A Heart in Sun and Shadow (Cymru That Was Book 1)

by Annie Bellet

  “Did I meet you when you were younger?” he guessed, for he could not place her.

  Again she nodded.

  “An old friend of my mother’s, are you?”

  She thought for a moment and then shook her head.

  Curious. Emyr looked up and motioned to Urien. “Who brought her here? I can’t believe she walked, eh.”

  “She rode in on Aled ap Aled’s cart,” Urien answered. “I’ll fetch him.”

  Emyr released the crone’s wrist and smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner even as he took a step back. He turned his head back toward the open door of the hall and called for Hafwyn to come out.

  Hafwyn emerged into the summer sun, dusting her hands off on her skirts. Emyr motioned to the strange old woman.

  “Do you know her, mother? She says she knows me, or at least implies. She cannot speak, poor thing.”

  Hafwyn looked at the crone who immediately turned beseeching eyes toward her. She studied the old woman a long moment and then slowly shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize her. If she’s a friend from my youth perhaps Melita might recall her, but I think it unlikely she’d know her when I do not.”

  The crone stamped one foot into the ground and wobbled precariously for a moment, clearly frustrated. She pointed vigorously between Emyr and herself, and then, to everyone’s surprise, to Emyr and his dog.

  Does she know somehow? Has she been sent here to disrupt the wedding? To reveal our curse? Is she some manifestation of the Fair Folk? Emyr turned a worried gaze on his mother and found his fears reflected in her eyes.

  Urien returned at the moment with the brewer in tow. Emyr motioned the man forward and asked him to tell what he knew of the old woman.

  “From where and why did you bring her here?” he asked gently, pressing down on his fear.

  Aled looked between the chief and the crone with wide eyes. “I did not mean any harm, I didn’t. She was walking on the road down from the woods and seemed to be heading to the feast. It seemed a terrible long way for such as she to walk, so I offered a ride in my cart. She gave me little trouble; does she bother you now?”

  “She seems to think she knows me.”

  Aled swallowed hard. “Well, there was one odd thing.” He paused and glanced at the crone again. She stared back at him, that same intense determination on her face as before. “Well,” he continued “When I mentioned that I was on my way to your wedding feast, the poor woman fainted dead away. And when she came to she seemed doubly determined to reach the llys. But she can’t speak, so I’m not sure the meaning of any of it. Sorry, my lord.”

  Emyr sighed. This news only raised more questions and did nothing to quell his fears. “There is nothing to forgive, Aled. Go about your business now, and thank you for your kindness. It surely would have been too far for her legs to take her.” Though I ungenerously wish you’d been a harder man and left her behind.

  Aled nodded, glanced between Emyr and the crone one last time, and then fled the courtyard.

  Emyr looked down at the crone. He didn’t want to be rude or give offense in case she was one of the Fey, but he could hardly let such a shadow hang over his nuptials.

  “Forgive me, old one, but I must ask it. Are you one of the Fair Folk?” he said and then held his breath.

  She hesitated, a strange look on her face. When she did finally answer, she shook her head slowly. Her hesitation and tense face were answer enough for Emyr. He let out his breath and ran a nervous hand over his tunic.

  “Today is my wedding day. I mean no offense, but I cannot allow you into the hall until I have the time to sort out where you are from and why. Please, go and seat yourself there by the forge. I’ll have someone bring you soft food, and you may enjoy the merriment from there.”

  She looked at him with what he would have sworn was terrible despair and shook her head. She pointed to him again, and then to Idrys, who sat up and cocked his black head to one side, watching her as intently as she watched him. Then the crone pointed to herself and repeated the triangle.

  Hafwyn touched his arm. “Come, my son, we’ll have time and time to sort this out tomorrow. The lawgiver stands ready and the feast nearly set. We should make sure to finish this before the hour grows late.” She gave him a meaningful look.

  Emyr nodded, pushing all thoughts of the strange old woman aside. “Urien, seat her over there and see that someone brings her something soft enough for her to swallow.” He left the ‘and see she doesn’t enter this hall’ portion of his orders unspoken for the sake of courtesy.

  The crone gave a silent, open-mouthed cry and threw herself at him, waving her branch. Urien stepped in just in time to prevent her from actually leaping upon him and hauled the crone away. Emyr winced and hoped his friend was being gentler than he looked to be since the poor old woman appeared fragile enough that a summer breeze might break her. At Hafwyn’s second tug on his sleeve he turned and followed her back into the hall.

  * * *

  Idrys turned to follow his brother, then paused. Something about that old woman was terribly familiar. He slipped around the edge of the courtyard and waited until a very firm Urien got her seated on a bench and took away her branch. Idrys came up alongside the crone. She smiled shyly at him and stretched out a thin, veined hand.

  Idrys sniffed at her fingers. She smelled of dirt and sweat and more faintly of horse and owl. He wondered at the owl part and his furry body shivered as he recalled the owl who shadowed him often as he sat out staring into the distance each night. There was something else under these smells, something familiar and yet strange.

  Idrys jammed his bony head into her thin thigh, snuffling at her skin through the rags of her robe. There was a smell there of herbs and beneath that a scent of both spice and fruit. He knew that scent, knew it in every part of himself.

  Áine.

  With a surprised yip, Idrys sat back on his haunches and looked up at Áine. She looked down at him with an unfamiliar face and eyes no longer the fresh green of new leaves but the tired color of dead moss. They stared into each other’s eyes for a very long moment and then Idrys jumped up into her lap and licked her face. He had to let her know that he knew. And as soon as darkness fell, Emyr would know as well from her scent if not from Idrys telling him.

  Idrys dropped back to the ground as Urien stepped over and pushed him away.

  “He’s not usually so friendly, I’m sorry. Go on, Cy, leave the woman in peace, eh?” Urien gave Áine a halfhearted smile of apology and shoved at Idrys.

  Idrys barked. He did not want to be parted from Áine. He had no idea how she’d come to be this way, though he had a few guesses, and he had no intention of letting her out of his sight again, at least until after the wedding when he could be a man again and let everyone know who she was. And find a way to put her back to what she’d been.

  The wedding! The wedding cannot happen.

  The thought struck him hard and he redoubled his barking. Emyr would come, would know something was horribly wrong. Idrys rarely barked or howled, only ever when there was terrible danger or when he felt deep sorrow. Áine is returned to us; we cannot marry that other woman, not until we know how and what has happened. And, following on the trail of that thought, I pray that I did not somehow cause this for her. Let it not be because I loved her. Hasn’t Seren punished us enough?

  He growled and snapped at Urien, placing himself in a guard position in front of Áine who was making frantic motions behind him. Urien backed away in shock and yelled for Emyr.

  Emyr came into the courtyard at a run, ducking out of the hall and looking around for the danger. He strode over to Idrys and looked between the hound and Urien.

  “What is happening here? Is everyone all right?” he asked, still casting about as though wondering who was bleeding to death and where.

  “That damn hound. I don’t know. He’s never acted this way before.” Urien looked bewildered. “He jumped up on the old woman, and then wh
en I pushed him away, he started snapping and howling.”

  “Cy, Cy, easy there old friend.” Emyr approached Idrys with fear in his eyes.

  Idrys quit barking and looked between Emyr and Áine in what he hoped was a meaningful way. He understood Áine’s frustration at being unable to speak; it was how he spent half his days.

  “Did she do something to you?” Emyr asked him as he stroked his ears in a soothing gesture.

  Idrys shook his head in a very undoglike way that raised the eyebrows of the little crowd gathering.

  “I swear that hound just shook his head in answer,” said Gwideon ap Rhys, who was the Chief of Rhufon and father to Eirian.

  Emyr stiffened and looked at his soon-to-be father-in-law. “Aye, we’ve a rapport, Cy and I, he half-fancies himself human sometimes. But clearly something has disturbed him. I’ll just bring him inside and we’ll get the ceremony started. Go on in, please.”

  The small, wiry man, who was about the same age as Hafwyn, nodded. “The lawgiver is ready, and so be my daughter. I’d hate to have a hound hold up the wedding.” He smiled but it didn’t push the worry out of his eyes.

  Idrys understood everyone’s reservations. A black hound howling was an omen of death, and the strange old crone didn’t set any nerves to rest either with her presence. He hoped to use that to his advantage, for this wedding must not occur. He rose to his feet again and started howling.

  “Cy, cut that out, will you? Come on, boy. Inside the hall, now.” Anger flashed in Emyr’s eyes, mixed with confusion and worry.

  Idrys refused to budge, howling more loudly. He turned his head and looked up at Áine. She leaned on the bench with a wild smile on her face. She understood what he was trying to do and clearly approved. Given heart, Idrys started running in tight circles around Emyr, keeping him penned in the courtyard.

  “Enough!” Emyr yelled. “Whatever game you’ve got in your head, now is not the time for playing. If you don’t calm down, I’ll have to lock you in the barn.” He looked surprised that the threat had even left his mouth, but Urien and Llew, who’d come over to see if he could help, both nodded.

  “Might be best, Emyr. At least until after the wedding and feast, eh?” Llew clapped a hand on Emyr’s shoulder, stepping nimbly through the circle howling Idrys wove.

  Idrys stopped and snarled before resuming his mad circling.

  “Mayhap he’s ill,” Urien muttered.

  Emyr started to run a hand through his hair before he recalled it was pulled back for the occasion. “Urien, get a rope,” he growled.

  Idrys barked and snarled and darted about the courtyard, upsetting a table before the determined men cornered him and pulled him into the barn. Emyr tied him up with an apologetic look and whispered “We’ll sort this out tonight, I promise.”

  He jerked and pulled and bit at his makeshift collar but it was tied well. The rope was thick and coarse, but Idrys set to work, determinedly gnawing away at the strands.

  Keep faith, Áine. I know you, I won’t let this happen. Somehow I’ll stop it all and set it all to right. I’ve failed everyone for so long, I cannot lie down and let this, too, pass. Áine. Áine.

  * * *

  Áine watched in horror as the three men wrestled with Idrys and then dragged him into the barn. She rose unsteadily to her feet and lurched toward them as they emerged and barred the barn door behind themselves.

  Urien rolled his eyes and moved toward her as though she were an unruly child unable to follow direction. Áine glared at him and tried to push past, hesitating between going to Emyr and going to the barn to free Idrys.

  Emyr advanced on her also, his face red and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a tight grimace. “You!” he cried, “I don’t know who or mayhap what you are, but you’ve caused enough trouble for an afternoon. Sit there and if you make another motion toward myself or my damn hound, I’ll see that you’re set out of the village, courtesy or no. If you’ve worked a spell on my old friend there, I’ll have you strung up for witchcraft. No, I’ll do the stringing myself.”

  Áine recoiled from his anger and stumbled. Urien reluctantly caught her with one arm and helped her back to her bench at the edge of the courtyard. A goodly crowd had gathered and even the faces Áine knew gazed at her with curiosity and fear, and entirely without recognition.

  Idrys knew me, why doesn’t Emyr? He marries another; has his love for me flown? She shivered and gazed at Emyr as he took several deep breaths to regain control of his temper. Idrys is a hound, he has a hound’s senses. At nightfall, Emyr will know me as well.

  At nightfall, it will be too late.

  Emyr turned away from her and motioned to the gathered people. “Come now, the others stand ready. The sooner we bind the contract, the sooner we feast.” He put on a brave smile and strode back into the hall.

  Áine felt as ancient as her bones. Her spirit cracked and her heart slowed to a deep, painful rhythm. She felt as though her hope were a tangible thing draining out with every tired breath. A harsh sob wracked her frail body and she doubled over, clutching at herself with weak, unfamiliar arms. It would all end here, this night. She would remain an old woman forever and her lovers would be bound to another.

  From inside the barn came a mournful howl. Idrys. You are as helpless as I to stop this wedding, to communicate the truth. I have failed us both.

  At dusk, they would change and she would not be near. Emyr had threatened to throw her out of the village if she approached him again, and Áine knew that, once in the wild, she’d likely give up and die alone of a broken heart or old age, whichever proved a swifter end.

  Dusk. The change. He has to return to Idrys to switch places. I’ll have a chance to free them at least. If I can somehow follow him into the barn, for I doubt that Idrys will go quietly into the hall.

  There was still hope. Áine raised her worn and reddened eyes. She would have one final chance. She touched the curse-breaking necklaces where they rested under her ragged robe. She’d not brought them out to show Emyr for fear that he’d take them from her, since he seemed determined to misinterpret all her actions for the ill.

  She took a steadying breath and rubbed her arms. A young girl approached her cautiously with a bowl, glancing up at Urien who nodded. Áine took the bowl, thinking the girl looked more than passing familiar. With a start she realized it was Maderun’s elder daughter, Geneth. She stopped herself from touching the girl’s face, reading the fear in her eyes. She’d cared for the girl when she was sick, and now there was no recognition at all.

  She sighed and sipped at the warm goose broth. She could not prevent the wedding. Even now she could hear the crowd inside the hall responding with the traditional words of promise and witness. But she would be trapped in this hideous form, so perhaps the wedding going forward was the best thing for Emyr, and Idrys.

  Idrys. You love me still; will you care for me in my strange old age? Or will this become another thing with which you torment yourself? She touched the cheek he’d licked so enthusiastically and felt a little warmth creep into her heart.

  It was too late to prevent the wedding, yes. But only Emyr was in there saying those vows, agreeing to the contract between cantrefi. Idrys would be free, he’d be hers.

  You can free them. Yes. And I will.

  Twenty-seven

  Emyr hardly tasted the food he ate from his plate more by habit than desire. All around him swirled happy conversation and he felt Eirian’s thigh pressing into his as they sat side by side on the bench. Beneath the voices he imagined he could still hear the desperate howling of his brother and the muddy green eyes of the crone burned into his mind. He did not know her, but clearly there was something Other about her.

  Idrys had been trying to tell him something, he was sure of that. But had it been a warning or some different message entirely?

  He picked at a dormouse baked and stuffed with sweetmeats and then took a deep drink of ale. The shadows outside in the courtyard were growing longer and he felt t
he familiar tingle in his blood. It was nearly time for him to leave, but he would need to think of a good excuse to rise and leave his own wedding feast for time. Emyr turned his head and watched his bride. Her pretty face turned up to his and she smiled shyly.

  Emyr was about to ask her forgiveness for his rude leave-taking and beg the need for the latrine or some such when Urien darkened the doorway and looked about the hall, meeting Emyr’s eyes with a worried face. Emyr motioned to his friend and Urien glanced behind and then crossed the hall to the chief’s table.

  “Forgive me, Emyr, but it’s Cy. I think he’s chewed himself free of the rope and is now throwing his body against the stable doors. I’m not sure they’ll hold.” Urien glanced back toward the courtyard again.

  Now that the hall had quieted on his entrance, the banging of a body hitting wood rang clearly in the late afternoon air.

  “Thank you, Urien. I’ll see to him.” Emyr rose.

  “Why not let your man take care of it? A man should not leave his own wedding feast.” Gwideon ap Rhys looked between the two men. His eyes were full of suspicions and Emyr knew that the events earlier with the dog and the old woman had raised some doubt in the Chief of Rhufon’s mind. A black dog and a crone were ill omens.

  Emyr sighed. The tingling in his blood grew stronger and he knew he’d need to leave soon anyway. Idrys’s strange actions had at least given him a good excuse.

  “Cy is acting strangely, Gwideon, and while I have no fear my hound will bite me, I’m not so certain of the safety of others right now. I’ll not send a friend into danger.” He turned and looked down at Eirian. “Forgive me, my lady. I will return shortly.” Well, I won’t, but I hope whatever is infecting my brother doesn’t carry over to his human form.

  Gwideon looked as though he would protest further but Eirian rose as well.

  “Hush, father. Emyr’s hound has been his companion since boyhood. It is only right that he show such care for the poor beast.” She turned her radiant smile on Emyr and he felt his heart leap. “Here,” she said and wrapped up a lamb shank in her napkin. “Take this to Cy.”