by Signe Pike
Maelgwn frowned and shook his head, tossing his damaged spear aside. As he turned to signal for a new weapon, his eyes found mine across the vast distance of the crowd. At last. For a moment he seemed utterly struck. Then something behind his eyes kindled.
No, you mustn’t do it, I thought. I swayed back against the tree trunk, shaking my head imploringly. Maelgwn gave a half smile, as if disappointed. When he spoke, it was to Peredur, not to Cathan.
“I will throw,” Maelgwn said. “And furthermore, I accept Lord Peredur’s challenge. Three hundred silver pieces on the last target. That is, unless Lord Peredur would indeed like to wager his ill-begotten land.”
I buried my head in my hands.
“I accept the wager of coin,” Peredur said darkly.
“The farthest target!” Crowan exclaimed. “In all my years I have never seen a man hit that mark.”
I could scarcely stand to watch. But down in the meadow below, Maelgwn was easing his shoulders back, refocusing his gaze on the far end of the field. If he should miss, I knew he would accept no man’s money in place of his debt—and it was one he could never afford to pay. Maelgwn gripped the spear, balancing its weight like a feather. Slowly he drew back his arm, until its deadly point was nearly level with his ear. And then, with a violent thrust, he sent the spear flying high into the summer air. The spear sailed across the great distance in a lethal arc. And then it buried its tip with a deep thunk, dead in the center of the farthest target’s heart.
The crowd erupted in a frenzy.
The Dragon Warriors rushed the field with wild shouts, yanking Maelgwn from his feet and hoisting him up. He raised one arm in victory, but as they carried him past the fence where Gwrgi and Peredur were looking as mean as a pair of adders, Maelgwn’s eyes were on me. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
“We should congratulate him,” I said.
Crowan eyed me carefully. “Aye. If that’s what you’d like.”
“Yes, of course we must congratulate him,” I said. “After all, he is three hundred silver pieces richer.”
I led Crowan into the throng, where pretty maidens preened by the fence and drunken merrymakers were celebrating their champion with whoops and bellows.
“Go on, then,” Crowan urged me, but her voice held a note of warning. “I’ll be waiting just here.”
Gwenddolau saw me first, sweeping me from my feet and swinging me round with ease. “Languoreth! Well met, sister. And what a throw, eh?”
“It was a throw such as I have never seen.” At the sound of my voice, Maelgwn shook free of Pendragon’s men.
“And to think there were those among the crowd who doubted me.” Maelgwn’s green eyes were fixed upon me, but Gwenddolau answered.
“Doubt you?” he laughed. “You have the strength of an ox and the sight of an eagle!” Gwenddolau smacked Maelgwn good-naturedly on the back, not noticing as the good humor of his friend faded.
“Come, now, brother,” Maelgwn said. “The time for gloating is over. I would show more honor than the sons of Eliffer.”
Gwenddolau fixed his eyes on Gwrgi across the field, watching him lift a drinking horn to take a deep draft as if nothing at all had taken place. “We will see that the debt owed to you is paid.”
“Later,” Maelgwn said. “We have traveled far for the festival, and it is Lughnasa. The Gods were watching. They know who broke the peace this day.”
“As you say,” Gwenddolau allowed. “You’re the champion, after all. The Song Keepers shall sing tales of this throw for generations to come!”
“Yes,” I agreed. “You shall have many admirers, no doubt.”
Gwenddolau tossed Maelgwn a shirt. “Speaking of admirers, cover yourself up, brother. You can’t greet those maidens so indecently. Look at them”—he smiled—“waiting by the fence for the favor of your presence.”
Maelgwn glanced at me as he pulled the linen over his head. I turned toward the fence, where a dark-haired beauty was leaning forward to reveal the creamy rise of her cleavage.
I forced a smile. “Yes, it would be rude, after all, to keep them waiting.”
I had no right to him, I scolded myself. And yet the way those women were swooning in their low-cut gowns, eyeing him as if he had already taken them to bed . . . I wanted to claw at their faces.
“Go, brother,” Maelgwn said to Gwenddolau. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Very well. But do bring my little sister when you come. I would hear of your betrothal, Languoreth. You are soon to be princess of Clyde Rock.”
“Of course” was all I could say.
Maelgwn’s shoulders stiffened as Gwenddolau strode toward the fence without looking back.
“You look well,” he said, his eyes sweeping the length of me. “Flowers in your hair and no target hay at all.”
I touched the blossoms self-consciously. “Crowan’s to retire from her duties, so she was determined to outdo herself.”
“I would say she has succeeded,” he said, but his compliment felt like time wasted. I could feel eyes upon us—Crowan’s and my father’s at the very least. We did not have long before people would begin their small-minded gossip. Maelgwn looked up as if reading my mind.
“You are not happy. When I heard of your match . . .” He faltered.
“Please.” I locked eyes with him, imploring him to say no more. “It’s a fine match. We all have our duties. It brings me joy to serve my family well.”
Lies. More time ill-spent.
But Maelgwn kept his gaze on mine. “Tutgual can be a cruel master. It is only the ice of his queen that keeps him in line. I believe Rhydderch to be his own man, but hear me when I say this. If ever you feel frightened, or feel you are in danger, you must only send word. I and all the might of Pendragon will come to you, no matter the cost. I will not see you suffer,” he said. “Do you understand?”
My vision blurred and I blinked the wetness away. “Yes. I understand.”
The look upon his face was so certain and unflinching that my heart cramped. I wanted to tell him I would give anything if only it could be him I should marry.
But this was not love; this was torture. And I could not withstand it.
“I should greet my father,” I said. I watched the wound deepen even as I caused it.
“Will I see you, then, at the feast?”
“Of course. I congratulate you again. It was a truly remarkable throw.”
Maelgwn nodded as if he’d already forgotten. I turned to make my way through the sea of people cluttering the grounds, Crowan following close behind. Her clear eyes were troubled, yet she had the grace to say nothing. She took my hand and walked with me, her silvery plait bobbing with the quickness of our steps.
• • •
Soon sunset, so late this time of year, was upon us. Revelers had returned to their tents to doze before the feast; women sat under the patient and nimble ministrations of their servants; kings and lords drank or took their respite as the heat of the afternoon gave way to the chill that welcomed evening. Just before sunrise we would begin our climb up the mountain.
Having helped me change, Crowan was resting and Desdemona was yet away when Ariane ducked her dark head into the tent. She took in the sight of me in my low-cut blue gown and frowned.
“You look sad.”
“Of course I am sad,” I said. “Maelgwn has come, and my heart breaks in seeing him.” I looked up at her, shaking my head. “Does nothing ever sadden you? Sometimes I wonder if you are even human.”
Ariane gave a funny little smile. “Of course I am human. What a peculiar thing to say.”
She opened the satchel she always wore at her hip and unfolded a piece of cloth.
“Look. I have brought something that may cheer you. A talisman. To work whatever ends are needed.”
In her palm was the white-tipped feather from a falcon. It was strong and striped with varying shades of gray, deep twilight and stormy sea, knotted onto a simple leather cord. Her slender fingers t
raced its edges and then she lifted it to her lips. Blew softly upon it.
“Do not think the weight of the world is not felt by me, Languoreth. It is only that I have learnt there is little we can do but trust,” she said. “We may fashion such things as might give us opportunities. For healing. For wheat to grow tall. For visions of what is yet to come. For love.” She lifted her blue eyes to mine. “But there is always a measure beyond our control. The wind and the weather. The stray pierce of an arrow. Sickness. Death. A wise woman realizes this. She keeps her heart as full in times of pain as she does in times of good fortune. This is because her heart is full with trust.”
She opened my fingers and laid the fragile talisman gently upon my palm. “We are meant to live our stories whether it pains us or no. Wear it and be done with this nonsense.”
I looked down at the feather in my hand, its tip as white as a beacon.
“Very well.” I said, slipping the necklace over my head. “I shall wear it.” The feather fell lightly between my breasts.
“Good. Now come,” she said. “We should go to the fields. Lughnasa has begun.”
Torches blazed in the open, where more than a dozen fire pits dripped with the juices of roasting meat: beef, pork, and mutton. The heady smell of freshly fermented ale and fire-baked bread, the first from this year’s harvest, traveled on the breeze. We wandered toward the feasting tables, searching for familiar faces in the masses that thronged, eating and drinking their fill. I spotted Father.
“There you are,” he said, welcoming me to his table. “Come sit, daughter. Have some mutton. Enjoy the fine ale.”
“Hello, Father.” I sat and leaned to kiss his bearded cheek, exchanging pleasantries with the older chieftain who sat across from him. They’d fought together once, and soon they were lost in stories of times gone by.
I touched the feather at my neck, wondering if any such thing could truly conceal me from Rhydderch, from Elufed. From Tutgual and his many spies, if for no other reason than that this was Lughnasa, and I was yet free. I did not wish to carry my yoke of duty and obligation up the mountain tonight. I did not wish to be reminded of what was yet to come.
“Look.”
I followed Ariane’s gaze to the place where Gwenddolau and Lord Emrys sat across the grass, their features lit by torchlight. It seemed their celebration of Maelgwn’s winning toss had continued, because their faces were ruddy from drink and the benches of their table nearly buckled with the presence of comely women. Maidens draped themselves over the warriors, filling their cups and laughing with heads tossed back, exposing the whites of their throats.
Beside Lord Emrys was Maelgwn, head bowed in conversation. But at his side the dark-haired beauty from the games sat like a cat, the curve of her hip pressed against his upon the bench. Her ruby-colored robe clung to her figure, and I watched with a rising sickness as she reached a playful finger to stroke Maelgwn’s arm. I narrowed my eyes, consumed by jealousy.
“Must she sit so close? Surely he can hardly breathe. Who is that woman, anyway?”
“Who she is does not matter,” Ariane said. “She is not you.”
I watched Maelgwn run a hand through his thick black hair and wanted to believe her. But how could I expect Maelgwn to stay true when I was bound to another? When such real temptations were put right within his grasp? In cutting short our conversation, I had only done what I must. But perhaps I’d made him realize that our cause was truly lost. Our feelings could not be. Maelgwn was loyal, a man of integrity. One had only to watch him with Gwenddolau or Emrys to see as much. And there was no doubt there had been an exchange of feelings between us, no matter how brief. He’d said he meant to protect me, but perhaps he had meant it in a more brotherly way. He was being kind, I decided.
The feeling left me bitter.
But then Maelgwn suddenly looked up. He waved, as if motioning for me to come and join him. I was smoothing my skirts to stand when Father nudged me.
“Look, General Maelgwn waves to me,” he said good-naturedly. “The champion. I told him he must find me. I wish to offer him a proper congratulations.”
My face burned. Of course. Maelgwn had been signaling to Father, not me. I blinked, trying to quell my rising humiliation.
“Come on, then, Languoreth. Come join us,” Father offered his hand to help me stand.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I think I shall stay.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Maelgwn looked up as Father stood, his green eyes flicking to mine as if in question. Had he indeed been beckoning me? But no, surely I had imagined that. For now his gaze was locked on mine, and there was no uncertainty to be found there. His stare was casual as he eased an arm back, slipping his hand around the dark-haired woman’s waist. Watching my reaction.
“Bastard!” I cursed, pushing my drink away. Ariane looked between us.
“Oh, no,” she said. “This is not so good.”
“Not so good?” I turned to her, my face hard with rage. “Enough. I am done with this dalliance. Did you see how he looked at me? I’ve been a fool. Clearly Maelgwn is not the man I thought he was.”
I stood, yanked the feather from my neck, and threw it to the ground. “Let the Dragon Warriors do as they wish. Come, it is Lughnasa. Let us celebrate. Let us dance.”
Ariane frowned and bent to pick up the feather, tucking it safely into the folds of her blue cloak. “Very well. We shall dance. But I tell you, Languoreth: this man is your destiny.”
I barked a laugh. Maelgwn was no different from all the other warriors: a womanizer, a trickster. A vain and lustful cad. Still, better I knew now that Maelgwn had played me for a fool. It could only make my path forward freer from the heartache such a union was certain to cause. I adjusted the neckline of my gown and thrust my shoulders back so that my hair cascaded down my back. Maelgwn leaned in close to the dark-haired beauty, unnoticing, as she whispered something in his ear.
I turned to Ariane, clutching my skirts with white-knuckled fists.
“Hear me now, Ariane. If that man is my destiny, I would rather drown in a sack.”
CHAPTER 30
* * *
A chill mist snaked round my legs at the foot of the mountain, swallowing the tents pitched in the fields below. There had been feasting and spinning to the bodhran and contests of strength. Now the mood was reverent. This was a thin night, the Keepers warned. The moon was strong, and we would be climbing high into the Land of the Gods. When I closed my eyes, I thought I could almost hear the mountain breathing; it rustled the needles of the pines, sending a mourning dove tittering soft-throated into the night.
Ariane drew up the hood of her cloak. “I must leave you now. I will walk in the front, with the Keepers.”
“Of course.” I bent to unlace my slippers. “Don’t worry for me. I know the climb well.” Those who were wise walked without shoes for weeks before Lughnasa to harden their feet. Those who were foolish—or whose bodies were numbed by drink—could be seen hobbling, blood oozing by daybreak, down the mountain toward the women waiting to bandage their cuts. We gave the mountain our blood, and it drained into the soil below.
I’d made this climb at the end of each summer, yet on this night a bottomless anger drove my steps. I welcomed the sharp pebbles on the path below, my body hungry to feel pain outside instead of in, as if I could beat the very thought of Maelgwn from my body.
“There you are.”
I turned just in time to catch the walking staff Lailoken tossed at me.
“Good catch,” he said. “I could not help but notice you disappeared at the feast.”
“I was with Ariane,” I said. “Dancing and making merry.”
Lail took my measure before bending to unwork the lacing from his boots. “You were jealous,” he said. “It is only natural. But what do you expect? That Maelgwn should pine away with no prospects for himself whilst you—”
“Lailoken!” I said sharply. “You presume too much.”
The shrillness in my voice silenced him. The mention of Maelgwn sent me plummeting again and I would not feel those things. Not on this night.
“As you say.” Lail shook his head. Knotting his laces together, he slung his boots over his shoulder. Around us the crowd had begun to swell in anticipation, and the shouts of vendors hawking their wares echoed in the night.
“Torches and staffs! Staffs for the climb!”
A short distance uphill, the white robes of the Wisdom Keepers glowed eerily in the night. I spotted Cathan facing the great slope of the mountain, his silvery hair flickering orange in the torchlight. He stood so motionless that I wondered for a moment if he was still breathing.
“How does he know when it is time?” I wondered.
“I hope to learn,” Lailoken said. “It is some strange alchemy of training, discipline, and gift.”
“Someday you will walk with the Keepers.”
“Yes,” Lailoken said firmly, but his face was wistful. “Someday. But not today. Today I shall walk with my sister.”
Nearly one thousand people had gathered at our backs by the time Cathan lifted his hand to signal the ascent. The climb began easily enough, but soon the trail became steep and craggy. The mountain was still shedding water after weeks upon weeks of rain. Rivulets rushed down the path, pooling into moats at the trail’s edge, where pink-spotted foxglove and leafy fern sprouted against bleak, lichen-covered boulders.
Father caught up to us, outstriding Brant and Brodyn with a boyish grin.
“You would test us, Uncle,” Brodyn laughed. “Well enough. We are up to the mark!”
But soon we all slowed as the pitch of the trail thrust itself heavenward before us. Father’s face was pale. He blinked as if dizzy, steadying himself firmly with his staff.
“You should have kept to your bed,” I whispered.
“Do not insult me,” he huffed. “I would never dishonor the Gods so.”
We climbed higher and the mist closed in, wrapping us in a muffled stillness that amplified the smallest of sounds. All that could be heard was the soft skittering of pebbles and our collective laboring for breath. Even the shepherds and cowherds grew quiet from exertion. Our limbs and lungs burned, and my hair began to coil into curls at the back of my neck as the crystalline mist gathered on the sleeves of our clothing and beaded in our hair.
