forward, Myrthin Wyllt. I understand you have a message for me.”
Myrthin, in spite of his wild appearance, moved with the grace and confidence of a fellow chieftain as he approached. “I have heard many a noble tale about you and your people, Bran of the Oaks, as well as your wise and beautiful wife.” He bowed in Lucia’s direction. “Emrys sends his warmest tidings and thanks you for your fealty.”
“Thank you.” Bran motioned to an open seat at the table. “Please, join us in some food and drink. These are the men and women who help me lead our clan. I would give my life for any of them.” He presented each of them in turn. “Lady Seren, my sister, Lady Eirwen, Gareth, my son, Maur, Idris, and Neirin. You have already met Islwyn and Taliesin.”
“Yes.” Myrthin eyed everyone in turn and sat down. “As you all must know by now, Emrys has defeated Vortigern.”
He means to get right to business, Lucia noted, glancing over at Taliesin and Islwyn. She studied their faces for some flicker of their thoughts. She had wanted to hear their opinion of Myrthin before receiving him in the motherhouse, but, unfortunately, she had not gotten the opportunity.
“With the help of his many loyal chieftains, Emrys plans to push the Saxons back and reclaim the territory they seized while Vortigern cowered here in the West.”
Lucia took a deep breath, bracing herself for what Myrthin
would say next.
“Emrys is now raising an army, while we have the advantage, to exact justice for the vile wrongs done against our people. The most heinous, you know well, being the slaughter at Ambrius.”
Bran leaned forward. “How many men does Hengist command?”
“Likely a few thousand, maybe more, but Emrys is confident he can secure a victory if all those who have pledged fealty march with him. You are counted among them, Bran of the Oaks.”
Lucia’s stomach seized up as if she had been punched. So soon, Great Mother? It’s not even been a week that I’ve had him home. And now, my son…I shall lose my son! No. I can’t bear it. She swallowed hard, keeping her face as smooth as slate as Bran gave Myrthin the answer she expected.
“Please tell the high commander he may count upon us. Our hearts leap at the opportunity to face a man so dishonorable and treacherous upon the battlefield.”
Myrthin gave him a nod. “Emrys thanks you. We will expect you at Dinas Emrys as soon as you can organize your men, but no later than three days from now. Ask for Uthyr when you arrive. We must march while we still have the advantage.”
“Understood. Now, let us eat and drink, and speak no more of war this night.”
“Gladly,” Myrthin said with a smile. He held out his drinking horn for the serving girl.
Lucia felt Bran squeeze her thigh under the table. She knew it was a silent apology for the short time they had left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
An Unexpected Encounter
Bran had not expected to travel the road to Dinas Emrys so soon again. Saying goodbye to Lucia and Arhianna had been heartbreaking, but nothing could be done about it. At least, I have my son with me. He glanced over at Gareth and felt his chest fill with pride. Seren and Taliesin were with them as well, and that, too, was comforting, but he had grown weary of disappointing Lucia.
They reached the edge of the battle camp surrounding Dinas Emrys a few days later, where they were questioned. Bran became impatient. “Just tell Uthyr Bran of the Oaks and his men have arrived.”
