by Holly Taylor
Finally, to the west, Uthyr stood next to the pile of oak wood, the symbol of earth, that he would light. A glint of golden hair, ruddy in the torchlight, alerted Gwydion that Madoc had chosen to stand at Uthyr’s fire. Gwydion noticed that his old friend, Greid, the Master Smith of Gwynedd, was also at Uthyr’s fire. Greid’s powerful shoulders strained against his tunic. His short, gray hair bristled and his dark eyes flickered in the firelight. Uthyr was talking to Greid, but for a moment he looked Gwydion’s way, catching his eye. A small smile flashed across Uthyr’s face then was gone.
In the center of the massive grove a large, flat stone had been set. On it now stood four tall vessels, flickering gold in the torchlight. Small, delicate rowan flowers and orange-yellow marigolds were strewn across and around the base of the standing stone.
Gwydion shifted slightly, unintentionally jostling the people packed around him. Arday was one of these. Obviously undeterred by her lack of success in cornering Gwydion the night before, she stood quite close to him, glancing at him often. She had tried, at first, to engage him in conversation, but his clipped replies had finally had an effect and she had at last begun to talk to Nest, Cai’s wife, who stood on Gwydion’s other side. Cai joined his wife, kissing her in greeting and nodding pleasantly to Gwydion and Arday.
At last, Griffi made his way through the crowd and up to the stone altar. Eight unlit torches were stacked next to the stone. One by one, Griffi picked up a torch, closed his eyes briefly, and the torch burst into flame. Each time he did this, small children oohed and aahed. As each torch was lit, Griffi set them in brackets around the stone until it seemed surrounded by a wheel of fire.
“This is the Wheel of the Year before us,” Griffi intoned as he gestured to the burning torches. “One torch for each of the eight festivals when we honor the Shining Ones.” He pointed at each torch, traveling clockwise around the circle. “Alban Haf, Calan Olau, Alban Nerth, Calan Gaef, Alban Nos, Calan Morynion, Alban Awyr, and Calan Llachar, which we celebrate now.”
Griffi lifted his hands, his voice loud in the hush. “We gather here tonight to honor Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood and Cerrunnos, Leader of the Wild Hunt. We honor these two Shining Ones, the Protectors of Kymru.”
“We honor them,” the crowd responded as one.
Griffi went on. “Let the rest of the Shining Ones be honored as they gather to witness the Hunt. Taran, King of the Winds. Modron, Great Mother of All. Mabon, King of Fire. Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters. Annwyn, Lord of Chaos. Aertan, Weaver of Fate. Y Rhyfelwr, Agrona and Camulos, the Warrior Twins. Sirona, Lady of the Stars. Grannos, Star of the North and Healer.”
“We honor the Shining Ones,” the crowd responded.
Then Uthyr spoke the first of the ritual questions, his voice deep and assured, carrying effortlessly across the wide grove. “Why do we weep tonight?” he asked.
Griffi responded, “We weep for Cerrunnos who is dead. For Cerridwen killed a mighty stag as she hunted in the forest. And as the noble beast fell with her arrow through its dying heart, the enchantment lifted and she saw that she had killed Cerrunnos, Master of the Hunt. And Cerridwen wept for what she had done. We sorrow also.”
“The Master is dead, and we weep in sorrow and anguish. Shall we weep forever?” Uthyr called out.
“Behold,” Griffi replied. “Cerridwen called upon the four greatest of the Shining Ones to watch over the body. First she called on Mabon the Bright, the King of Fire, and he came.” Griffi gestured to Gwydion and the unlit pile of rowan wood. Gwydion stared at the pile of branches, and a sunburst of flames hovered in mid-air. Some people gasped at the sight, as the blue and orange flames lowered onto the pile of wood. As the fire took hold and roared hungrily, Gwydion heard voices in his mind. “Show-off,” Susanna and Amatheon Wind-Spoke in chorus.
“Taran, King of the Winds, came at her call,” Griffi went on, gesturing at Susanna and the fire of birch wood. She lit the fire with her torch and it blazed up instantly.
“Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, came at her call.” Griffi gestured to Amatheon who touched his torch to the ash wood, the flames crackling loudly in the stillness.
“And she called on Modron, Great Mother of All,” continued Griffi, gesturing to Uthyr to light the oak fire.
As the fires burned and crackled, Griffi continued. “And so these Shining Ones guarded the dead Lord of the Hunt as Cerridwen left the forest and traveled through sky, and stars, and deepest night to Gwlad Yr Haf, the Land of Summer, where the dead await rebirth. And there she spoke with Aertan, Weaver of Fate, mother of Cerrunnos. And Cerridwen begged the Shining One for a way to return Cerrunnos to life. And Aertan answered Cerridwen’s plea.
“Then did Cerridwen return to the forest, to carry out the commands of Aertan. She laid the body of Cerrunnos beneath the alder tree. And she hung the tree with marigold and the flowers of the rowan. And she played her harp and her song of sorrow caused ivy to twine and grow about the body. And behold, Cerrunnos returned to life and seeing Cerridwen, he loved her, and claimed her for his own. The two became one. And now they ride the land of Kymru, and lead the Wild Hunt together.”
“Blessed be to Cerridwen and Cerrunnos,” the people responded.
Four of Uthyr’s warrior stepped forward. Each picked up a golden vessel from the altar as Griffi joined Amatheon at the fire of ash. One warrior went to each fire, passing the vessel to each person gathered there. Each man or women reached into the container and pulled out a piece of bread. Some looked at the bread eagerly, some with trepidation. The ones who chose the burned pieces would have to jump through the flames.
Gwydion heard a shout and looked over to see that Greid had chosen the burned piece from the vessel that was passed around the Uthyr’s fire. He held the burned piece aloft, waving his hand and laughing.
Another shout and Gwydion saw that Susanna herself at her own fire had chosen the burned piece from their vessel. She gave a graceful bow to the crowd.
As the bowl came to Arday on Gwydion’s left, he heard more commotion—Duach had picked the burned piece at Amatheon’s fire. The golden-haired doorkeeper held the burned piece aloft, a grin on his cheerful face.
Arday reached into the golden bowl and pulled out a piece of bread, holding it up for all to see that it was unburned, and passing the bowl to Gwydion with a sigh of relief. He reached in and pulled out a piece that he did not need look at to know it was unburned.
He passed the golden bowl to Cai, who reached in and pulled out the burned piece. Laughing, he held it up for all to see.
A hush spread over the crowd. He looked over to Uthyr’s fire and saw Greid take his leap through the flames.
And then it was Susanna’s turn. It was silent in the grove as she leapt through the fire. Everyone cheered and she waved briefly at the crowd.
At Amatheon’s fire Duach lightly jumped through the fire.
Then it was Cai’s turn. Uthyr’s Captain leaped, landing safely on the other side of the flames.
It was in that moment that Gwydion saw figures flicker into being beside each fire. He recognized them, instantly, although he did not understand how he knew them. But the knowledge was there, already in his soul.
The figure by Uthyr’s fire was a woman, her long, black hair held back from her face by a golden tiara sparkling with emeralds. She wore a robe of forest green, trimmed with bands of brown, the color of fresh-turned earth. A cloak of bull hide was fastened to her slim shoulders with golden clasps. He knew it was Arywen, Archdruid to the murdered High King Lleu.
The glowing figure by Susanna’s fire was clothed in a robe of silver trimmed with bands of sea green. He held a golden staff in his hands, and a cloak of white swan feather cascaded down his back, fastened at his broad shoulders with pearl clasps. Patience and wisdom were carved into his calm face. Gwydion knew it was Mannawyddan, Lleu’s Ardewin.
The figure that materialized by Amatheon’s fire had alabaster blond hair and wise eyes of light green. He wore a robe of deep blue, trim
med with bands of white. In his hand he held a golden branch hung with tiny bells, and his cloak was made of the feathers of songbirds—thrushes, sparrows, robins, and bluebirds. He was Taliesin, the Master Bard of Lleu.
The man who flickered into sight by Gwydion’s fire wore a robe of black, trimmed with bands of red. Fiery opals fastened his cloak of raven feather to his shoulders. He had dark hair and eyes of piercing gray—almost silver in the glowing light. And Gwydion knew him. It was Bran, Lleu’s Dreamer; the man who had found Lleu’s body on the shores of Llyn Mwyngil; the man who had engineered the downfall of Lleu’s faithless wife and her lover, sentencing them to a kind of half-death that still had the power to make Gwydion shiver. This was the man who had hidden away Caladfwlch, the High King’s sword, who had closed the High King’s mountain hall so that none could enter there.
Gwydion could tell from the lack of reaction that the people around him did not see the glowing figures. Until his eyes cut to Amatheon and he saw his brother blink in astonishment. He saw, too, that his Uncle Cynan, also Dewin, was staring at these figures with wide eyes.
“Remember.” Bran’s Mind-Speech hammered into Gwydion’s brain. “Remember those who jumped the fires this night.”
“Why are you here?” Gwydion silently asked.
But Bran did not answer him. Or, perhaps, he did give an answer, after a fashion. “Remember the four who leapt the flames. They shall do their part, when the time comes, to ensure the High King’s safety.”
With that the four figures around the fires of earth, water, air, and fire flickered and disappeared. Gwydion’s eyes traveled to Greid, to Susanna, to Duach and to Cai, for these were the four who had jumped the fires.
He would remember.
Calan Llachar—dawn
GWYDION FELT A cool breeze on his face and wondered where he was. He slowly realized that his arms were stretched across the shoulders of two men, one on either side of him. Both men carried torches and the flickering light hurt Gwydion’s eyes. Looking down, he focused on the road beneath his feet, noting with surprise that he appeared to be walking. This didn’t strike him as a good idea, and he came to a sudden stop.
“Keep going, brother. Not too far now,” Uthyr’s voice said.
“We’ll never get him back without having him throw up in the middle of the road. I just know it,” Amatheon said. They tugged at him and he continued walking.
Gwydion was surprised to discover that he was talking rapidly. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “And then I saw Cerridwen and Cerrunnos. I gave them the eagle. But that was wrong because the eagle trusted me. But it was wrong not to give him up. So what do you do? What do you do when all the choices are wrong?”
When they made him no answer, he stopped again, digging in his heels. He grabbed Uthyr’s tunic by the shoulders and drew his brother to him until their faces were inches apart. “What do you do?” Gwydion shouted into Uthyr’s face. “What do you do when there is no right thing to do?”
A pained expression crossed Uthyr’s face as Gwydion’s breath hit him full force. “Take it easy, Gwydion. You’re drunk. Just come with us, all right?”
“Drunk?” Gwydion replied in astonishment. “I’m drunk? Impossible. I never get drunk. You know,” he continued in a confidential manner, “I tried to get drunk all afternoon, but it never happened. Did you know that?”
“I heard,” Uthyr said shortly. “Come along, little brother.”
“Where are you taking me? And what do I do when I get there? I’ve got to know the right thing to do. Then I’ve got to do it. Got to do the right thing. If you do that, then everything will be all right. But you always have to do the right thing. Can’t let anything stop you from that, you know.”
“Yes, Gwydion, I know, I know,” Amatheon said soothingly. “Everything will be all right. Just come with us.”
“Someone’s coming,” Uthyr said, “from Caer Gwynt.” They heard the sound of running feet rushing down the road toward them. Duach burst into the torchlight. As he saw Uthyr, he grinned. “The Queen,” he panted. “The Queen’s in labor. She’s on her way now to the grove. She’s right behind me.”
Uthyr stood stock-still, staring at Duach, a panicked look on his face. “In labor. The baby? Now?”
“Ygraine is right behind me. She’s asking for you. And for Amatheon and Cynan, too. She needs the Dewin, she said.”
Uthyr dropped Gwydion’s arm and took off up the road at a dead run. And stopped almost immediately to avoid running into his wife.
“I told you she was right behind me,” Duach said plaintively.
Uthyr slowly reached out to his wife. Ygraine stood still, Uthyr’s tense expression at odds with the calm, detached look on her face. Even though her body was swollen and misshapen, she was still beautiful. She was fair-skinned, with rich auburn tresses that cascaded down her back, woven lightly now with a red ribbon. She wore a loose, white robe, fastened in the front with pearls. Her look was haughty, as always. Her eyes were dark, glittering coolly in the torchlight. Midnight eyes, Gwydion had always thought. She seemed to feel no pain at the moment. She probably doesn’t allow pain, thought Gwydion. It would be undignified, almost human.
Her dark eyes rested on Uthyr for a moment as he took her hand. She smiled at him—the only time she ever smiled was when she looked upon her husband. He touched her smooth face with a gentle hand. “All is well with you, cariad?” he asked.
“It is well with me,” she answered, her voice cool. She glanced at Gwydion, supported now by Amatheon and Duach. “How interesting to see you, Gwydion. Perhaps you would care to go back to Caer Gwynt and sleep it off.” It was not a question.
Suddenly, shockingly, Gwydion was stone cold sober, as if a pail of freezing water had been dashed in his face. Ygraine always seemed to have that effect on him. Slowly he drew himself up, standing unaided. “Thank you, Ygraine. But I think I’ll stay awake for this.”
“As you wish,” she said, indifferently. She turned to Amatheon. “Brother of my husband,” she said formally. “You will attend?”
“Of course. I would be honored.” He left Gwydion’s side and moved toward Ygraine, making her a deep bow as he took her arm.
She nodded toward Gwydion. “Much as I would love to stay and chat with you, Dreamer, I must go to the grove. I hope you can make it back to the fortress unaided.”
Gwydion was not deceived. She hoped that he would break his neck, that’s what she hoped. She calmly moved on down the road, supported on one side by Uthyr and on the other by Amatheon. Gwydion waited until she was out of earshot. “That woman hates me,” Gwydion said absently. “They both do.”
“Both?” Duach asked.
“Ygraine and her sister, Queen Olwen of Ederynion.”
“But why?”
“Oh, just a little misunderstanding I had with Olwen, once. A long time ago.”
“A little misunderstanding?” Duach asked curiously. “About what?”
“Um, it was regarding a personal matter.”
Duach’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t! With Queen Olwen?”
“She wasn’t Queen, then.”
“And you didn’t freeze your—”
“Never mind,” Gwydion said hastily.
Duach grinned. “My lips are sealed. But you are a brave man, Gwydion ap Awst. I’ll say that for you. I would not have thought anyone to ever trifle with Queen Olwen.”
“I didn’t trifle with her,” Gwydion said irritably. “How was I to know that she would expect more than I had to give?”
“Ah, Gwydion, they all do. Didn’t you know that? Now, let’s go back to Caer Gwynt and put you to bed.”
“No, I must go to the grove. For the birth.”
“Gwydion, you’re drunk.”
“Not any more,” he said absently, looking down the road that headed back to the grove. As the two men started back down the road, Gwydion grabbed Duach’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
Duach cocked his head, listening intently. “I don’t
hear anything. Just the wind.”
Just the wind, Duach had said. But Gwydion had heard more than that. It seemed to him that far away, rushing on the wind, he heard the sound of horns—the horns of the Hunt, calling across the sky.
Calan Llachar—early afternoon
GWYDION STOOD BY the Calan Llachar tree waiting for the runners to come into sight. The marketplace was filled with people talking, eating, drinking, and singing. Occasionally some craned their necks to the west road, looking for signs of the men competing in the race to the tree. The bright colors of the fine, spring morning stung Gwydion’s eyes, and it was hard to separate the pounding in his head from the noise of the crowd that surrounded him.
Several hours had passed since Ygraine’s labor had begun. Gwydion had followed Uthyr and the rest to the grove, but Ygraine had sent everyone away except for Uthyr, Amatheon, and Cynan. Gwydion had tried to remind Ygraine that since he was the Dreamer, and as Dreamer’s had all the gifts he was as fine a doctor as Cynan and Amatheon. But Ygraine was adamant that Gwydion not be present. Uthyr had quickly asked Gwydion to take his place and judge the race to the tree.
Uthyr had meant that as a kindness, but Gwydion could have strangled him. The day was far, far too bright. Gwydion gingerly turned his aching head to Susanna and Griffi, who were standing next to him.
“It’s taking a ridiculously long time. Does it always take this long?”
“The runners have practically just left.” Susanna answered, surprised.
“I don’t mean that. I mean the birth.”
“Oh. It’s not taking long. First babies can take up to eighteen hours or more.”
“I don’t think I could stand waiting that long,” muttered Gwydion.
“Just think how Ygraine feels,” Griffi grinned.
Across the square a group of young men and women had started an impromptu dance. People were buying food and drink from the gaily colored booths that lined the square. Some booths sold drink such as ale and cider; others sold skewers of highly seasoned meats, along with cheeses and freshly baked bread. This time of year there was no fresh fruit to be had, but people polished off their meals with nuts and pastries.
