by J. M. Hofer
“Aelhaearn and Camulos?”
Lucia nodded.
Bran looked as if a thunderstorm were brewing within his chest. He released a vehement chain of obscenities that attracted concerned looks from everyone around them. He took a few deep breaths after his tirade and looked her in the eye. “I swear to Arawn, this time, they’ll die for their betrayal.”
“I hope so,” she said. “They’ll be coming from the west. They plan to sail their ships up the Mawddach river as far as they can, make their way over the mountains to Lake Tegid, and then follow the river here. They’ll be carrying heavy weapons and shields, and will likely be on foot unless they steal horses along the way.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I saw the map they’re using—shadow-walking with Maybn.”
Bran looked confused, but did not question her. “How much time do we have?”
Lucia shook her head. “I don’t know.”
He thought a moment. “On foot from the mouth of the Mawddach with heavy weapons, it’s a grueling full day’s march—some fourteen hours. Even if they pushed and did it all today, they’ll need to sleep and won’t attack until the morning. Either way, we need a scout.” He turned to Neirin, who had come to find out what was happening and explained the situation.
“Aelhaearn and Camulos?” Neirin exclaimed, nearly the same way Bran had.
Bran nodded. “Find out how close the bastards are, and how long we have before they get here.”
Lucia thought of the smoking, corpse-ridden waste that was once Gwythno. She knew the only thing that would save the farms and villages around the lake would be if the Saxons chose not to attack them at all. The sad truth was, even if Aveta and Colwyn managed to save everyone, and all the livestock and horses were turned loose, the Saxons would still likely loot their homes and burn them to the ground for the thrill of it.
She thought of the villa she once called home being reduced to ashes once more and fumed at the injustice. It was not only home to two of her dearest friends now, but those poor children as well.
“I’ll go myself,” Neirin volunteered. “You and Idris know what to do here. I’ll be back as soon as I have something to report.”
Lucia felt grateful Neirin had stayed behind to watch over Mynyth Aur in their absence. If he had come along and fallen in battle at Gwythno, it would have been a terrible blow to the clan. He had nearly an animal’s ability to track, which had only grown keener over the years, honed by experience and humility. No one was better suited to the job of scouting the enemy. They would neither see nor hear him, even if he stood directly behind them.
The entire village gathered within the hour. Bran explained the situation and they laid out plans. The older women would round up the children and livestock and lead them up the mountain trail to the fortress. Bran and the warriors would take spears and swords and sleep in the fields. Lucia and her archers would sleep in the forest along the main road that led into the valley, waiting to ambush the enemy upon arrival. Seren waited in the motherhouse, tending a large fire, to make it appear all was well in the village.
Lucia grew hungry for the attack, anxious to unleash her many years of dread upon the enemies who had poisoned her mind with the dark shadow of their coming. She had suffered much in anticipation of that day, but not in vain, for the Oaks were well-prepared for the battle coming to them.
We’re ready. We’ll destroy them.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Beneath the Raven’s Wings
Taliesin had been in the stables, saddling one of his father’s horses for an early ride, when the giants came. They killed the guards and broke down the gates, swarming into the village like the plague. He could have fled into the castle, but instead ran to the stable boy’s house to warn him. He had not had the time. Within moments, the giants had captured them both and set the boy’s house on fire.
Taliesin, Gareth, the stable boy, and many of their kinsmen now suffered the wrath of the treacherous sea in the open ships of their captors. His father’s words echoed in his mind: The Sea grants no pardon to the strong and mighty, and renders child and warrior alike helpless to her will. They were tightly-bound and packed together, many of them wounded. He counted himself lucky to have only a few broken ribs, for there were those he suspected would not survive the voyage. The smell of vomit and urine grew stronger by the hour, sickening everyone aboard.
“It’s my fault Rhys is dead,” Gareth whispered weakly to him. A steady stream of blood ran down his face and chin from his broken nose.
“No it isn’t—don’t say that.”
“It is. I’m no warrior.” He looked down at his bound hands. “I don’t deserve to be my father’s son. I was captured before I could even swing one blow.” He shook his head. “Rhys came to save me. They tried to capture him, too, but he fought back so much, they just killed him.” Gareth choked up.
“Then you would have been killed, too.”
“It would have been better than this. We’re either going to die on this ship or die as slaves. I’d rather have died fighting—with honor.”
Taliesin would have put an arm around his friend, but his hands were bound as well. “You had no chance. These men are three times our size. You punish yourself unjustly.”
Gareth was right about one thing, however. They would likely die as slaves if they were not rescued. He thought about all the possible ways they might escape their fate until he had an idea. “I’m going to try and get a message to your mother. If I can reach her, I can tell her where we are. I’ve been watching the coast, and counting the days we’ve been at sea. Perhaps Ula and Tegid can help find us.”
Gareth looked at him sideways. “How are you going to do that?”
“I can shadow-walk.” Taliesin knew it was dangerous to attempt it alone, but certainly no more dangerous than what they faced at the hands of their enemies. He closed his eyes and imagined the path in the woods Lucia had described to him in such detail, blocking out all but the rhythmic sound of the oars entering and leaving the water, and the hypnotic chants of their captors’ voices. They numbed his thoughts, allowing him to slip into a trance.
As if he were waking from a dream, he found himself standing on the path in the woods. The mist around him was so thick he was not certain he was where he was supposed to be. He moved forward, his hands extended. After a few moments, the mist cleared to reveal a woman on the path, standing in a patch of sunlight.
“Gwion? Is that you?”
Gwion? Why does she not recognize me? “No, it’s me, Taliesin! Don’t you recognize me?”
He, too, was surprised by her appearance. She looked so much younger. “I’ve used all the magic I know to find you. The twins and I were captured, along with many others. The ship we’re on sailed south along the coast for a day, but we’ve changed course and are now sailing east. I don’t know if our captors hail from the eastern shores or from a land beyond, but they are Saxon, and fly sails with a sigil of a raven holding an amber Hagalaz stone in its beak. You must get this message to King Bran and my father…“ he stopped a moment, realizing they might be dead. “…if they still live. Tell them to seek out Ula or Tegid’s help—they know the sea. I’m sure they can find us.”
“What’s your father’s name?”
She was looking at him so strangely. His worry returned. “Lord Elffin, my queen. Perhaps in this realm you’ve forgotten us?”
After a moment, she seemed to understand and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry—I’ll find King Bran and your father, Lord Elffin, and deliver this message for you.”
“Thank you, Queen Lucia. Our lives depend on it.”
She nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “I promise. But I’m no—“
Before he could hear what she was about to say, a loud cry from the leader of the giants shocked him out of his trance, yanking him out of the forest and back into his aching body.
He woke just in time to witness the giant smash the skull of one of the
Gwythno Oaks, and throw his body over the side of the ship.
Women shrieked and wailed. After a few of them had been hit senseless, the others clapped their hands over their mouths to muffle their cries.
For five more days they suffered, watching helplessly as many of their kinsmen perished from their wounds and were tossed overboard for the sea to consume.
On the morning of the sixth day, they began to see coastline and hear the crying of gulls. Judging from the tone of the giants’ voices, the question regarding the fate of them all was about to be answered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Return of the Ceffyl Dŵr
The charred ground crunched beneath Elffin’s feet as he beheld the tragedy that was once his home. His stomach and throat were in knots as he helped carry yet one more who had died in the night to the huge pyre on the windswept cliffs to the north, overlooking the sea.
He glanced down to the harbor. The Ceffyl Dŵr had arrived two mornings before, expecting a celebration. They had been sadly disappointed. He wondered if a sooner arrival would have meant more survivors, or more losses. They would never know, but at least they had the crew and Creirwy’s healing skills to help quell the aftermath. Creirwy had gone to work immediately, helping Maybn construct a makeshift hospital within the village walls. They sent survivors out to gather what herbs, roots and flowers they needed to help dress wounds and ease pain. Others went to work washing linens and tearing them into strips for bandages, collecting fresh water, and bringing out all the beds and blankets they could find.
Every day since the attack, they had built a pyre on the cliffs for those who died the night before. The dead were laid upon it in the morning, giving families the day to say goodbye. At sundown, it was set aflame to an eerie chorus of tears.
Elffin and his men laid the body they were carrying upon today’s fresh pyre, and left the man’s wife to weep by his side.
Elffin heaved a sigh and gazed somberly out to sea. “When will this end?” he whispered to himself. Nothing he had ever suffered in his life could compare to the magnitude of the sorrow that now suffocated Gwythno, and he felt guilty for ever thinking so. He put a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder and walked back to the castle.
That night, after the dead had been honored, he and Irwyn went down to the Ceffyl Dŵr to meet with Tegid and Creirwy.
Tegid greeted them as he did all who boarded his ship as guests—with a large cup of apple wine from the enchanted cask Bran had gifted him so long ago.
“Mín fréawine,” Irwyn said to him in his thick accent. He eagerly took the cup and drank it down. Tegid gave him a big slap on the back.
Elffin could not help but notice the way Irwyn still gazed at Creirwy. It was clear he loved her deeply, yet he had never told her. It made Elffin sad. He thought of Irwyn as a brother, and felt he was far-better suited for her than her summer lover, Idris. Love was not the subject on anyone’s minds right now, however.
“Do you have any way of finding Ula?” Elffin asked Tegid. “Perhaps she could help us track our enemies.”
“Aye, if she still lives.” Tegid gave him a sad glance.
The sea was an infinitely dangerous realm, its perils constant and ruthless. Elffin had often considered the terrible possibility that Ula had perished, but could never bear to speak of it. The harsh truth was she had very likely died long ago.
“I’ll do what I kin to find ‘er,” Tegid added, “but I have my ways with the creatures o’ the sea as well. Though ‘er help would be useful, we’ll not be lost without it. One way or another, we’ll find those bastards, and they’ll pay a heavy price fer what they’ve done here—right terrible, this.” He motioned toward the smoke in the air and the charred towers.
Elffin gazed up at his home. “We’re praying Mynyth Aur doesn’t suffer the same fate. I know they’re well-prepared for an attack, so have high hopes they will prevail. The best thing we can do in the meantime, is save all the people we can, and—“
“—Finish the ship,” Irwyn interrupted. “Then, we sail after our enemies and destroy them.”
Tegid nodded in his direction to show his support. “You were buildin’ two ships—they take the other?”
Irwyn nodded. “Another thing they will pay for.”
“That they will,” Tegid replied with an ominous tone. “The fools have raided the wrong shore.”
Irwyn motioned toward the ship. “We are working day and night to finish her.”
“My crew and I will help,” Tegid pledged.
Irwyn smiled. “We shall finish more quickly then.”
Blessed with the strength of three men, Tegid could easily do tasks alone that no one else could. His help with the rigging would be invaluable.
Tegid glanced at Elffin. “Come mornin’, we unload this ship. That’ll make room fer as many men as possible down below. Make use of what goods ye kin, and store the rest fer me.”
“I’ll pay you for them.”
Tegid scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “With what? No’ this year, ye won’t.”
Elffin sighed in defeat. Though it grieved him to accept charity, he knew Tegid was right. He had nearly nothing to rebuild Gwythno with.
Irwyn patted him on the back. “For as long as you have been lord of Gwythno, you have been fair and generous. The people we trade with will not forget this. They will help us through the winter. Then, we rebuild. Gwythno will be better than it was.”
Elffin shook his head. “I’d let it all fall into the sea if I could have my boy back.” His voice faltered. He loved Taliesin more than anything in the world, and feared for him, deeply. “He knows nothing of cruelty. Nothing of fighting or weapons. How will he ever survive?” He crossed his arms and turned away, overcome by a need to be alone. “I’ll take my leave, now. See you at dawn to help with the ship.”
He went down to the beach to walk and think. Something about the waves calmed his mind and helped clear the way for decisive thought. He sat upon the shore long past sunset, until all he could see were the stars and the lanterns on the Ceffyl Dŵr, twinkling in the night.
Just after the moon rose, he heard a huge splash come from the direction of the ship. He watched the waves roll in and out, dressed in moonlight, until their patterns were disturbed by something large swimming in the water, just past where the waves were breaking. It swam closer, toward the beach, until Elffin recognized it was a man.
“Who’s out there?”
The man reached shallow enough water to stand, and a very large silhouette emerged, waves rolling about his waist.
“Tegid? What are you doing?”
“Makin’ the Sea an offerin’, o’ course. Only a fool asks the Sea to help him without makin’ an offerin’.”
Elffin had learned that lesson the hard way. His mind flashed back to when he had been a young man, eager to prove he could build a castle more beautiful than his father’s. He had chosen an impressive place for it, right near the sea, but refused to take his father’s advice and make the customary offerings. He had always scoffed at his father’s superstitious nature, believing it was the hallmark of the simple-minded. He swore when he left his father’s house that he would never have druids or priests or seers on his council, and he was certainly not going to make any offerings. Once the castle was completed, he had been quickly betrothed to a woman his father had found suitable, and looked forward to his future with a smug satisfaction. It had been no more than a moon before the sea rose up and claimed his castle for herself, taking everything with it—his possessions, his gold, and his betrothal—leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back. Still, he had remained stubborn, refusing to see the part he had played in his own misfortune. Again and again, he failed at his endeavors, until, one day, he became desperate and secretly called upon Maybn.
“Why’ve you come to me, milord?” Mabyn asked him.
He had not visited her since he was a small boy, except for when he had a wound that needed tending. As he grew older, he had spurned he
r, just as he had spurned his father’s beliefs.
“I know,” he had replied, full of remorse, “and I’m sorry for that. I need your advice—on how I can turn my luck.”
Mabyn raised an eyebrow. “You won’t like what I have to say to you,” she had cautioned, “but I don’t care whether you believe it or not. It makes no difference to me.”
“Please, tell me.”
“You made no offerings to the Sea when you built your castle near her domain. You took it, arrogantly, and have disrespected not only her, but all the gods, for some time now. She simply took back what you did not ask for, and I don’t blame her.”
“What shall I do?”
“If I were you, I would pray. Choose any god you like, but pray. There is nothing more damaging to grace than pride.”
That had been twenty years ago, and Elffin had seen enough since then to realize that no one truly knew all of the forces at work in the world. It was far better to err on the side of assuming the gods existed.
Tegid called to him, snapping his mind back to the present. “Well? What’re ye waitin’ fer?”
“Right!” he yelled back. “I’m coming out!” The water was icy cold, but not unbearable. He could not go out to stand next to Tegid, though, or the water would come up to his chin. “Could you come closer to shore?”
Tegid turned around and saw Elffin’s dilemma. He chuckled and obliged by backing out of the sea and kneeling next to him.
“Now, what do we do?” Elffin asked.
“Make her an offerin’, o’ course.”
“But I have nothing to offer.”
Tegid looked over at him and grimaced. “No one has nothin' to offer, fool!”
Elffin stood there for some time before the answer came to him.
Repentance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Troubled Waters
“Quick!” Aveta said to Dylan as soon as Lucia rode away. “Get the horses out of the stable. I’ll get your sisters. Meet us at the dock.”
