King of the May

by Myers, Karen

  “But there is. I don’t want to go away for this coming-of-age. I want you there, with me.”

  He turned back around unbidden. “It can’t be helped, dear.” Oh, how good it felt to use that word with her. “Anywhere you are, I’ll be with you.”

  She looked up at him, searching his face. He opened his arms and hoped, and she pushed away from the desk and walked into them. He enfolded her, careful to keep it simple and comforting, as a friend.

  Her voice muffled, she said, “You’ll wait for me to be ready?”

  “All my life if I must.”

  He felt her face smile against his chest. “I don’t think it will take me quite that long,” she said. “I won’t let them do anything to stop me.”

  “I know you won’t,” he told her. “You go do your duty with this like you have to, help your foster-father with his plans. Above all, be safe. If harm came to you…” He broke off, unable to continue. He thought of Benitoe, when Isolda was killed, and shuddered.

  She lifted her head and looked him in the face. “I’ll come back, Brynach, I promise.”

  He let her go and sat her down on the old sofa where the huntsman sometimes took a nap. Then he stepped back and took a chair himself.

  “I want what Eurig has,” he told her, “a wife for all his life. People will tell us we’re too young to know our minds about it, but I don’t think so. When you return, if you want me to, we’ll speak to everyone. Whenever you’re ready for that. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  She looked down. “Why me?”

  What could he tell her? “Because you make my heart sing. I can’t put it into words yet.”

  “Me, it’s as though you’ve always been there, and always will be,” she whispered, to the floor.

  “And so I will,” he said. “Now, that’s taken care of. Cheer up. Tell me all about the plans.”

  On that same afternoon, Seething Magma waited outside the Academy for George to come through the Orchard Way. He’d sent her a written message asking for a meeting.

  She knew he didn’t quite realize she kept track of him now, like any of her relatives or friends, a loose thread of attention. If he had actively called for her, the way he did when he was trapped by Madog, she would have heard him. They could have conversed without meeting, but she knew he was more comfortable seeing her directly.

  The two of them had discussed privacy once, when he first met her and was adjusting to her method of communication, another presence “in his head” as he put it, like Cernunnos. It had made her sensitive to the notions these people had about keeping their thoughts private. She’d thought initially it was about holding secrets from outsiders but when she tasted Gwyn and the others she understood it was more about embarrassment, about the ordinary thoughts they had about themselves and others that they were ashamed to expose. It let them be more dignified, a matter of manners, like being clothed instead of naked, as George had once explained to her.

  She allowed him his illusions of privacy to be polite, as all intelligent and civilized beings should be.

  George walked out of the Orchard Way, a smile on his face to see her. “Greetings, Mag,” he called.

  The shortening of her name never failed to amuse her. The symbol of her name used by her kin couldn’t be changed that way among themselves, but here the mark of informality common to speech carried over into their thoughts and brought with it a sense of affection and friendship which she valued.

  *I was pleased to come.*

  “How’s everyone doing with the new toys?” he said, waving a hand at the Academy doors. “The written questions I’ve been answering have begun to slow down, but I’m not sure what that means.”

  *Cavern Wind hasn’t stopped experimenting and she has many friends. It used to be quiet at home.* This last carried a flavor of humor for George’s benefit, and he grinned in return.

  “We have a saying, if you don’t like someone, give her child a toy drum.” He pictured a frazzled mother and toddler for her.

  *Ash Tremor and her colleagues are devouring the earth science books and many controversies are stirring as they confirm or contradict our own beliefs. They’re impatient to learn more. We’re never impatient—it’s most unsettling.*

  George said, “Is this truly disturbing your people? Is it creating a real problem?”

  *It’s stimulating to have new flavors to taste, new concepts to explore. This is the most excitement we’ve had for a long time.*

  “The new ways are very exciting for us, too. They open up so many possibilities for us.”

  She could tell that he had some topic in mind that he was working his way to. She wondered where he was heading.

  “Is Gravel pleased?” he asked. “I don’t know anything about your politics—does she have, um, rivals? Does all this give her an advantage, or… how does it work?”

  *She is our matriarch. Who would challenge her? She is what she is. I’ve heard that clans sometimes divide, but it hasn’t happened here.*

  She tasted him filing that away.

  *We ourselves must have divided from our old world kin, or they from us—it’s in our tales but they don’t say why. Meeting with your folk has fired some of us to go look for them. We’re all stirred up, no longer content to just be.*

  As she tasted his worry, she told him, *Don’t be concerned. Many of us think this is a jolt long overdue. It will work its own way out.*

  “How would you cross the ocean to find your kin?”

  *The same way we did the first time, when we came from the east.*

  He parked a hip against the table in the chill air and pictured for her the great mountain ranges to the west, what he called the Rockies and the Sierras. “Have you settled there, too?”

  *Not yet. We’ve explored, but we’re comfortable where we are.*

  “You could island hop across the ocean going east.” He pictured for her the northern part of the eastern ocean with its island lands. “Or you could go west and cross the strait.” He showed her the string of islands in the far northwest. “I’ll bring you world maps in our next delivery.”

  *Some of the geology books already have them. They’ve been much discussed.*

  “How do you make sure you exit a new way over land, instead of water?” he asked.

  She showed him a picture of emerging into an empty magma chamber deep underground. *It’s like sensing a void inside a mountain. We can back up to something solid before we exit, or we can push forward and cross it. It’s easier when we have something to home in on, as I used you when I made the Orchard Way. It takes effort to make a way, especially a very long one.*

  “How far away can you sense a target like that? Not across an ocean, surely.”

  *I don’t know, I’ve never tried. You’ve never been out of range, once I got to know you well.*

  She tasted him mulling that over.

  “Those have been short distances. What about when I’m in the human world?”

  *I can tell the difference, but you’re still in range. It just adds its own flavor.*

  “Why do you make ways to the human world? Is it deliberate? Are there a lot of them?”

  Ah, that was one of his real questions. *We don’t aim for them, exactly, and that’s why there aren’t very many. Once in a while one of us goes exploring, but none of us live there, away from our kin, so we have little reason to linger.*

  George pushed away from the table and stood up straight. He spoke in earnest. “Be careful about that. You don’t want to come to human notice accidentally.” He pictured for her a battle in the human world and a weapon used to end it, a cloud of blast and fire and destruction that towered high into the sky, like a small volcano.

  She backed away involuntarily. *They would do this?*

  “They would be both fascinated and afraid. Don’t surprise them.”

  She could taste him reviewing old stories, with strange creatures appearing unannounced, and how people reacted. They weren’t real stories, she understood,
but it worried her.

  “Are there other worlds, beside this one and the human one?”

  Ah, now that was an interesting question, she thought. *Not that we know of. But we hardly know the human one, so some of us think it’s possible.*

  She felt him rein in his curiosity with regret. “Never enough time to explore,” he said to himself.

  He shook his head. “The real reason I wanted to speak with you…” He paused. “You know I’ll be away for a month or so, in the old world? We’re going to leave in a week.”

  *I don’t understand all this concern about Gwyn and his parent.*

  “In simple terms, Gwyn’s father wants what his son has in this land and thinks it’s his by right. Gwyn wants independence. All the rest is details.”

  *Perhaps this is what it’s like when one of our clans divides.*

  “Yes, maybe so.” He looked at her intently. “I wanted to warn you about two things. First, we don’t think so but there could be outright war, here. Trust only the people you know and be very cautious—our opponents will be dangerous to you, like Madog, like the stranger who surprised you.”

  He hesitated, and she watched him frame his thoughts. “Secondly, this is a bit like my going to Madog’s lands a couple of months ago. It’ll be dangerous for us, personally. You know we don’t live for very long compared to you, not even our oldest, and we’re not that hard to kill. If something goes wrong, well…”

  He couldn’t help picturing their deaths, but he didn’t mean for her to see that.

  Seething Magma understood him. She determined to see if she could track him from that distance and listen for him.

  *I understand and will convey your warning. Thank you.*

  He nodded.

  *I’d like to go with you*

  His mind flared with alarm. “No, it’s much too dangerous until we can find some method for you to defend yourself against way-adepts. Don’t do it, please.”

  She tasted his genuine fear for her, and saw his image of her forced under a fae’s control.

  *Don’t worry.* She knew he was right. She planned a long talk with her mother about these matters.

  *Keep safe, and return well.* She pictured his family for him using the old symbols from their time before the rescue of Granite Cloud, before she could communicate clearly with him—the dog collar for George, the toy wolf for her daughter’s friend and protector Maelgwn, and the magnifying glass and bell for Angharad and her growing child.

  His warm reaction to the images pleased her. He showed her, in response, a large oak tree in an upland meadow, spreading its branches and sheltering all within its reach. He hung her symbols from the branches.

  “Stay safe, yourself,” he told her, and added her own cup symbol to the tree.

  So young he was, she thought, and he wants to protect me. The incongruity of it should have been ridiculous, but the clear affection made that impossible.

  She suddenly remembered who and what he carried. What does Cernunnos think of him, she wondered. Does he value him, like I do?

  It was strangely quiet in the kennels as George waited his turn to depart a week later, at dawn. This much activity would normally have the hounds sounding off in excitement, but George took pity on everyone in the close quarters and bespoke them to silence. When one forgot, George gave it a glance and it settled back down.

  The Family Way exited in the courtyard of the kennels. He assumed they’d built the yard around it as an extra measure of security, but it couldn’t really be kept secret. Hidden or not, the noise of a large party passing through, with wagons, was impossible to hide, even with the hounds silenced temporarily.

  Rhodri was already gone, days ago, wherever Gwyn had sent him, so Gwyn held the token for this way. Most of the wagons had left the afternoon before with the court gowns, regalia, and extra weapons—Edern would supply anything else that was needed. Angharad had helped Rhian with the frantic last-minute packing of all the new clothing and narrated the comic highlights for him last night.

  This morning saw the departure of the final group—the family and their guards. Angharad explained that while they could in principle travel back and forth as required, it was always better to take what you would need, just in case, and use couriers for everything else. Normally they would use the Travelers’ Way, but Lludd still held the end at Bryntirion despite his summons, and Gwyn chose to avoid it.

  He looked down at his best huntsman’s livery. From now on all eyes would be upon them. Everyone was dressed formally, as befit traveling royalty and its train, even though they were just venturing to Edern’s domain for the first week.

  Rhian sat her horse next to him, wearing flowing robes in a rich dark blue like a daughter of the royal line, not her usual green hunting livery, complete with breeches like a boy. Her blondness was a link to her mother and her brother, rare among the dark-haired fae around her, and it made her glow.

  “You’re looking fresh and lovely this morning,” he said to her, bowing from horseback.

  “Are you practicing, huntsman, or should I thank you?” she said.

  Angharad on the other side told her, “Always thank them. Gives you a moment to think about why they said it.”

  Rhian smiled wryly. “Thank you, Sir Huntsman, for your kind words.” She inclined her head a modest amount in his direction.

  “Ouch! I’ve been put in my place good and proper.” He laughed.

  Angharad’s attire was rich but quieter than Rhian’s. George couldn’t describe it, but he liked the effect, a heavy cloth in dark and medium greens with subtle patterns in the weave.

  “Don’t fidget,” Angharad told Maelgwn on her other side. He looked very well in a young squire’s clothing, also in green, but it was taking him awhile to get used to the fine garments. He hadn’t mastered the knack of keeping them clean, yet, and was awkwardly trying to avoid disgracing himself with stains from the horses.

  “You’ll get the hang of it, son,” George told him. “Think of it as protective coloration—you’ll blend in at court like a grouse in the woods.”

  The surprise on the boy’s face was followed by a consideration of his words, then he smiled.

  George wished he could bring Mosby with him, but he’d decided he better leave the horse behind. He couldn’t help thinking of this visit as a journey into danger so he rode black Afanc instead, speed over stamina.

  The last of the servants was departing through the way. The family and guards would go last.

  “All packed?” George asked Rhian.

  “I hope so. It’s not like I’ve ever done this before. This is my first visit back since I came here as a child.”

  He looked over at the bystanders. Eurig was there, and Alun, who would be staying behind, and all the hunt and kennel staff, including Gwion and Dyfnallt. No way to exclude them, really.

  “I’m surprised not to see Rhys,” he said.

  “My brother was going to come, but I went to see him instead.” She looked down and ran her gloved hand through her horses mane. “We had a long talk, about family. And other things…”

  Everyone had gone through now, except the family and guards. A servant returned from the other end and addressed Gwyn. “We’re ready for you, my lord.”

  Gwyn looked around at the small group, his immediate family and Ceridwen, with their guards. He singled out Rhian and smiled at her. “Are you ready, foster-daughter?”

  She straightened up and tightened her reins. “Yes, foster-father.” She glanced over at Brynach, and smiled slightly, uncertainly.

  They entered the Family Way at a walk.

  George waited to go until the end. He bespoke all the hounds and released them from silence, and they raised their voices at last to sing their protests about being left behind. He called over to Ives, standing with the others. “I’ll be back in time for the whelping, I expect. If not, tell me what happens.”

  Ives said, “Don’t worry, huntsman, we’ve done this before. You all come back safe.”
>
  George laughed and entered the way. He wasn’t sure if Seething Magma could hear him, but he thought a good-bye to her anyway. He was gone before he could hear a reply.

  The way-passage was long, and George had several minutes to wonder if the length reflected something of the distance being traveled, all the way across the ocean to western Britain. He trotted Afanc forward to catch up with his family, not sure what would happen if he got out of the range of Gwyn’s way-token.

  He felt the transition at the far end and emerged into the mid-day sun in fair winter weather. Of course, he thought, we’ve crossed five time zones, haven’t we. He reached into the pocket of his weskit and pulled out his pocket watch. He reset the time and closed it, then ran his thumb absently along the engraving of St. George and the dragon. Ever since the rescue of Seething Magma’s daughter and the death of Madog he’d been unable to shake the image of Mag as part of the story, not the dragon, of course—that was the abomination, Madog—but as his partner. The old girlfriend who had given him the watch, for his name’s sake, had clearly intended he should see himself as the hero, but the anonymous horse was beginning to take on some of Mag’s character for him. Mag would be amused to hear it, he thought, and put the watch away.

  He looked back. They had emerged from within a rocky grotto in a back garden of this castle, and he remembered the story of the discovery of this way by Trevor Mawr. The rock would hide it from most way-finders unless they approached from the right direction.

  He reached out to find any other local ways and only felt one, a few miles distant. Strange to be so isolated, after the nexus of ways growing at Greenway Court, but then he remembered the story, that Edern had built this seat when the Family Way was discovered. I suppose it’s lucky there was any other way at all in the same vicinity.

  Edern and his attendants were there to greet them. The travelers dismounted and passed their horses to the waiting grooms. Gwyn looked back to verify that all had passed through the way, and closed it again. George could still see it, but it had that change of texture, of feel, that meant it was hidden from everyone else, anyone who didn’t have the right way-token for it. Cernunnos’s methods were different, and ways couldn’t be hidden from him.