The Oak above the Kings

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  Daronwy was not offended. "Perhaps you should. Morgan would like her, Tal, you know."

  "Aye. Aye, she would." I paused. "What does Roric say about it all?"

  She shrugged. "He thinks, as does most of Aojun, that it is purely the Jamadarin's business whom she chooses to sire her heir; that she should have chosen an outworlder is a little surprising. That she should have chosen a king, not surprising at all. Besides, the folk genuinely like and respect Artos for himself; the army, so Roric says, think he is some kind of war-god come to Aojun in mortal guise. Do you know, they call him Artho Kendrion among themselves—which means the Young Lion."

  Now that did not surprise me: Over the past year, Arthur had, with Majanah's eager blessing, been gradually reforming the Yamazai military structure. True, he had had impressive material with which to work, and some might have said, with great correctness, that no improving was needed. But gradually even the critics had come to admit, ungrudgingly, that Artos had had the right of it, and had been grateful in the end.

  "How long do you think he means to stay here?" I heard myself asking, and had an answer of sorts when I saw Ronwyn's start of surprise.

  "I had not thought—"

  "Well, I have thought on little else." I tried to soften the aggrieved tone I heard creeping into my voice. "We came out of Keltia on a reiving; we have been gone near three years already, and it looks to me as if—"

  "As if?"

  "As if Artos would choose not to return home, if choice he had."

  Daronwy squirmed in her chair. "Well, but he has no choice, not unless he renounces his title, gives up being Ard-righ. Do you think he would do so? Have you spoken to the others about it?"

  "I have waited—you and I are the closest to him here; and Ferdia, but policy has never been his strong suit."

  Daronwy blew out an indulgent laughing breath. "Nay, not since Caer Dathyl! I will never forget how cross I was with him, even in the midst of my terror watching Edeyrn come down the hall at us—Still, Talyn, we should at least speak to Feradach and the others, before we tax Artos with it. And too, there is the child."

  The child … "Aye," I said slowly. "I have not forgotten. But I cannot help thinking that Artos might have done better to get an heir for Keltia before he chose to get one on an outfrenne queen. Much ill may come of it in years to come."

  But in that, as in so much else, I was dead mistaken.

  From the first, Donah was a forward infant. Almost as soon as she could focus, she included me in that circle of family she chose to recognize and respond to; and with her pointed chin and brown-gold eyes and silky red-blond hair, she was utterly impossible to resist.

  Arthur was proud of her to a degree that quickly became very near tiresome; Majanah, though plainly she loved the child, had a bit more distance on it, as was the custom among her folk. There were shoals of nurses and fosterers and milk-mothers to care for the tiny princess—whose official title was Heir of Aojun and whose style was Jai Donah, for those who like to know such things—but Arthur continually set palace discipline all throughother by swooping down on the nursery to carry Donah off on what soon became unofficial progresses.

  When the babe was thirteen months old, Majanah ordered that she be named heir in formal ceremony; which of course required that Arthur be acknowledged as the child's father and given the Yamazai title appropriate to such station. There were some grumbles at this, and not all of them emanating from the Aojunni: Some of our own Kelts were not best pleased at such public commitment, by their Ard-righ, to a foreign sovereign and a foreign succession, and for the first time since we came to Aojun, they were not shy to let Arthur know it.

  He took it well, for the most part, delivering himself of his annoyance only in private, and only to Majanah, Daronwy, Roric and me. The five of us, with Tanwen, and Ferdia, Julitta the Queen's cousin, and a few other officers of the Aojunese court, had formed a—well, aye, I would call it a family. Certainly a clann, as we Kelts understood the thing or a tribe, as the Yamazai were wont to name it—Our friendship was the focus; that, and Donah, who at the age of a moon-year was tall and bright and well-grown enough not to disgrace a two-years'-child. Her hair had darkened to a shade midway between each parent's, and her eyes had lightened. I had already begun to teach her some little songs, and she loved Frame of Harmony beyond any toy or trinket she possessed.

  But the ceremony troubled me, and the more so because I could not determine just why,—and when Arthur first spoke to me of it I flatly refused attendance.

  "But why?" he had asked, genuinely distressed and sorely puzzled.

  And I had not been able to answer, not even when he went away at last angry and hurt; and some time later, Majanah herself dropped by my rooms, as if by merest chance. She had Donah in her arms, a thing somewhat unusual for her, and I could only think she had brought the child along to shame me into reconsidering.

  "Artho says you will not come to the rite." She never wasted words, this one; gods, how I liked that…

  I was equally blunt. "I'd sooner eat my own toes."

  Majanah laughed. "There speaks the Talvosghen I have come to know and respect! May I know the reason for your refusal? I would not command you, you are not of my own folk to order—but my daughter loves you, and I should like you to be there for her, if you cannot find it in you to do so for my lord and for me."

  I stared back at her, hearing my name as the Aojun turned it, seeing as if for the first time, though of course it had always been there since I had known her, the cresccent moon tattoo that rode between her brows. And, as clearly as if she had been beside me, I heard Morgan's voice in my ear and what she said to me was simple and to the point: Idiot!

  Outside a peal of thunder rather dramatically punctuated the sulter and the silence; it was unseasonally warm for the time of year, and, for all its temperate clime, Mistissyn had been plagued for the past two days by storms more appropriate for high summer than deep winter. On the carpet where she had been deposited to amuse herself, Donah looked up at the sound.

  "Sky-drums, my killing," whispered Majanah, and the baby favored us with a smile and an enthusiastically undecipherable comment before going back to her play.

  I looked at her, then up at her mother. Majanah was not watching either of us, but gazing out the tall wood-framed windows at the oncoming storm; and on her face was such an unguarded expression of vulnerability and weariness that I dropped my eyes before it. She was not feigning this to gain my pity and acquiescence; this was how it was with her just now. And she seldom showed such openness,—she was a strong ruler and a very clear-minded woman indeed, but not wont to display even to friends her uncertainties…

  "You need not fret yourself about Gweniver," I said impulsively and out of instinct, and was rewarded by her reaction. She whipped round to stare at me, open-mouthed with astonishment.

  "Sometimes I think it is you, not Artho, who are the true wizard amongst your kindred! How did you know?"

  "The truth? You will think it strange—but my wife just now told me."

  Again the look of utter confoundment, to be replaced by deep amused suspicion. But it was true: Morgan had told me, as plainly as she had called idiot upon me a few minutes past.

  "I feel I know her," said Majanah, choosing to ignore the rest of it. "From Artho, and you, and the others of your folk… According to our law, she is now my sister, being my daughter's nearest womankin on the father's side; and you too hold a special place as father's brother. But my lord has another sister—"

  "Oh aye," I said with grimness. "He has that… But Morgan would like you,—as would the Queen-mother Ygrawn. You are all three very much alike; no surprise—Janjan—that my brother should love you."

  She blushed, and I felt abashed. That was perhaps the kindest thing I had ever said to her in the two years and more of our stay on Aojun; I was shamed it should be so, for I honestly cared for her. And not just as Arthur's foreign ban charach, or Donah's mother, but as a true friend. Now did I regre
t that churlishness anew, and was only glad it had not cost me something real.

  "Tell me of the rite," I said smiling. "I would know what it is that I am to witness, if I am to witness it aright, as bard and as uncle to the Heir of Aojun."

  Her face shining like the sun that had just broken through the clouds without, Majanah embarked upon a description of the rite that was to take place on the morrownight. It was in form and spirit very like to our own rite of Keltic saining, and I said as much.

  "Not only that, but it is a rite of the Goddess," I added in faint protest. "And I know from Morgan that the Mother's holiest ceremonies are for her daughters only, not her sons. As the rites of the Lordfather are for men…"

  "True enough," answered Majanah. "And here too the deepest mysteries of the Goddess and the God are reserved each for their own. We who serve the Mother share with our sisters of Keltia that deepest ban and bond: that men are not to witness the Great Mysteries. But for this we make exception, that the male kin of the child be named for the night to the ranks of women, and permitted to witness. So you and Artho, as closest kin, and your friend Ferad should you wish it, may attend, as well as the ladies of your company."

  I was humbled by the concession, and deeply ashamed or my previous resistance, and not too proud to say so; Majanan accepted my apologies.

  "No matter." She hesitated. "How will this, think you, be taken in Keltia? Will your folk hold it against Artho on his return?"

  "I see no reason why they should. Artos does as he sees fit to do; I have known him, have been with him, since I was a child of five years, and never have I known him in all that time to do aught he did not wish to. His great gift is that so often he can make others wish in accord with his wishes, and think they wished so of their own will. You will have naught to fear from any Kelt."

  "Not even from the Queen Janfarie?"

  Janfarie… "Gweniver? Surely Artos has explained to you their situation—they are wedded, and rule conjointly, but they are not partnered, not consorts as are you and he. Any road, Gwennach—Janfarie—has a consort, a lennaun of her own; or at least she did when we left Keltia."

  "The lord Keils; Artho has spoken of him. But how if in time to come I were to visit Keltia, bring Donah to see her father? How would we be greeted there?"

  "The people will see you as Artos's beloved," I said honestly. "And Gweniver Ard-rian will receive you as befits a queen and sister priestess."

  Majanah laughed. "No answer is also an answer."

  "Then let us wait until the question is asked in earnest." I looked again at Donah, who had fallen asleep on the soft carpet under the windows, curled up like a little red cat. "I pledge you both this, though: When you come there, you shall find kin who love you, and a bloodlink that shall not fail while we remember."

  She looked at me and did not smile. "The rite itself can promise no more."

  And that was where we left it.

  During the time of our sojourn away from Keltia, communications from home had been of force few and terse: Transcoms were not effective at such distances; carrier waves, even subspace ones, could be tapped into; and couriers could be waylaid. Even telepathy, generally reliable between those who were trained to it, was not entirely to be trusted: Others who were also trained to it could intercept the focus, catching the echo from the psychic trace such mindspeech left, almost as a wake in water where a ship has passed.

  So we had had little news of Keltia's faring in our absence, save for matters of urgency that required Arthur's awareness, if not his action. It seemed from the couriers who managed to reach us at odd points in our reiving that Gweniver was managing most well, with Ygrawn and Morgan and Keils and Tari to call upon for strength and advice. There had been some incursions by, aye, you have guessed, the Fomori—at least before Ganaster stepped in, and our arrangement with Nanteos took effect. (And Melwas had been safely returned to his planet and his people; though not, Morgan gave me to understand, without real reluctance—perhaps Arthur had made a future friend for us in that young princeling after all…)

  On the domestic front, things had been rather frighteningly tranquil. Cleaning up after Edeyrn had been a task worthy of Ercileas himself, or even Fionn the mighty; but the people were eager and glad to tackle the work of rebuilding, and despite setbacks—and there were many—remained of unceasing good cheer and high spirit, grateful beyond all measure to be free of Edeyrn's long yoke.

  But it was the private communications that Arthur and I had every now and again which told a somewhat different story: of tranquillity's end.

  "We knew before we left that there might well be trouble out of that quarter in time."

  Across the table, Arthur shrugged off my accusation.

  "Well—we knew Marc'h was cross at not having been chosen viceroy over Kernow. But Gwennach and I told him plain as salt he would not be getting the seat on the Fainne because the family had not held it by right; and also because he was too closely kin to the Ard-tiarnas, through Ygrawn his sister. But mostly because we did not think he deserved to get it."

  "And just as plainly he did not hear your telling …" Tanwen flung down onto the table a palm-sized crystal block: a coded message to Arthur and me from Ygrawn.

  We looked warily at it, but made no move to take it up and play it. All those present knew very well the message contained therein: that Marc'h Duke of Kernow had tried to get his duchy to take the planet out of Keltia altogether; had tried, in truth, to secede.

  "But what can he have hoped for?" asked Ferdia. "Surely he must have realized that no other worlds would go along with him into secession; and what could independence have meant to him, any road? Kernow is not self-sufficient, it could never have supported itself; and no other Keltic world would have dared supply a secessionary planet, at least not openly—"

  "And covertly would not have been enough—" Arthur was fiddling absently with a small toy Donah had left lying about, after her last visit to her father.

  "Then what must be done? What shall you do?" asked Daronwy, who had been uncharacteristically silent for most of the meeting.

  But Arthur kept turning the little plaything over and over in his hands, as if fascinated by its making or purpose. Covert, half-despairing glances were thrown my way by the others at the table—a typical staff session, such as Arthur held at least once a week without fail. No Aojunni, significantly enough, were invited to these councils but Kelts alone—not even Daronwy's mate Roric or Ferdia's Jennica—which meant, in practice, those dozen or so closest to Arthur.

  And of those dozen, it was I who was perceived as carrying the greatest influence with him: charged, therefore, with the often thankless task of reminding him that he was still the High King of Keltia and would do well to keep in mind that he had been absent from his sphere of rule for nigh on seven years.

  Seven years! It seemed scarce possible—nay, it was maybe a sixmonth, a year at most—but it was so, and we knew it. Seven years away from our homes, our dearest ones,—seven years hunting a foreign ground, tilling a foreign soil. We had come to care deeply for Aojun, and the Yamazai way; some of us had come to care so for individual Aojunni—not least, as I have said, Ferdia and Daronwy, who had both taken mates from this world. As, indeed, had Arthur himself… But what of the rest of us? If this news was not enough to make them press for return of the speediest, what then would be?

  "It is not as if Aojun cannot maintain itself without our help and presence, you know, Artos. This world ran along fine enough before we came here, and will again after we leave. Better, even, for that you have wrought so well with its armies and defenses… Majanah and Donah are secure upon the throne; and it is not as if you shall not see them more—they can visit us in Keltia, or we can return here some time to come." I paused for breath, and to calculate the effect this speech was having upon my fostern.

  Not much of an effect, it would appear: Arthur continued doggedly at the work he had at hand—crafting a necklet for his daughter, in garnets and gold. But
I could tell, from lone experience, that he was hearing as well as merely listening. The set of his head and angle of his shoulders gave me the clue.

  "And from what we hear," I continued, heartened by his apparent not-unwillingness to be instructed, "it is time for us to go home. You are High King; Keltia needs its Ard-righ no less than its Ard-rian. Gweniver has been forced to rule alone too long; this is not what Uthyr meant to be. Artos—we must go home. We must go home now."

  I ran down at last, and looked uncertainly at my matebrother where he worked so patiently at the gold gaud. It was more than a month past the meeting where we had discussed the news of Marc'h's attempt at secession: Only this very day we had received an urgent pleading communication from Ygrawn, begging us to return with speed. You would have thought such a plea, and from his own much-loved mother, who had been in her time Queen herself and well able to gauge political necessity, would have done the trick; and when I carried Ygrawn's message to Arthur in his workshop I had had every confidence that this, surely this would succeed where so much else had failed. But I was wrong, it seemed; what was he waiting for?

  "A sign," he said at once, when I put it to him just so, looking up at me with a face as frank and open as water. "Just—a sign."

  And all at once I knew what sign to give him.

  "I never knew you had this, much less had it here with you."

  Arthur reached out a tentative hand, glanced at me for permission, then gently touched his fingertips to the silver of the cathbarr of Nia that I had taken from its place that evening, and, well, begged its permission to allow itself to be used so in our extreme need.

  We were in the small chamber off my solar that I used for meditation and such magical workings as I still kept up. For magic is different on all worlds, or differently powered—the mechanics are different, if the source and grounding is the same for all; and, whether out of respect to the gods of Aojun or no, though they were in many ways the same gods as our own, or merely out of laziness and sloth, I had not been as assiduous in my Druidry as I would have been, or should have been, at home.