Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  “What kind of love is that?” She ventured closer, locking eyes with him. “Mercy,” she whispered under her breath. “It’s mercy, I swear to you. Your poor daughter will never be happy if you keep her here in this horrible, cruel world.”

  Taliesin exploded. “That’s not for you to decide! She’s not your child! She’s mine.”

  Viviaine clenched her fists, her face twisting in defiance. “Tell me, what is here for her but sorrow? She was conceived within the hollow hills of the Sídhefolk, and, because of that, she will forever long for the soft, golden light of their world. She will be wild and free in spirit, able to do things other women cannot, and for this, she shall be called whore and witch and sorceress, because she shall never bend to their will or agree with their barbarous ways. All who know her will shun her, wondering why she is so different—why she weeps every night. All but you. You will know why—because you were greedy and selfish, and insisted on chaining her here, in this hateful bloody world of men who will never understand her!” Viviaine’s eyes flashed with fury and tears. She turned away and crumpled down on the sand, gathering her knees into her chest.

  Taliesin realized in that moment what his anger had blinded him from seeing. He stood upon the shore, mute and helpless, not knowing what to say or do. At last, he sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You were such a child, weren’t you?”

  She did not look up. “Please, forgive me, and come back—nothing else matters. Come back to Affalon.”

  Before he could answer, a voice hissed at them from out of the darkness. “He will not forgive you. Why should he?”

  Viviaine lurched around. “I told you not to follow me.”

  “Who’s that?” Taliesin demanded.

  Maelwys moved closer. “I’ve come to see my sister fulfills her promise and delivers your daughter to Knockma.”

  “Leave us!” Viviaine felt sick. She had learned enough about who her brother had become to know she could not control him. “I do no one’s bidding.”

  Maelwys grinned. “What’s she told you? Not the truth, I’ll wager. Not the truth that she made a deal with Finbheara to give him your child in exchange for his help in stealing your body from Gwythno and delivering it to Ynys Wydryn. Something tells me she hasn’t shared that with you.”

  Viviaine could say nothing. All the words she had rehearsed would do her no good now, and she knew it.

  Taliesin stood up and moved toward Maelwys. “My daughter is safe—safe from that scheming worm of a druid, safe from the Sídhefolk, and safe from the two of you. Tell fucking Finbheara and his bitch queen they will never have her.” He turned back to Viviaine, eyes racked with sorrow. “And you and Myrthin will have to answer for it. I suppose if you manage to survive their wrath, you can return to Affalon. If Arianrhod will still have you."

  She looked away, accepting her defeat. But not Maelwys. He grabbed Taliesin by the arm and yanked him around. “You will suffer for this, fool, as will all who call you friend—we shall wither their crops, replace all their babes with changelings, and send an army of rats to infest their grain stores!”

  Viviaine could not bear it. “Don’t you dare—I will kill you if you do.”

  He turned on her. “What?” he challenged, brows raised. “You? Kill me?” He shook his head, his mouth arched in a smug sneer. “You should have studied Myrthin’s magic while you had the chance, instead of singing and playing with animals and tending apple orchards. You’re no match for me. You can’t kill anything. You know it, and I know it.”

  “No, but I can.”

  Maelwys whipped around. Before Viviaine knew what was happening, she saw something black emerging through her brother’s ribcage. He threw his head back, mouth open, but no sound came out. She shuddered in fear, thinking he was transforming himself into some new kind of monster, until he fell backward into the sand, a black dagger sticking out of his chest.

  Taliesin stepped forward and pulled it out. “Go back to Affalon,” he whispered, hands shaking. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  He turned his back on her and walked away, leaving her standing on the beach, her dead brother at her feet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Three Sisters

  “You going to be alright?” Gawyr asked.

  Taliesin could not stop his hands from shaking. “I don’t know what came over me.” He could not tear his eyes away from the dagger in the sand, still sticky with blood.

  Gawyr nodded and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Damn Sídhe bastard threatened your child and all those you love. Men have been killed for far less than that. You ever kill anyone before?”

  Taliesin shook his head. He had not told Gawyr about Nimue, only the man he had killed. “The blade nearly leapt out for him—almost felt as if it were acting on its own.” He gestured at the monstrous sword hanging at Gawyr’s side and shuddered. “I’d hate to see what happens to any creature that thing goes into.”

  Gawyr gripped the hilt of Sídhebane. “Well, if there are as many of them crawling these lands as Scáthach seems to think, I’m afraid you will.”

  Taliesin nodded. “It’s clear traveling along the coast isn’t keeping them away, so I say we get back to the roads you know and make better use of our time. We’ll be in Alt Clud sooner. I’ll send Arvel home.”

  At the mention of his name, Arvel, who had appeared to be sleeping, turned and looked up at them.

  “You can go home tomorrow,” Taliesin said to him.

  Arvel squinted up at him in the firelight.

  Taliesin pointed back northward. “You can go back to your people.”

  Arvel shook his head and swatted a hand in his direction. “No. I stay.” He turned back around and went back to sleep.

  Gawyr raised his brows and shrugged. “Well, that settles that.” He glanced down at Taliesin’s sticky blade. “Go clean that blade and get some sleep.”

  But Taliesin could not shake the images from his head or rid his nostrils of the smell of Affalon. He felt uneasy with Straif at his side, as if it might leap from its sheath and open up his own chest, but he kept it there, just the same.

  That night, he dreamed of Nimue running through the apple grove. Her long white legs flashed out of her loose gown in the moonlight and she wore no shoes upon her slender feet. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hands and ankles were scratched and bleeding. She seemed like a woman possessed, blind to all but the unseen terror that pursued her. Just when he thought she would collapse from exhaustion, she reached the Willow where they had first met. She crawled beneath its canopy and curled up like a frond, sobbing beneath its swaying veil of greenery, her body wracked by silent, violent convulsions. When she regained her breath, she threw her chin up toward the moon and howled his name. The desperate tremor in her voice made his blood run cold.

  ***

  The next morning, the trio set off, with Gawyr in the lead. When Gawyr headed inland along the loch, Arvel stopped. “No, this way.”

  “No,” Taliesin replied. “We must go this way, toward the mountains. It’s faster.”

  Arvel looked at him, his brow furrowed over his giant, black eyes.

  “You can go home if you want to,” Taliesin offered. “You don’t have to come with us.”

  Arvel shook his head. “No—I must come and help you. I must show you the way.” His speech had improved over the past few days.

  Taliesin had an idea. “Arvel, do you know the Ceffyl Dŵr? The ship your mother sails on?”

  He nodded. “Yes. And I know Tegid the giant, and the dream of my heart, Creirwy. I want her.”

  Gawyr laughed out loud. “Dream of my heart?” He shook his head. “Where the hell’d you learn that, Arvel? Ha ha!” He looked over at Taliesin. “Quite a poet, that brother of yours.”

  Taliesin could not help but smile. He, too, felt charmed by Arvel’s choice of words. “All men want her, Arvel.”

  Arvel lifted his chin in defiance. “Yes, but I want her the most. I will f
ight for her and love her better.”

  Taliesin put his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Well, I have good news for you. You can go and see her. She is in Alt Clud, with Tegid the giant, on their ship. I need you to swim down there, as fast as you can, and find them. Tell them your mother is not coming, but I am coming, and not to leave Alt Clud without me. I must sail with them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I will tell them to wait for you. And see the dream of my heart.”

  “Yes, you get to see Creirwy.” Taliesin clapped him on the back.

  “But, how will you find the way?” Arvel asked, worry carving lines in his perfect brown skin.

  “I know the way,” Gawyr interrupted. “Don’t worry about us.”

  “Go, please—if they leave everything will be for nothing.” Taliesin gave him a nod of reassurance. “We’ll be fine.”

  At last, Arvel consented. “I will meet you there.” He unslung his sealskin from his shoulder and moved off toward the water, but then turned back around. “You must watch when the sun sleeps. That is when they come.”

  Taliesin felt a chill of dread snake through his veins as he recalled all that had happened the night before. “I know. We will be watching.”

  Arvel gave him a nod, turned, and took to the water with a swiftness that made Taliesin gasp.

  “Gods! He’ll definitely get there before we do,” Gawyr commented.

  They moved southeast, Gawyr in the lead, his immense dark form moving through the autumn grass with the rowboat in tow. Taliesin walked behind with the dogs, nearly running to keep up with Gawyr’s long strides.

  At midday, a new finger of the loch they had been traveling along came into view, pointing eastward. Gawyr smiled. “Now I know where we are. This way.”

  An hour or so passed. They reached a place where the land on both sides of the loch nearly met. “This is where we cross,” announced Gawyr. “I’ll swim it, you row.”

  They resumed their journey along the other side of the loch, moving east, for another hour, until they came to a river flowing from the south. “If we travel along this river, we should reach the three sisters before nightfall.”

  “The three sisters? Who are they?”

  Gawyr shook his head. “Not who—what. Three mountains. Plenty of caves. We’ll pass the night there, then keep on east. Land flattens out from there and we’ll make better time. If we get up just before dawn breaks and walk all day without stopping, we’ll be in Alt Clud two nights from now.”

  They moved upriver until the shadows grew long and the light began fading from the sky. “The days are getting so short,” Taliesin murmured.

  Gawyr scanned the sky. “They are. And bloody cold. Soon you won’t be able to get through the night without a fire. Your woman would be good to have along for that alone.”

  Taliesin did not want to think about “his woman.” Either one of them.

  They covered as much more ground as they could in the dying light, steering clear of any densely-wooded areas. It was not until they came to the edge of a wide bog that all three of the sisters came into view, wearing robes of the same ruddy hues as the dying autumn sun. Gawyr stopped to admire them. “Beautiful, aren’t they? I’ve been all over this glen. Walked every foot of its moors, slept in every cave, and climbed every peak. I lived here for years with only the three sisters to keep me company. Let’s hope they’re glad to see me.”

  He led the way around the deepest areas of the water, seeking out places sturdy enough to walk, but soon Taliesin was submerged up to his waist. Gawyr looked back at him and frowned. “It only gets deeper and trickier from here. You and the dogs get in the rowboat. I’ll drag you across. We’ll save time that way.”

  Taliesin climbed in and whistled to the dogs, who came running with wagging tails. They curled up in the bottom of the boat and closed their eyes. Gawyr hitched the rope around his waist and surged through the bog at twice the speed he had been going before. Taliesin realized that Gawyr’s natural pace was likely four times that of his own, and that he had been slowing down considerably to accommodate him. “Since you’re back there with two free hands, why don’t you pull that harp out and give us a song?” Gawyr called. “Something to keep my mind off my aching back.”

  “My pleasure.” Taliesin took up his harp and sang a song with a strong, steady beat, about a man who left his village to live alone. There were catchy verses about chopping his own wood, hauling his own water, hunting his own food, and the freedom of answering to no one. Gawyr seemed to like it, so Taliesin improvised verses to lengthen the song, until a sudden lurch of the boat nearly knocked the harp out of his hands.

  Gawyr cried out in pain. Taliesin could see he was crouching down, but could not make out the details of his face in the faint light. “What’s happened?”

  Gawyr unsheathed Sídhebane and cried out again, this time in wrath, and stabbed it into the bog. The dogs jumped out of the boat before Taliesin could stop them, leaping out to help Gawyr, but the bog swallowed them. They paddled against it, seeking something to latch onto.

  Taliesin leapt in after them. The muck sucked at his feet, and the water came up to his chest. Each step was a struggle. He reached Braith first, and clutched her in his arms, trying with all his might to keep his balance. He grabbed the rope from the boat and pulled it toward them, then heaved her back to safety. Griffin was further away. He’d had the foresight to drag the boat along with him, but Griffin yelped and disappeared beneath the water before he could reach him. Braith went mad, barking and pacing back and forth in the boat.

  Gawyr cried out again, then something black and covered with mud reared up out of the water. It gnashed and twisted in his grip, squealing in tones that sounded neither animal nor human. Braith exploded in a fit of furious, horrific barking.

  Taliesin pulled out his dagger, for Gawyr could not possibly run it through with Sídhebane from so close a distance. “Hold it still!” he cried. He yanked his feet out of the mud with all his strength, determined to kill the creature before Gawyr lost hold of it. He buried his blade into what looked like its chest. Hot, sticky liquid leaked out over his hand as the thing belched forth a gurgling death cry. Gawyr hurled it away with a growl of disgust, and Taliesin struggled back to where he had last seen Griffin. His throat choked as he felt for him beneath the water, but he found nothing but mud and grass. It was a mistake to come this way. It was a mistake. He let out a defeated cry of grief, unable to find the will to pull his feet from the bog. Useless. I’m useless! I can’t even protect a hound—how the hell will I ever be able to protect my daughter? Braith whimpered, peering over the side of the boat for her lost companion. Taliesin plunged his hands into the bog again, even though he knew by now Griffin must have drowned. His heart felt as if it had drowned along with him, deep down into the darkness of the bog.

  “Stop, Bard…He’s dead,” Gawyr said through labored breath, moving back toward him. He grabbed him by the waist, freeing his feet, and heaved him back into the boat, just as he had done with Braith. “We have to get the hell out of here.” Gawyr lunged ahead with such force Taliesin was thrown backwards.

  “What did it do to you?”

  “Made a meal of my leg. You can work your magic on it later—if we make it out of this place.”

  Gawyr used Sídhebane as a walking stick, stabbing it ahead of him, pulling on the boat with renewed vigor. Though it was less than an hour before they reached the other side, each minute felt like an eternity, both of them worried there might be more whatever-they-were lurking in the muck below them. At last, the earth solidified again. As soon as Gawyr’s lower legs emerged from the water, Taliesin jumped out and helped drag the boat to dry land.

  Gawyr collapsed to the ground. Taliesin cut his trouser leg and ripped it to the knee to have a look at his wound, but by now it was too dark to see anything. “We need to get a fire going. I can’t work without some light.”

  He looked over at Braith. She was still pacing, looking forlornly at the
surface of the bog. He went over and scratched her between the ears. “I’m so sorry, girl. Keep watch for us, eh?” She seemed to perk up at the prospect of a duty, and sat up, eyes trained on the bog. He bent down and kissed her head. “Good lass.”

  It took him awhile to find dry brush and wood, but he managed. Soon, they had both heat and light. “Now, let me take a look at that.” Gawyr turned his leg toward the light. The wound looked more like a blister or a burn than a bite. Taliesin touched the skin, perplexed. “Strange.”

  “Gods, what?” Gawyr craned his neck to have a look.

  “No puncture wounds. This looks more like a burn than a bite.” He opened his satchel and pulled out a jar of salve. Arianrhod’s feather was stuck to the side of it. Its silver edges glinted in the moonlight. Seeing it gave him an idea. He tucked it in his tunic and opened the jar.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mix of several things in deer tallow.”

  “Like what?”

  “Rosemary, lavender, mint, garlic, onion, queen’s jelly from bees—that’s the hardest one to get.” Taliesin scooped out a generous handful and rubbed it into the affected flesh.

  Gawyr gave a sigh of relief. “Feels better already.”

  Taliesin nodded. “Good. Let’s hope it works.” He put his medicine away. “The question now, is, what was it?”

  Gawyr grimaced. “No bloody idea. Wish I hadn’t thrown it back. Could have taken a better look at it.”

  The moon had risen, making it easier to see. The stars were reflected in the black patches of water, making them appear less ominous. Occasionally, one seemed to spark to life and float out over the bog like a tiny mysterious flame.

  “Will-o-the-Wisp,” Gawyr said. “Lead you to your doom.”

  Taliesin eyed the bog with suspicion. “I don’t like the idea of sleeping anywhere near that bog. Gods only know what else is in there.”

  “Me neither.” Gawyr struggled to his feet, groaning as he stood up. “Let’s put it behind us. I’d rather sleep somewhere I know. There’s a cave I used to call home about a mile from here. Much rather deal with what lives in the mountain than whatever’s lurking in that bog.” He picked up the rope attached to the boat and walked on, dragging it behind him. Taliesin followed in the wake it left in the grass. Braith walked so close to him he nearly stumbled over her from time to time. She looked scared and grieved, just as he was. He thought of Griffin and wanted to weep. The two had been raised together since birth, Urien had told him. He tried not to think about it, but he could not help it.