by J. M. Hofer
“But I haven’t taken her!” Bran protested.
“It matters not. The simple truth is that Ula made him happy. Now, she’s gone, and he is unhappy. We must find a way to make him happy again, or your people will suffer.”
Bran looked into the flames, considering the situation. “It would help if we knew whether she was being held captive or if she’s found happiness.”
“We can ask the Guardians,” Islwyn suggested. He took a wide dish, poured water and salt into it, and then gave it to Bran to hold while he searched for something.
“What are you looking for?”
“This,” Islwyn announced, pulling a long, black hair out of a folded piece of fabric that had been tucked away. He laid it on the surface of the water and sat near the fire with the dish in his lap, chanting quietly to himself, rocking back and forth. Soon, Bran knew the old man was not present with him in the hut anymore, and did not dare disturb him. He remained very quiet until finally Islwyn spoke. “Both.”
“Both?” Bran asked.
“The answer to the question you asked is, both—she has found happiness, and she is being held captive.”
Bran knit his brows. “But that’s impossible!”
“Is it?” Islwyn challenged, raising a brow.
“Yes, of course! How can you be enslaved and be happy?”
“She was already enslaved to Tegid Voel. Voluntarily, perhaps, but still enslaved. Now, it appears she has a new captor. Perhaps she likes him better.”
Bran felt a twinge of guilt. This is my fault. He hated the idea of Ula being enslaved to anyone, but worst of all, because of him. “I suppose we give her a choice, then,” he concluded. “If she wishes to leave, I’ll make it so, and if she wishes to stay, we’ll need to find a new way to make Tegid Voel happy.”
Islwyn nodded. “Yes, we will.”
Aggravation twisted in Bran’s stomach. Yet another woman’s choice I’m at the mercy of. “Very well, so be it. We leave at dawn.”
Islwyn stood up and patted Bran on the back. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”
As Bran ducked to leave the hut, Islwyn said, “She loves you, Bran.”
“If she loved me, she’d have stayed,” Bran snapped, unable to hide the anger in his voice.
Islwyn paused, a look of compassion in his eyes. “Though I’ve no doubt Lucia loves you as well, I was speaking of Ula.” He offered a kind smile. “She loves you.”
Bran felt blood rush to his face. “And I her,” he said softly.
CHAPTER SIX
A Selkie Belongs to the Sea
Elffin awoke right before dawn, just as the birds began to stir. He cherished those peaceful moments before the sun rose, and most of the world still slept. He leaned out his window, which overlooked the sea. The air was fresh and cool, and the water, calm and smooth. He watched the stars slowly parade west, like the last guests leaving a banquet, until they disappeared completely beneath the horizon.
Over the years, he had greeted countless sunrises from his bedroom window. Rarely was anyone up and about. Since Ula’s arrival, however, he had spied her every morning walking along the cliffs with her child. They would be gone all day, not returning to the castle until just before nightfall. Then, she would take a simple meal of fish in her room and go to bed.
She was out there again this morning, rocking her child back and forth in her arms. Curious to know where she went each day, he pulled on his boots and ran outside to follow her. She walked along the cliffs awhile and then took the path leading down to Seal Cove. He did not want to disturb her, so kept his distance, watching her from the cliffs above. To his alarm, she stripped off her clothes and ventured into the surf with the babe.
Is she mad? He called down to her, “Wait! It’s too cold! The water’s too cold for the babe!”
Ula snapped her head around, clutching her child to her chest, and looked up with wide, frightened eyes. She soon recognized him, however. She smiled and waved, and he waved back, relieved she had heard him. Then, to his dismay, she took the child into the sea anyway.
That poor babe. He’ll catch his death! He ran to the village to fetch blankets. By the time he returned, their heads were mere specks upon the water, one dark and one blonde. He could barely see them bobbing up and down in the surf. She waved again, signaling that all was well, but he would not leave until he knew they were safely back on shore. He paced along the beach, waiting for them to return. It was a very long wait, so he decided to build a fire. When they finally emerged, hours later, Taliesin neither shivered nor cried. Instead, he was giggling and smiling, his chubby fingers tangled happily in his mother’s hair. Though she was naked, Ula made no effort to cover herself or hide her body from him. She walked toward him like a queen, smiling with shoulders erect, no sign of shame in her manner.
He was quick to wrap them up in blankets and usher them to the fire. “I was worried about you, Lady Ula.”
“Worried?” Ula wrinkled her face. She apparently did not know this word.
Elffin pretended he was cold, rubbing his arms, and then pointed to the sea.
Ula just motioned for him to get closer to the fire, and he laughed. “Never mind.”
Finally, he was alone with her. He had felt compelled to know more of her since the morning after her strange arrival. All he knew was that her name was Ula. He began with a simple conversation about the sea and the birds. As the hours passed, it became clear she knew more of his language than any of them had assumed. When she lacked words to communicate something she wished to say, she used animated gestures and facial expressions, causing him to laugh more that day than he had in the past three moons combined.
***
Elffin woke the next morning just as dawn was breaking, feeling like he had as a youth before a grand feast day. He looked hopefully out his window, and his heart leapt. Ula was there again, staring out at the sea, her hips swaying back and forth with her baby in her arms.
He had the kitchen maid put together a breakfast of fish and bread, and took it out to her. Together, they watched the sun rise, and enjoyed the simple sound of the sea before the rest of Maes Gwythno woke and filled the air with the clatter of pots and whining of children, hungry for their porridge.
“Come! Swim!” she said, making her way down to Seal Cove.
From that morning on, they watched the sunrise together from the cliffs. Then, he escorted them to the cove before attending to his duties. On warmer days, he sometimes joined them for a swim. At times, Ula and the baby would disappear beneath the waves and he would panic for the child, but it seemed the babe was both a creature of land and sea, just like his mother.
Of the three of them, Elffin would invariably tire first. He would return to the shore and watch them play, ready to wrap them in warm blankets after they emerged.
Soon, his thoughts were filled with Ula. She was the first person he thought of when he woke, and the last person he thought of before falling sleep.
***
“Where did you find it?” Garanhir asked Mabyn in wonder.
“Deep within the gorse bushes, my lord. I suspected the child’s mother was a selkie, and this confirms it.”
Mabyn was the village midwife, with intimate and extensive knowledge of healing and the Old Ways. Whenever something happened that was unexplainable, Garanhir sent for her, for she understood the world that lay hidden to most.
“Well, then, ‘tis no mystery we’ve not been able to find anyone who speaks her tongue,” Garanhir commented absently, turning the sealskin over in his hands. Like all children who grew up by the sea, he had heard many tales of fishermen and sailors who claimed to have seen seals upon the beach that shed their skins and took the form of women, but he had never believed them. Not until then.
“Lord Garanhir, the signs are clear. The golden child and his mother are the source of the blessings that have been visited upon your house. As long as they remain beneath your roof, your house will continue to grow in wealth and prosperity, rest
ing in peace by the seaside. I would counsel you to have your son take the selkie as his wife and raise the child as his own.”
“Well, that should not be hard to do,” Garanhir said. “He’s quite taken with her.”
“Your son may well be, but my concern lies with her. I must warn you, as happy as she may seem, a selkie belongs to the sea, and when it calls her back, as it does with its own waves, she’ll seek out her skin to return to it. If you want her to stay, you must lock it away where she will never find it.”
Garanhir looked up at Mabyn and cocked his head. “Am I to be her jailor, then?”
“Jailor? That’s a harsh word, my lord,” she scoffed. “There are hundreds of women who would beg to be kept in a prison such as this! To marry the future lord of Maes Gwythno, live within his warm halls and dine well each night? I hardly think you’re doing her ill—besides, she doesn’t need to know you’re the one who holds her skin. Yes, she’ll long for the sea, but isn’t living here the next best thing? You can nearly reach out and touch it from the ramparts!”
Garanhir did not like the idea of keeping the girl there against her will, but the idea of his house losing its new-found favor disturbed him more. Besides, if they were to return the skin to where it was, someone else could happen upon it and take it. I’ll be doing her a favor by keeping it safe, he reasoned. “Very well, then. I’ll do as you advise.”
He dismissed Mabyn, went to where he kept his gold, unlocked the coffer, and buried Ula’s skin deep beneath the coins.
***
“You should take the girl for your wife!” Elffin’s father suggested. “Raise the child as your own. I’ll have Irwyn apprentice him in shipbuilding and teach him to tame the sea that nearly claimed his life.”
Elffin was shocked by his father’s suggestion, but needed no encouragement in the matter. He had never known a woman more compelling, and a more caring mother could not exist. She came with no dowry, but that was of no consequence to him. She and her babe had undisputedly brought good fortune upon their house. He knew it was far better to be rich by the grace of the gods than by the hands of men.
“Say the word, and I’ll have the servants start the preparations,” his father encouraged. “The only time of year better for a wedding than Beltane is in the wake of it. We can have it right out there on the cliffs, where your mother and I were wed.”
Elffin smiled nervously. “She must agree to have me, first, Father.” It pleased him to see his father so enthusiastic about the match, for he had certainly not expected it. Only a few moons ago, his father had been keenly seeking a woman with a large dowry for him to marry, so that he might recoup his fortune.
For once, it seemed, his father’s superstitious nature was working in his favor. He was certain he would never have gotten his father’s approval to marry Ula otherwise.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Caer Gwythno
Garanhir made his way to the banquet hall, eager to meet the man he was about to receive. His guest was known among the bards as Bran the Golden, and as of late, he had heard his name sung of more than he cared to. What was he paying those soft-bellied minstrels for, if not to sing his own praises? Certainly not to immortalize some other chieftain in their ballads! However, the songs had piqued his curiosity, so when he was told there was a messenger outside his gates bearing the sigil of an Oak upon his shield, he bid the man enter and state his business. The messenger had told him that his chieftain, Bran of the Oaks, wished to meet with him to discuss the possibility of trading between their clans. Garanhir was pleased, for what better way to meet this new chieftain than under his own roof, where he held all advantage? He sent the messenger back with a gracious invitation to Bran and his men, and commanded a banquet be prepared to receive them the following evening.
Being solicited was something Garanhir was accustomed to. He regularly hosted all manner of influential men, be they chieftains, sea captains, merchants or landowners, and took great care in receiving them well. As Lord of Gwythno for over twenty years, he had undertaken great measures to ensure his kingdom prospered by both land and sea. Its loamy dark soil made a farmer’s job easy, and consistently yielded good crops. The only price to be paid for it was a constant vigilance against the high tide. To this end, sluice gates had been constructed which were opened at low tide to let the water drain from the land into the sea, and then closed again at high tide to prevent the lands from flooding. He had employed only the most trustworthy of his men to watch the gates, paid them well, and had never been disappointed. In addition to the crops his land yielded, there were two strong rivers that flowed through his kingdom to the sea. At the mouth of each, he had built harbors where fishermen and merchants came to trade. All of them paid him tribute or gave him a portion of their goods in return. Though he had forged countless alliances over the years, he never turned down an opportunity to explore another. It was this enterprising attitude that fed his wealth and influence, and contributed to the legendary hospitality of his house.
Bran and his men arrived in the afternoon. As was customary under Garanhir’s roof, they were shown to well-appointed rooms where they could rest or bathe, and invited to come to feast at sundown.
It was just before twilight, and Garanhir was eager to speak with his son before receiving their guests. He searched all his usual brooding places and finally found him in the banquet hall, seated by the fire with a glassy look in his eyes. “Good, you’re here!” he bellowed.
Elffin jumped in his chair. “Gods, Father, must you always do that?”
“Do what? Speak? It’s not my fault you’re always daydreaming.”
He wagged a finger at him and turned to ask for ale, but it was unnecessary. His new serving wench was already on her way with a pitcher. Pretty girl, gracious manner—she’ll work out well. He smiled at her and then turned back to Elffin. “Now, tell me, what have you discovered about our guest?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” Elffin said, as the girl refilled his outstretched horn. “He’s the son of Cadoc, chieftain of his clan before him.”
Garanhir stroked his beard. Cadoc. The name conjured images of a dark and quiet man. “I think I remember him. His clan came to trade horses during the harvest some years ago, but I don’t remember him having a son.”
“That was likely him. His clan is of Sarmatian descent. They came over in service to Rome, but they’ve not been here long—two or three generations, at the most. They breed fine horses and are well-known for their skills at the forge.”
“Yes, yes. They had good steel with them,” Garanhir remarked, faintly remembering their visit. “We traded well that year. I wonder why they never returned.”
“Seems they came upon hard times,” Elffin continued. “Cadoc and his wife were killed by wolves, and then his people were nearly wiped out in some kind of feud that affected a few other clans as well. The stories say they were attacked by demons, so the tribe that came to give them trouble must have been fierce.”
“Picts, probably,” Garanhir guessed. Crazy blue bastards.
Elffin shook his head dismissively. “The Picts don’t come this far south.”
“What do you know about what they do, or don’t do?”
Elffin ignored his father’s challenge and continued his report. “This Bran of the Oaks united the clans who fought together against that tribe—whoever they were—and he is now their chieftain. They live in a mountain village to the north, near the river Dyfrdwy, and have built an impressive fortress that people are calling Dinas Bran.”
Heavy footsteps interrupted their conversation, echoing loudly down the corridor. Garanhir glanced out the window to see the sun dipping down to kiss the sea, and smiled. He appreciated promptness. He rose to receive his guests. Though physically he was quite thin, Garanhir was very tall, and commonly known as “Longshanks.” He had learned well how to use his height to make the most imposing impression possible when among other men of power.
As his guests entered, it was obvious which on
e of them was Bran the Golden—he towered over the others and had a beard and mane of blonde hair. “I am Bran of the Oaks,” he announced simply. “My men and I wish to thank you for your hospitality, Lord Garanhir.” He gave him a nod of respect.
Garanhir noted his guest had not introduced himself as a lord, king, or chieftain, revealing himself to be a man without airs. He found it refreshing. He had grown weary of honey-tongued men trying to convince him of this or that, attempting to weasel their way into his coffers or good graces. “I’ve heard your name sung of often, Bran of the Oaks. Your brave deeds precede you. Come to table with your men, and let’s fill our bellies together. No good deal was ever struck on empty stomachs. We have the long night to speak of possible ventures.” He motioned to his servants, who had been waiting nearly unseen on the outskirts of the large hall, and they burst into a flurry of precise duties, performing them with grace and perfection. A beautiful woman approached each guest and escorted him to his place in the banquet hall, tasked with ensuring he wanted for nothing throughout the evening. Once it was determined whether he drank wine, ale or mead, it was forbidden that he should ever see the bottom of his cup, and never was an empty plate to rest in front of him. The rest of the serving staff worked in the kitchen preparing endless platters of food, each an edible work of art.
Such was the bounty of Garanhir’s table, that it was rumored he owned an enchanted basket that could multiply any food that was laid inside it. During the meal, the musicians were to play softly so as not to interfere with conversation, and then livelier to encourage dancing, which often lasted until the sun rose.
Such hospitality would be legendary on its own, but Garanhir sought not only to satisfy appetites for food and drink. Nay, if a guest seemed gloomy, he was served cheer. If he appeared bored, diversion. If he looked lonely, affection. So apt were his assessments of his guests’ wants and needs, that it was rumored he employed a seer to that end. He had laughed out loud upon learning this. He was admittedly fond of astrologers and seers, and consulted them often, but he had never done any such thing. His secret was actually quite simple—one that anyone could employ if they desired—he took a genuine interest in his guests. He learned as much as he could about them before they arrived, and when they were under his roof, he listened to them. Unlike most, he truly listened, with no thought at all about what he was going to say next, how he might impress them, or what he’d had for breakfast that morning. He gave them the gift of his undivided attention, and noted the smallest of details in all things.
