Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  So forceful was Scáthach’s voice that Arhianna held up her daughter, sobbing.

  Scáthach took the child. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but, I promise, you have done the right thing. One day, you will realize that. Now, go up into the mountain. Walk until you can walk no further. And do not regret this day. You have given your child the best chance of life she can ever hope to have.”

  ***

  Taliesin had run after the hounds along the beach, listening for Arhianna’s wails on the wind, but they had stopped. They had definitely come from the direction of the mountain, but he could not tell from where. He could not wait for Ula to return. He ran back to where he had left the rowboat and dragged it into the surf, intending to find the grotto Gawyr had mentioned.

  He had rowed out to the rock outcropping and attempted to get the boat around it, but the waves kept smashing it up into the rocks. It was an old boat, not meant for such abuse, and soon the bottom cracked, and the little craft began taking on water.

  Then, he had heard it again—Arhianna’s wail. He maneuvered his boat in its direction and rowed with all his might, hoping to gain some distance before the boat sank. He rowed around a steep wall of sharp, slick stones he dared not climb, hoping he would find the terrain friendlier on the other side. He braced his oar against the rocks to try and save his boat from further abuse, but it was no use. A large wave at last bashed the little craft against the rocks and split it apart, dumping him like a sack of wet grain into the icy sea.

  He swam with all the strength around the wall to the other side, until he found a narrow strip of rock he could climb up on and work his way in. There, he stopped and braced himself against every wave, working his way toward the dark mouth of the grotto. He could see it over the bobbing level of the water as it ebbed and flowed over the rocks. It was precarious and difficult to navigate around the formations, but he was determined and quick, able to sense the mind of the water before it changed direction on him. He realized if he had waited for high tide, it would have been much easier to swim the passage. It would not be long before the tide rose, but he could not wait for it. He had been patient, making no foolish moves, until he at last made it past the point where the waves could reach him.

  Now, he found himself panting in a sheltered cove, surrounded completely by high rock formations. The passage he had taken seemed to be the only one in. The rocks, though treacherous from the outside, harbored calm and protected waters within. He swam for the grotto.

  When he surfaced, he saw Ula’s son standing above him on a rocky ledge, peering down at him. “Why did you not wait for us?” he scolded. He reached down and grabbed Taliesin’s arms, lifting him out of the water and dragging him over the lip of the ledge.

  Taliesin scrambled to his feet. After wiping the water from his face, he noticed there was someone else in the grotto, but it was not Ula. Stunned by her height and muscular stature, he would have sworn it was Uathach, but this woman had a mane of hair and no scar across her face.

  “I am Scáthach. You stand in the grotto of my fortress.”

  Taliesin bowed his head before addressing her. “Queen Scáthach, it is an honor to be in your presence,” he stammered, teeth chattering from his time in the bone-chilling sea. He did his best to control the spasms. “I’ve come all the way from Caer Leon seeking a woman named Arhianna, who I was told is living with you. I must speak with her.”

  “That is quite a long journey,” Scáthach agreed. “I’m very sorry you have made it in vain. The woman you speak of does live among us, but I am afraid you cannot speak with her. She has begun her training.”

  Taliesin shook his head. “You don’t understand—I must speak with her.”

  Scáthach shook her head. “Once an apprentice begins her training, she cannot speak to anyone outside of Dun Scáthach until it is completed.”

  “No, you must be mistaken—the woman I’m looking for has just given birth to a babe, or soon will be...She could not possibly be training with you.”

  Scáthach raised her brows. “Why do you say that? What could be better training for the rigors of battle than childbirth? She has given birth, as you say, and has now begun the training she came here for. In truth, she began it the moment she chose to follow me, but that does not concern you.”

  Taliesin stared at Scáthach in disbelief, feeling as if he were being buried alive once more. “You don’t understand.” He shook his head, growing desperate, clawing for words that might help him. “I must see her.”

  Scáthach moved closer, towering over him like a Roman statue. “In truth, Taliesin, you shall not see her again for many years. Her path no longer runs beside yours. I am sorry for the pain this will cause you, but this is what is written in the stars. I can offer you this as comfort—she will become more powerful than she ever believed possible, and her power will help thousands. And though she will know great sorrow, she will never regret her decision to stay and train with me. Her destiny is great, and her daughter’s, even greater.”

  Taliesin felt as if the cave were crumbling down around him. “You don’t understand—she’s my daughter, too!”

  A moment later, he heard Ula’s voice emerge from the darkness of the grotto. “Sea Child?” She came forward, holding a bundle wrapped in furs.

  Scáthach motioned toward Ula. “Then you must know the Daoine Sídhe seek her. I have arranged for her to be raised by the selkies, where she will be safe and well-cared for. The Daoine Sídhe dare not trespass on their territory.” She looked Taliesin up and down. “They know you are the father. Did you know they’ve been following you? They’re surely waiting for you right now, beyond this cove. So my advice to you is to let the selkies raise her. She will be safe with them. If you take her with you, they will surely come and snatch her in the night and you shall never see her again—nor will her mother, who will never forgive you for it. So don’t be a fool. Take my advice, and go in peace.” Scáthach turned to leave.

  “Wait—please,” Taliesin cried one last time. “I was traveling with a companion—a giant…” He hesitated a moment, not certain whether he could withstand hearing what might be more bad news.

  Scáthach took pity on him. “Gawyr has proven his worth, as Arhianna has, but he insisted on seeing you safely back to Rheged before he begins his training. An oath is sacred, so I have agreed to his request. He will come for you tonight.”

  The relief of Gawyr’s success gave Taliesin hope. “Please, I must see Arhianna—just for a moment. I’ve been searching for her for moons. If I could just have one moment…”

  Scáthach looked at him, unblinking. “No.” She turned and walked back into the cave, until the darkness swallowed her.

  Taliesin nearly ran after her, but felt Ula’s arm squeeze his with terrible force. “No. Sea Child, please—do not defy her.”

  When he turned around, he saw Ula’s son standing in a boat tied to a spike in the grotto wall. “We must go now.” Ula stepped lightly into the craft with perfect balance, in spite of the bundle in her arms. Taliesin, seeing no other choice, stepped in after her, albeit not as gracefully. Ula’s son rowed them out of the grotto, the high tide making it a much smoother journey out than it had been coming in.

  Ula looked at Taliesin. “Why did you not tell me you and Bran’s daughter lay together?”

  Taliesin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t remember. Or doesn’t care. It may as well have never happened.”

  After they were out of the rougher water, Ula pulled back a corner of the fur to reveal a round, white face. She offered the child to him, but he did not take her.

  “You don’t want to hold her?”

  Taliesin hesitated a moment, afraid to behold the face of a child he could not protect. Of what use are songs and poems to her? I should have done as Gareth did—learned to swing a sword and axe, to shoot arrows and cut a man from balls to brains with a dagger. But I didn’t. I “maul” a harp, as Gawyr once said. That’s all I’m good for. Now, I’ve
lost everything. Arhianna lives in a cold mountain, and my daughter is destined to be raised by selkies.

  He did not take his daughter in his arms. He could not bear to look at her.

  ***

  They reached the island, and Ula’s son jumped out of the boat and guided it smoothly up on the shore. Ula stepped out of the boat as lightly as she had jumped in. “Come.”

  Taliesin followed them into the village, watching as the others converged around them, anxious to see the bundle Ula held in her arms. Sounds of delight filled the air as they looked down at the face of the babe. Though no words were spoken, smiles and laughter spread to all who beheld her.

  The sun set not long after, and the stars came out. The villagers lit a fire and cooked some fish for him, especially for him, for they preferred it raw, but he would not eat.

  At last, Ula walked up to him and held the babe out. “Take her,” she demanded, eyes unblinking and voice firm. “Or you truly are a coward.”

  His mother’s words stung because they were true. He sighed in defeat. She’s right. He had softened since leaving the grotto. He took his daughter in his arms and looked upon her at last.

  Ula gave him an approving nod. “She has your mouth. And your long fingers. She shall play the harp like you one day.”

  I hope she does more than that, he thought. He gazed into his daughter’s grey eyes for the first time. They were flecked with the colors of autumn lichen and violets, leading him into her enormous black pupils. Out of their darkness, something came to him—the memory of Cerridwen’s words. When your daughter is born, give her to the sea, where none can hear her cry. There, I can protect her, as I protected you. Also, like you, she must be fostered. Let her grow to womanhood beneath the dragon’s wing, in plain sight of her betrayers. They shall be blinded by her nearness, and not know her. There, she will be safe from the eyes of the hollow hills. Teach her all you know. Then, when she comes of age, she will be initiated and learn my ways.

  Beneath the dragon’s wing, in plain sight of her betrayers. “Mother, you must find the Ceffyl Dŵr and take her to Caer Leon.”

  Ula furrowed her brow and shook her head. “The Ceffyl Dŵr is surely gone by now. Besides, she is to remain here, as Scáthach commanded, close to her mother.”

  “No, she’s not safe here.” Taliesin glanced around, lowering his voice. “Listen to me—how do we know Scáthach isn’t doing the Daoine Sídhe’s bidding? What if she’s already told Finbheara’s spies she’s here? What if they come for her tonight?” The more Taliesin thought of it, the more suspicious he became. He trusted no one anymore.

  “Think a moment—Scáthach can’t train a woman with a child. And Arhianna is a Firebrand. Untrained or not, in Arhianna, Scáthach gains what any warlord would kill for. And perhaps she’s gained even more than that by bartering with my daughter. She openly admitted Finbheara’s spies are crawling through this land—they’ll be looking for newborn babes.” Taliesin looked down at his daughter’s stunning eyes. “It’s clear she’s no selkie.” He felt a jolt of fear. “We must get her to Caer Leon. She must be raised by the Pendragon.”

  Ula looked as if she were in pain. “But why would Uthyr take her in? Uthyr’s queen will soon give him a child of his own.”

  “He would do it for me if I asked him, but he can never know she’s mine. The words can never be uttered. Myrthin would deliver her to Finbheara before she ever slept a single night in her crib.”

  Ula threw her hands up. “So we deliver her as an orphan to his gates?”

  Taliesin realized in that moment what must be done, as if the revelation had bubbled up out of Cerridwen’s cauldron directly into his mind. “No. Not an orphan. He must believe she is his. Everyone must believe she is his.”

  Ula stared at him, uncomprehending. “But how?”

  As if to test them all, Morrigan began to fuss. Taliesin looked around with furtive glances, as if the stones and trees had suddenly become his enemies.

  Ula leaned in. “Can she breathe underwater, as you could?”

  There was only one way to find out. Ignoring Ula’s protests, Taliesin took his daughter to the sea and submerged her. She did not convulse except from the cold, and then looked around in wonder, kicking her little legs and arms. Taliesin smiled, lifted her out of the water and held her close. She shivered and began to cry. He kissed her forehead and wrapped her back up in the fur.

  Ula glanced up at the fortress. “You may be right. We don’t call that place the blood house for nothing. Scáthach is not known for her charity.” She reached over and stroked Morrigan’s tiny head.

  “No one can know she exists,” Taliesin whispered. “No one. Not Tegid, not Bran, not Lucia…no one but you and me.”

  “Then there is only one way to get her to Caer Leon without anyone knowing she exists,” Ula concluded. “I’ll put her inside my skin and swim her there. The Daoine Sídhe have no spies beneath the waves.”

  Taliesin nodded and handed her to Ula. “I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  Ula’s son approached and seemed to ask her a question. She spoke to him in a strange series of sounds Taliesin could not understand and then turned back to him. “He says he will make certain you find your friend.”

  Taliesin nodded. “Does he have a name?”

  Ula turned her palms up. “Not one you can pronounce, but it means wept over.”

  Taliesin imagined his brother had indeed been wept over. “We also have such a name,” he told her. “Arvel.”

  “Arvel,” she whispered.

  Taliesin saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears and embraced her. “Please be careful. I would not ask if I thought there was another way.” He held his daughter close, kissed her forehead and gave her to Ula.

  Ula took the child and smiled at him. “We’ll be fine. I’ve swum these waters for many years.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Until we meet again, Sea Child.” She waded into the sea, babe and skin in arms, and dove in. A few moments later, a seal’s head resurfaced.

  Taliesin waded into the water up to his knees and cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll be there, waiting for you, where the Usk flows into the sea.”

  Ula could not answer, but looked at him in a way that assured him she had understood. She disappeared, leaving him standing on the cold shore staring at the surface of the water, alone, except for the wept-over brother he never knew he had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Return to Rheged

  Taliesin did not know how long he had stood on the shore of the strange selkie island, staring at the water, before he felt Arvel’s hand upon his shoulder. It was nearly dark. That is all he knew for certain. The first night of my daughter’s life, and she is with neither mother nor father.

  Arvel pointed to the rowboat and motioned for Taliesin to get in. He did, noticing there was a spear and sealskin in the boat. Arvel jumped in behind him and took up the oars. He rowed for shore, staring at Taliesin without blinking. Taliesin wondered if he had eyelids at all.

  Night had fallen by the time they reached the shore, but the stars and moon were generous with their milky, silver light. The dogs came bounding from the camp to meet them, but it was not Taliesin they jumped around, begging for attention—it was Arvel. Taliesin’s stomach cringed from the rejection. He fought off a wave of self-pity, knowing it was childish to take offense, but in the moment, he found he could not help it. He strode off toward the camp and occupied himself with building a fire.

  Arvel barked and growled playfully like the dogs, leaping around the beach just as they were. Pebbles flew in all directions. He looked like one of the pack, his hair flying in the night. Even after Taliesin had prepared dinner and called to them, they were reluctant to leave Arvel’s side.

  Taliesin sat down by the fire in defeat and picked up the only thing he still loved that truly loved him back—his harp. He let his fingers graze her strings, taking solace in her calming whispers. I shall never leave you. Never cause you pain. Never betray you, s
he told him.

  Arvel came over and sat by the fire to listen. The dogs came and nestled in between the two of them. Taliesin sang them a song of the sea with a catchy refrain ending in a long “Ohhhhhhhhh!” that Arvel and the dogs all howled at. Arvel’s grin seemed to stretch wider with every verse. He inched closer to marvel at Taliesin’s fingers moving over the harp strings, staring at them in wonder. After the song finished, Arvel howled with approval and clapped for more. The dogs seemed just as eager.

  Taliesin pointed to his harp. “This is a harp.”

  Arvel looked at him with renewed interest, and Taliesin repeated the word.

  Arvel said something that sounded more like a bark, but it was close to the sound of the word harp, so Taliesin nodded and smiled. “Yes, HARP.”

  Arvel tried again, scooting even closer. Then again, and again, until he got it right. “My mother taught me man-talk. But not like this talk. Not these songs.”

  Taliesin proceeded to teach him a few more words, until the dogs jumped up and began to bark in earnest. They were not playing this time.

  He and Arvel grabbed their spears and stood up, ready for a fight. Taliesin moved away from the firelight so he could see who, or what, approached. It took him only a moment to recognize the large dark outline of his late companion’s enormous head and shoulders. He threw down his spear. “Gawyr!”