Taliesin pc-1

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Hafgan spoke a few words in the secret tongue of the Brotherhood and placed his hands on either side of Cormach’s head. Blaise repeated the words and put his hands around the cold, stiff feet. They said the words once more, in unison, and lifted the body. If there was any exertion to their movements, Taliesin did not detect it, for it seemed as if the corpse floated freely under the lightest of touches.

  The druids stood and turned the body so that it would go through the door. “Taliesin, hold aside the deerskin,” instructed Hafgan, “and do not forget his staff.”

  The boy came to himself with a start, darted to the doorway, and pulled back the deerskin hanging. Hafgan and Blaise stepped through, bearing Cormach’s body between them. The other druids held the bier ready, and with the gentlest of efforts the body of the Chief Druid was placed upon it.

  Taliesin ducked back inside the hut, found Cormach’s staff where the body had been, retrieved it, and joined Blaise and the other druids, who had begun covering the body with fir boughs. When the body was covered-except for the head, which Hafgan still held between his hands-the druids, one at each corner of the bier, raised the green-mounded platform. It rose from the ground as lightly as wool drifting on the wind.

  “Take the staff, Taliesin,” Hafgan told him. “Raise it before the hut.”

  Holding the staff in both hands, Taliesin raised it as high as he could. Hafgan spoke a phrase in the secret tongue, paused, and repeated it twice again. In a few moments wisps of smoke began ascending from the smoke hole in the roof and out from under the deerskin in the doorway. Taliesin held the staff between his hands and watched bright orange flames creep up the outside of the wattle hut. The fire drew the fain who observed with silent curiosity as flames engulfed the hut and the thatch roof collapsed inward.

  The druids turned the bier then and, began walking back through Dolgellau, Taliesin going before them with Cormach’s staff in his hands. They crossed the stream at the ford and then took the path leading from the woods and into the hills. A good many of the clansmen followed them, making a fair-sized procession.

  They walked without hurry, but the distance shrank so that they reached Garth Greggyn in almost no time at all. It seemed to Taliesin that they merely walked out of the forest, over a hill and were there, in the valley of the spring Below the sacred grove. The druids ascended the hill to the grove where the rest of the Brotherhood had gathered. The clansmen followed but timidly and at a distance.

  The bier was carried into the center of the grove and placed on two upright stones. The druids closed around, each with a branch or bough from a tree. Hafgan raised his hands shoulder high, palms out, and began speaking in the secret tongue. Then, lowering his hands, he said, “Brothers, our Chief has begun his journey to the Otherworld. What will you send with him?”

  The first druid stepped forth, raised his branch and said, “I bring alder, Foremost in Lineage, for assurance.” With that he placed his branch against the bough-covered bier and stepped back.

  “I bring dogwood,” said the next, “Powerful Companion, for compassion.”

  “I bring birch, Lofty Dreamer, for high-mindedness,” said the next, placing his branch against the bier.

  “I bring hazel, Seed of Wisdom,” said another, “for understanding.”

  “I bring elm, Great Giver, for generosity.” And another placed his branch against the bier.

  “I bring chestnut, Proud Prince, for regal bearing.”

  “I bring ash, Stout-Hearted, for honesty.”

  “I bring rowan, Mountain Lord, for fairness in judgment,” said another.

  “I bring thorny plum, Invincible Warrior, for keenness of discernment.”

  “I bring apple, Gift of Gwydyon, for reverence.”

  “I bring oak, Mighty Monarch, for benevolence.”

  Around the circle they went, each druid naming his gift and then placing it against the bier. Taliesin watched, entranced, listening to the words, wishing he had a gift. He glanced around the grove and saw a rose thicket with a few late-blooming flowers persisting among its barbed canes. Laying down the staff, he went to the thicket and took hold of a cane near the root where the barbs were not so close, pulled and pulled again. There was a snap down in the earth and the cane came up.

  He carried it to the bier where the last brother was bestowing his gift. Hafgan drew a breath and opened his mouth, but before he could speak Taliesin stepped forward with his cane and said, “I bring rose, Enchanter of the Wood, for honor.” And he placed his cane with the other boughs, which now formed a leafy enclosure around the bier.

  Hafgan smiled and said, “Brothers, let us release the body of our friend from its duty.”

  Each druid bent, took hold of the bough he had oifered, raised it in one hand, and with the other took hold of the bier, and together they carried the body out through the grove to the cromlech which stood on a mounded hill Below the grove.

  The cromlech was a small circle of standing stones surrounding a dolmen, which consisted of three upright stones topped by a flat stone slab. Cormach’s hawthorn bier was set on the slab and the boughs were placed all around, once again forming a dense enclosure over the body. Hafgan raised his hands, uttered something in the secret tongue, and then said, “Farewell, friend of our brother, you are free to go your way.” He knelt and put his palms against the dirt. “Great Mother, we give you back your son. Treat him not unkindly, for he has served his master well.”

  So saying, he rose, turned his back and left the dolmen, passing through the ring of stones. The other druids followed, each passing between different stones in the circle and moving off in their various directions into the hills and woods beyond.

  Later the three sat near a fire in the wood, darkness like thick wool wrapped close around them. They ate some of the food which had been given to them by the people of Dolgellau and talked. When they had finished eating, Blaise yawned and rolled himself in his cloak and went to sleep. Taliesin was far from sleepy; brain brimming with images, he stared into the dancing flames and pondered all he had seen that day. Hafgan watched him for a long while, waiting for the questions he knew were swimming in that golden head.

  Finally Taliesin raised his face from the softly crackling flames and asked, “What will happen to the body now?”

  Hafgan picked up an apple from the small pile on the ground beside him and passed it to the boy. He selected one for himself and bit into it, chewed thoughtfully and said, “What do you think will happen?”

  “The flesh will corrupt, leaving the bones behind.”

  “Precisely.” He took another bite. “Why ask the question when you already know the answer?”

  “I mean,” said Taliesin, gnawing his apple, “what will happen when the flesh has dissolved?”

  “The bones will be gathered and taken to a vault in the earth where they will be laid to rest with the bones of our brothers who have gone before.”

  “But the birds and animals will disturb the body.”

  Hafgan shook his head lightly. “No, lad, they will not come within the sacred ring. And anyway, flesh is flesh; if it feeds a fellow traveler on his way, it has performed one purpose for which it was made.”

  Taliesin accepted this, took another bite of his apple and tossed the core into the fire. “The bier floated, Hafgan, when you spoke in the secret tongue-was it an enchantment?”

  Again the druid shook his head. “I merely called on the Ancient Ones to bear witness to our brother’s deeds and grant him safe passage along the way. The body was light”-his palm floated upward as he spoke”because there was no longer anything to bind it to the earth or weigh it down.”

  The boy contemplated the fire, eyes sparkling. “Will we see him again?”

  “Not in this world. In the Otherworld perhaps. A soul lives forever-before birth and after death it is alive. This world is only a brief sojourn, Taliesin, and it is doubtful if men remember it when we pass on-just as we forget the life before this one.”

  “I will
remember,” declared Taliesin.

  “Perhaps,” said Hafgan evenly, gray eyes keen in the firelight as he watched Taliesin. In the shimmering light the boy’s face seemed to take on a different aspect. It was no longer the face of a child but a timeless face, neither old nor young, the face of a youthful god, an immortal beyond the reach of age or time.

  Hugging his knees, Taliesin began rocking back and forth. He stared into the flames and said, “I was in many shapes before I was born: I was sunlight on a leaf; I was star’s beam; I was a lantern of light on a shepherd’s pole.

  “I was a sound on the wind; I was a word; I was a book of words.

  “I was a bridge across seven rivers. I was a path in the sea. I was a coracle on the water, a leather boat that plowed bright waves.

  “I was a bubble in beer, a fleck of foam in my father’s cup.

  “I was a string in a bard’s harp for nine nines of years; I was a melody on a maiden’s lips.

  “I was a spark in fire, a flame in a bonfire at Beltane… a flame… a flame…”

  The voice dwindled, becoming a young boy’s voice once more. Taliesin hunched his shoulders and shivered all over, though the night was not cold. “Never mind, Taliesin,” said Hafgan softly. “Do not strain after it; let it go. The awen comes or it does not. You cannot force it.”

  Taliesin closed his eyes and lowered his head to his knees. “I almost remembered,” he said, his voice a whimper.

  Hafgan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and lay him down beside the fire. “Sleep, Taliesin. The world will wait for you yet a little longer.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Time unwound in a slow, endless coil for Charis. at the end of the second week she felt well enough to fend for herself again. Each day she expected news from Kian, but the days ground away and no word came.

  Lile came to see her often and although she repeated her offer of help, she did not press Charis in the matter. For her part, Charis endured these visits, maintaining a chilly politeness toward her father’s wife. Lile said little regarding Charis’ attitude. Yet, the cold formality must have hurt her more than she let on, for one day toward the end of the third week of Charis’ convalescence she threw down the tray she was carrying and left the room without a word.

  A little later, Charis encountered her in the garden. Charis had grown restless, and despite Annubi’s warnings had decided that short walks would do her more good than whole days flat on her back. At first she contented herself with attaining the length of the corridor. But soon she was restless to be in the fresh air again, and one morning rose and tottered along the corridor and down the long winding flight of stairs to the garden. The lower garden flourished behind a decorative hedge, and to reach it one passed through an arch cut in the green wall. Charis approached on the stone pathway which led to the garden and found that a door had been hung in the formerly empty archway.

  She paused and wondered at this, but the door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open and stepped inside. She had not set foot in the garden since leaving home and marveled at the change before her. Gone were the flowers, lush and fragrant in tiered beds, the climbing roses and flowering vines, and gone too the ornamental shrubs with their delicate lacy shrouds of blossoms. In their places, and in greater variety and abundance than the flowers themselves, were herbs and grasses, ferns, moss, and mushrooms. The latter of these she detected by scent rather than sight, for the heady floral aroma she remembered had utterly vanished and was replaced with the sick-sweet, earthy, rotting-flesh fungal smell.

  The garden was clearly well-tended, but the plants were left to grow as they would-unhindered, untrimmed, unencumbered. The result was distinctly shabby, seedy, and weedy-looking. Charis kept to the main path and walked deeper into the heart of the garden, passing stands of willow herb, nightshade, and nettle, rue, hart’s tongue, and moon-wort, cranesbill, wood sedge, and hare’s tail, and many, many more that she did not recognize and could not name.

  And amongst the fallen branches, on deep beds of decaying leaves, there were puff balls, swollen and obscene; stink-horns, with their sticky, black ooze and fetid reek; death caps and black trumpets in darkly sinister clusters. From these and countless unseen others came the odor of decay that pervaded the garden.

  Charis sauntered along the path and came to a small grove planted in the place where a greenspace had once been. In the center of the lawn there had been a circular fishpond; a fountain at one end of the pond splashed down a fall of marble steps to feed the pond. But the fish and fountain were gone, for on the shallow banks of the pond, and in it, grew numerous water plants: reeds and rushes and cresses of various types.

  AH around the pond in neat concentric circles were small trees whose thin branches were laden with pale, perfectly round apples. Charis stepped to the nearest tree and reached out to pick one of the green-gold globes.

  “I should not think it would be ripe yet, Princess Charis.”

  She pulled back her hand and turned to see Lile walking toward her through the trees. “They are beautiful though.”

  “Yes,” replied Charis, annoyed that she was not alone in the garden, but not greatly surprised to see Lile since she deduced that the place had become the woman’s haven. “I do not think I have ever seen such apples.”

  “They are special,” replied Lile, reaching up to caress one with her palm. She was dressed in a rough-woven linen, the hem of her pleated skirt drawn up between her legs and tucked into her girdle in front. Her feet were bare.

  “You have taken over this garden,” observed Charis without warmth.

  “It was in decline.”

  “A pity you were not able to save it.”

  Lile rose to the gibe with quick anger. “I cannot guess what Annubi has told you, but I can see that it has poisoned your heart against me.”

  Charis looked at her distractedly but said nothing.

  “I feel it every time I come near you.”

  “Then why do you keep intruding where you are not wanted?” snapped Charis viciously.

  Lile shrank from the attack. “Why does everyone hate me so?” she wailed, throwing her hands over her face. When she raised her head again her eyes were dry. “Have I ever done anyone harm? Why is everyone so afraid of me?”

  “Afraid of you? Surely you are mistaken.”

  “Fear-it must be that. What else can make people treat me the way they do? You distrust me because you are afraid.”

  Charis shook her head violently. “I am not afraid of you, Lile,” she said. But Lile’s accusation had hit close to the mark.

  “No?” Lile frowned with misery. “Annubi is afraid that I have usurped his influence with Avallach-which is why he tells lies about me.”

  “Annubi does not lie,” Charis replied with quiet assurance. In all her life she had never known the king’s advisor to so much as shade the truth, let alone utter an outright falsehood. Be that as it may, he had not told her the whole truth about Avallach’s wound and had mentioned nothing at all about Guistan’s death.

  “Threatened enough, anyone will lie,” asserted Lile with equal conviction. “I have threatened him, so he speaks against me. No doubt he told you my father was a Phrygian sailor” began Lile.

  “Named Tothmos. Yes, and you said the man was a slave.”

  “My father was Phrygian, it’s true. And yes, his name was Tothmos. As a young man he was a sailor-but he owned his own ship and he did buy a slave.”

  “A slave also named Tothmos?” Charis sneered.

  “My father gave him his freedom, so the slave took his name. It is a common enough occurrence. Why must Annubi twist everything I say?”

  Once again doubt entered Charis’ mind. Could what Lile said be true? Could it be that Annubi resented her so much that he twisted her words and used them against her? But why would he do that?

  “There is only one way to prove me,” Lile said.

  “What is that?”

  “Try me and see if I stand or fall.”


  “What trial would you suggest?”

  “Any trial you like, Princess Charis. For it to mean anything, you must choose it.”

  “I have no wish to try you, Lile,” sighed Charis, shaking her head wearily. “You say one thing, Annubi another. Words, words, words. I do not know what to Believe anymore.”

  “Believe me when I tell you that I mean no one any harm. Believe me when I tell you that I have not come grasping after power for myself. Believe me when I tell you that I want to be your friend.”

  Charis was shamed by the words. She felt there was truth in what the woman was saying and she wanted to Believe. Yet… and yet, there was something in Lile that could not or should not be wholly Believed. Something darkly sinister, like the mushrooms in their fetid beds, or worse, something kept chained and out of sight-a grotesque beast which is never seen but watches from its shadowed corner. Charis could feel the presence of the beast; she could feel it watching, waiting. And this made it impossible for her to trust Lile completely.

  “I would like to Believe you, Lile,” said Charis, meaning it.

  Lile smiled, but the smile died as quickly as it had come. “But you cannot.”

  “I cannot,” Charis admitted. “Not yet. But I will not lie to you.”

  Just then they heard a light, lilting voice, high-pitched and happily out of time. A moment later a sunny head bobbed into view as a barefoot child of four came skipping out from behind a boxbush. The girl was flaxen-haired and brown as a bean. She wore only a linen skirt of sky-blue, the once-crisp pleats now hopelessly wilted and wrinkled. A single daisy drooped from behind her ear, and around her neck she wore a necklace of the same flowers, their stems broken and clumsily plaited together. Except for this necklace, her upper body was bare. In her hand she held a half-eaten greengage, the juice of which glistened on her chin. When she saw Charis she stopped in midskip and stared at her with eyes as green as the fruit in her hand, as green as the leafy hedge enclosing the strange garden.

  “Come here, Morgian. I want you to meet someone,” said Lile.