by Holly Taylor
But on their trip Awst had explained very gently that his mother was mistaken. He had explained that he and the Queen were very good friends. It was true that he and the Queen had a son, but Awst loved all his sons equally. It was true that Uthyr was her heir, and that was indeed unusual. But Uthyr had been tested and was not Y Dawnus, and he was the first-born son of the Queen. The will of the Shining Ones was to be accepted, not questioned.
But Gwydion was frightened now. What if his mother was right? What if Awst did love this other son more? Then what would he do? The gates of the Queen’s fortress seemed to loom over the small, frightened boy. The sapphire eyes of the fierce hawk carved upon the closed gates glittered ominously at him.
Slowly, the gates swung open. A woman with rich reddish brown hair and kind blue eyes came forward. She was dressed in a gown of blue and a silver torque, studded with sapphires, hung around her slender neck. The woman smiled into Gwydion’s apprehensive eyes, and all his fears seemed to vanish in that instant.
She came up to his pony, followed by many people, but Gwydion had eyes only for her. “Welcome, Gwydion ap Awst, to Tegeingl,” she said in a rich, melodious voice.
Quickly Gwydion slid off his pony and bowed. Smiling, she held out her hands to him and raised him to his feet. “I am Rathtyen and I am so glad to meet you at last.”
Gwydion gulped audibly. This was the Queen! The Queen herself had greeted him as an honored guest. And he knew then beyond all doubt that all his mother’s harsh words about the Queen were lies.
Rathtyen turned to Awst, who had dismounted by then, and the two embraced. She then gestured to the man who stood a small distance behind her. The man was tall, with reddish golden hair and a stiff expression. “This is my husband, Rhodri. And this,” she gestured to a young boy, “is my oldest son, Uthyr.”
The two boys studied each other. Uthyr was taller and broader than Gwydion, for he was two years older. He had reddish brown hair and dark eyes. ‘You are welcome here, brother,” Uthyr said formally. “Do you like to ride?” he went on in a friendly tone.
Shyly, Gwydion nodded.
“I like riding, too. I have a new pony. But he’s not as fine as yours,” Uthyr said cheerfully.
Gwydion smiled tentatively at his half brother and an answering grin lit up Uthyr’s face. And that was the beginning for them of a bond that only death would break.
For the next few days the boys were inseparable. Gwydion met Madoc, the son of the Queen and her husband, Rhodri, but he did not like the boy. There was something sly about him. Madoc was only five and his little sister, Ellirri, was just three. Uthyr was unfailingly kind and patient with Ellirri, and the little girl worshipped her brother, following him everywhere.
The day Ellirri was left behind at the fortress with Madoc she cried and cried. For she was too young to take part in the hunting party. In truth, so was Gwydion, but Awst refused to leave him behind. So they set out—Awst, the Queen, King Rhodri, Uthyr, Gwydion, and many warriors from the Queen’s teulu. It was a real hunting trip and they would camp out in the forest of Coed Dulas for the night.
They had left early in the morning and reached their campsite by mid-afternoon. In the tumult of setting up camp, Gwydion and Uthyr were able to slip away. They played that they were mighty hunters, stalking their prey through the forest. So intent were they on their game that they strayed far away from camp.
In the middle of stalking through a thicket, Gwydion suddenly said, “Wait a minute. Are we lost?”
“Lost? Of course not,” Uthyr replied cheerfully.
“But I don’t hear any of the others.”
Uthyr stood still and listened hard. From far away they heard the muted roll of thunder. “Uh oh,” Uthyr muttered. “Storm. We’d better get back.”
“But which way?”
“This way.” Uthyr said, with feigned confidence, and they set off. The afternoon grew darker and through the trees they saw storm clouds piling up over the forest.
“We’re lost aren’t we?” Gwydion finally asked, fighting to keep his voice from trembling.
“Yes,” Uthyr replied seriously. “We are. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m—I’m not scared.”
“Oh, I know that,” Uthyr said. He took Gwydion’s thin, cold hand into his large, warm one. “Come on. Let’s keep walking.”
Overhead, thunder rolled and flashes of lightning split the sky. After each flash they were momentarily blinded, and had to halt until they could see again. The wild wind whipped the trees in a manic frenzy. But it did not rain.
Gwydion was horribly frightened. He was lost, and the storm was so fierce. And he was only six years old. At each flash of lightning, at each roll of thunder, he hunched his thin shoulders, and held more tightly to Uthyr’s hand.
They took what shelter they could beneath a large, spreading oak tree. Panting, they stopped to get their breath back. A flash of lighting, so bright they had to close their eyes, hit the tree cracking through the air like a whip. With a huge, tearing sound the tree split, and half of it came crashing down. Uthyr jumped out of the way, still holding Gwydion’s hand. But Gwydion did not move fast enough and, as the tree fell, he was trapped beneath the heavy branches. The tree was on fire, blazing up like a torch. Gwydion, blinded by the smoke, and baked by the heat sobbed in terror beneath the branches that pinned him.
And then Uthyr let go of his hand.
But Uthyr did not run. Instead, he grasped the burning trunk and, straining with all his might, he lifted it slightly, just enough to allow Gwydion to crawl out.
Gwydion scrambled away from the tree on his hands and knees, and Uthyr dropped the burning branches, nursing his scorched hands. Gwydion felt a horrible heat, a burning, and a blistering on his back. He leapt up to run but Uthyr, with a cry, jumped on him, beating out the flames that were consuming him.
And then, suddenly, oh blessed relief, their father was there. And the Queen and many others, besides. Awst grabbed both of his sons, hauling them far away from the burning tree. He held them close and hugged them fiercely with tears of relief flowing down his white, drawn face.
“Uthyr,” Gwydion sobbed. “Uthyr saved me. I was trapped. The fire—”
“Yes, yes,” Awst soothed. “It’s all over. You’re all right now.”
“It burns, Da. It burns,” Gwydion moaned.
“I know, I know,” Awst replied. “Hush now. You’re going to be all right.”
“It burns, it burns.”
SOMEONE WAS SHAKING him awake. He opened his eyes and blinked, recognizing the face of the man standing over him. It was Dudod, Rhiannon’s uncle. His face was lined with weariness. His green eyes were shadowed and subdued.
“Have you come to help me then?” Gwydion slurred, still half asleep.
Dudod smiled sadly. “I have come to take you to her. And may the gods forgive me for what I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
Coed Aderyn Kingdom of Prydyn, Kymru Gwinwydden Mis, 494
Gwaithdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early evening
Gwydion and Dudod left Dinmael early the next morning. Their hasty parting did not seem to break any hearts. Angharad was clearly glad to see him go. Olwen was, for her, ecstatic—she almost smiled.
Dudod had said they were making for Coed Aderyn. “But I went to Coed Aderyn,” Gwydion protested. “On my way to Arberth. And I called out to her. But there was no answer.”
“No,” Dudod replied shortly. “I’m sure there wasn’t. But that’s where she is, all the same.”
They traveled steadily for the next fifteen days. Dudod was silent and withdrawn. During the day he rode ahead of Gwydion, cutting off all chances for conversation. At night Dudod demanded they stop at the nearest farmhouse or village, where they played and sang for their hosts in return for meals and shelter.
On the fifteenth evening, Dudod, reining in his horse, announced, “We’re just a few miles away from Rhiannon’s place. We’ll just camp out tonight and be
there first thing in the morning, before she’s had a chance to leave the cave.”
“She lives in a cave?” Gwydion asked in surprise.
“It’s got a waterfall in front of the entrance. If you didn’t know it was there you’d never find it.”
“How did you find it then?” For the first time Dudod was in a mood to talk about Rhiannon, and Gwydion was quick to take advantage of it.
Dudod dismounted and looked solemnly at Gwydion. Suddenly, he smiled. “You’ve been very patient, lad. Much more patient than I thought you would be. We’ll fix supper, then I’ll tell you what you want to know. And give you some advice, which you will doubtless ignore.”
Gwydion knew better than to reply. After they had eaten a meal—which Dudod had cooked—they settled down on a convenient log placed before the fire.
“How did you find out where she was?” Gwydion asked. “Did she contact you?”
“No. She doesn’t even realize that I know where she is. Once, when Rhiannon was only a little girl, and when my wife was still alive, we traveled to Neuadd Gorsedd to see Elidyr. Rhiannon hoped to catch a glimpse of her father—a forlorn hope, as usual,” Dudod said with bitterness. “Anyway, we stopped for an afternoon rest in Coed Aderyn by a tiny lake with a small waterfall. And Rhiannon went exploring and found a cave behind it. After Rhiannon disappeared, I remembered that place. I went there once, many years ago, to be sure. And she was there.”
“Did she see you?”
Dudod gave Gwydion an affronted stare. “Are you mad? Nobody sees me if I don’t want them to. I,” he said with mock dignity, “am an accomplished sneak.”
“I’m sure you are. All those years of knowing where she is, and you never let on. And now, I spend months going to every kingdom in Kymru, asking useless questions and getting saddle sores, and you knew where she was all along.”
“Do I sense a bit of irritation?”
Gwydion thought about that seriously for a moment. “Actually, no. The trip was useful after all, even if I didn’t discover her whereabouts for myself.”
For some time the two men were silent, staring into the flames and lost in their own thoughts. At last, Gwydion said, “Years ago I asked you to tell me where Rhiannon was. And you pretended that you didn’t know. What made you decide to take me to her now?”
“Anieron. My brother can be very persuasive. That’s why he’s the Master Bard.”
“Anieron may have asked you to do this, but only you decide what you will do. So why did you?”
Dudod sighed. “It was time. For over eleven years Rhiannon has hidden herself and her daughter away. That can’t go on forever, and I’m sure Rhiannon knows it. If nothing else, she must return Gwenhwyfar to the outside world. Her refusal to do so is ruining that child’s life.”
“I could point that out, I suppose.” Gwydion mused.
“I wouldn’t,” Dudod said sharply. “You can’t simply descend upon the woman and tell her what to do. You must be gentle. You must appeal to her higher instincts—not to her mistakes.”
“But to point out her mistakes would have the merit of being true.”
“The more truthful the accusation, the angrier we get. Don’t you know that?”
“So,” Gwydion continued, “how do you suggest I handle Rhiannon?”
“Very carefully,” Dudod warned. “No accusations. Be sure that you explain yourself. She won’t respond to bullying, but she will respond to reason.”
“You surprise me there,” Gwydion said dryly. “I wouldn’t have thought she would respond to reason.”
“Why ever not?”
“Well, she’s a woman, isn’t she?”
Dudod looked at Gwydion for a long time. Finally, he spoke, “Indeed she is. I fear, however, that your experience with a limited number of women has led you astray. They are not all so emotional and irrational.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Yes, I imagine you can be easily fooled into seeing only what you expect to see,” Dudod said shortly. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”
“You guessed.”
Gwydion shrugged. He was used to that. His mind turned instead to the important question on how best to handle Rhiannon. Perhaps he could appeal to her sense of duty. Except that she didn’t appear to have any. Yet something Myrrdin had said could help. “Myrrdin says that Rhiannon and I are a great deal alike,” he repeated absently.
“Myrrdin is a wise old man. But I am wiser still. I won’t even bother to ask you when you talked to him last.”
Swiftly, Gwydion raised his keen gray eyes to Dudod’s glittering green ones. “Why bother to ask what you already know?”
“Why indeed?”
Meirgdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early morning
DUDOD ROUSED GWYDION early the next morning. After a hasty breakfast they rode into the forest of closely packed trees and lush undergrowth. After a few leagues they reached a large clearing. The forest floor was dotted with wildflowers of glistening white, bright red, deep blue, and lemony yellow. A small waterfall played lightly over a rocky slope and fed into a blue, jewel-like pond. The sunlight turned the drops into tiny diamonds. The water bubbled exuberantly in the bright, clear, summer morning.
“Let me go first,” Dudod said in a low tone. He dismounted and, walking up near the waterfall, gave a shout. For a moment nothing happened. Then Rhiannon, dressed in a plain black gown, appeared suddenly from behind the waterfall. With a cry, she hurled herself into Dudod’s arms.
As Gwydion worked his way closer, leaving his horse behind the trees, he saw that her long, wavy black hair was unbound, falling below her waist. She was slender and her feet were bare. Her back was to Gwydion as she clung to Dudod and he could not see her face, buried as it was in Dudod’s shoulder.
Tears were running down Dudod’s face as he gently held Rhiannon to him. “Child,” he whispered. “Niece. I missed you so.”
“Uncle Dudod, I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?” she wept.
“I knew you’d come back here.”
“And you never told anyone,” Rhiannon marveled.
“Oh, well, not until very recently.”
Rhiannon stepped back from Dudod’s arms. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “Who have you told?”
“Ah,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “Just one person.”
“Who?”
Behind her, Gwydion cleared his throat. As she whipped around, he bowed low. “Gwydion ap Awst, Dreamer of Kymru. And I know how to keep secrets, too, never fear.”
She stared at him, the tears of joy drying on her face. Her green eyes were enormous. She had a snub nose, a pointed chin, and, at the moment, a most forbidding expression.
“Why have you done this to me, Uncle?”
“That will take some time to explain. Perhaps we may go up to the cave and sit and talk for a while.”
“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly. “Let’s do that. By all means, please share the hospitality of one you have betrayed.”
“Rhiannon,” Dudod pleaded, “just calm down.”
“Calm down?” she asked, her voice rising. “You bring that—that schemer to my home, and you tell me to calm down?”
“Yes I do,” Dudod replied with some heat. “We have come a long way to speak to you, and with very good reasons. Do you think I would have done this unless I judged it to be of the greatest importance?”
Rhiannon studied Dudod, ignoring Gwydion completely. “I’ll be the judge of what’s important.” She turned back to the waterfall without another word.
They followed her over the rocks and slipped behind the gentle waterfall. Parting a woolen curtain, she led them into her cave. A fire crackled atop the hearth, over which a pot of water steeped in herbs was boiling.
To the left of the entrance were books and a small harp resting upon wooden shelves. “That’s Hefeydd’s harp,” Dudod said in surprise.
“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly.
“Don’t pla
y it much, do you?” Gwydion said, taking in the dust that covered the beautiful instrument.
“No.” She gestured for them to sit at the table and made her way to the back of the cave that was hidden in shadow. “Gwenhwyfar,” she called. “You can come out now.”
Slowly, a young girl with long, blond hair came out of the shadows. She had widely spaced blue eyes and wore a plain gown of brown cloth. She, too, was barefoot. Shyly she smiled at Dudod. “Great-uncle Dudod?”
Dudod nodded, smiled, and held out his arms. Without hesitation, Gwen launched herself into Dudod’s embrace. “Mam talks about you sometimes. I have always wanted to meet you. Did you bring your harp?”
Dudod laughed. “I did indeed. Why don’t we go out by the pond, and I’ll play some songs for you? Would you like that?”
Rhiannon cocked a sardonic brow at Dudod. “Leaving me alone with the Dreamer? Thanks a lot.”
Gwen looked over at Gwydion. Pulling her dignity about her, she said, “We do not know each other.”
“I am Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, Dreamer of Kymru,” he bowed.
“I am Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon, Princess of Prydyn. I am also clairvoyant and psychokinetic.”
“Are you now?” Gwydion said with interest. “Can you Fire-Weave?”
Gwen glanced at Rhiannon, who was standing stiffly by the hearth. “Um, not yet,” she replied.
“But you can Wind-Ride? And Life-Read?” he asked.
“I Wind-Ride very well. And Life-Read a little.”
“Ah. But the psychokinetic abilities—not quite familiar with them yet?”
“Mam doesn’t have them, so she can’t teach me.”
