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

by J. M. Hofer

  Uthyr addressed the men who remained. “I am not expecting the whelp to accept my offer. We must be ready for an attack. Set up camp and organize a watch.” He turned to Taliesin, who stood nearby. “Tomorrow, I want you to take me and some of the men to see these stones, so we can determine how we might move them.”

  “Of course, Pendragon.”

  ***

  The messenger returned just after nightfall.

  “Well?” asked Uthyr.

  The messenger looked anxious. “He laughed and called us ridiculous fools to sail across the sea in search of stone. He asked why the stone in our own land is not good enough for us—said he hoped our men weren’t like our stoneless land, unable to satisfy our women…” At this, the messenger noticed Arhianna and trailed off.

  “And?” Uthyr prompted, dismissing Arhianna with a wave of his hand. “Go on. Tell me every word the wretch uttered.”

  “He railed on about how he and his men should sail their coveted Irish stone over to our land and satisfy our women, for surely with what we lack they must lie awake at night, squirming in their beds. Most importantly, he threatened if we’re not gone from his shores by dawn, we’ll die on them.”

  Fire flashed in Uthyr’s eyes, and his mouth widened into a bloodthirsty smile. “Let him try.”

  ***

  That night, Uthyr gave a rousing speech amidst a great circle of bonfires, his voice booming over the waves. “No man, not even a king, can own the treasures of the earth—no more than he can command the winds to blow or the sun to shine. In the morning, the Irish will pay for their folly and pride.”

  At dawn, as promised, the son of Gillomanius sent his army to drive them back into the sea, but they were no match for Uthyr and his forces. By noon, the sea was pulling hundreds of crimson rivers from the bodies of the slain into her lap. “Strip them of their weapons and valuables!” Uthyr commanded. “Shipmasters, choose twenty of your men to stay behind with your ship and spoils. The rest will come with us to seek the stones.”

  Myrthin came over to Taliesin, shaking his head in disapproval at the many dead who were being fleeced. “I hope these stones are worth the ocean of blood spilled today.” He walked off before Taliesin could respond, granting him nothing but a critical backward glance. Arhianna, who had been near enough to hear Myrthin’s criticism, came over and put a consoling arm around Taliesin’s shoulders. “Pay him no mind. This battle was inevitable—stones or not. You don’t have to be a king or druid to see that.”

  Taliesin gazed up at the sky, trying to shrug it off. Then, almost as if they had been conjured by the druid’s disdain, afternoon storm clouds gathered on the horizon. They donned dark hoods to hide their faces, rolling like a funeral procession toward the shore. There, they billowed higher, hovering like grieving widows over their husbands’ graves.

  “Thank you for letting me come,” Arhianna said to him, but her face was not as bright and enthusiastic as it had been before. She looked worried.

  Taliesin nodded. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re here.” He noticed she was carrying a large satchel. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Bandages, herbs. A few salves and tinctures. I must earn my place here.”

  Taliesin looked up and down the shore. “Plenty of opportunity for that, unfortunately.”

  She nodded and dove in, delivering what help she could to the wounded until night fell.

  The songs around the fires that night were somber, but they had won the battle. Taliesin only hoped, as Myrthin had pointed out, that the stones were worthy of the sacrifice they had made for them that day.

  ***

  The next morning, Uthyr chose a party of men to accompany them to the mountain, Myrthin among them. “We’re ready,” he said to Taliesin. “Choose whomever else you wish to come with us.”

  Taliesin brought only Irwyn and Arhianna. He offered no explanation why, and Uthyr asked for none.

  Taliesin led the way up the side of the ridge that stood sentinel over the bloody shore below, toward the green foothills that rose in the distance. He had shadow-walked the route enough times that he never needed to stop and assess his surroundings.

  They reached the bottom of the mountain by mid-afternoon, and then hiked up a barely discernable trail that switchbacked along its side. After an hour or so, it leveled off into a wide clearing. From there, trails led down the other side or up toward the summit. “Not much further, now,” Taliesin encouraged, stopping a moment to catch his breath. He took the trail leading up to a high plateau with a stunning view of the land around them. Clouds rolled in from one side, seemed to get caught on the mountains ridges, and then spilled over the other side like waterfalls. He led them along the ridgeback trail until it opened up into yet another plateau. There, a slanted citadel of blue-grey stones reached sideways toward the summit, like the hands of a giant poised to capture the clouds.

  Myrthin stepped in front of the party, his mouth agape, and rushed past Taliesin on the trail.

  Irwyn came and put his arm around Taliesin’s shoulder. He pointed to the monoliths down in the clearing. “Those are your stones?”

  “Yes.”

  Irwyn nodded slowly as he assessed them. “They are big.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded again, even more slowly. “How the hell are we going to move them?”

  Taliesin did his best to hide his disappointment. He had hoped Irwyn, with his seeming god-like ability to accomplish the astonishing, would have some idea on how to engineer a solution. It was, aside from his good company, the reason he had chosen to bring him along. “You have no ideas?”

  Irwyn pursed his lips doubtfully, tipping his head this way and that. He moved closer, looking the stones up and down. “Not at the moment, but let me go down and look at them. Perhaps I will think of something.”

  A flicker of hope sparked in Taliesin’s heart. He prayed the stone would speak to Irwyn the way wood spoke to him.

  They caught up to Myrthin, who was leaning against one of the stones in rapture, laughing as if he were drunk on mead. Irwyn raised his eyebrows, looking at Taliesin as if to ask what was wrong with their strange companion. Taliesin shrugged and ignored the scene, instead reaching out and placing his palm upon the nearest stone. “We’ve paid a bloody price for these stones. We must figure out a way to move them, or our men will have died in vain.”

  The men, including Uthyr, nodded and approached the stones with reverence. They touched them, explored their fissures, and tested the earth they grew out of. For an hour, they cased the stones like cats, seeking some weakness they could exploit in order to free them, but found none. After an hour of evaluation, they looked no more confident about the situation. Taliesin may as well have asked them to coax honey from the stones.

  Arhianna came and took Taliesin’s arm. “I must tell you something,” she whispered, leading him away from the others to a place they could not be overheard.

  “What?”

  Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the mountaintop clearing where the stones stood. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

  Taliesin could feel many things. He was not certain what Arhianna meant.

  She lowered her voice. “You know as well as I do that this is a place between worlds—like the groves of the Oak and the Ash. The stones are the doorway. I’m certain if we cross over, we can discover more about them—and, perhaps, a way to move them.”

  ***

  The men pitched a crude camp and argued around the fire for hours about different ways they might free the stones from the mountain and get them to the ships. Even Arhianna, who was no mason or carpenter, knew none of their schemes were sound. She grew anxious for the men to stop their senseless talk and fall asleep.

  Irwyn came over to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She let out a sigh. “I want these fools to go to bed. Then, you must keep watch in the camp for us—don’t let them near the stones.”

  Irwyn wrinkled his brow. “What are you going to do
?”

  She explained as best she could the plan she and Taliesin had devised earlier. “But we can’t begin until they’re asleep.”

  Irwyn did not seem convinced their plan had any hope of success but agreed to stand watch. “You can try. These men are getting nowhere. They think Uthyr has brought them on an impossible quest. There has been grumbling since we arrived.” He looked over at Taliesin, his dark eyes turning ominous. “I fear Taliesin will be to blame. And I think Myrthin knows something he is not telling anyone. He is a strange man. I do not like him.”

  “I agree with you.” Arhianna shot a suspicious glance toward Myrthin, who, as usual, had kept to himself all night. “If Taliesin cannot figure out a way to move these stones, and Myrthin does—Taliesin will look like a fool.”

  Irwyn nodded and then grimaced. “If that happens, I fear the men will counsel Uthyr to reinstate Myrthin as Pen Bairth. There has been talk of that as well.”

  “What?” Arhianna felt a hot wave of indignation rise up her neck. “What are they saying?”

  “That Taliesin is just a boy, not old enough or wise enough to counsel a king.”

  Arhianna looked at the men with disdain, reserving most of it for Myrthin. “Then this is his chance to prove them wrong, and we must help him do it.”

  At first, she had been fascinated by Myrthin, as most people were, but now, she simply found him tedious. He did not speak much, but when he did, he spoke mostly in riddles. Perhaps what bothered her most was that he seemed to have no desire to teach or comfort with his knowledge but rather delighted in confounding his listeners and aggrandizing himself.

  Irwyn glanced toward the druid, who was now watching them as if he knew they were speaking about him. “Keep your power hidden from him. I do not think it would be good if he knew what you can do.”

  Arhianna eyed Myrthin, who caught her gaze. It sent a shiver down her spine. “Neither do I.”

  ***

  The dark thunderclouds from the shore appeared to have followed them, so Arhianna got her wish—tents were pitched and all retired early. The hike had been long and hard, so, with any luck, all would soon be sleeping soundly.

  Within twenty minutes, all voices and rustling faded away.

  “Come,” Taliesin commanded, taking Arhianna by the hand. The pair crept in the dark, as silently as cats, to a place behind the stones where they could not be seen by those in the camp.

  “Now what?” Arhianna whispered.

  “We’re going to find out.” Taliesin gave Arhianna a nod of encouragement. She looked nervous but stepped forward with him so that their faces were but a few inches from the stone.

  Taliesin began murmuring prayers to the Great Mother and the Guardians of the North, lords of stone and soil. Slowly, all expression drained from Arhianna’s face. Her pupils widened and her eyes glazed over, until she looked as if her soul had left her body. When Taliesin felt ready, he moved into the lea of the stone next to her. He put his arm around her waist and raised his left hand, allowing it to hover just above the surface of the stone. He could feel heat coming off of it, as if it were an animal. When he felt ready, he touched it.

  The stone’s warm energy spread into his hand and then up his arm. Once it reached his heart, a sight exploded into view, causing him to gasp. The stones seemed to be breathing, their surfaces rising and falling. Patterns emanated from them, rippling and swirling in precise geometric patterns in all directions, growing ever larger as they spiraled outward. Nothing seemed solid. Every tree, star, rock, and blade of grass was a light-filled thing of beauty. He felt spellbound, unable to speak or move, except to squeeze Arhianna’s hand. Arhianna…I must see her. He willed himself to turn his head. Arhianna’s face was luminous and perfect, like the moon above them. Colored bands of energy flowed out of her heart and forehead into the stone, and then traveled back out of the stone into his palm, flowing up his arm and into his heart, until he felt like a cup overflowing with wine—wine pressed from light. It filled and flowed out of both of them and then back into the stone again, where it was purified and returned. Taliesin felt as if every black thought or physical ailment he had ever known were being washed out of him. With each pulse of the rhythm he felt more pleasure and more spellbound. He willed himself to resist. I came here to do something. I must do it.

  Then, as if he were thrown into icy water, his world went cold and black. A voice began to speak. A voice he had heard before. A voice he did not trust. It chanted:

  Queen Oonagh of the Daoine Sídhe,

  this golden pair, I offer thee,

  one blessed by Fire, one born of Sea,

  to serve you for eternity.

  Spirits living in this land,

  grasp these children in your hands,

  pull them deep within your coil,

  drain their will into your soil.

  Draw their blood into your stone, bind their flesh, and bind their bones…

  The bliss Taliesin had experienced moments before turned to terror. He tried to push away from the stone and yank Arhianna with him, but it was no use. The stones had claimed Myrthin’s offering.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Fallen

  “What the hell happened to them?” Uthyr demanded, dropping Taliesin’s limp arm to the ground. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if the action might rid him of the terrible situation. “Gods! Why did Taliesin insist on bringing Bran’s daughter?” He felt angry with himself for allowing it. “Myrthin!” he bellowed. “Myrthin!” Still, no answer. “Damn it! Someone go find that bloody druid!” Several men ran off to find Myrthin and Uthyr sat down next to Taliesin, examining him.

  Irwyn came forward, Creirwy by his side. “Let Creirwy take them to the Ceffyl Dŵr, Pendragon. She can look after them and wait for us there.”

  Before Uthyr could reply, Myrthin appeared. “Yes, Pendragon?”

  “Come, do you know what might have happened to them? They’re as limp as fish and won’t wake.”

  Myrthin regarded the bodies on the ground without any change in expression. “These stones hold great power. They are not to be trifled with.”

  “You think the stones did this?”

  “I’m certain they had something to do with it.”

  “Can you help them?”

  At this, Creirwy stepped forward, shooting Myrthin a challenging look. “Pendragon, please, I mean no offense, but I’d prefer to see to them myself.”

  Myrthin raised his brows. “As you wish.”

  Creirwy’s expression remained resolute. She looked back at Uthyr. “Do I have your leave to take them back to the ship, Pendragon?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Myrthin stepped forward. “And you can go with them, Master Irwyn. I’ve figured out how to move the stones. Your services are no longer required.”

  Irwyn raised his brows. “How?”

  Myrthin smirked and walked off.

  ***

  “Bastard,” Creirwy mumbled, watching Myrthin disappear into the trees. She put her hand on Irwyn’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “Pay him no mind.”

  Irwyn grimaced but said nothing.

  Uthyr walked over. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Creirwy gestured toward Taliesin and Arhianna. “If you can spare some men to help us carry them back down to the ship, we’ll be on our way.”

  Uthyr nodded. “Of course.” He went off to speak to his men and returned shortly with help. Creirwy took the blanket from around her shoulders, another from her pack, and laid both upon the ground. The men lifted the pair onto the blankets and then took up the corners.

  Creirwy gave Uthyr a parting smile. “We shall leave you now, Pendragon. May good fortune bless your journey.” She nodded toward Irwyn and they began their descent back down the mountain.

  ***

  They made it back to the beach by afternoon. The men helped Irwyn and Creirwy lay Arhianna and Taliesin in a rowboat and then returned to the mountain.

  Creirwy glanc
ed over at Irwyn as he rowed them out to the Ceffyl Dŵr. “I’m worried. If the stones have caused this, I fear we’re dealing with deep magic.”

  Irwyn nodded. “I did not want to say anything in front of anyone, but Arhianna told me last night that she and Taliesin were planning on doing something with the stones. She asked me to watch Uthyr’s men—to make sure they did not go near the stones.”

  Creirwy sighed. “Oh, gods. What did they do? If I can’t heal them, the only thing I can think of is to take them to the isle and ask the sisters for help. And that’s the last place my father is going to want to go.”

  Irwyn remembered Tegid’s horrible prison well and grimaced at the thought. Though it had been years since he had been there, he had never forgotten it. He often had nightmares about trudging through its miserable swamp and being pulled under by the dreadful creatures that lived in it. “This, I understand.”

  “My mother is more powerful now than she ever was when she walked the earth. If she wanted to, I’m certain she could trap him again.”

  Irwyn eyed Taliesin and Arhianna and raised his brows. “Then, for their sake, I hope she has found it in her heart to forgive him.”

  ***

  “What the hell happened?” Tegid asked, peering over the side of the ship into the rowboat.

  Irwyn steadied himself and took hold of the ladder Tegid had unfurled. He climbed up and explained. “They live but sleep as if they were dead.”

  Concern furrowed Tegid’s brow. He looked back down in the boat. “Stay there, Daughter. We’ll pull the boat up.” Tegid threw her some ropes. Creirwy tied them through the oar loops as well as the bow and stern and threw the ends back up. The crew soon had the rowboat safely aboard.

  “Father, can you carry them down below? I’m going to do what I can for them.”

  Tegid eyed the pair lying in the boat. “Ye still have no’ told me what happened.”

  Creirwy shook her head. “We don’t know. We found them like this, lying at the base of the stones.”

  Tegid crouched down, picked up Arhianna, and put his ear to her mouth. “Limp as dead fish, yet breathin’.” He straightened back up and shot a suspicious eye toward the mountains. “I’d no be touchin’ them stones, let alone movin’ ‘em. This looks like dark magic, if ye ask me—plenty o’ tales o’ that, in these parts. Besides, look at the blood spilled fer ‘em already.” He looked disdainfully at the shore and shook his head. “Hope ye kin help the poor bairns.”