by Karen Myers
Angharad finished his haircut and tousled his hair to release all the stray bits. He ran his fingers through it, pleased.
She turned to Maelgwn, who’d reached a pause. “What about you, young man?”
He looked at her, alarmed. His hair was tied back with a thong and had clearly been hacked off with a knife from time to time, blindly. He’d been washed, but it was still a mess, if a clean one. “I don’t know. I just… It’s been a long time.”
“You can cultivate warrior braids, if you want. Some do. Or you can keep it short, as most of Gwyn’s family do, and George, too.”
“Your choice, foster-son,” George said.
Maelgwn decided. “Like you, please.”
Angharad nodded and pushed George from his seat, summoning Maelgwn in his place. George walked over to sit next to Rhian on the other side, slowly and carefully.
“It’s so good to see you walking like that, cousin. Yesterday…”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “That’s past now.” He didn’t want to dwell on the sorry sight he must have made.
“I was surprised to see you here,” he said.
“Angharad came on Tuesday, and Gwyn and I joined her later the same day.”
Angharad looked at him over Maelgwn’s shoulder with an unreadable expression.
Oh, no, he thought, working it out. That was the first day in the iron chair. Did she feel some of that? He must have looked stricken, because Angharad said, “Never mind, dear, it was just an echo.”
“I’m so sorry, love.”
“Not your fault. And it brought us all here.” She went back to her haircutting and closed the conversation.
Rhian had her hand over her mouth as if she’d given away a big secret. George patted her other hand on the bench. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Who’s looking after the hounds,” he asked, to change the subject.
“Brynach.”
“All by himself?”
“Ives is helping,” Rhian said. “I thought it was a good thing, it keeps him busy. And it’s just within the palisade, Brynach can’t really lose them.”
“No, I approve, as long as it works for them. That was good thinking.”
She relaxed again, pleased to have her judgment confirmed.
“There,” Angharad said. “What do you think?”
They turned to look at Maelgwn while Angharad searched for a mirror. Rhian said, “Why, he looks like you now, huntsman, just a little… curlier.”
Maelgwn brightened at that, and looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, clearly trying to reconcile himself to his new appearance. George wondered how long it had been since he’d seen his own face. All at once he yawned, and then did it again. A shiver ran through him.
“Time to say goodbye for a while, Rhian,” he heard Angharad say. “This man’s going back to bed.”
She was at his side then. “No arguing.” He pulled his robe tighter around him and shivered some more. He stood up and she steadied him as he slowly walked back to his bed. He crawled under the covers, still wearing his robe, but Angharad stopped him before he could fully lie down and took it off of him. He shivered down under the blankets “I wish this would stop,” he said.
“Soon, if you’ll let it. Now go back to sleep.”
Edern sat at the council table in the afternoon watching in deep satisfaction as Rhys took charge, still fired up with the euphoria of being free again. Too thin, too energetic, he thought, he’ll never last much past dinner, but that was normal, that was to be expected. He seemed to have taken no permanent harm, and to have come back toughened somehow.
As Rhys ran down the list of items that needed discussion and decision, Edern watched him visibly not deferring to Gwyn, here in his own place. That was so like Gwyn as a younger man, Edern thought. Rhys takes more after him than he does after me, and isn’t that often the way of foster-children, after all? That was fine, Rhys could use Gwyn’s political insight and connections. He didn’t doubt that his own character would manifest in him over time—he already liked the strong moral man he was becoming, like his father before him.
Gwyn asked Rhys, “Did you witness Madog’s death?”
“I caught a glimpse, before the way was destroyed, but my view was blocked by Mag. There was a lot of blood, and Mag is here, but that’s all I know.”
“My lady,” Gwyn said, turning to Seething Magma, on the periphery of the room, “My great-grandson told me he made a suggestion to you, and you followed it.”
One knock.
Gwyn said, to the council, “She opened a way through Madog, a non-traveling way. As George pointed out, it’s the only way left in Madog’s domain.”
That brought startled laughter and then they each rose and bowed to Mag, some applauding in approval. Granite Cloud at her side looked at her mother as if asking her to explain.
When everyone was seated again, Gwyn looked at Rhys who nodded his permission to take over.
“We have several items of strategy to discuss, and I asked Rhys to invite Cydifor and Benitoe to this session for a purpose. George and Angharad can’t join us yet, but I’ll speak separately to them. I’m sure we’ll see them here soon.
“First, there is the matter of our guests, Seething Magma and her daughter Granite Cloud. We are very glad they’ve been reunited, and we thank them for the death of our mutual enemy. Edern and I would like to speak with your mother soon, my lady, and explore how we can assist each other. Will you be with us for long?”
Mag held out George’s collar.
“You’re waiting for George? To say good-bye?”
One knock.
“How will we reach you, after you leave?”
She dangled the collar again.
“Ah, George can reach you. All the way from Greenway Court?”
Two knocks. She pointed at the map and drew a line from Greenway Court to the base of the Blue Ridge in Edgewood.
“You’ll make a way he can use to reach you easily.”
One knock.
“Thank you, that will be fine.”
Gwyn turned back to the council and looked around the table, not excluding Cydifor and Benitoe, seated a rank back. “Here in this room is everyone, with the exception of the huntsman’s family, who knows that these rock-wights, our guests, are the creators of the ways. We cannot hide their existence—far too many people have seen them—but this knowledge must be kept quiet.”
Benitoe spoke up, “But my lord, many of the travelers coming from Edgewood saw that Mag created a way from the river meadow here to the court.”
“We will have to put it about that she revealed a way to George, not that she made it. We must keep this suppressed.”
Edern spoke to the council. “The knowledge that the rock-wights are the way-creators is lost in the old world, if it was ever known, as the beings themselves have become scarce. We would put them all in danger from such as Madog. And it would spur an invasion of the new world to try and control the only known population, to use them as weapons. It would greatly disturb the peace we’ve enjoyed for many centuries. Do we want a horde of ambitious fae here, with their way-adepts and their armies?”
“My brother is correct,” Gwyn said. “I do not say that this knowledge can be hidden forever, or even for long—that is not the nature of the world—but it needs thought and much preparation. I will discuss this with my grandfather, Beli Mawr, as soon as possible.”
That caused a stir around the table. Beli Mawr was largely withdrawn from the world, and some already considered him halfway to some undefined place between fae and god.
“Do I have your oaths to follow me in this?” he asked, looking sternly at each of them.
“Aye, my lord.”
“I so swear, my lord.”
The verbal oaths came from every person in the room, down to Rhian, the youngest.
“Thank you. Now, there is one final matter—what shall we do about our neighbors over the mountain? We’ve cut off their head, but w
hat next? I want your opinions.”
Rhodri said, “They have no ways out, except for the one Mag made when leaving, and that’s been claimed for Gwyn. They can’t cross the Blue Ridge any more than we can, but their barrier way is gone and nothing prevents them from spreading in other directions. As George mentioned, they’ll be undergoing their own version of the awakening we’ve had here.”
Edern said, “George was of the opinion when he crossed over that the barrier along the Blue Ridge wasn’t intentional, that it arises from the activities of the rock-wights within the ridge. He thought there would be natural gaps, therefore. I don’t think we can assume it’s an unbreachable boundary any longer.”
“Our choices are stark,” Rhys said. “We can leave them to rule themselves, with some new strong man rising to the top who may continue in enmity to us. Or we can seat one of our own there, with troops to support him, as our own strong man. Or we can help select one of their own and ally with him. All of these are uncertain and assume knowledge we don’t have, and two of them need us to extend troops, supplies, and possibly a ruler.”
“Did Madog have family, other than whatever arrangement he had with our one-time sister?” Edern asked.
Silence. Then, two knocks.
Seething Magma pointed at her daughter, then at the symbol for speech.
“Cloudie says…,” Eluned translated quietly.
Mag walked over to the pile of unused symbols and found a black rock. She drew a black hat and put the black rock on it.
“She gave the toy hat to George,” Gwyn said. “Is this the new symbol for Madog?”
One knock.
She put the black rock next to a generalized picture of a woman, then tapped the picture of a child.
“Madog made a child,” Eluned said.
Mag dipped a pseudopod in ink and dropped a blot on the child.
“The child died.”
Two knocks. Mag dropped the black rock on the blotted child.
“Madog killed the child?”
One knock.
“Did he have any other children?” Gwyn asked.
Mag dropped another ink blot on the drawing of the child, then another, and another, until the image was entirely black.
“He killed them all?” Eluned said, shaken.
One knock.
“He didn’t want to raise rivals,” Gwyn said.
“Does he have any living relatives that you know of, Mag?” Edern asked.
Two knocks.
Edern looked at his brother. “What about his family in the old world? What do we know about it?”
Ceridwen said, “We’d only started to look into that at the time of the great hunt, and then we put it aside for a while.”
“We’ll have to pick that up again, and find out for sure.” Gwyn said. “But I think we can assume we can’t just elevate a natural heir to that domain. So, should we expand and absorb it? That’s a question of both means and security. If it were a trusted ally, that would be one thing, but how can we be secure with it as it is? I think we must try to take it over. But can we create an army sufficient to the task, and will there be resistance in the population?”
Silence around the table. “We can’t leave it as it is for long. If we so intend, we must put our presence there quickly.”
He turned back to Seething Magma. “My lady, if this is the course we must take, then our task of mutual alliance becomes more urgent. We would want to request ways into the heart of Madog’s domain, and of course we would want to know what we might offer you in return.”
Mag turned and pointed at the little pile of rocks that represented her mother.
“Yes, I understand. We would need to speak with Gravel.”
Cydifor suggested, “George would be a good translator, my lord.”
“Indeed,” he said. “I think he’ll be fit for it, soon.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Gwyn said to Mag. “We’ll speak about this again before you go.”
One knock.
Edern watched Rhys smoothly resume control of the meeting and wind it down. He stood up and walked over to his grandson for a private conversation.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m beginning to think a nap before dinner would be a fine thing,” Rhys admitted.
“And so I was going to advise, but you’re beyond the age where I can send you to your room.”
Rhys smiled at his grandfather, and the two of them strolled out together.
CHAPTER 32
Angharad stood up and stretched, then walked over to the window on Sunday morning. The snow had begun in the middle of the night and was still falling steadily, drifting down with no sign of stopping. Maelgwn was out in it, somewhere, working off some steam with Rhian.
She liked the boy’s fierceness and his loyalty to George. She thought he had the makings of a good man. She put her hand over her belly, where another life was forming. Both of these children might outlive George by centuries, if he didn’t have the long life.
Don’t be greedy, she thought. George might have died already, if his friends hadn’t helped get him back, if Ceridwen hadn’t dared to stand up to Cernunnos, if Cernunnos hadn’t been merciful. No, it wasn’t mercy, she corrected herself. If George hadn’t chosen Mag’s release over his own life, Cernunnos would have discarded him in his cold search for justice and freed her that way.
George was still sleeping behind her. She’d made him get up and eat something in the early evening, but he’d been hard to rouse since then, rising twice to hobble away half-awake to relieve himself, but otherwise lying unmoving on his bed. All she could do was keep him warm and make him drink when she could, and wait.
When Eluned came around earlier, they talked about it. Eluned said the small pockets of infection that weren’t cleansed by Cernunnos had to work their way out of his system, and his body was busy finding them and attacking them. That’s what caused the intermittent fevers and shakes. The sleep was just his body’s way of keeping him still in the process. That, and concentrating on the replenishment of the demands made upon it by the sudden healing.
They agreed to let him sleep as long as possible. There was no heat from his knee, which was the main thing, as long as the rest was improving.
Angharad went to the table near the bed from which she could keep an eye on him and returned to her work. She’d brought carving knives and small blocks of wood with her from Greenway Court, and she was working her way through her daily quota of ornaments for George’s tree. Several completed ones were already tucked away, waiting for paint. She kept a cloth nearby to throw over her work in case George woke up—she wanted to keep it a surprise.
Back behind her, the door opened cautiously and Maelgwn walked in, trying not to make any noise. His cheeks were glowing from the cold and the exercise.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked, softly.
He nodded excitedly. “Rhian let me ride her horse a little bit. That was fun. I’ve never been on one before.”
“One of the great pleasures of life,” Angharad agreed, making a note to get him started with learning to ride in earnest, as soon as they returned home.
“Did he wake up yet?”
“Not this morning. He might sleep all day, it’s the best thing for him.”
Maelgwn surprised her by going to George and feeling his forehead expertly. He must have learned from Rhys, she thought. George didn’t stir.
Maelgwn came back and looked at the block in Angharad’s hand which was starting to take the form of a deer’s head.
“Can you show me how to do that?”
“Did George tell you about his little tree?” He nodded. “Well, this is going to be an ornament on that tree in a few days. It’s a surprise for him.” She looked down at his somber face. “Would you like to make him one?”
His face lit up. “Do you think I could?”
“Why not? It should be about so big.” She held her hands apart as if to cup a large orange. “W
hat would you like it to be?”
“Anything?” he asked.
“Anything.”
He walked over to the bench where George’s spare clothes were folded and picked up his pocket watch. He brought it back to Angharad and pointed at the engraved dragon on the back. “I want to make a dragon. Is that too hard?”
“I’ll show you how.” She propped the watch up in front of them so they could refer to it, then she took a block of wood about three inches square and one inch thick. She quickly drew on a piece of paper a simplified profile of a dragon sitting compactly and squarely, to largely fill the space available. Maelgwn could roughly carve out the shape, she thought, at the very least, and maybe carve some muscle shapes and other surface decoration, if he has the knack.
He liked her drawing, so she showed him how to lay it over the wood block and make little marks through it to transfer the drawing to the wood, on both sides, and left him alone to do that himself. She returned to the detail work on her own carving, but kept a watch on his progress out of the corner of her eye.
He was quick to catch on to the transfer work, leaving a line of prick marks. When he held it up for her judgment, she nodded.
“Now take this larger knife here. It’s for the rough work, where we take away the unnecessary material outside the drawing.”
She showed him how to hold it and how to control it as he cut. He busied himself for quite a while whittling the block down to his marks, careful to leave just a little bit extra. She noticed his forethought and approved.
He looked over at the living deer head forming under her hands and sighed. “I’ll never be able to do that.”
“There’s no need. I’ve been doing this a very long time, and if you want to learn I can teach you. But today, all we need is a simple blank in the right shape. When we get back, we’ll paint it. Did you know that dragons come in all sorts of colors?”
He cheered up at that, and they chatted cozily as their little blades bit into the wood, a clean smell of shavings rising around them.
Benitoe ran his fingers through his hair and brushed off the residual snow that still clung to him before knocking on the door to the private dining room at the Golden Cockerel. He was about to meet Maëlys’s husband for the first time, his new uncle, and he wanted to make a good impression.
