“Do not try to hand me the bairn!” she shouted.
Llefrith withdrew the child and clutched her to her breast, turning away to shield her from her grandmother.
“I will not hold such a child,” Genwair said in anger. “Nor will I hold with such an affront to y Tylwyth Teg.” She made a sign of protection upon her own forehead and retreated to the far side of the hut. Curyll closed his eyes, retreating into himself. Llefrith, seeing his sorrow, went to him and placed Teg in his lap. His eyes, when they opened in surprise, were soft. He held the child gently, but spoke not. Genwair stood across the hut, her face to the wattle wall. Llefrith went to her, touched her shoulder.
“I know ye hold to the old tales, Ma,” she said, “and ye know that since we lost Dubhydd I have not. But we canna let this come between us. Not when we are all we have left to each other.”
Genwair turned slowly to face her. “I do not fault ye, and ye know it,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “But I fear for the bairn. Believing or not, ye canna call the child Teg and risk bringing the wrath of the Fair Folk upon her. She’s Dubhydd’s child as well as yours, as well ye know.” She took both of Llefrith’s hands in hers, her face suddenly softening.
Llefrith nodded. her eyes filled with tears, as did Genwair’s. The women embraced for long moments, then sat together beside the hearth fire, watching Curyll hold the little bairn upon his knees.
After some minutes of silence, Genwair sighed and said, very quietly, “But, daughter, why must it be Teg? Why do ye take the risk?” She was truly concerned but, as truly, was trying not to offend.
With a determined smile Llefrith reached for Genwair’s hand. “Now, Ma, don’t ye be startin’ that all over again. She’s a fair young bairn, and she’ll always be my Teg.”
Genwair sighed and went to Curyll. Kissing him softly on his forehead, she took the child in her own arms and held her close. “If ye don’t mind, daughter,” she said, “I’ll be callin’ her Berthog, the name her Da gave her, for ‘tis true she is a beautiful bairn. But I’ll not myself be temptin’ the Teg.”
“It’ll do, Ma.” And, to herself she thought, Yes, that will have to do. Llefrith wiped the tears from her eyes, and in that moment she truly became Genwair’s own daughter.
“I suppose you’ll be movin’ in with Curyll and me, then?” asked the older woman. Llefrith looked about the tiny hut and laughed softly to herself. Never would she leave the shelter Dubhydd had built with his own hands. No matter how sincere Genwair’s offer of protection from the kithain of Gwyn ap Nudd.
“We’ll see, Ma,” was all she said.
~
Late that night Llefrith rose in the dark and went outside to relieve herself in the bushes beside her hut. The night was beautiful, warm and clear, with stars ablaze in the heavens and insects singing in the reeds. She breathed deeply, drawing in the scents of the marsh night that had always reminded her of childhood. She felt more lighthearted than she had since her last night with Dubhydd, in the warmth of their bed. A song came to her heart and found its way to her lips, so she decided to stay up a bit longer and watch the stars. It was unlike her to leave Teg alone in the hut, but she thought nothing of it. The other clan huts were nearby, it seemed so safe there on Ynys Bragwair, below the Polden Ridge. Surely it would be all right to stroll for a bit along the water’s edge.
She left the shoreline and climbed the small knoll at the center of the island. From there, in the faint light of the setting crescent moon, she could just make out the high tor of Ynys y Niwl in the east.
As she gazed at the dark hill, a shiver went through Llefrith’s body. She told herself it was merely the chill of the night breezes, but she knew better. Ynys y Niwl, the Isle of Mists, was uninhabited, but the marsh folk told tales of a cavern deep within the tor, the Great Hall of Gwyn ap Nudd, king of the Bendith y Mamau. She thought she could hear on the wind snatches of their beautiful songs. She tarried in the beauty of it longer than she had intended, knowing well the fairy hall was far away across the marshes and no danger to her. All the while Teg slept quietly in her cradle, alone and unguarded in the night.
Marsh mists finally obscured the distant tor, but the bright stars still burned overhead. Llefrith lay back in the grass, enchanted by the stars and by the unearthly music that seemed suddenly to be all around her. She did not notice that the chirping of the crickets had ceased, that bats and snipes had left the night sky, that the breeze off the marshes had died and the night air was dead still. The stars spun before her eyes as the music danced in her ears, and she lost awareness of all else.
Spiraling down the slope of Bragwair Knoll, drifting toward the sleeping huts near the shore, the haunting notes of the fairy song began to search, to seek the fair bairn whose name had drawn them to the small isle at the edge of the west.
Lying beside Curyll in their hut, Genwair stirred in restless dreaming. She heard the most beautiful singing, but when she looked for its source she saw sunken eyes, twisted limbs, and cold gray flesh. Large tufts of ginger red hair stood out from bulbous heads. From hideous, wide mouths filled with sharp and broken teeth came the words of the song, a song as fair and beautiful as ever had been heard in the marshes.
What child is there
who is so fair
within her cradle sleeping? ‘Tis she we seek,
so small and meek
within her mother’s keeping!
Even within her dream Genwair began to understand the peril. She thrashed about on her sleeping furs, trying desperately to wake up, while all the while the vile creatures danced and sang.
What child is there
who though so fair
alone at night is sleeping,
while mother lies
‘neath starry skies
enchantment o’er her sweeping?
Ugly creatures with eerily beautiful songs. Y Tylwyth Teg! The Bendith y Mamau! Genwair sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake, great drops of sweat glistening on her brow and wild fear shining in her eyes. She threw off her covering and ran from the hut. Outside there was a strange chill in the air. The stars shone brighter than ever they ought, and the strains of unearthly music swirled about her. Off to her left, up on Bragwair Knoll, she saw Llefrith lying still in the grass, clad in her white shift. Ahead, the music seemed to fill the hut where the bairn lay alone, a cold white light shining from the open doorway. Genwair screamed and ran toward it.
“Berthog!” she shouted. Then, “Teg! Teg, I’m comin’ for ye!”
Genwair was only steps from the hut when suddenly all went dark, and the night was silent. In the marsh, crickets resumed their own songs. From Llefrith’s hut came the piercing wail of an infant’s cry. Genwair raced inside, over to the child’s cradle. A small body bundled in the soft cradle blanket was moving restlessly, and crying out for her mother.
“Ah, Teg,” Genwair said with relief, “Ye be all right!” She pulled back an edge of the blanket to kiss her granddaughter, and screamed for the second time that night; a blood chilling scream of one who watches as a loved one is taken from her, and is powerless to do anything about it. She dropped the ghastly bundle into the cradle and made a sign of protection in the air all about her.
“’Tis a crimble!” she breathed, “A changeling of the Bendith y Mamau!”
There was a stirring behind her. Genwair turned to look, and saw Llefrith standing in the doorway, stricken.
“They’ve taken her, haven’t they, Ma?”
The old woman nodded, in silence. From the cradle, the little changeling looked up at her and smiled, quietly humming a beautiful tune of the Gwlad y Tylwyth Teg . . .
A second shadow appeared in the doorway, just behind Llefrith, and quietly put an arm around her shoulder. Genwair watched in wonder as a deep, kindly voice said,
“Come, Daughter; come Gennie, let’s be goin’ home.”
Genwair sobbed. “Curyll,” she said, “bless ye.” And she went to his arms.
~
The crimble lay peacefully in the cradle, quietly humming to itself and playing with its left foot as if trying to understand its toes.
“’Tis a shame changelings are so ugly,” said Curyll. “They sing beautifully, like their elders.”
“’Tis a shame crimbles are traded by the Teg for human bairns,” sneered Genwair.
Y Tylwyth Teg when in the underworld were thought to be wonderous fair with long golden hair. But ‘twas in the light of this world they appeared misshapen and ugly. For that reason they were jealous of beauty in human bairns, kidnapping them and placing their own bairns in the robbed cradle.
“Vile, evil creatures,” said Llefrith. Her face was white with worry.
Again Curyll put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “’Tis not so much that they be evil, Llefrith. It’s only that they’re terrible selfish, and care not for the pain they cause to others.” At the look of reproach in her eyes he went on quickly, “I only mean to say they wilna hurt the bairn. They’ll be teachin’ her the beauty of their music, for they love to see the rapture that comes to a human face, not bein’ able to feel it themselves.”
“I care not whether they be evil or good,” said Llefrith, and she began to cry once again. “I only want my Teg back. Safe and sound. And soon.”
“Aye, it best be soon,” said Genwair. “It best be soon or she’ll be trapped for good. Time works different in their land.
Llefrith began to cry uncontrollably. Curyll was at a loss to decide whose shoulder to comfort, so he stood above them both with a hand on each.
“I don’t believe that was a help, Gennie,” he said.
Genwair took her sobbing daughter in her arms and rocked her gently. “What is it ‘twill help, husband? What can we do?”
Curyll went to the door of the hut and looked out at the sunlight glinting off the marsh waters. It was near mid-day. A good thing, for it was best to talk of such things when the sun was high. He hesitated a moment. “There is a way, perhaps,” he began slowly. “Ye know it as well as I, Gennie.”
She looked up from where she sat holding Llefrith. 'Twas true, she agreed. She knew the direction of his thoughts. “Cysgodion,” she answered.
“Aye, Gennie, and the Dark Lady. 'Tis only a witch can treat with y Tylwyth Teg for the return of a kidnapped bairn.”
Genwair held her daughter’s face in both her hands. “We will go this very night, Daughter, though it be we know not the way!”
~
It would have been safer in the small boat to travel east along the line of marshes, and follow that line as it curved northward and back toward the west. But that way would have taken them past Ynys y Niwl, with another danger all its own. So they set out north by east across the open waters, following the night stars and hoping for peaceful weather. By sunrise the next day they were entering the dark waters of the north marshes. 'Twas a seeking meant for women only, so Curyll remained to worry at home, while Genwair and Llefrith had set out with the crimble to find Ynys y Cysgodion.
Cysgodion found them first. For they had become lost among the many channels when an old woman appeared, in a small marsh boat being paddled by a young girl just past her entrance into womanhood.
“Greetings, travelers,” she said. “What is it you seek?”
We seek the Dark Lady of Ynys y Cysgodion,” answered Llefrith, “upon a matter of some urgency.”
“Then you have found what you seek. Come, and bring the changeling you hide among those blankets.” She led them to the shore of an island overhung with ancient yews, dripping with mosses and ferns, where there was a wattle hut and a warm hearth fire. “Gwennyth will make us some tea and barley broth,” she said. “Sit by the hearth and tell me what you desire. Though I can guess at that with some confidence.” Her eyes were upon the small bundle Llefrith carried uneasily in her arms. When Llefrith looked up to meet her gaze, the two women looked deeply into one another’s eyes. “You are from the west marshes,” the old woman said, “It was no small task finding me.”
“How do you know this about us?” Genwair interrupted.
The old woman smiled warmly. “I am Vivian, Lady of Cysgodion. But once I was called Tresglen, after my great grandmother, who came to this place three generations ago at the bidding of she who was Lady then. That Tresglen, my great ancestress, became a priestess here in the new realm of Affalon. In her turn she became the Lady. I, in my turn, have followed her.”
“Affalon,” breathed Llifrith. “I have heard rumors of the name, but thought it only one of the tales of the marshes, a place imagined in the heart.”
“It is all those things, child. But it is also real, as you can see. Affalon is this isle of Cysgodion, and the marshes and fens all about us. It is the many isles of these marshes, most especially Ynys y Niwl, though none live there yet save Gwyn, son of Nudd, under the tor. Affalon is the community of priestesses, who serve the Goddess of these marshes, and the folk who live among the endless reeds.” Vivian turned to Genwair. “You knew this, Genwair, which is why you have brought Llifrith to me, and her small, troublesome bundle.”
Genwair answered, “It is true I have heard the tales, my Lady, but I had never fully hoped in them until you found us today.”
Her eyes turning serious, Vivian took the little bundle from Llefrith. “Let me see this troublesome little crimble you would have me return to Old Gwyn,” she said, and she pulled back a corner of the blanket. “Well, well. You are not so ugly as some of your kin,” she laughed. “But your place is not here, young crimble.”
~
Some time later, when Llefrith had finished her tale, Vivian sighed with concern. “Your Ma spoke truly,” she said. “That was a dangerous name you gave to your little bairn.”
Llefrith started to protest, but Vivian held up a hand to stop her.
“I will not chastise you, Daughter, for you have had more than your share of that. And you have learned a hard lesson. But what lies ahead is harder still. It is not as easy a task as the stories tell to bring a bairn back from Gwland y Tylwyth Teg. The Fair Ones do not part with their gains so readily. Then, too, the halls of Gwyn ap Nudd are a charmed place, filled with sweet music and the food and drink of magic. Many who go there never have a desire to return.”
“I know this,” Llefrith answered. Her voice trembled. “But we can try, can we not? I’ll go anywhere, do anything, if only I can bring my Teg back to this world!”
Vivian shook her head. “You cannot go, Daughter, for you would not have the strength to return.” again at the crimble, who had fallen asleep. go. I must make the exchange.”
“You?” asked Llefrith. “I canna ask you to do such a task. I only meant to receive your guidance . . .”
“Hush, child.” it was Genwair, who placed a steadying hand on her arm. “The Lady be right. Remember what Curyll said. Only a wi . . .” she paused suddenly.
She looked down “It is I who must
“Only a witch?” asked Vivian. Your Curyll is wiser than you think, but not so wise as he imagines!” She sighed once again. “Yet among us four,” nodding toward Gwennyth, who had been so quiet Llefrith had forgotten her, “among us four it is I who must go. The perils of this journey you can only guess at. It is better for someone older to make the journey. Someone who has already outlived those she has known on earth. Come little crimble,” she said to the fairy child, “we must prepare to travel.”
~
The next day Llefrith and Genwair stood with several priestesses on the shore of Ynys y Cysgodion as Vivian placed the crimble into a basket in the bow of a small marsh boat, and stepped in herself. As she took her paddle, she looked up at Llefrith, looked deeply into her eyes. “This is a perilous journey, Llefrith,” she said. “Reality is not the same in Gwland y Tylwyth Teg as it is here. Even time is different. Even if I am successful, make no assumptions about the time or nature of my return.” She looked at Gwennyth. “You know what you must do, Gwen, if need be.” Silently, Gwennyth nodded. And with three strokes of her alde
rwood paddle, Vivian disappeared into the reeds of the dark marsh.
~
A full cycle of the moon later, Vivian had not yet returned from Ynys y Niwl. On the night of the full moon, Gwennyth took on the responsibilities of the Lady. “Do not fear,” she assured Llefrith. “It is only until Vivian returns.”
At the next full moon, Genwair desired to return home, lest Curyll fear some evil had befallen her. Two of the priestesses of Affalon were chosen by Gwennyth to accompany her, to guide her through the marshes and do the work of paddling the boat.
“I canna go with ye, Ma. Ye know that,” Llefrith told her, with tears in her eyes.
“Aye, that I know Daughter. You stay here until the Lady comes home with the little bairn.” Genwair kissed her daughter and stepped into the marsh boat. They never saw one another again in this world.
At midwinter the small band of priestesses held a quiet ritual in which they bade farewell to Vivian, and named Gwennyth as Lady of Affalon. The ache in Llefrith’s heart was nearly more than she could bear. At the following midwinter celebration Llefrith made her vows as a priestess, and Gwennyth reluctantly took the name Vivian. After that, the times and the seasons rolled slowly on in their endless cycles. Summers and winters came and went so that Llefrith ceased to count them. In her heart she still longed for Teg, but hope had long since given way to despair, and then to resignation.
One morning, early in the new growth of a springtime when gray had begun to appear in Llefrith’s hair and her bones welcomed with relief the coming warmth, three elder priestesses came to her hut.
“Our Lady is unwell,” they told her. “She calls for you.”
By the next full moon, Llefrith was Lady of Affalon. Sometime after in the turning of the seasons she felt Curyll leave this world and, shortly after that, Genwair. I am alone now in all the world, she thought.
No, my Lady. It was young Fia next to her, preparing their evening meal. We are all with you, always. And Llefrith smiled.
Tales of Avalon Page 12
