Taliesin pc-1

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “Brave words, Taliesin,” replied Charis, her voice ringing hollow in the wood, “but only words after all. I do not believe that such love exists.”

  “Then Believe in me, Charis, and let me show you this love.”

  As she turned from him, he saw in her face the years of aching loneliness and something more: a pain which bit deep, a wound raw and open in her soul. Here was the source of her anger and also her pride.

  “I will show you,” he said tenderly.

  For an instant she appeared to soften. She half-turned toward him, but the pain was too great. She stiffened and turned away, gathering the reins of her horse.

  He did not try to stop her but merely watched as she rode through the trees. A few moments later he heard a splash as the gray entered the stream at the entrance to the wood. Then he swung into the saddle, turned his mount, and started back the way he had come.

  He reached the hawthorn thicket and had no sooner entered the stream when there came a sharp, startled cry from the glen just ahead. Then he heard his name, “Taliesin!”

  He pulled his horse to a stop and listened for more. Hearing nothing, he lashed the reins across the horse’s neck and galloped forward. The thorns slashed at his flesh and clothing, holding him back. Heedless, he drove through the thicket into the glen.

  At first he did not see her-only a gray mass writhing on the ground. It was her horse, struggling to regain its feet as three men clung to its head and neck. Four more men were stooped over, tugging at something on the ground. A flash of white clothing… Charis!

  Taliesin raced to the fight. As his horse pounded closer he saw Charis break free of her attackers and step away. The men had spears and all four advanced on her, weapons ready. Taliesin was still too far away; he would never reach her in time. Pounding to her aid he watched in horror as one of the men charged and thrust his wicked spear at Charis.

  As the spear slashed forth, Charis disappeared… An instant later in the air above the head of the attacker she spun, arms wrapped around knees, head tucked, braid flying. Unbalanced, the man tumbled forward, sprawling in the grass.

  Charis darted away behind the others, who stood by in flat-footed confusion. One of the men holding the horse released his grip and lunged toward her. His arms closed on empty air and he fell to the turf.

  The raiders rushed at her, their iron speartips glinting in the shadowed glen. One of them raised his spear and with blinding quickness drew back and let fly. The spear flashed.

  But Charis had vanished again, leaving the spearshaft quivering in the ground.

  The raider darted after his spear, but there was Charis, rolling to seize the shaft and turn it as he came flying toward her. The raider stopped abruptly, straightened, and staggered back. He turned to his comrades, screaming, his hands clenched about the spearshaft protruding from his Belly.

  As he fell, clawing at the spear, another leaped over his body and grabbed Charis from behind as she tried to dodge away. He held her by the arms and spun her toward the spearmen, the foremost of whom dashed forward, weapon leveled, to impale her.

  The spear flashed, passing through the space where Charis had stood and burying itself deep in her captor’s chest as she tumbled up and over his head.

  Taliesin was close enough now to see the fear on the faces of the attackers. Thinking only to make a quick kill and take the horse and whatever other valuables Charis possessed, they had not been prepared to take on a she-demon that could appear and disappear at will.

  With two of their members mortally wounded the raiders reconsidered. One of them dropped his spear and backed away from Charis in hopes of escaping into the wood. Too late he heard the thunder of hooves behind him. Taliesin glimpsed the wretch’s face-eyes white-rimmed with fear, his mouth agape in terror-as he disappeared beneath the horse’s chuming legs.

  The remaining raiders scattered, fleeing for their lives. Their shouts of terror could be heard in the valley long after they were gone.

  Taliesin leaped from his horse and ran to Charis’ side. She was shaken. Her clothing was torn and grass-stained, and there were welts on her upper arms where the raider had grasped her; but she otherwise appeared unharmed. He raised his hands to embrace her, but the gesture stopped halfway.

  “I am not hurt,” she told him, her eyes straying to the dead around her. “Who were they?”

  “Irish sea-wolves. No doubt they came up Mor Hafren last night and have been looking for easy plunder.” Taliesin glanced at the bodies on the ground. “I think they have had enough of plunder and will return home now.”

  “It happened so fast,” said Charis, her breathing rapid and unsteady. “How many were there?”

  “Seven,” replied Taliesin. “There were seven and now there are four.” The woman before him suddenly appeared inexpressibly alien, Belonging to a world far, far removed from his own.

  “If you had seen me in the bullring you would not look at me that way,” she said and offered a weak smile. “I danced the sacred bulls in the Temple of the Sun.” She shrugged. “There are some things one never forgets.”

  “We should go back now. I think they have gone, but there may be more nearby.” He led her to her mount.

  “Taliesin, were they the same-the same as those that attacked your lands?”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “These were from the south of lerna, coastal raiders after quick spoils. They do not often come this far inland, however; most content themselves with taking cattle and gold, when they can find it, from settlements on the coasts.”

  She mounted the gray with some stiffness and looked down at Taliesin. “You will be leaving soon.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She raised her face and gazed into the dying sunlight in the west. “We are not meant to be together, Taliesin. My life ended out there-‘-“ She nodded toward the red-orange sunset.

  “But here… here it begins again,” Taliesin replied.

  “We are each given only one life, singer.” And with that Charis turned her horse and started back to the palace.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “We can make ourselves secure. we have weapons; we can raise an army if need be,” said Belyn earnestly as he paced the length of Avallach’s chamber.

  Maildun was quick to side with Belyn. “Listen to him, Father. We can defend ourselves. Besides, the trouble here in the south is not as bad as it is in the north and may never be. There is no good reason to be giving land to these… these Cymry barbarians.”

  Avallach raised himself on his litter, shaking his head wearily. “You still do not understand. I give the land for the sake of goodness, not out of fear and not in hope of gain.”

  “It was always for gain,” pointed out Belyn.

  “Yes,” Avallach admitted, “it was-at first. And it was a mistake.”

  “That singer has bewitted you.” Maildun’s accusation brought Avallach to his feet.

  “We talked and I was persuaded,” said Avallach, grasping the canopy frame for support. “Whatever you think of these people, they are an intelligent, honorable race.”

  “They are little better,” Belyn scoffed, “than the cattle thieves and hill-haunters that plague us round about.”

  “Believe me, Father; the only honor they understand is a dagger in the throat or a spear in the back.” Maildun crossed his arms over his chest; his sneer defied anyone to dispute him.

  “Our future, if we are to have a future,” warned Avallach, his voice quiet thunder, “lies in learning to live peaceably with them.”

  “Your mind is made up?”

  “It is.”

  “Then it is no use arguing further. Give your land to anyone you choose. Give everything to that mumbling priest of yours for all I care. But, by Cybel, I will have no part in it! They will not have so much as a stone from me.”

  “Belyn,” Avallach replied gently, “speak no disrespect of the priest. He is a holy man, and I have become a follower of the true God.”

  “Wh
at next?” cried Maildun in disbelief.

  “That explains some of it, I suppose,” mocked Belyn. “All this talk about giving and goodness and peace. But I still do not understand why you think this serves any useful purpose.”

  “Good has its own purposes. At any rate, I do not ask you to understand.”

  “Do as you will then, Avallach. Why even seek our advice? “

  “I seek harmony among us,” the Fisher King said simply.

  “That you shall not have,” snapped Belyn, “as long as you persist in this.” He raised a hand to Maildun, who stood scowling at his father. “Come, Maildun, we have finished here. There is nothing more to say.” They started from the chamber.

  At that moment Charis entered. Taliesin stepped through the curtain beside her. Avallach took one look at his daughter’s stained, torn garment. “What has happened, Charis?”

  “It is nothing,” she answered, taking the angry expressions of her brother and uncle. “I was attacked while riding.”

  “You see!” bellowed Maildun. “And you still want to give land to these people? Sooner extend your hand to a viper, Father-you will receive more thanks for your trouble.”

  “There can be no peace between us,” uttered Belyn darkly. He glared at Taliesin with open and unrestrained contempt. “While you contemplate peace, they devise schemes against you.”

  Charis turned on Belyn. “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying this would never have happened if Avallach had not inflamed them with talk of land,” Belyn answered. “I was wrong to agree to it in the first place.”

  “Do you think my people were somehow involved in this attack?” Taliesin took a step toward Belyn.

  “Is that what you believe?” demanded Charis. “Is it?”

  “It is obvious, sister,” Maildun said smoothly. “You are still shaken and confused or you would see it too.”

  “You are confused, brother!” Charis turned on him, eyes ablaze. “I tried to escape, but there were too many. If Taliesin had not come to my aid, I would have been killed or carried off. He saved my life.”

  “There were seven of them-Irish raiders,” said Taliesin.

  “Irish, Cymry-what difference? These tribes are all alike,” Maildun retorted, “all blood-crazed barbarians. Truth be known, he attacked her himself!”

  “Liar!” hissed Charis.

  “He is a fool who cannot tell friend from foe,” Taliesin said coolly.

  “Fool, am I?” Maildun started toward Taliesin, fists clenched, jaw outthrust.

  “Stay, Maildun! You are put in your place. The bard has answered truthfully.” Avallach inclined his head toward Taliesin. “You shall be rewarded for saving my daughter’s life.”

  “I claim no reward, lord. Neither will I accept any.” He made a stiff bow to Charis. “Having seen the lady safely home, I will leave now.” He turned and moved toward the curtained doorway.

  “Wait outside but a little,” Avallach called after him. “I will go with you.”

  “After all that has happened, do you still insist on carrying out this ill-advised plan of yours?” snarled Maildun when Taliesin had gone.

  “All that has happened has served to harden my resolve,” Avallach replied.

  “Are you so anxious to give your realm away?” said Belyn. “It is getting dark; it will be night soon. Wait until tomorrow at least. There will be time enough to do it then.”

  “Having resolved to do a good thing,” Avallach answered, stepping toward the curtain, “I am loath to delay even a moment. No, I will go at once. What is more, I want you to accompany me.” Belyn and Maildun gaped in disBelief. “Yes, we will all go,” continued Avallach. “Whatever you think about the land, we have an insult to atone and gratitude to express.”

  So the Fisher King and Taliesia, with Charis, Maildun, and Belyn, rode through the twilight to the place where Cuall had set up camp-by a stream on a small meadow in the lee of a nearby hill.

  On their approach to camp, the riders were met at the stream by sentries. “Hail, Taliesin! You have returned at last.

  Your father is waiting for you,” the sentry, one of Elphin’s remaining warriors, informed them.

  A huge fire was burning brightly, orange flames flinging back the gathering gloom, and from crackling caldrons set in the coals around the outer edge came the smell of herbed broth and meat in bubbling stew. Crude shelters, hastily constructed out of branches and hides, ringed the fire. Elphin and Rhonwyn emerged from one of these as the riders dismounted.

  “Lord Avallach,” said Elphin in surprise. “We did not think to see you again.”

  “Lord Elphin, Lady Rhonwyn,” replied Avallach courteously, “it is not our intention to intrude where our presence is not wanted. But events have led us a different course since last we met. I wish to speak to you, if you will hear me out.”

  Elphin turned to his wife. “Fetch us a horn of beer, if there is any left.” To his guests he said, “It is early yet. Have you eaten?”

  “We came from the palace straightaway,” answered Tal-iesin. “We will eat together.”

  “A meal would be a kindness,” Avallach said. He drew the crisp night air deep into his lungs. “Ahh! The ride has done me good, I think. A short time ago I was abed with my injury; now I feel as hale as ever.”

  “Welcome then,” said Elphin, and he called for torches to be brought and placed around his ox-hide hut. Rhonwyn came with a horn of beer for the guests and one for the Cymry.

  “My lords,” she said, “sit and discuss your affairs. I will bring food when it is ready.” She returned to the fire and the other women working there. The Cymry gathered nearby watched closely but unobtrusively; without seeming to take any notice at all, they nevertheless knew all of what took place and most of what was said.

  As they settled in a circle, Hafgan and Cuall arrived. Elphin made places for them and passed his horn. “Join us,” he told them. “Lord Avallach has come to speak with us and I have sworn to hear him out.”

  “It is for you to say, lord,” muttered Cuall, implying that king or no, Avallach owed his continued existence to Elphin’s manifold generosity, and that if it had been his decision things would have been different. Hafgan merely gathered his robe about him, accepted the horn, and drank.

  “We expected you hours ago,” Elphin told Taliesin.

  “When you did not follow us back to camp, I became concerned.”

  Taliesin began to reply, but Avallach said quickly, “My daughter was attacked while riding this afternoon by Irish raiders-seven of them I Believe you said?” Charis confirmed this with a nod. “I do not know how this happened precisely, but your son came to her aid and saved her life.”

  “Is this so, Taliesin?” wondered Elphin.

  “It is. Three were killed and the rest fled on foot.”

  “And are halfway home by now,” snorted Cuall.

  “I am indeed grateful,” continued Avallach, “but that is not why I came.” He paused, aware of the suspicion of the dark eyes around him. “It is about the land.”

  “You said events had left you of a different mind,” said Elphin. “Has this attack something to do with it?”

  “In part. Taliesin asked for no reward and said he would accept none. Very well, that is his choice. And in truth I had already decided what to do before I learned of the attack.” Avallach lifted the horn and drank. The others looked on- the Cymry wary, the Atlanteans indignant. “That is good,” Avallach said, lowering the horn. “I have never tasted anything like that before.”

  “We are not without civility-coarse though it may be,” growled Cuall.

  Elphin gave his second-in-command a quick, impatient gesture and Cuall subsided into flinty silence. “If I had a cask it would be yours,” he told Avallach. “But the beer, like so much else, is gone.” He looked directly at Avallach and asked, “Why have you come?”

  The Fisher King reached into his wide girdle and brought out Elphin’s knife. “I came to return your knife.”r />
  “It was a gift to a friend.”

  “And that is why I must return it now. My actions earlier today were not the actions of a friend. Please, take back your knife.”

  Elphin stared at the knife but made no move to take it. “The gift was freely given and I do not regret it. A gift should be honored.”

  Avallach placed the knife between them. Cuall reached out for it, but Taliesin grabbed his wrist. “Leave it!” he whispered.

  “Why not accept the knife?” asked Avallach. “Is it not mine to give?”

  “Do what you will; I have no claim to it.”

  “But it was your knife,” insisted Avallach.

  Elphin glanced at Hafgan, whose expression remained blank. “It is no longer mine,” he said warily. “My gift imposed no obligation.”

  Avallach smiled, his face mysterious in the torchlight. “A gift should be honored-that is what you said. I accept your gift, and I ask you likewise to accept the gift which I now bestow.”

  The statement took Taliesin by surprise. “As my father has said you are under no obligation”

  “I understand that or I would never have come here tonight.” Taking up the knife once more, Avallach said, “Will you honor the gift I give?”

  Elphin sought consensus in the expressions of his advisors, but their faces offered no help; none guessed what Avallach was planning. “A gift must be offered before it can be accepted. But I see no harm in accepting whatever token you wish to give.”

  “Rightly said, King Elphin!” Avallach all but shouted in triumph. The Cymry exchanged worried, puzzled glances. Belyn and Maildun frowned.

  “Well, what is this token?” Cuall asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “No great distance from here there is a fortress on a hill-ruined and abandoned now, I am told. The land round about is desolate, the people long ago driven off by one tribe or another… The Roman tribe, I have heard it said. It is good land but useless without men to work it. I give it all to you- the fortress and the land with it.”