by J. M. Hofer
He picked up Arhianna and carried her below deck. Creirwy followed. “You’re not going to like this, but I think we’re going to have to sail them to the isle.”
“The isle?” Tegid cried, looking back at her. “Oh no. I’ll no sail into those cursed waters agin! I’ll take ye te where the river meets the lake, but no further.” He laid Arhianna gently on the bed.
“Fine, Father.” Creirwy sat down next to Arhianna and cradled her head in her lap. “Arhianna? Can you hear me?” She smoothed her red curls and kissed her forehead.
Tegid shook his head and went back to fetch Taliesin. Once he was safely below, he put a supportive hand on Creirwy’s shoulder. “Do yer best fer ‘em, lass. Me ol’ bones canno’ bear ye havin’ t’take such a horrible message to Bran.” He went back up on deck, leaving her to care for their unfortunate friends.
***
It felt like a year before they reached the edge of the lake, for no matter what herb or spell Creirwy tried, she could not revive either of them. The moment the Ceffyl Dŵr sailed into the lake, Tegid carried Arhianna and Taliesin above deck and put them in the rowboat. Creirwy climbed in as well, and the men lowered the rowboat into the water. Creirwy took up the oars and looked up at her father. “Wish me luck.”
“That I do. Pray fer yer mother’s help. Perhaps she’s missed ye.” He winked at his daughter. “We’ll be back in a moon fer ye, lass. Send fer us in Gwythno if ye need us sooner.”
Creirwy considered calling on Aveta but decided against it and rowed for the isle alone. Why worry her, until I know more? She reasoned that if Elayn could not help Taliesin and Arhianna, she would pay Aveta a visit then. The mists shifted around the isle as she neared, as if it wished to hide its face from her. She grew anxious. She had not been home in nigh on ten years.
Please, Great Mother. Let us in. Taliesin and Arhianna need you.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Myrthin’s Barter
“Taliesin?”
Taliesin heard a woman’s voice in the distance, calling from afar.
“Taliesin!”
He sat up and looked around. Arhianna slept on the ground beside him. “We’re over here!” he called, jumping to his feet. He heard several women’s voices swirling around him on the breeze, but one rose above the others.
“Did you see that?” the voice asked. “He stirred! I’m certain of it. It’s working—keep trying.”
He recognized the voice. “Creirwy?” He spun around, perplexed. “Where are you?”
The other whispers increased, until it sounded as if the women were standing right beside him, yet, still, he saw no one. What’s going on? Keep trying what? He reached over and shook Arhianna’s shoulder. She bolted upright and looked around, squinting her eyes and scrunching her face. “What’s wrong? Where did everyone go?”
He held up a hand. “Shhhh—do you hear anything?”
Arhianna paused and cocked her head to one side. “No.” It was then that she first noticed the deep rifts in the soil. “Where are we?”
“Same place we were last night. Well, almost.”
She eyed the disturbed ground. “But where are the stones? There’s no way they could have moved them in one night! And, even if they had, why would they leave us behind?” She stood up and spun around as Taliesin had, struggling to understand. “Was our camp attacked?”
“No.” Taliesin sighed and knelt down in defeat, finally understanding. “This was Myrthin’s doing.”
Arhianna took Taliesin by the shoulders and pinned her blue eyes on him. “What, exactly, has he done? Taken the stones and left us behind?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
He kneeled down and plunged his hands into the earth where the stones had nested for thousands of years. Tell me what you’ve seen, Earth Mother. Where has Myrthin taken your children? He sat there for some time, pouring his inquiry into the soil, waiting for its reply, until he felt the mounds of disturbed earth around his hands begin to move.
“Something’s happening!” Arhianna whispered.
The land beneath them began to shift, as if something were burrowing up from beneath the ground. Arhianna stepped back. “Oh, gods. What have you done?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? Should we run?”
“No…I don’t think so.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Arhianna backing away, conjuring a ball of fire between her palms.
“I don’t think you’ll need that.”
“I’m preparing it just the same.”
“Understood.” He kept his eyes on the ground. The soil rose up and formed a female figure. Long grasses trailed from her head down her back, blowing in the early morning breeze. Earthworms surfaced on her face and formed her lips. Flowers grew out of her eye sockets, folding their petals over their central floral disks to become her eyelids. Once complete, she reached out to him with arms and hands of twisted roots.
“Be careful,” Arhianna warned.
But Taliesin felt no fear. He took hold of the earth maiden’s hands. The moment he grasped them, the world around him shifted and Arhianna disappeared. Though concerned about being separated, he remained focused on the vision forming around him. The stones reappeared where they had stood the night before. “What do you see?” he heard Arhianna ask him.
He felt relieved hearing the sound of her voice, for he knew, even though he could not see her, she still stood beside him. “Grab her hands and you can see for yourself.”
He felt Arhianna’s hands grasp the roots and watched her appear beside him. He found himself unable to look away from her. Once again, she had a luminosity that hovered just above the edges of her body. He wondered if she saw him the same way. He was watching the light move along the strands of her hair when Arhianna let out a gasp, shocking him out of his stupor. “Look! Did you see that?” She nodded her head toward the stones on the far side of the field. “Over there!”
Taliesin looked in the direction she had motioned. Before long, a dark form appeared, slinking between the stones. “Myrthin,” he hissed under his breath. “Take us closer,” he commanded. The earth maiden complied, taking them across the field. From there, they followed Myrthin as he visited each of the stones in turn, mumbling to each as he slid his gnarled hands over their surface. When they came to the largest one, a shiver ran down Taliesin’s spine. Two corpse-like bodies lay at its base.
“Oh, gods!” Arhianna cried. “What’s he done to us?”
The earth maiden took them closer. Arhianna’s aura changed as she beheld her body. “What’s he done? Are we dead?” She looked over at Taliesin, fear darkening her light.
He put his arm around her. “I don’t think so. If we’re dead, where’s Arawn? We’d have heard his hounds long ago.”
Arhianna seemed somewhat comforted but no less confused. “What, then? Did he put something in our ale to make us sleep and then drag us elsewhere while they moved the stones?”
“No. We woke up in the same place we were last night,” Taliesin pointed out.
“I’m having a hard time remembering where that was, to tell you the truth. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not, anymore.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. The voices are our only hope. We must try to communicate with them. I know Creirwy is trying to help us.”
“But I still don’t understand what happened to the stones.” Arhianna pressed. “How did he move them?” She turned to their strange earthen hostess. “Can you show us where the stones are?”
Taliesin stopped her. “Wait. The more we do this, the harder it will be to make our way back—I think we should go back to where I heard the voices.”
Arhianna looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you want to know what happened? This may be our only chance!”
“No. We should return to where I heard the voices.”
“If you say so.”
But it was already too late. The world around
them shifted again, until they found themselves on a wide plain beneath a clear, star-decked sky, surrounded by tall, dark forms.
“Where are we now?” Arhianna asked.
“I’m not sure.”
The earth maiden pointed to the dark forms, now arranged in a circle, and Taliesin realized what had happened. “She’s taken us to where the stones are.” Together, he and Arhianna watched as the sun rose, spreading its light through the sky, revealing the wonder Myrthin had constructed.
“I can’t believe it. This is Ambrius.” Taliesin shook his head. “The bastard actually did it.”
Arhianna looked in wonder around them, turning to behold each of the sacred stones in turn. “And though it was you who found the stones for Uthyr, you shall have none of the glory for his monument.”
Then, like a bolt of lightning, as if the memory had been waiting for that precise moment of realization to surface and taunt him, Taliesin recalled Myrthin’s curse. He reached out and touched the stone in front of them, struggling with the burden of having to tell Arhianna of their plight. “No, I’ll not receive the glory, but that’s nothing compared to what he’s done to us.”
Arhianna looked over at him, her eyes wide with fear. “What do you mean?”
“He’s cursed us. He’s offered our souls to the spirits of Eire in exchange for the stones.”
Arhianna’s mouth dropped open. “Surely, he hasn’t the power to do that, does he?”
Taliesin shrugged. “I don’t know how, but he’s done it. We’re trapped here.”
Arhianna’s face twisted as if she were in pain. “Forever?”
As if to validate what Taliesin had said, the earth spirit pulled on their hands, bringing their awareness back to the plain in Eire where the stones were taken from. She led them across the plain into a forest. Deeper into the green they went, the trees crowding out the sunlight, until it seemed as if it might be twilight.
“Where are we going?” Arhianna whispered to Taliesin.
“To meet the Queen of the Daoine Sídhe, I imagine.” He put his arm around her. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” He could be certain of no such thing but smiled and said it just the same.
“But, we can’t! You said we must return to the place you heard Creirwy’s voice!”
“It’s too late for that, now. But don’t worry. I’ll get us home.” Taliesin took her by the hand and followed their escort, which was tricky at times. She could only be seen when she moved, for when she stopped, she instantly blended into the surrounding forest.
Taliesin kept up a calm appearance for Arhianna’s sake, but his mind raced as they moved through the trees toward whatever destiny awaited them. One by one, he considered all of the ways he might possibly manage to break Myrthin’s curse and secure their freedom. His free hand strayed inside his crane bag, feeling each of his treasures in turn, wondering what value they might carry in this realm. Are they enough to buy our freedom? He imagined they might, but the thought of parting with any of them caused his heart to cringe. His hatred for Myrthin deepened by the minute.
They eventually came upon an enormous hawthorne tree in full flower. A humming sound slowly filled the air around them, as if a swarm of bees were approaching from a distance.
“What’s happening?” Arhianna whispered.
“Everything!” a regal voice said. “Everything’s happening, all the time!’
Arhianna whirled around, her brows knit. “Is the tree speaking to us?”
The voice indeed issued from where the tree stood but not from the tree. What a moment before seemed nothing more than a cluster of tree blossoms now moved forward and revealed itself to be a headdress for a strange beauty. She wore nothing more than tall summer grass, leaves and ferns. The humming sound revealed itself as well, as several dragonflies alighted in her hair, forming a living, moving crown.
Taliesin stared at her, unable to move. He felt transfixed, as if frozen in a dream.
“I am Oonagh of the Daoine Sídhe, wife of the noble Finbheara. I’m your queen, now.”
Arhianna looked over at Taliesin for guidance, who answered by bending his knee. She did the same.
“Good. Now, rise and let’s be off for Knockma. I want to be back long before sundown. Times are dangerous. I like a good battle as much as the next, but lately, Connaught soil’s soaked up more blood than it should. Once we’re safely back in Knockma, I must hear that voice of yours. Myrthin says it’s the finest he’s ever heard.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Octa’s Revolt
Uthyr had come to Mynyth Aur himself to deliver news of Taliesin and Arhianna’s strange illness to Bran, but Bran had already learned of it from Irwyn. Lucia had left immediately, of course.
“And? Have they recovered?” Uthyr asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m also sorry to have to call upon you again, so soon after Menevia.”
“How can I serve, Pendragon?”
“It’s Octa, this time. Now that my brother’s dead, he’s on the move. He refuses to honor the agreement they made.”
“You can count on us, as always.”
Uthyr looked pleased. “I’m rallying my forces in Viroconium. When can I expect you?”
“In a week or less.”
“Thank you, Bran of the Oaks. Your loyalty means much to me.”
“Always.” Bran did his best to hide his fatigue. With the help of Myrthin’s herbs, his pain was manageable, but only for the demands of everyday life. I’ll certainly have to take more if I’m to be of any use in battle. His hand went to the pouch he now carried on his belt and squeezed it. It was half gone.
***
The midsummer festivities were canceled. Yet again, Bran prepared his men to march north. They were on the road in two days. They encountered other clans along the way also traveling to Viroconium to support Uthyr and pitched camp alongside them at night. There was safety in numbers.
“Uthyr seems to have garnered even more support than Emrys,” Gareth remarked to him one night.
Bran assessed the number of fires and men surrounding them and nodded. “He’s done well.”
“Father, do you think he’s the Pendragon Islwyn spoke of? The one who will unite Brython?”
Bran shrugged. “Many druids thought Emrys was the Pendragon of prophecy. At one time, when I was much younger, they sang my name. Now, the druids whisper of Uthyr.”
“So you don’t think he is?”
“I’m not saying he is or he isn’t—only time will tell. In any case, it’s good that so many chieftains believe that he is. It means we have a much better chance of winning this battle.” He poked at the fire. “Much of what happens in life is simply the result of people believing it was destined to happen.”
“So you don’t believe in destiny?”
Bran paused, choosing his words carefully. “I believe we play more of a role in our lives than the gods do.”
Gareth raised his eyebrows.
“And I believe that’s the way they want it. Just do what your gut and heart tell you to do. That’s all you need to know.”
Gareth glanced up at him skeptically. “That’s it?”
Bran thought back on his life a moment. “I’m not saying you’ll never make mistakes. You will. But at least they’ll be the right ones.”
Gareth nodded and stared into the fire.
Bran did not bother to explain further. He felt Gareth understood.
***
They arrived in Viroconium ahead of schedule. The city looked like a hornets’ nest that had been kicked. Thousands of men moved through the streets in a sort of organized chaos, readying for the march.
“Didn’t think we’d be back so soon,” Gareth said. “First, Hengist, then Pasgen, now Octa—are there any more vipers Emrys left sleeping in the nest, do you think?”
“Vortigern and all his sons are dead, and Octa is the last living son of Hengist. For whatever it’s worth, all sons of Uthyr�
�s professed enemies are dead—but enemies are like weeds. They grow in all the most unlikely places.”
After giving his name to a few of the men in charge, Bran was told where the Oaks who had joined Uthyr’s permanent army were barracked. He led his men there to join them. The first familiar face he saw belonged to Maur’s youngest son.
“Hafgan!” He smiled and clapped him on the back.
The young man’s face split into a wide grin. “Pennaeth!”
Bran looked him up and down and squeezed his sturdy shoulder. “You’ve put on some muscle! They training you up and feeding you well?”
Hafgan cocked his head to and fro. “Well enough. Bit spoiled by my mum.”
Bran nodded. Buddug’s cooking was by far the best in the clan, though he had never said so to Lucia. “She’s spoiled us all, I’m afraid. Speaking of your mother, she sends her love. Your father, too, of course. I’d have dragged him up to march with us, but someone’s got to take care of Mynyth Aur for me.” He shot Gareth a look.
Hafgan followed his gaze and his eyes lit up. “Gareth!” He and Gareth gripped one another’s forearms in greeting. “Have a taste for battle now, have you?”
“You know I do.”
“Glad to hear it. We’ve been itching to march for days.”
Bran looked around, wondering where his sister might be. Though he had nearly begged her to come home with them after the battle in Menevia, she had chosen to return to Viroconium with Aelhaearn. “Do you know where I can find Seren?”
Hafgan’s smile disappeared. “Have you not heard?”
“Heard what?” Bran’s stomach lurched.
“She didn’t send word?”
“About what?”
Hafgan glanced over at Gareth, then at the ground, his face twisting into a hesitant grimace.
