Rise of the Pendragon (Islands in the Mist Book 3)

by J. M. Hofer

  Islwyn smiled and let out a sigh. “Good. Because the signs regarding Myrthin are not clear to me. He is powerful, to be certain, and that makes his intentions difficult to see.” He took Taliesin’s cut hand, pulled moss and a bandage from his pouch, and bound it. “Now, child, I’m taking my old bones to bed.” He hobbled over to his tiny pile of furs upon the ground.

  “Sleep well, Master Islwyn. Thank you for being my teacher.”

  Islwyn chuckled. “Oh, dear boy. You needed no teaching.” He nestled into his bed and soon drifted off to sleep.

  Taliesin sat by the fire until it died down, admiring all the little bits of the forest Islwyn had collected and put into bowls and baskets. Then he went out and slept under the Oak, feeling at peace beneath her sheltering branches once again.

  ***

  The next morning, the sun rose, but Islwyn did not. Taliesin found him in the same position he had left him the night before, looking as if he were sleeping peacefully, but no breath issued from his lips.

  Taliesin leaned down and kissed his forehead, tears clouding his vision. He had awoken feeling it would be so, for Islwyn had visited him in his dreams. He had taken him by the hand to the center of the grove, and then they had risen together up over the trees, higher and higher, until they could see the entire valley and what lay beyond.

  “You shall serve in the courts of three great chieftains,” Islwyn told him, pointing to three stars in the sky that burned much brighter than the others. The first pulsed within the constellation of the eagle, and then grew as bright as the sun and streaked across the sky. The second shone within Draco, the dragon, and the third, within Ursa Major, the bear.

  “I have taught you all I can, child. The rest you will learn by teaching others. Farewell, my wise young bard, until we meet again in the Summerlands.”

  Islwyn’s form had dissipated, becoming become part of the wind and the moonlight.

  What will I do without you? Sorrow gripped him in a way he had not felt since the day his mother left. Like a relentless undertow, it pulled him under, causing him to fall to his knees and convulse with tremendous sobs.

  He cried until his muscles ached with exhaustion. Empty and weak, he stared without focusing on anything. He was unaware of how much time passed before something called to him from his crane bag. A fragrant, delicious smell wafted up as he opened it, beckoning to him.

  Don’t despair, Taliesin. Come home. Come back to me.

  Intrigued, he reached in, as he often did, and pulled out the silver apple Nimue had given him. He turned it over in his hands, mesmerized by how the light played off its surface. He was frequently tempted to take the fateful bite that would return him to her world, where he would never again have to grapple with the shallow pursuits of men who valued wealth and power over life and beauty and love, but never had he longed to do it more than he did at that moment.

  He put his nose next to the apple, cradling it in his hands like a baby bird, and breathed in its divine scent. As he exhaled, a feeling of peace came over him. He kissed it tenderly and put it back in his bag.

  Not today, my love...Not today. I still have much to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Guardian of the Grove

  Taliesin spent the morning building a bier for Islwyn. He decorated it with sweet-smelling herbs and cuttings from every sacred tree. He was almost finished when he heard the sound of footsteps at the edge of the grove.

  “No….” Lucia’s hand flew to her mouth as she ventured closer. She fell down to her knees beside him.

  “Last night, in his sleep.” Taliesin did his best not to cry but could barely manage it. When Lucia began to weep, he could not control his tears. He felt like a small child, awash in grief, and reached for her. She pulled him to her chest and rocked him. He let himself be comforted. The morning had been so hard, so heavy.

  “You don’t have to bear this alone,” she told him. “Come.” She stood up and offered her hand. Taliesin took it. They went into the hut together.

  Islwyn looked as if he were still dreaming. Lucia heated up some water and washed his body and face. She combed his hair and braided it as only she could, weaving his favorite charms and talismans into it. Then she and Taliesin dressed him in clean clothes, carried him to the bier, and laid his hands across his chest.

  “He wants to be buried here in the grove, beneath the Yew.”

  Lucia smiled. “I’m not surprised. But first, we must tell the clan. There will be many who will want to come and bid him farewell, my husband and children among them. I won’t be long.”

  Taliesin nodded and took up his harp. It was his only comfort.

  ***

  The news of Islwyn’s passing sent a wave of tears through the clan. Though he came to the village but once a moon, if that, he had still managed to endear himself to every single person in the clan, both young and old.

  Lucia led them all to the grove. It was a somber, contemplative procession, for everyone seemed deep in thought.

  They arrived at the grove to see Islwyn upon his bier. Every clan member came forward in turn to bid him farewell, beginning with Bran and Lucia. All brought him a gift and laid it alongside his body. It was nigh on winter, so he received holly sprigs, evergreen cuttings, flasks of mead, precious oils, chunks of amber and all manner of handmade talismans. One of the children put a doll under his arm.

  Taliesin approached last. He had climbed into the boughs of the Lady Oak that morning and harvested all the mistletoe he could find. He laid the sprigs between Islwyn’s hands and then took up his harp. “Let us sing him to the Summerlands.”

  The clan sat down around Islwyn’s bier and joined hands, forming a strong circle of protection around his body. They sang together, keeping vigil, until twilight fell.

  “He has sailed to the lands beyond, at the center of the Silver Wheel, his body young and free from pain, drinking apple wine and listening to singers whose voices are far more beautiful than ours could ever hope to be,” Taliesin said with a smile. “Rise up and know he is at peace.”

  ***

  At Lucia’s request, Taliesin agreed to lead the clan back to the village and give her some time alone with Islwyn.

  Once everyone had left, she heaved a sigh of relief and let out the sobs she had been holding back all day. Oh, my dear, sweet friend. How I’ll miss you. She smiled, remembering Islwyn’s tittering laugh that always made him seem much younger than his years. The wind gusted, as if to agree with her. Soon after, the song of a nightingale came riding on the breeze. How can that be? They’ve all flown south. Yet, there it was—the bird’s unmistakable, mournful song. She walked through the grove, peering up into the boughs overhead, but there were no birds to be found.

  When she returned to the bier, she found three oak leaves settled upon Islwyn’s chest.

  ***

  The moon had risen by the time Taliesin returned. Bran had come to help him dig Islwyn’s grave. They found Lucia looking more at peace, stroking his forehead.

  The three of them lit torches and planted them in the ground near the Yew. Then, Bran and Taliesin took up the shovels they had brought and began digging. The deeper they dug, the more Taliesin found himself struggling to resist a rising sense of panic. Standing within the opening in the earth among the roots of the Yew brought back terrible flashes of his entrapment beneath the Blackthorne. The deeper they dug, the worse it got. This is different, this is different, this is different, he repeated to himself. Nothing like that is going to happen. And even if it did, Bran and Lucia would dig you out. They would never abandon you.

  Again and again, they lifted shovelfuls of earth up and threw them over their shoulders, until only Bran’s head stood above the lip of the grave. “It’s deep enough,” Bran announced, winded from the effort. Relieved, Taliesin climbed out. It’s done.

  Lucia covered Islwyn with his cloak, and the three of them lowered his bier into the grave. They let him sleep there, with the stars looking down over his body, until
dawn broke. Then, they covered him with earth and built an altar of river stones upon his grave.

  ***

  Islwyn had been dead but three days when Lucia spied a lone traveler riding toward the village. From a distance, it looked like a dog standing upon a horse. Bran was out hunting with Idris, so she ran down to the forge to find Gareth. “Arm yourself. Someone’s coming, and I don’t recognize him.”

  Gareth glanced over at Laust and Brokkr, who were there as well. “We’ll go and meet him. Stay in the village.” The men grabbed their weapons of preference and set off. Lucia followed them as far as the village gates and watched from there. They soon reached the traveler, spoke to him awhile, and then Gareth motioned to her that all was well.

  Who is it? She squinted, hoping for a glimpse of the man’s features, but to no avail. Her eyes were not what they once were. When he was close enough for her to make him out, she realized he was wearing a large black and silver wolf pelt. The animal’s head served as a hood, hiding his face, but she noticed he wore many feathers, beads, and necklaces of bones. Myrthin. Her stomach churned. Please. Please don’t take my husband away again. I can’t bear it anymore.

  “What’s wrong? Who’s that?”

  Startled, Lucia cried out, “Gods, Arhianna! Must you do that?” She had not heard her come up beside her.

  Arhianna laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Who is it?”

  “Myrthin. Emrys’ druid.”

  Arhianna crossed her arms, watching him approach. She furrowed her brow. “Why is he here, again? He’d better not ask Father to take the men off to war again—they’ve only just come home!”

  Lucia sighed. “I hope not. But he could be. I’ll be in the motherhouse. Tell your brother to bring him to me.”

  Lucia walked to the motherhouse and waited, dreading Myrthin’s visit. Please, Great Mother. Bless us with peace for awhile. Dear Islwyn has just left us. I need my husband right now.

  Soon, she heard the sound of the men’s voices outside the doors and said one last prayer before they creaked open. Gareth led Myrthin in, followed by the ever-curious Arhianna. “Mother, Lord Myrthin has come seeking Taliesin.”

  Taliesin? This Lucia had not expected. “Please, Lord Myrthin, come in. May I offer you something to eat or drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Lucia wished he would take down his hood, for he looked far more like a wolf than any man had a right to.

  As if he had heard her thoughts, he took off his pelt. Immediately, Lucia regretted her wish. She had forgotten how piercing and unnerving his eyes were. His pupils were abnormally large, as if they belonged to an owl or a cat, not a man. “I bring news from Emrys for him. Is he in the grove?”

  Lucia tried focusing on his nose and mouth rather than his eyes. “I imagine so.”

  “Then, I shall seek him there.” Myrthin turned to go, a rattle of beads and bones swishing as he moved.

  “No—please don’t. We lost Islwyn a few days ago. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Well, I cannot return to Emrys until I’ve spoken to him. So, where shall you lodge me?”

  The idea of Myrthin being a guest for any length of time did not appeal to Lucia at all. She reconsidered. “Let me go to him and tell him you’re here. Arhianna, please fetch Lord Myrthin some stew and ale. Gareth, has someone seen to his horse?”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “Good. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

  “One more thing, my lady,” Myrthin said. “I’ve brought this for your apothecary.” He handed her a leather pouch. “To ease your husband’s pain. He thinks he is hiding it, but I know pain. I can see in his eyes how he suffers.”

  Lucia opened the pouch and dumped some of the contents in her hand. “What manner of herbs are these? I’ve never seen any of them before.”

  “They don’t grow in our land, I’m afraid. Very powerful, though. I’m giving them to you, not to him, because they can become demanding, if you understand my meaning.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

  “They ease pain so well, one can be tempted to use them too often. You must keep them to yourself. As I said, they don’t grow in our land. Sometimes I can get them, sometimes I cannot. If he grows too accustomed to them, his pain will feel far worse when they run out. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. How do I use them?”

  “Crush them and add a pinch to the tonic you prepare for him.” He handed her a tiny wooden spoon no longer than her little finger. “No more than this.”

  The pouch he had given her was quite large. “This should last for many moons, then.”

  “It should. If you heed my warning.”

  Lucia nodded, resolving to do so.

  ***

  Lucia heard Taliesin before she saw him, his beautiful harp and voice beckoning to her from the grove. She came upon him sitting cross-legged upon Islwyn’s grave.

  He looked up at her and smiled. “Hello.”

  She smiled and kneeled down beside him. “How are you?”

  “Sometimes I feel peaceful, sometimes empty.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve come to tell me something. What is it?”

  She sighed. “Well, Lord Myrthin has come asking for you. I told him we’d just lost Islwyn and that I didn’t wish for you to be disturbed.”

  “But he won’t leave until he sees me.”

  “That’s right.”

  Taliesin nodded. “Tell him to come.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I would come to the village to speak with him, but I wish to stay here.”

  “Of course, you do.” Lucia stood up and squeezed his shoulder in farewell. “I’ll send him to you.”

  ***

  Myrthin sat down across from Taliesin in Islwyn’s hut, moving with an agility that defied his years. “I’ll get straight to the point. My time with Emrys is over. I’m too old to continue chasing the high commander around Brython.” He sighed. “I’m tired. Now, I want only to rest, shadow-walk, and learn from your Lady Oak.”

  Taliesin thought that sounded very nice indeed.

  “Yours, however, has just begun.” He pulled a scroll with a red seal out of his pack. “With Vortigern and Hengist gone, Emrys has managed to quell the Saxon advancement, but he must make the most of the years that follow if he hopes to keep them out of the west. He’s made the old Roman settlement of Viroconium his headquarters and is seeking recruits for his army. Nearly all the chieftains of Powys and Gwyneth have agreed to send him men. Many of your noble Oaks will be among them. Now, he can maintain a line of defense from Viroconium down along the coastline to Caer Leon. There, he has entrusted Uthyr with the defenses. Gorlois has pledged to help him maintain the second line of defense, running southeast from Caer Leon to the sea, cutting off enemy access to Dumnonia. Emrys’ plan is ambitious, but it will succeed. You should feel grateful to be considered for whatever honor that scroll offers.”

  Taliesin felt his skin prickle. He did not appreciate being told what he should feel. He could decide for himself what he considered an honor.

  “Be courageous,” Myrthin said in a softer tone. “The gods have plans for you.”

  Taliesin nodded, uncomforted. The gods can be merciless. He looked down at the parchment with apprehension and broke its seal, feeling, in that instant, that he had just broken ties with everyone he loved.

  ***

  Taliesin stayed among the Oaks only long enough to ready his horse and provisions. To his surprise, the scroll was not from Emrys but from Uthyr, asking him to come south.

  “But you’ve only just come home!” Arhianna protested. “Must you go? He hasn’t demanded it, has he?”

  Taliesin smiled. “No, he hasn’t demanded it, but I want to go. If we wish to keep the Saxons from taking our homes, our best chance is to serve Emrys’ efforts. I can’t stay here when I’ve been sent a request from his own brother. And I must leave now, before winter sets
in for good.”

  Equally painful were his goodbyes to Arhianna, Gareth, Lucia and Bran. “I’ll come back as often as I can, to bring you news.” He looked at Lucia and raised his brows. “Keep an eye on Myrthin.”

  Lucia kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. I will.”

  Arhianna threw her arms around his neck. “I wish you weren’t going. I’ll miss you.”

  Gareth was next. He hugged him and gave him a few strong slaps on the back. “Travel safe, brother.”

  Bran rode with Taliesin to where the road met the river, and then bid him farewell. “Safe journeys, my friend. I’ll be making regular visits to attend the Chieftain’s Circle, so we’ll not become strangers.”

  Taliesin shook his head. “Never.”

  “And…“ Bran paused, the smile fading from his lips.

  “What?”

  “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything, Pennaeth.”

  “See what you can learn of my sister. I said some things to her I regret.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Thank you.” Bran smiled. “Well then, until we meet again, my good friend.”

  “Until then.”

  Bran gave him a nod of farewell, turned his horse around and started back toward the village.

  Taliesin glanced back towards the village gates where Arhianna had been standing. He could make out her faint silhouette and waved, hoping she could see him. A moment later, her hand went up, waving a long scarf in the breeze. He smiled and rode on alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Paradise Lost

  Taliesin rode south for Caer Leon on near-deserted roads. The autumn chill nipped at his face and hands like a new puppy, a constsant reminder that winter was coming. He embraced the cold solitude, content his only companion was the shaggy steed he rode. He had grown weary of talking.

  The smell of the sea announced his arrival three days later. The briny scent reminded him of his childhood, as it always did, and his throat tightened. Where are you now, Mother? He had not seen her in years. He hoped she still sailed with Tegid. If she were, there was a chance he might see her again. Strangely, after all the effort made to free her from her obligation to Tegid so many years ago, she often chose to accompany him and Creirwy on their voyages. It was rumored they were lovers, but Taliesin could not believe it. The heartbreak his father would suffer if it were true felt unbearable to ponder.