by J. M. Hofer
Uathach furrowed her brow, causing a trickle of blood to run down her forehead. “Why all this trouble? The girl is weak. She will never make it across the bridge. I’ve tossed hundreds far stronger than her into the sea.”
Scáthach shook her head, disappointed by her daughter’s ignorance. “You dismiss her too quickly, daughter. You must learn to see. You’re blinded by your arrogance. The maiden survived a wolf attack, and, after her babe comes, her Firebrand shall return.”
Scáthach saw shock leap into her daughter’s eyes, followed by shame. “She’s a Firebrand?”
“She is. You should spend less time sharpening your blades and more time studying the unseen,” she chastised. “I pray I live long enough for you to earn the name Scáthach. You must be wiser if you are to take my place.”
Uathach looked at her feet.
Scáthach knew her daughter would work harder, so moved on. “Never in my life have I seen a palm like hers. I’ve no doubt what Ragna told me about her is true. Now, with a Firebrand and a true giant among us, trained to fight as we do, our army will dominate any other, despite its numbers. The Great Mother shall once more choose the kings of Brython—brave men who observe her ancient rites.” Scáthach looked up into the darkening sky. The stars were beginning to wink into view. “I’ve watched the heavens for many years—the heavens, the birds, the sea—they all tell me such a king is coming. And when he comes of age, we shall be ready to serve him.”
“Then what will become of the child she carries?”
Scáthach smiled. “That child has a destiny far greater than her mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lost Brothers
The Ceffyl Dŵr arrived in Alt Clud as planned. As always, an eager crowd greeted them, anxious to trade. Tegid hurled blustery commands at the crew as he maneuvered the ship into place.
Ula felt disappointed their time on the open sea had come to an end. It had been a short sail from Rheged. She much preferred the long voyages, stretching for days, out in waters too deep and vast for any seal to reach on her own. Out there, the sea held mysteries none could ever fully know.
Irwyn came over and stood beside her. “Are you going to see your people? It has been a long time since we sailed this far north.”
Ula smiled. “Yes. I will go tomorrow, when the sun rises.”
Irwyn nodded. “He will be pleased to see you.”
Ula felt a flutter in her stomach. “And I will be pleased to see him.”
Irwyn turned his palms up in dismay. “Why do you not tell Elffin about him? Such a thing should not be kept a secret.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It would only hurt him.” Elffin must never know.
Irwyn’s expression darkened with concern, like a winter sky with a storm on the way. “But you do not know this for certain.”
Tegid came over, and they both fell silent. “You still goin’ north, then?”
Ula felt relieved he had interrupted them. “Yes. I may stay until next year. If I’m not back in a week, sail on without me.”
Tegid sighed. “I’ll miss ye if ye do that, but, as ye wish.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Either way, don’t go without sayin’ goodbye to Creirwy.”
“Of course not.”
Ula avoided making eye contact with Irwyn and went below deck. She unlocked the small chest that held the only two things she owned—a gold ring from Elffin and her sealskin. She fished out her skin and held it up, resisting the urge to put it on right then and dive from the ship. When the sea called to her, it was nigh impossible for her to resist, but swimming at night was unsafe. She would wait for the dawn, as planned. She went back up on deck, bid the crew farewell, and then slept beneath the stars, her sealskin beneath her head.
***
The moment dawn broke, she slipped out of her clothes and dove from the bow of the ship, entering the water with the smooth, silent grace of a porpoise. She was inside her skin in a moment, gliding along in a body designed for speed. Her heartbeat quickened as she swam out of the port, leaving its rubbish and noise behind for the clean open water of the sea.
She came up for air and looked back only once, bidding a silent farewell to the ship. It, too, had become a dear friend.
The journey to the lands where her people lived would take some time, as there were many peninsulas to circumnavigate, but she knew her way well. After first leaving Taliesin so many years ago, it was the north she had returned to. It would always be home to her.
The cold waters and familiar smells of the sea in her nose comforted her. The southern seas were far too warm and calm for her taste. She preferred the cold dark blue of the northern waters with its oily, silver fish and delicious crab. She reveled in the thrill of pursuing her dinner with nothing more than her powerful jaws, and devouring her food while it still wriggled with life.
And then there was the silence. No more words. No more twisting of the tongue to make difficult sounds. No more obligations or explaining. The sea demanded none of these things from her.
***
Taliesin returned to Arhianna’s camp to recover from the death of the raven. Fingers shaking, he built a fire and collapsed beside it. The dogs nestled in on either side of him and he fell asleep knowing they would alert him to any danger.
Dreams came, and dreams went. On he slept in a fit of fever, his mind striving to knit itself back together, until his thirst grew so strong it demanded he rise and seek water.
He stumbled to the river to drink. Rippling on the surface of the water appeared the distorted face of the young girl who called him father. I’m coming, Father, but so are they. You must find Mother before it’s too late. He lurched away from the water, heart pounding. After regaining his nerves, he leaned over the river once more and drank until he felt his muscles relax. Then he fished for the food he knew his body needed, for there were no berries or any other easy food to be had. Winter’s jaws were closing. Then, again, he slept, haunted by visions of his daughter.
***
It was not until the next day that Taliesin remembered what Gawyr had said before ascending the cliff. “Men like you? The smart ones make their way up from the inside. There’s an entrance down by the sea, through a grotto, and a path that winds up through the belly of the mountain and around the other side, where the cliffs drop into the sea.”
He cast his eyes downriver toward the sea he knew it must flow into. That’s where I must go if Gawyr hasn’t returned by the time I’m healed, he resolved.
***
Three days came and went, as did his fever. Unable to do anything but lie beside the fire or drag himself to the river to drink, he spent those three days pondering Cerridwen’s words. Give her to the sea. Let her grow up beneath the dragon’s wing. He knew the dragon could refer to only one person—Uthyr. And his wing would be his household. There she would indeed grow up “in plain sight” of her enemies, for though he did not live at Caer Leon, Myrthin yet served Uthyr. But how will I get her to Caer Leon? And, even if I manage it, how can I convince Uthyr to foster her without revealing who she is?
The next morning, he felt well enough to travel. He collected everything he could carry, loaded it onto Chrysgod, and set off downriver in hopes of finding the grotto Gawyr had mentioned.
The hounds seemed happy to be moving once more, and happier still that he had fed them some meat that morning. Eager to serve their master, they periodically ran ahead to scout the land and then bounded back to confirm all was well. Taliesin felt especially grateful for Chrysgod, for he was still weak from the fever and would not have lasted long on foot.
The first briny hints of the sea reached his nose and ears near mid-morning. It was not long before he began to glimpse slats of its blue-grey water beckoning to him from between the trunks of the many alder trees that grew along the river.
Soon, he was standing on the edge of a long beach, watching Braith and Griffin tryst in the surf. The sight brought a smile to his face for the first time
in days, but it faded the moment he saw the perilous place where the mountain met the sea. The sea seemed furious with the mountain for daring to push his sharp black feet into her water. In protest, she sent her waves to attack him. Each of them crashed into his jutting stones with frightening force, like a fearless, white-mouthed warrior rabid with battle-lust.
The mountain was not the only one the sea seemed angry with. She filled the air with her spray, creating a damp, icy chill that caused Taliesin’s lungs to shudder and dared him to breathe. He clutched at his cloak, pulling the edge of his hood over his nose and mouth in defiance.
He had not fully regained his strength from the ordeal with the raven, and if the air were any indication, the water would be colder than ice. He could easily end up freezing to death, or, if he survived, plunging himself right back into a fever. I’m sorry, daughter, but this is going to have to wait.
He planned for the worst, using the rest of the day to set up a well-provisioned camp in the cover of the trees that grew near the estuary. By evening, he and the hounds sat next to a driftwood fire, eating another meal of fish. Stars sparked to life as the sun sank into a now strangely calm, rolling sea. He took heart, feeling for the first time in days that all would be well. Tomorrow, we’ll be together again, Arhianna. I’ll help you remember and take you home. Inspired, he took up his harp and played.
It was not long before he noticed the silhouette of a seal’s head pop up out of the water, and then another. It was indeed seal country, with plenty of inlets and bays to hunt in. Seeing them brought back bittersweet memories of his childhood. He sang on long after nightfall, for the music seemed to be restoring his health. He would have sung all night, were it not for the dogs—one moment they were sleeping beside the fire, the next they stiffened with alertness and barked, their noses pointed out toward the sea.
Taliesin squinted past the firelight, but could see nothing. “What is it?” The dogs growled, low and long, every muscle in their necks tense. Taliesin traded his harp for a spear and stood up. “Who’s there?”
A voice answered from out of the darkness. “Sea Child, is that you?”
Taliesin’s heart leapt into his throat as Ula’s brown face came into view. “Mother?” He dropped his spear and rushed to embrace her. Questions scrambled over each other in his mind like a litter of puppies. “Why are you here?” was all he managed to ask.
She stepped back to look at him with her huge round eyes. She was naked except for her sealskin, which was slung over her shoulder, seawater pouring down her long, black hair. “This is where I was born. My people live out there—”sShe pointed out to sea. “—on an island in this bay. You cannot see it now, but when the morning comes, I will bring a boat and take you there.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “You must have been in Alt Clud. Did Irwyn and Tegid tell you I was here?”
Taliesin shook his head, growing ever more confused. “No, I’ve not been in Alt Clud at all.”
Ula scrunched her face in confusion. “Then, how did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I came here searching for Arhianna.” Taliesin paused a moment, struggling to put the pieces together. Then, as an owl senses the slightest change in the air around it, he felt Cerridwen’s hand at work. This would not be the first time.
Ula wrinkled her brow. “Why would Arhianna be here?”
He pointed toward the fortress atop the mountain, its looming silhouette defined by the moon rising behind it. “She’s up there—with Scáthach.”
Ula’s eyes widened in shock. “She is in the blood house?”
Taliesin studied the windows in the sea-facing wall of the grey fortress. Some had firelight emanating from them. He wondered which one belonged to Arhianna. “Yes.”
Ula shook her head. “No, no. This is bad. The daughter of Bran likes to laugh. There is no laughter in the blood house.” She looked up at the mountain with wide eyes. “She is not like the women who live up there. Not at all.”
“Is there a way into the mountain from the sea?”
Ula raised her brows. “A way in?” She shook her head. “Oh, no. You cannot go up there! You are a bard, my son—not a warrior.”
Taliesin ignored her warning. “But I must go in. I have to find her. If you can’t help me, that’s fine. I’ll find a way in myself.”
Ula took another look at the fortress and paused, her brow wrinkled with concern. After a moment, she let out a sigh of defeat. “I know someone who can show you the way in, if you must go.”
Taliesin wrapped his arms around her again. “Thank you, Mother. I’ve missed you.”
Ula held him tightly and then looked up into his eyes. “Sleep now, Sea Child. I will return tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
Ula returned as promised, rowing a boat to shore soon after dawn the next morning. Taliesin fed Chrysgod and the dogs and collected his belongings. “Take care of each other,” he commanded. “I’m not certain when I’ll be back.” He left them all untethered, so that they might roam as they wished and find fresh water.
“I will send someone to look after them,” Ula said as he got into the boat. Taliesin took up the oars and rowed into the surf. “Is that it?” he asked, inclining his brow toward a large island a few miles offshore.
“Yes.” Ula smiled.
Taliesin glanced up at the fortress as the current turned the boat sideways. It looked especially grim in the grey, half-light of morning, its black eyes and flat, joyless face staring out to sea like an old widow.
The sea was in a languid, calmer mood that morning, like a woman who had been well satisfied by her husband the night before. She did not fight his oars as he rowed. Soon, they approached their destination.
Taliesin saw several seals reclining on its rocks and beaches. Eager to meet his mother’s people, he leapt out of the boat as they neared shore, dragging it by the bow and sliding it up on the pebble beach. The water gripped his legs and ankles in an icy vice, chilling him to his marrow, but Ula did not even flinch. He smiled at her strength as they pulled the boat the rest of the way up and tossed the oars into it.
“Come.” Ula led him up the beach to a rocky path. It passed through hedgerows of brush and stubby trees, their limbs stunted and blown bare from the wind. The walk was easy, but he soon felt winded. Rowing them there had taken what little strength he had regained, but he ignored the protests of his body, putting one foot in front of the other until he smelled smoke. He looked up and soon saw its source—a firepit, surrounded by several dome-shaped huts made entirely of driftwood. Each unique piece fit within the others in such a way that no rope or nails were necessary to hold the structures up. They looked like giant eagle nests turned upside down.
A young man stood in the doorway of one of the huts, watching them approach. He was tall, with a mane of long, dark hair and brown eyes that reminded him of Chrysgod. Once their eyes met, he did not blink or look away.
Ula put her hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Sea Child, this is your brother.”
Taliesin felt confused, wondering if she had applied the title in a literal or figurative sense. “What do you mean, he’s my brother?”
“He is my son. Elffin is his father. I am sorry, but he does not speak your tongue very well.”
The shock sunk in as Taliesin regarded the young man more closely. He was about his age. He had Ula’s dark eyes, skin and hair—that could not be disputed—but Elffin had granted him his long limbs and height. There was also something of him in the shape of his mouth, jaw and cheekbones. “When did this happen?”
“When you were a small child. It is why I had to leave. Your father does not know. I have never told him.”
Taliesin felt as if she had just slipped a dagger in his back. He shook his head, as if he could toss the words back out of his ears.
“But why? Why would you keep this from him? He loved you so much…” He felt his throat constrict. “Do you have any idea how much he loved you
?” Or how much I loved you? Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep by the beach, calling for you?
He had not thought of that time of his life for many years. Her abandonment of him had driven him to the Oak. She had become his new mother, helping him through his sorrow. But now, the Oak was not there. Islwyn was not there. Nimue had betrayed him. Arhianna had forgotten him. And now, this. I can love no one—trust no one. His grief, now unchecked, overflowed its banks. He could not stop the tempest from coming forth. “You left us, with no warning—as if we meant nothing to you! My poor father still weeps for you. How could you keep this from him? He would have loved your son as much as he loved me—perhaps more!” Taliesin felt every round dark eye in the village trained on him and could not abide it. I will not weep. Not here. Not in front of them. He stormed back to the boat and shoved it into the water, anger and tears fighting for dominance, like rain and lightning in a storm. He jumped in and rowed back across the sea.
He did not look back.
No one is to be trusted. Not the gods. Not men. And certainly, not women. There is only my daughter now. She’s all that matters. And no one is going to take her from me.
“Do you hear me?” He bellowed, his voice penetrating both sea and sky. “No one!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Outside the Walls
Lucia did not find Viviaine in her chambers. After a bit of searching, she discovered from the stable boy she had gone out riding.
“Saddle my horse,” she demanded of him.
He hesitated a moment. “Will Lord Bran be joining you, my lady?”
‘He will not, and I’m in a hurry,” she quipped.
The boy looked at the ground. “Right away, my lady.”
She sighed. I must get ahold of my temper if I’m to see this through.
She rode back out of the gates she had been so eager to see but an hour before and addressed the guards. “Where has the Lady Viviaine gone riding?”
