by J. M. Hofer
His father poked at the fire, boiling water for the tonic he seemed to be drinking more often than usual. “People come together when times are desperate, not prosperous. We can accomplish the unbelievable when we have no choice but to do it or see our way of life perish.”
Gareth felt disappointed. “Why do you think these men are here? Because the enemy is landing on western shores now, closer to their homes? Or because they believe in Emrys?”
His father shrugged. “For some, it’s surely the threat to their homes. For others, perhaps more. But why they’re fighting shouldn’t matter to you.” He looked him in the eyes. “All that matters is that you know what you are fighting for—because, tomorrow, you may die for it. Think hard on that.”
***
Taliesin played for Uthyr and his men, singing heroic ballads to inspire them. Some time later, Aelhaearn appeared with Seren by his side. She was overjoyed to see Taliesin. After they had spoken awhile, she asked, “Is my brother here?”
“He is. I’ll take you to him, if you like.”
She nodded. “Please do. I must speak to him.”
As Taliesin led Seren to where the Oaks were camped, a tremendous shooting star streaked across the sky, as if the sun itself were falling to earth from the heavens. Behind it trailed two large rays of fire, one stretching out toward the south and the other west, toward the Irish Sea, until, at last, it disappeared beneath the horizon.
Seren gasped. “Great Mother,” she whispered. “What was that?”
They were not the only ones to witness the cosmic drama. Sounds of alarm were rippling all through the camp.
Taliesin felt a chill run up and down his spine as he remembered the giant star Islwyn had shown him in his dream. He took Seren’s hand. “Come.” He rushed her the rest of the way to their camp.
“Seren?” Bran stood up with surprise and reached out to embrace his sister. “Do you mean to fight?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “We’ll fight beside one another again. This time, with your son to strengthen the ranks of our clan.”
Gareth stood and embraced her as well, and then pointed to where the fire had streaked across the sky. “Did you see that?”
Seren nodded. “We did.”
Everyone turned to Taliesin. “What was it?”
Taliesin shook his head. “I’m sorry, but Uthyr must be the first to know. Let me go to him, first.” He did not give anyone the chance to protest. He rushed to Uthyr’s tent and found him standing outside, staring up at the sky. Somehow, he must have sensed the meaning of the great fallen star, for his face was grave, and his eyes were rimmed with tears. “What does it mean?”
Taliesin hesitated a moment, seeking the right words, but Uthyr needed nothing further to confirm his fears.
The great and noble Emrys, who had united them all, had fallen.
Uthyr said nothing, turned and disappeared into his tent.
Taliesin sat down on the ground and unslung his harp. He let his fingers find the notes the gods wished to play for Emrys, and, when the words came, he began to sing.
All speech faded away in the wake of his song, none daring to disturb the beauty of his voice. Slowly, all came to know, within their hearts and bones, the meaning of the rift in the heavens.
***
Pasgen and Gillomanius landed in Menevia to find forces in numbers far beyond their expectations. Uthyr led his troops into battle with the ferocity of a lion, riding over the enemy like a titan of vengeance in his brother’s honor. Fueled by grief and possessed by fury, Uthyr inspired the heart of every warrior on that day. There was no one who would accept anything less than a merciless and absolute victory for their fallen commander.
It was not long before Pasgen ordered a retreat, but the sea would offer him no refuge. Elffin’s ships hemmed them in against the shore, prepared to shower them with flaming arrows and pursue them wherever they sought safe harbor.
Before the sun set that night, Uthyr had speared the heads of both Pasgen and Gillomanius upon pikes. He held them aloft for all to see, their blood streaming down the long wooden pikeshafts, covering his hands and arms. The men bellowed in victory and followed him in a gory procession down to the shore where he stuck the pikes in the sand, displaying the heads of their defeated enemies for all to see.
Then, Uthyr, their victorious commander, returned to his tent and wept.
***
Uthyr returned to his brother’s side, this time accompanied by many of those who had ridden into battle with him. No cheering crowd or victory feast awaited them.
“Let me see him,” Uthyr demanded of the physician who officially delivered the news. He left, and Uthyr kneeled beside his brother’s body.
He found the look upon his face strange, of a color he had not seen on a dead man before. He took his hand. “Something’s not right, here, brother. I’ll find out what’s happened, I promise you. If there’s been foul play, I’ll rip out the culprit’s heart with my bare hands and feed it to the dogs.”
“Or hers,” a voice said behind him. Shocked, Uthyr whipped around to see Myrthin standing in the doorway of his brother’s chambers. “How long have you been here?”
“I’ve just arrived. Stand aside. Let me look at him.”
Though offended by his dismissive manner, Uthyr let Myrthin take his place. For all his eccentricities, he knew of no one with more knowledge of herbs and healing than Myrthin. Then, he had another thought. Quite right. So why is he only just arriving? The wretch shows up now, when it’s too late? “Where have you been? Why weren’t you here for him? You could have saved his life!” Uthyr felt a wave of rage rising up in his breast. He resisted the urge to grab Myrthin by his sinewy neck and crush his windpipe.
“No one sent for me. If he felt he had need of me, I’m sure he would have. Fetch that candle. Hold it up.” Uthyr did as Myrthin commanded and held the candle for him while he opened Emrys’ mouth and examined his tongue. He then opened his eyelids and peered into each of them in turn. After a moment, he let out a long sigh and sat back. “Your brother did not die from his wounds. Someone poisoned him.”
“What?” Uthyr’s rage paced in his ribcage like a caged lion seeking someone to blame and rip apart with its claws.
“You must act quickly if you are to find your brother’s murderer—“
Uthyr did not allow Myrthin to finish his sentence. He stormed out of his brother’s chambers and bellowed for the physician, who came running. “Yes, my lord?”
Uthyr grabbed him by the neck and pinned him to the wall. “My brother was poisoned. Do you have any idea how this might have happened?”
The physician looked both horrified and terrified, his eyes as wide as they could open. Uthyr felt him trembling within his grip as he tried desperately to say something. He loosened his vice. “Speak, dog!”
The physician fell to his knees. “Please, Lord Commander—I swear to you, I love your brother as I love my own children.”
“Did anyone else attend him? I want everyone who has been inside his tent in the last week brought to me for questioning.”
“Yes, of course, my lord, but—“
“What?”
“There was one who attended him who has fled.”
Uthyr could tell from the look in the physician’s eyes that he feared for his life. Such a man could not be trusted to tell the truth. “Who?”
“A man of God, my lord—a monk with great knowledge of herbs who came to aid us. He swore he could heal Emrys. He spoke our language…I…I believed him.” The physician’s eyes darted back and forth like caged rats.
“Find him!” Uthyr demanded, tossing the physician out of his sight. “Someone send for Neirin, now!” Unable to quell the fury in his chest, he moved like a wild animal, destroying everything within his reach, until he fell exhausted to his knees. “Cowards!” he wailed. “This is how they repay my brother’s mercy? His magnanimous mercy? I swear it before God, Myrthin, no Saxon shall ever receive mercy from me! Ever!”
>
By now, a crowd of concerned faces had gathered around Emrys’ chambers, wondering what was happening. Taliesin and Bran were among them. Uthyr composed himself and sent everyone away except the two of them.
“My brother’s been poisoned. I will not rest until I find his murderer and gut him from balls to brains. In the meantime, we shall bury him alongside the chieftains he so admired at Mount Ambrius. Then, Taliesin, together we shall build the monument he entrusted you with.”
***
The ground at Mount Ambrius was soaked with the tears of hundreds, both common and noble, who came to bid farewell to their beloved leader.
Uthyr felt the priest touch him upon the shoulder. “My lord?”
His stomach churned. I can’t do this, brother. I’m no king. I’m nothing but a warlord who drinks too much and beds too many women. They need you, not me. He scanned the sea of tear-stained faces before him. I don’t know what to say to them. He closed his eyes, but he could still feel the weight of everyone’s gaze upon him. Emrys, help me. Please. Give me the words.
But Emrys did not answer. Emrys was not there. Emrys would never again be there, by his side. I’m alone, now. No family. No children. No wife. I have nothing.
Uthyr choked on the emptiness. Yet, somehow, he had to rekindle hope in the hearts of the people who stood before him. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and spoke the only way he knew how—simply and honestly. “So deep is the rift in my heart, I tremble at the edge of its abyss,” he stammered. “A vile canyon it is, vast and jagged, filled with nothing but demons and darkness.” He stopped a moment, binding his sorrow tightly with his will so it could not betray him with tears or sobs. “But, for my brother, and for you, I will embrace that darkness—I will cross that canyon and let its demons tear me apart with their cold, relentless teeth—I will let them claw out my heart and drain it of its blood until there is nothing left but a thirst for justice and a hunger for battle.”
Uthyr felt a surge of power and looked back into the eyes of those who were confident enough to meet his gaze. “I swear to you all, be you chieftain, farmer, blacksmith or monk—man, woman or child—I will defend to the death what we have accomplished. Do not despair. Do not give up. Together, I promise you, we will rip victory from every Saxon’s hands. Not a single hillfort will they take back from us!”
The cheers from the crowd before him sent a chilling wave of exhilaration through him. I swear it to you, brother. Not one damn hillfort.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Stones of Eire
Uthyr returned to Caer Leon and took the Red Dragon as his sigil as he had sworn to do that night beneath his brother’s keep. From that day forward, he was addressed as Uthyr Pendragon, High Commander of Brython. He bestowed the title of Pen Bairth—chief bard—upon Taliesin.
Over the next moon, all the clergy and chieftains loyal to Emrys journeyed to Caer Leon to pay Uthyr homage. He had stood faithfully alongside his brother in all things, yet had earned their respect in his own right.
When all matters of diplomacy had been settled, Uthyr summoned Taliesin to discuss the monument his brother had longed to erect. “Have you given any further thought about what we shall build for our beloved chieftains? Now, my brother has joined them in their resting place. It must commemorate his legacy as well.”
Taliesin felt the pressure of his task mounting. “I’ve thought of nothing else since he asked it of me, Pendragon.” It was true. Night after night, he had shadow-walked, far and wide, scouring the kingdoms of Brython and every blue mountain of Gwyneth for the stones the Great Mother had shown him, but visions did not often come with maps or explicit directions. He knew the stones existed, just not where they lay. “The Great Mother has shown me the stones that are destined for this purpose, but I’ve not yet discovered the mountain they sleep within.”
Uthyr nodded. “Perhaps you should ask Myrthin for help.”
Taliesin’s expression must have given away his offense, because Uthyr held up a hand before he could protest. “I say that only because he’s the only other person I know with your kind of abilities. When I’ve much ground to cover, I send many scouts. I meant nothing personal by it.”
Taliesin shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Pendragon. I will find the stones, but I wish to go to Affalon. I’ll return in three days. If I haven’t found them by then, I shall seek Myrthin’s help.” The words felt like shards of glass in his throat.
***
Taliesin sailed across the channel of the Severn Sea to the banks of Affalon. He wandered the tor, singing Nimue’s song, until she let him behind the veil. Each time he returned, it became easier to cross over.
“Back so soon?” She smiled at him.
“Yes.” He kissed her. “I need your help.”
Somehow, she knew why he was there. “I cannot seek for something only you have been shown, no more than Myrthin can. However, if you truly feel you have searched all the mountains of Brython, then you must look elsewhere for them. Return to your vision and listen for their song. Once you hear it, follow it. That was how you found me.”
Listen for their song. Taliesin felt disappointed that he had not thought of this himself. “You’re right. I’m a fool.”
“Stay awhile. The veil is thin here. Your efforts may find better footing.”
He did as Nimue suggested. He climbed to the top of the tor, chose a tree to sit beneath, returned to his vision and lived within it. He did not sleep or eat until he knew the song of the stones within his bones. Then, he took up his harp to play it.
His music traveled on the winds, beckoning to the stones like a songbird seeking its mate. As if wakened from a deep winter sleep, their harmony joined his melody, waxing from a faint whisper to a strong hum. They pulled his soul away from Brython, across the sea, to the emerald shores of Eire, then up to their resting place within a blue, craggy chain of mountains cloaked in mist.
At last, nestled within the mountain, Taliesin found the slabs of stone he sought. He walked up to one of the stones and leaned against it, resting his cheek against its cool surface. He smiled with contentment, feeling the power of the earth’s ancient heartbeat pulsing within it.
***
“I found them,” Taliesin announced in triumph.
Uthyr looked up from the map he was studying and smiled. “Good. Where are they?”
“They lay in Eire, atop the mountain of Killaraus.”
“In Eire?” Uthyr shook his head and laughed. “Of course they are. In the land where the son of Gillomanius boils with wrath and curses my name, longing to avenge his father.” He looked up at the ceiling. “The gods must be enjoying this comedy.”
“I’m sorry, Pendragon, but yes.”
“And you’re certain we don’t possess stones of such quality to quarry within our own lands?”
Taliesin shook his head. “We don’t. This mountain was where the gods first brought the Sacred Cauldron to earth. Its heavenly waters spilled out upon it, soaking the stones, giving them the ability to heal illness and repel evil. There are no others like them. We must free them from the mountain and bring them here, to stand vigil over the bodies of our fallen. They will cleanse and heal the earth where the terrible deed took place and assure all buried there find the Summerlands.”
Uthyr leaned in, intrigued. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt your word, then we must have them.”
Taliesin nodded. “There could be no better tribute.”
Uthyr tapped his fingers on the table, looking down at his map and studying the isle of Eire. “This could turn into war, and so much the better. If Gillomanius the younger gives us any resistance, we’ll destroy him. We’ll need ships and men, again—and plenty of both. We must outrank them in both numbers and the quality of our weapons, for we won’t have the advantage of fighting on our own soil.”
“I’m sure my father will provide his ships again. And the Oaks can be counted upon for the weapons you require.”
&
nbsp; Uthyr murmured some calculations. “It will be at least three months before we can sail, given the state of our affairs at the moment. I’ll leave it to you to petition your father for the ships. I’ll take care of everything else. You may go.”
“Yes, Pendragon.” Taliesin left him to his maps, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of their quest.
***
Taliesin sent a message to his father. He also wrote a message to Tegid, sealed it in a bottle, and put it in the care of a rookery of seals. By way of the vast network of sea creatures familiar with the trading routes the Ceffyl Dŵr voyaged, he trusted it would find its way into Tegid’s hands. He desired Tegid’s help as much as his father’s—perhaps more. Tegid was a giant, able to move objects three times his size and weight. The stones they were after were massive, and Tegid’s strength would be an advantage when it came to getting them aboard the ships.
Just before Beltane, Elffin sent word that Tegid had received his message and had arrived in Gwythno. Taliesin went to Uthyr with the news. “We can sail for Eire within a fortnight, Pendragon, and Tegid has offered his help. He knows the coasts of Eire better than anyone alive.”
“Tegid Voel, the giant from your ballads?”
“The same.” Taliesin had often sung of Tegid and the voyages of the Ceffyl Dŵr to entertain Uthyr and his men.
“Yes!” Uthyr let out a happy cry. “At last, the opportunity comes to meet the great Tegid Voel, giant sea captain!”
“I’m sure the two of you will have much to talk about.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Uthyr’s smile then faded away, giving Taliesin concern. “There’s another matter I must speak to you about. Myrthin has returned, at least, for the moment, and wishes to lend his aid on this quest. I agreed, because I know my brother originally intended to entrust this task to him. I’ll not deny him if he wishes to be a part of it.”
Taliesin felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Myrthin’s returned? He felt deceived. I thought all he wanted was to shadow-walk in the Sacred Grove. Who’s watching over it now, if he’s here? Damn him, anyway—why must he covet all I have? Yet, he dared not protest. He nodded toward Uthyr. “Very well,” he managed to say.
