King of the May

by Myers, Karen

  “Welcome to Plas-Marl,” Edern said, and clasped his brother’s arm warmly. “Your rooms are all prepared and we’ll take care of the horses. Rhian, I couldn’t put you in your old room, you’re no longer a child, but I’ve given you a suite in the main building. Angharad and George are next to you, since Angharad is standing as woman-sponsor for you and I knew you’d want her nearby.”

  Rhian said, “Thank you, grandfather.” She glanced at Angharad.

  “We have a week to prepare,” Angharad told her. “That’s plenty of time.”

  “Today is for settling in,” Edern said. “These people will show you where to go.”

  “Ceridwen, George, and I will be away tomorrow, for the day,” Gwyn told him. “To see our grandfather.”

  Edern raised an eyebrow. “That should be interesting. You’ll ride the usual route?”

  Gwyn nodded. “He’ll send someone to take us through at the border.”

  This was the first George had heard of it, but wasn’t that just like Gwyn, he thought. So he’d get to meet Beli Mawr? What do you say to someone who might be on his way to becoming a god?

  George followed the attendant leading his family and Rhian. He leaned to murmur privately in Angharad’s ear. “Will I be meeting any of your children?” He couldn’t bring himself to add “or your ex-husbands.” He knew her parents were gone, and she had no siblings.

  “Some of them hang upon Lludd for favors, I’m sorry to say. None of them followed me to the new world, and we are not close. You may meet them at court.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You needn’t concern yourself about consorts, though. Those were long ago, and some are dead.”

  He flushed at her ability to see through his reticence. “I did wonder.”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” she said to him, fondly, and linked her arm in his.

  “What about Gwyn? Doesn’t he have children and consorts?”

  “Not many. He took no true consorts after the disaster with Creiddylad, just temporary arrangements.”

  George thought of the twenty years Gwyn spent after the death of his wife, George's human great-grandmother, raising their child. I suppose that was such an arrangement. For all their long lives the fae had little family to show for it.

  He looked down at Angharad’s belly, where their child was growing. “I am sorry you’re not close to your children. Let’s see if we can keep that from happening with this one.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” She hesitated, then continued. “I haven’t spoken of this before… My children were fostered away from me, at Lludd’s command, and by the time he was done their minds had been formed to suit him.” Her arm grew rigid along his. “I may discuss this calmly, from long custom, and there is no remedy for it, but you cannot imagine how I loathe him for it.” Her voice was quiet but intense.

  She walked silently along beside him for a few steps as they passed through the stone corridors. Rhian and Maelgwn in front of them looked around curiously and paid them no attention. She continued, quietly. “We have so few children. To see them as his creatures, cut off from me, when I remember them all as small boys and girls, vivid and curious… I haven’t been to court since the night Gwyn moved Annwn. I didn’t trust that I could hold my composure, unaccustomed as I now am to bend to his enforced power. I’m only here now for Rhian’s sake, and because Gwyn asked it of me.

  “Gwyn learned from me, I’m afraid. He wouldn’t give his father any hostages to hold, and Edern did the same by keeping away from court as much as possible for one still holding allegiance.”

  “You should stay here, then,” George said, alarmed, “not go back to court into Lludd’s hands.” His stomach clenched at the thought of her going into danger. He came to a halt.

  She looked at him with determination. “We each have our duties to perform for Gwyn’s sake, and for our own futures, allied to his. I can fight for that, just as much as you, and I will.”

  CHAPTER 12

  It took almost two hours of riding in the morning to reach the borders of Beli Mawr’s domain. Gwyn and Ceridwen would tell George little about the purpose of the visit, and largely kept their thoughts to themselves along the way.

  The guards assigned by Edern took the three of them along the roads to Edern’s local way and through that to Ceri, a market town within Edern’s domain where two other ways exited. George detected a hidden way beyond the town, and that’s where they headed, riding casually through the town to the local keep. The castellan Tudwystl was Edern’s vassal.

  Their sergeant halted at the entrance and announced the visitors. While they waited for permission to enter, George took in the physical defenses of the place, the high and sturdy stone walls, the cleared grounds around it. This place was a stronghold, he thought, more than a simple market town seemed to warrant.

  When they were granted entrance, their sergeant brought them round to the back of the cluster of buildings, away from any casual prying eyes. George could see the way there, still hidden. Clearly Edern had his own men established here, partly to keep order, and partly to protect this way.

  The castellan came to greet them. He bowed and offered them refreshment, but Gwyn refused.

  “We must travel on. We are expected,” he said.

  Tudwystl waved them to the way, and as the guards made to proceed them, Gwyn halted them. “I and my companions must go on alone. Only we three. We will return in a few hours, in time to return to my brother’s manor this evening.”

  Without waiting for the sergeant’s response, he opened the way and rode in, Ceridwen and George close on his heels. Ceridwen broke her brooding silence to warn George as they entered, “Say no more than you must, where we’re going.”

  As George looked back, he saw apprehension on the castellan’s face, as if not everyone returned from where they were going and he feared to receive the blame from his lord if they went missing.

  They emerged into clean mountain air at a higher elevation. George’s first thought was that these old mountains had known glaciers once. The soil was thin and trees were scarce. Even in winter, the air was thick and damp. Mist crept about over the ground and the moisture seeped into his lungs and his woolen clothing. His cheeks felt the chill and he shivered.

  They sat quietly alone on their horses beside the exit of the still-hidden way. George reached out and felt another hidden way, and then the presence of a man. He looked straight at him and saw nothing but more mist. Glamoured, he thought.

  Before he could draw Gwyn’s attention to him, the mist dissolved into the form of a man who bowed before them. He was dressed in a simple tunic and pants in drab colors that blended into the landscape, over which was draped an undyed black woolen cloak, thrown back over both shoulders. He carried no weapons or metal of any kind, that George could see, and his dark hair was shaggy.

  “I am your guide, come to take you to Beli Mawr.”

  He walked to the way that George had seen and opened it. The three riders followed the nameless man in at a slow pace.

  This time, when they emerged, it was onto the open ground of a low manor, almost a villa built after the Roman fashion, George thought. They were back near sea level, he thought, and the air was milder. “Mona,” Ceridwen told him, quietly. He looked to the east and saw the mountains across the strait where they had just been standing.

  They dismounted and their guide took their horses away, out of sight, leaving them alone in front of the villa. A small stone-bordered pool of water bubbled nearby, unfrozen. George looked at Ceridwen, but she shook her head at him to stop him from speaking. He contented himself with standing squarely and letting his senses expand. He closed his eyes and listened to the murmuring of the spring as it overflowed into a channel that ran downhill into the distance. It was a calming sound. Spring was not so distant that the birds were silent. He heard the harsh calls of rooks, so he reached out to see what else he could find. When he opened his way senses, he found half a dozen hidden ways, all around
them, more than he had yet seen in a single nexus point. And then he felt a new presence, something he couldn’t name.

  Wake up, he told himself, this isn’t some Japanese tea ceremony, this is raw power coming. He opened his eyes, and looked at the man coming to greet them, alone. His hair was steel gray though his face was serene and unlined. He was dressed lightly and comfortably, seemingly indifferent to the season. He moved slowly, with immense dignity.

  Still half-watching him with his beast sense, George felt his strength, more than mortal. The hair rose on his arms and his ears moved back on his scalp.

  Gwyn made a low obeisance before him, and Ceridwen curtsied deeply to match. George dropped his head and made the best bow that he could, feeling young and rustic as he did so.

  “Welcome grandson,” Beli Mawr said, with an unexpectedly deep voice. “And you, Ceridwen.”

  He looked at George, standing behind them. “What is this kinsman of yours? More than he seems.” He tilted his head and… pushed at George, somehow. “I’ve heard the tales. Show me.”

  Compelled, George released the form of the horned-man. It seemed right, somehow, in this calm, quiet place. He had no trouble keeping his balance as his weight shifted, no difficulty at all.

  Beli was not startled. He focused on him. “There is an object of power,” he said.

  George’s hand rose involuntarily to Angharad’s arrow pendant. He lifted it away from his throat and it became visible.

  “No, not that simple charm.”

  George couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He reached into his pocket without looking down and pulled out the thunderbolt, chained to his belt as always, and unfastened it by feel.

  “Ah. Of course,” Beli Mawr said. “Have you looked at it?”

  George started to nod, but Beli interrupted him. “Look at it now. As you are.”

  He had never looked at Ceridwen’s gift with other than human eyes. As he brought it up to his sight now, it glowed, pulsing with light and power. It sang to him, take me. He listened to it for a moment.

  Beli said, quietly, “I haven’t seen that for quite a long while. Perhaps you could tell me where it’s been?”

  This last was addressed to Ceridwen who cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, great lord, but it put itself in my path and asked to come along with me, when we moved Annwn. You know how these things are.”

  Beli was silent.

  “A few weeks ago, it asked to go to Gwyn’s great-grandson. So I gave it to him.”

  “What’s to be done with it?” he asked. He addressed George directly. “Where does it belong, huntsman?”

  He felt the involuntary release of the deer-man form. To those eyes, the thunderbolt shone even brighter, stronger. Should I keep it? It’s power, raw power. But it’s not mine, he thought. Suddenly he knew the answer.

  He dipped his antlered head to Gwyn. Something shuddered by him, a danger averted, he thought, though he couldn’t say what it was.

  “So be it,” Beli Mawr declared. “It’s active again. The thunderer has taken an interest?”

  “So it would seem,” Ceridwen said.

  With Beli’s attention off of him, George pulled back the alien form. The thunderbolt was a piece of old bone again to his human eyes.

  He gave it to Gwyn, placing it sideways across his open right hand. It sank into his palm and vanished from view, and George’s skin prickled at the uncanny sight. Gwyn calmly turned his hand over and watched a tattoo in the shape of the thunderbolt appear on the back of his hand. He flexed the hand a few times. “Thank you, great-grandson.”

  George didn’t understand quite what had happened. He looked at Beli Mawr’s right hand and noticed the old faded tattoo there, in the same shape. Was Beli sealed to Taranis? As he ages, does he throw off old alliances on his way to becoming a power himself? Did Taranis just pass to Gwyn? Why was I involved?

  Beli Mawr turned his attention to his grandson. “You asked to see me, and not for this, I believe.”

  “I must contend against your son,” Gwyn told him. “It cannot be avoided.”

  Beli shrugged. “His fate is not in my hands.”

  Gwyn nodded. “When will you announce the location of the contest at Nos Galan Mai?”

  “Not for many weeks yet,” Beli Mawr declared. He turned and walked away, leaving them alone with the bubbling spring and the view of mountains.

  Gwyn paced the winter-dormant gardens of Edern’s manor, waiting for Ceridwen to join him. They needed to discuss the morning’s events, in private.

  He flexed his right hand, inspecting the tattoo on the back that was the only visible mark of the thunderbolt. It’s come to me at last, he thought. Keeping silent when Ceridwen gave it to George weeks ago and watching him not know what to do with it was one of the hardest things he’d ever endured. It roused all his old suspicions that Cernunnos was planning George as his replacement, first as ruler of Annwn, and then as royal power, with help from Taranis.

  The talisman had already skipped his father, and he almost panicked when he thought it would pass him by, too. I was being tested as much as my kinsman, he thought. So, Cernunnos for George, and Taranis for me, as it should be. My course is right, I know it is.

  He clenched his hand. What can this do? Beli told me nothing. What does Ceridwen know? She’s good at secrets, look how long she kept this one—fifteen hundred years or more.

  He looked up at the sound of her approach. She was bundled against the cold.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he said, holding out his right hand.

  “That it would claim you? Or that he would give it up?” she replied, testily.

  Ah, she feels guilty herself, for taking it from Beli Mawr when it left him and hiding it all this time.

  “Both,” he said, mildly. He didn’t doubt her loyalty.

  “It didn’t tell me. What I said to your grandfather was true. It came into my path on my final visit with that aura of significance such objects have, and I took it with me. All those centuries it lay dormant, until George returned from Edgewood, battered and worn, and then it made itself felt again.” She shrugged. “I knew you would want it, but what was I to do? These things have their own will. I didn’t hide it from you.”

  She looked at him sympathetically. “I saw your face when George treated it as an ornament, not knowing its power. That was a trial for you, I think.”

  “It felt like a test today, too. Would George have kept it, or tried to?”

  “I’m not sure he even realized he was being tempted,” she said.

  “Oh, he knew enough, he saw its power. It called to him, as it would call to anyone of my line. But he chose to give it up. To me.”

  He paused, still not quite believing that had happened.

  “He told me afterward he knew it wasn’t his, that it called for me,” Gwyn said. “I think he could have kept it, if he wanted to.”

  Ceridwen nodded. “Yes, I think so. The test means nothing if the choices can’t be realized.”

  Gwyn turned about and walked off a few paces, restlessly, before coming back. “What is behind all this? Cernunnos tested him for, what, commitment to justice, I suppose, when he freed Seething Magma from his claim on her. Was today a test for greed, for power-lust? What’s next?”

  Ceridwen reminded him of the blessing she had performed a week ago at Daear Llosg.

  “Taranis and Senua manifested, both of them?” he asked.

  “And then Cernunnos, as if jealous of his rights.”

  “So, are we to expect a test from Senua as well?”

  Ceridwen shook her head. “That may already have happened, when he rescued Granite Cloud. The rock-wights are under her guard. Perhaps that was a test for, oh, defending the weak, protecting the hidden.”

  It was her turn to pause and consider her words.

  “I think Cernunnos is building something with him, or they all are, and I don’t know what.”

  “Not a rival, then,” Gwyn said, looking at the tattoo
. “Something else.”

  “Something else,” Ceridwen agreed.

  A thought stirred within him. How long had it been since there had been a paladin? Not since Cai he thought, and look what happened to him. Nothing much left but the stories and that portrait of Angharad’s. He felt a twinge of sympathy—that was a hard life, and usually a short one. But then, how long would his great-grandson’s life be anyway, with his human blood?

  Angharad had been Cai’s wife when he died, he remembered. Well, well, well. I should have noticed the… echo of her old husband in this new one.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ceridwen asked.

  “Cai.”

  Her eyes widened. “That was a long time ago. It would explain a lot, though, wouldn’t it?”

  “All the more reason I need to keep him alive. This,” flourishing the tattoo on the back of his hand, “changes nothing.”

  He looked at her sternly. “What can you tell me about how to use it? You had it long enough, you must know.”

  She grimaced. “I studied it, yes, but not much is written, and it shrouded itself from me when I tried to examine it directly. We’ll have to work with it together, I think, to settle that question.”

  “And we can’t do that now,” Gwyn said, with regret. “I need to get you out of here into your primary mission, before we greet my father. You mustn’t be there long, at least, not recognizably.”

  “I’ll leave after we get there. I’ve sent word ahead.”

  “How do you plan to convince your colleagues to make the right choice?” Gwyn asked.

  “Some of them are lost causes but the rest are not so hard, I think. The problem is the huntsman. Even the ones who are sympathetic to your aim have reservations about him. They’ve heard the stories, just as your grandfather has, and they’re, well, afraid of him, of what he could do with the ways.”

  “That’s my sister, poisoning the air with her speeches.”

  “Perhaps, but they’re not wrong, are they?” She looked at Gwyn. “I’d like them to meet George, if I can find some way to arrange it. He’s got to make people trust him—we do.”