by J. M. Hofer
“Gods be good!” Maur muttered, looking up at the giant.
Creirwy rushed to her father’s side, motioning for the others to be quiet. “Let me explain, Father.”
Tegid sat back down and the men relaxed, for the scowl disappeared from his face the instant Creirwy began to speak. “They’ve brought you a ship, Father—the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen. Your curse is that you may never leave the waters of the lake—yet, the waters of the lake become the waters of the river, and the water of the river flows to the sea, so we suspect if you stay upon the ship, you will be free to sail the seas! Won’t that be glorious? Can you imagine the freedom?”
“And you think this will work?” Tegid queried skeptically, not sharing his daughter’s enthusiasm. “Against your mother’s magic?”
“Well, you have nothing to lose, Father,” Creirwy pointed out, “and the ship is such a beauty! Wait until you see her.”
“And you, Druid? What do you have to say?”
Islwyn stepped forward. “Lord Voel, t’was the Salmon of Knowledge from the Isle that granted Lord Bran the wisdom that led to the building of this ship and the means to see it done. Though you will still be confined to a watery prison, it’ll be a vast one—one that you’ll never be able to explore the whole of, even if you should live a thousand years.”
Tegid drummed his fingers on the arm of his hideous throne, pondering. The chamber fell deathly silent in anticipation of his answer.
“Let’s see this ship, then,” Tegid finally boomed, standing back up. He grabbed a satchel from the floor on his way out, which struck Bran as optimistic—why would he take his things, unless he believed their plan might actually work? He grew sick with the thought of disappointing him, but masked his doubts as they filed out of the castle. The walk back to the ship seemed very long. He prayed silently to the Great Mother to bless the outcome of their efforts.
“Worry not.” Islwyn patted him on the back. “The Guardians of the West have blessed the ship—the same Guardians who surely saved the wee Taliesin and blessed Ula with his care. This, too, is part of their plan.”
Bran did not share Islwyn’s confidence, but found it comforting, nonetheless.
Soon they saw the ship’s great horsehead, fading in and out of the mist, regal and terrible, far above their heads in the air.
“There she is!” Creirwy pulled her father by his huge hand toward the ship. Islwyn dispelled the mists that shrouded her, and, like a woman shedding a muslin shift for her husband, she appeared.
Bran looked expectantly at Tegid’s face. To his relief, the giant was smiling. Irwyn leapt onto the deck first, followed by Tegid. He explained all of the ship’s features to him, and then led the way down the stairs beneath the deck to where the sleeping quarters and rowing benches were. When they emerged, Tegid looked more pleased than ever. “When do we leave?”
“Now, if you wish,” Bran said, looking at Irwyn, who nodded his approval.
“I will go with you, Lord Tegid, wherever you wish to sail,” Irwyn offered. “I will teach you about the ship, and how to sail her—by yourself, even, if you must. Then you can have as much or as little company as you like.”
“And me,” Creirwy said, surprising everyone. “I want to come, too!”
Tegid looked as if he might burst with happiness, his smile spreading into a grin. He was actually what some women might consider handsome, Bran noted with surprise.
“Daughter, ye may stay with me ferever,” Tegid said, pulling her close. “I‘ll cry like a babe left naked in the snow on the day ye leave me, which I thought would be today.”
“Well, I’m grateful to have been spared such a pathetic sight.” Creirwy put her arms around her father’s waist.
“Shall we?” Irwyn asked Tegid, with an encouraging look.
“Aye, man. Let’s see if this ship kin carry me out o’ this foul place!”
Irwyn nodded, and abruptly ceased being the charming host and starry-eyed lover he had been over the past hour. “Oars!” he barked, gripping the rudder.
Creirwy joined Islwyn at the bow. Together they cleared the mists, revealing the familiar scenery surrounding the lake. The mood was tense as they sailed across the lake toward the mouth of the river, everyone rapt with anticipation. Tegid looked as if he were dreaming and feared waking up.
“She must have a name,” Creirwy remarked to her father, breaking him from his trance.
“The ship?”
“Yes—one that will bring us luck.” Creirwy looked up the bow at the fierce horse’s head. “What about the Ceffyl Dŵr?”
“The Ceffyl Dŵr!” Tegid nodded his head. “I like it, lass.”
It’s perfect, Bran thought, remembering the stories from his childhood. Ceffylau dŵr were water horses, able to shapeshift and fly, with fiery eyes and an ominous presence. They were formed of water, said to live deep within mountain pools or waterfalls. If you ever came across one, you were never to try to ride it—if you did, it would fly high into the sky with you upon its back and turn to mist, leaving you to fall to your death.
“There she is, men!” Irwyn announced, his steady hand on the rudder. “Down in front!”
Bran’s heart pounded as they rowed closer to where the river flowed out of the lake. Gods, please let this work...
Everyone left the bow so Irwyn could see what lay ahead. No one spoke, or even seemed to breathe, as he navigated the ship toward the river. Occasionally, they looked up at one another, eyes furtively darting from one face to the next, until the prow entered the river.
At that point, Bran fixed his eyes firmly on Tegid. He did not know exactly what he feared; so many possibilities jumped around in his mind, tormenting him—perhaps Tegid might disappear, or cry out in terrible pain—perhaps Cerridwen would emerge from the lake and destroy them all—perhaps the afanc would lay waste to the ship, and drown them. On and on, the torments pricked at him, until the ship glided swiftly into the river.
“Wah-hoooooooo!” Tegid fell to his knees in gratitude and raised his fists in victory up toward the sky.
Creirwy let out a squeal of joy and jumped into her father’s huge arms. “It worked! It worked!”
Bran let out a huge sigh of relief.
Elffin threw his arms around him, squeezing the breath out of his lungs. “Thank the gods!”
Bran silently thanked the Great Mother and went over to congratulate Tegid, who was opening his satchel. He pulled out a familiar-looking cask. “Bran, me lad, d’ye know what this is?”
Bran was impressed. “The wine from the Isle? You still have it? You’re a stronger man than I.”
“No, no, I’m not! It’s still full!” Tegid explained, grinning. “It never runs dry!” He slapped Bran so hard on the back he nearly toppled over. “Here, gimme yer horn! And the rest o’ yer men, too! Take this and fill the horns o’ them all! We’re all goin’ to drink to the Ceffyl Dŵr!”
As there was no longer any need for oars, Irwyn permitted the men up on deck to celebrate. Together, they raised horns with Tegid, who said, “May the Guardians o’ the West bless and keep our lady Ceffyl Dŵr sound in all waters, and protect ‘er passengers and goods fer as long as she sails!”
Everyone cheered and drank. Tegid drained his horn in one long draught and joined Irwyn at the rudder, eager to learn how the ship operated. Irwyn explained to him how to steer the craft and operate the sail. Though he had already taught Bran and Elffin but a few days before, they gathered around as well, hanging on his every word.
They both secretly saw some portion of their destiny across the sea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
To Sea or Not To Sea
Elffin’s heart beat faster as they approached the familiar coastline of his homeland. The sea was unusually calm, reflecting his peaceful mood. Her glassy surface seemed almost melted, like a mirror, reflecting a clear sky. He smiled. It was rare the sun graced his home without wearing a heavy mantle of clouds. He took a deep breath and turned to Bran. “Soon, Ul
a and I will be married, and I’ll build a castle of our own atop these cliffs.”
Bran patted him on the back. “I’m happy for you—and for Tegid. This has turned out far better than I dared hope.”
“It has.” Elffin glanced back at the giant. He was beaming at the rudder, having mastered it since leaving the lake. For the last hour, he and Irwyn had been discussing possibilities of where to sail next. After much consideration, they had decided on Greece.
“It’s settled then!” Tegid smacked the rudder with his big, meaty palm. ‘Round the land o’ the Gauls to the land o’ the Greeks. Yer sure ye kin get us there, Saxon?”
“I can,” Irwyn confirmed with a nod.
“Oh, I canno’ wait to feel the hot sun on me face!” Tegid tipped his head back. “Gods be good!” He smiled and held a fist up toward the sky, shaking it vigorously.
Elffin laughed and shook his head. Tegid had exclaimed “gods be good” and shaken a fist in the air regularly since they had escaped the lake. He found it endearing. “To Greece, is it?” he called back to Tegid. “You’ll stay for a few moons, though, surely—at least for my wedding? The crew deserves a bit of celebration, don’t you think?”
Tegid pulled at his chin with his free hand and grimaced, considering Elffin’s request. After a few moments, he let out a sigh. “Ahhhhhh! I s’pose yer right. Two weeks, no more—then we sail.”
“Fair enough.” Elffin nodded and winked at Bran.
The bells sounded from his father’s towers as the Ceffyl Dŵr approached, signaling they had been seen. As they sailed into the bay, a festive sight awaited them. Dozens had gathered to welcome them home, waving from the beach, the dock, and the cliffs, shouting and cheering.
There she is. Elffin smiled, easily spotting Ula upon the shore. To his surprise, little Taliesin was standing by her side and waving as well, just as steady on his feet as a child twice his age.
Irwyn skillfully steered the ship alongside the dock, crying out orders to the crew. Some of the men climbed over the side and jumped down to tie her fast.
Elffin disembarked and shaded his eyes, peering out toward the crowded beach where he had seen Ula and Taliesin but moments ago. He soon spotted them rushing over, and ran down the dock to meet them. “Ula!”
“You’re back, Papa! I missed you!” Taliesin cried as Elffin scooped him up. He gave Ula a wide-eyed look. “He can talk?”
Ula nodded and shrugged her shoulders as if there were nothing noteworthy about this. He pulled her close and kissed her hard on the forehead.
“The ship worked,” Ula observed. “I’m so glad.”
“Yay! The ship worked!” Taliesin repeated in a sweet voice, mimicking Ula and pointing to it.
Elffin laughed in amazement. “Yes, it worked, sweet lad. Now, we may stay together.”
“This is good.” Taliesin wrapped his fat little arms around Elffin’s neck, resting his golden curls on his shoulder. Gods, I’m so happy. Elffin could not remember a time in his life that he had ever felt such joy. He turned to Ula. “Will you marry me, now that you’re free from Tegid? I’ve spoken to Islwyn. He’ll gladly stay to marry us before he returns to the Crossroads with Bran.” He gestured enthusiastically toward the cliffs. “We can be married right up there. Would you like that?”
Ula had tears in her eyes, and did not answer.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” Taliesin said, reaching over to touch her face tenderly.
“That’s right. Don’t cry, Mama.” Elffin wiped the tears from Ula’s face, hoping they served as a ‘yes.’
***
Elffin entered his father’s hall, eager to let him know of their victory, but it was clear from his father’s smile that he already knew. “So, finally! There is to be a wedding!” He stood up and held his arms out.
Elffin walked over and embraced him. His father’s bones poked out sharply from beneath his robes, like the branches of an old tree in winter. “Father, are you ill?”
“I’m weary, that’s all.” Garanhir waved a hand dismissively.
Elffin was not fooled by his father’s lie—he was close enough to him now to see how pallid his complexion was, and how yellow the whites of his eyes had become. He was about to press his him further, when they heard heavy footsteps approaching.
Bran strode into the hall. He was beaming, his chest puffed up full-sail. Before saying a word, his eyes snapped for a brief, intense moment on something behind Elffin’s father, and his smile vanished. “Lord Garanhir,” he said in a formal tone, suddenly somber.
What did he see? Elffin wondered with dread.
Garanhir did not seem to notice the change in Bran’s manner. “Welcome back, Lord Bran. I’m pleased to see you and my son have returned from this venture successfully.”
“We’re glad to have returned triumphant.”
“Now, son.” Garanhir turned to Elffin. “I’m eager for this wedding, and want to hold my first grandson before next spring. With the way the two of you look at one another, I’m certain that’s not too much to hope for.”
Elffin stifled an awkward laugh. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier. Lord Voel has agreed to delay his departure for a week, so that he and those who have joined his crew can stay for the wedding. That means Irwyn can stay as well.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, that means Irwyn can stay?”
Elffin glanced at Bran to make it clear he would handle giving his father the bad news, hoping it would not aggravate his condition. “Irwyn has decided to join Lord Voel’s crew, and teach him to sail his ship.”
“When will he be back to finish my ship?”
“Don’t worry, Father. I can finish it. It’s almost done, and we know what work is left to do.”
“No, you don’t!” Garanhir stood up and yelled. “You think that because you’ve wandered about a shipyard for a year, that you have more than a child’s understanding about shipbuilding?”
Elffin sighed, but he would not argue with his father. Not now. “No, of course not, but, truly, there isn’t much left to be done—and Irwyn will be here for the next week. He assures me we can finish the ship without him.”
“After everything I’ve done for him!” Garanhir sank back in his chair and stared at the floor, deflated.
Elffin wished his father trusted him more, but it seemed he would forever think of him as the feckless youth he once was. “Father, I promise you—everything will be fine.”
His father looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “And what of your Oaks, Lord Bran? Will they, too, desert me now?”
Bran shook his head. “No, Lord Garanhir. They will stay, provided your offer of land still stands.”
“It does.”
“Then I see no reason for them to want to leave. They’re happy here, and enjoy the work.”
“Good. Now, I must rest if I’m to celebrate your wedding properly.”
“Yes, Father. Go and rest,” Elffin said gently, encouraging him.
***
Shaken, Bran left the castle and sought refuge from the crowds along the cliffs.
Not since the Battle of the Crossroads had he seen the god Arawn so clearly, yet there he had been, looming over Garanhir, obviously visible only to himself. His heart was still beating wildly from the shock of it.
He made his way down a rocky trail choked with gorse bushes to a ledge overlooking the surf. He gazed out to sea toward the horizon and spotted a pod of porpoises in the distance. Watching them jump in and out of the water put him more at ease.
He reached up to finger the strange, smooth mark on the back of his neck, an ever-present reminder of the oath he had taken to serve the God of the Otherworld. At the time of his pledge, he had not known to what extent his life would be affected. He had expected Arawn to turn up often and make demands of him, but, to his surprise, the god had not appeared to him once—not until now. He grappled anxiously with what might be asked of him.
“Bran?” a soft voice whispered behind him.
> Startled, Bran looked up to see Ula standing next to him.
“Ula.” He sighed and gave her a smile. “Come sit with me.”
She sat down next to him, and together they looked out at the sea. He could see she was troubled. “Tell me, do you wish to marry Lord Elffin?”
Ula was silent on the subject, and Bran grew more concerned. Unlike Elffin, who was blinded by his love for her, Bran knew that, in her heart, Ula was not truly a woman of the world. She was wild. A creature of the sea. “Ula, is this what you want? To live here?”
Ula’s answer came in the form of tears.
Bran took her hand.
“I must be a mother to Taliesin,” she finally said, “and Elffin must be a father to him. We were chosen.”
“Chosen? By whom?”
“You call them the Guardians of the West.”
Bran brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “The Guardians of the West have chosen well.”
They sat in silence a long while, and then Ula squeezed his hand.
“I wish the Guardians had chosen you.”
***
After the bittersweet visit from Ula, Bran headed for the stables. A ride with Gethen nearly always calmed his nerves.
He found himself telling the horse everything that had happened since he had been gone, including the disturbing visit in the hall and Ula’s confession. Strangely, even though he knew Gethen could not possibly have understood what he had told him, Bran felt much better. “Let’s go for a ride, shall we?” he suggested, leading Gethen out of his stall.
Hearing the sound of the gate open, the stable boy came running, but Bran dismissed him. “No, no. I’ll saddle him myself.”
Soon, he and Gethen were galloping south along the coast under a darkening sky, away from all the noise and activity held within the castle walls. They came upon a verdant ridge overlooking the sea, covered with thick clumps of rock rose, heather, gorse bushes and ferns. Down below, the waves rolled in over wide, flat stretches of sand, thinning into shimmering sheets of silver until they were pulled back again, reclaimed by the sea.
The clouds gathering on the horizon were as bruised as woad-painted warriors before a battle, heavy and purple, threatening to deliver a deluge that would soak every inch of land for miles around. The circling gulls cried out an ever-increasing warning, and Bran took a deep breath in anticipation. He loved the way the air smelled and the sky churned before unleashing a thunderstorm.
