Legend of the Lakes

by Clara O'Connor

  I was due at Keswick and left while they were shown to their rooms, returning some days later when obliged to for the feast. Callum and I were late, and we saw that bonfires were lighting the countryside as we made our way back for the main festivities at the castle.

  I changed quickly out of the practical clothes I wore – boots and tweed trousers, with a woollen wrap tied with a Celtic brooch. They suited my life better than the fancy clothes that Rion had provided. Oban helped me into whatever he deemed appropriate, clucking over the dark circles under my eyes and dabbing colour on my cheeks. I discovered that the meal had already begun when I arrived, though thankfully I was not the last as some seats at the head table remained empty. I chose an empty place between Bronwyn and Rhodri, who looked up in surprise.

  “My lady,” he said, his head bowing deeply.

  “My lord Rhodri,” I nodded back. His gaze rested on my plate then looked at the empty seat past Gideon on his other side. “Perhaps it is right.”

  “What is right?” I asked as I ladled some of the steaming rich stew onto my plate.

  “That his seat be by the York pup,” Rhodri explained, or at least I suppose he thought he did. I knew well enough that the York pup referred to Gideon. Rhodri had never hidden his disdain for Gideon’s parentage.

  “Whose seat?” I asked, bewildered.

  “We lay extra seats tonight,” Bronwyn said softly in my ear as Rhodri resumed his meal. “For the dead.”

  I looked about the hall, noting that a large number of extra places had been set.

  The same was true of our own table. Two seats of honour beside Rion – for my mother and father, and on the other side another place waited for me I realised belatedly. And I had sat here beside Rhodri, relegating Devyn to the other side of Gideon. I blanched at my error. I had unknowingly put Devyn in a seat lower at the table than Gideon.

  The tall warrior on the other side of Rhodri was rigid, not acknowledging his awareness of the conversation beside him but not unaware either. He started to push his chair back, and the trembling hand of the older man came down, preventing him from switching seats.

  “It is right,” Rhodri repeated to the new Griffin. “You are not in his place.”

  Even my eyes were drawn to Gideon at that, as Rhodri had unknowingly rescinded the words I had thrown at him in my grief. Gideon’s face didn’t change, but the tension in him seemed to ease.

  I felt dizzy, remote, struggling with my fatigue as I endured the multiple courses until I could excuse myself from the noise and brightness. I let the evening drift by me.

  “My bond was such that I could only sense when she was in danger, which happened but once in her life, and I could do nothing,” Rhodri was saying. “Some Griffins had great strength, others were fast or clever. Each is different.”

  “How did they know they were the Griffin?” I heard Gideon ask. Apparently at some point during the meal – or over the last few days – they had found better terms.

  “Most realise in their teenage years,” Rhodri explained. “My uncle, Ian, didn’t discover it until he was in his twenties, as the lady he served was much younger than him. He was a great archer, my uncle. In lean times he kept the household’s larders stocked high with game. But the Griffin is always the best warrior in the land.”

  “I was already the best warrior,” Gideon said, his voice not boastful, just a statement of fact.

  “Your gifts will come, boy,” Rhodri continued. “The gifts are particular to the need. You are called to serve your lady, and as her needs are so shall your gifts be.”

  “I don’t feel any different,” Gideon said lowly. “Perhaps it did not truly transfer. I am not a Glyndŵr – maybe there is no Griffin.”

  I felt lightheaded. I had been angry that Gideon had been made Griffin, as if he had stolen it from Devyn, but the thought that there was no Griffin, that the line had died with Devyn, sent a cold shiver through me.

  “If the gift had not transferred, Cass’s place setting would have remained empty tonight,” Bronwyn said, her voice low but filled with gratitude. A place had been laid for me, I realised; at every feast in all the years they had thought me dead, they had sat here with an empty chair for me even as I lived the life I had believed was mine as a citizen of the Roman Empire. I found some appetite and nibbled at a slice of the traditional Samhain apple cake in front of me, savouring the flavour.

  “What were Devyn’s gifts?” Rhodri asked, turning to me. He chose not to dwell on this moment, aware in a way that Gideon hadn’t been that I had started to listen to their conversation. So often I felt too tired to partake in conversation and the endless chatter washed over me, but I smiled down at the empty seat beside Gideon. Devyn had never had the chance to tell his father this, I realised.

  “He was able to appear other than himself,” I said, recalling the insignificant boy who had sat in my classes. “When I first knew him you wouldn’t give him a second glance; he was so unnoticeable that you would forget him as soon as he passed by.”

  “Devyn?” came Bronwyn’s incredulous voice from the other side of me.

  I smiled. “Oh yes, you knew him as he really was. Devyn Agrestis – as I knew him – looked like a strong gust of wind would knock him over. I started to see through it, realised he felt stronger, more muscular to the touch, than my sight relayed; there was something I couldn’t quite figure out. When I took his tech, and he came after me, he was so intense, a force of nature. I couldn’t understand how everyone didn’t see him as I did. It drove me crazy. Sometimes he seemed like this weedy boy and then at others he was so much more.” I laughed. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “A glamour?” Bronwyn asked.

  I considered. Callum had explained glamours – something about using air to create an illusion.

  “No, it was more than just looking different. He was muted – it was like he could turn himself almost invisible, like he could will people to overlook him. He could be in the middle of a crowded street, and people would step around him, but it was like they didn’t even see him there.”

  “A useful gift for a Briton living in Londinium,” Rhodri observed.

  “Yes, I suppose so. He was also exceptionally gifted at technology, which didn’t hurt either, allowing him to fund himself and to look for me in the records,” I said, wracking my brain for other talents that could conceivably belong to the Griffin.

  “Did you share the bond Rhodri was describing?” Bronwyn asked.

  “For years, there was nothing. Devyn was pretty convinced that I couldn’t be the girl he was looking for because he couldn’t sense my emotions at all. We aren’t sure why, but I was being given medication that suppressed my connection, so that could explain it. I had no magic at all during the years he watched over me.”

  “It is the one gift that is more or less standard amongst the Griffin’s talents,” Rhodri’s tremulous voice agreed, a twinkle lighting in his eye as Bronwyn asked the inevitable question.

  “How did he finally realise it was you, that you were actually the Lady of the Lake, the girl he was seeking?”

  “I stopped taking the pills the city gave me to suppress my abilities and one day it just happened.” I quickly glossed over the how. “It was a shock. We could sense each other’s every emotion. Our bond was so strong that it was even able to override the handfast cuff compulsion when we were together.”

  “What do you mean it just happened?” Bronwyn hooked on the one piece of information I had hoped would not draw further attention.

  The heat came all the way up from my feet. By the time it reached my cheeks I must have been glowing like a beacon.

  “Oh,” Bronwyn said, figuring it out for herself and letting loose a whoop followed by a cackle of filthy laughter.

  The sound of Gideon’s chair scraping back was the only noise that broke across her laughter as she doubled over. I failed to meet Devyn’s father’s eyes as he patted my arm and I could hear him begin to wheezily chuckle too. When I fi
nally managed to look up over my heated cheeks, Gideon was gone.

  “Is he not adjusting well to being the Griffin?” Bronwyn asked as we watched him stride from the hall. I lifted my shoulders wearily. I had no idea, and had not given it any real thought.

  “What news from Conwy? And Londinium?” I asked them, actually curious. Perhaps Callum was right in his constant nagging that I should eat better, socialise more; I felt somewhat restored after the long meal.

  “Conwy readies itself for war. Representatives arrive for a war council that meets once a month. We share information, discuss the preparations,” Rhodri said. I raised an eyebrow at this.

  Rhodri glanced at Rion before lowering his voice. “Once they learned of the bound vow… I am not forgiven, but I am tolerated.”

  I nodded, giving him a small smile. I was glad for him. He had lived a half-life for decades.

  “And from the Imperial Province? They have not attacked?”

  “No,” Bronwyn confirmed. “York has some word that there has been a change of leadership in Londinium. He reckons that once that has settled and the new governor has bedded in, then they will come.”

  “And we will be ready,” Rion interjected from across the empty places where our parents should be.

  As promised, Bronwyn and Rhodri left the next day. Absently I wondered at Bronwyn’s departure as she said her goodbyes, recalling belatedly that she and Rion should have married long since, before Féile was born even. Had that not happened? Before I could ask, Devyn’s father embraced me in farewell and the moment was gone.

  “Will you come again?” I asked.

  His lips twisted, his gaze going to Gideon who had brought Féile down to bid her grandfather farewell.

  “I hope so. I should like to see the child grow.”

  “I’m glad you came to see her,” I said, realising that I was glad. I should probably have made an effort to bring her down to Dinas Brân, or promise to do so again but there was so much to be done at the circles I wasn’t sure I would be able to leave for the amount of time it would require to take her there and back. Perhaps Gideon could take her.

  “My heart is full of her,” he said. “In her Devyn lives on.”

  He cast an assessing look at the man who held her.

  “The York pup cares for her,” he said, “and for you. It does my heart good to see. When I meet with Devyn again, I will tell him you are well cared for. I will tell him that his last act, his choice in Griffin, was well done.”

  I cast my mind back. Had Devyn chosen Gideon? I had been half out of my mind. I recalled little of it. He was right though. Féile was well cared for by the dark warrior. As for how Gideon regarded me, if Rhodri saw something there that made him believe I was cared for then who was I to gainsay him.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Rhodri placed his hand on my arm. “So like your mother. I don’t know how I missed it.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. I’d had the impression that Rion was the one who took after our mother.

  “You have her determination, her stubbornness,” he remarked. “You work hard on the lines – I think too hard. Do not give the land everything, or you will have nothing worth holding on for.”

  My eyebrows creased at his cryptic, typically Celtic advice.

  “The ley line needs me,” I reminded him.

  “That’s what your mother said.” His eyes were haunted.

  “That’s why you went to the borders?” I asked. I had meant to ask before – the question had bothered me for some time – but I had almost forgotten to ask him now that he was here in front of me.

  “Yes, she believed that the growing corruption came from a node in the ley that runs under Londinium, that if she could just resolve it…” He smiled sadly. “But we never made it that far.”

  “She was going to Londinium,” I echoed in surprise. “But it was outside of renewal time – they would never have let her in.”

  “We had a pass; they knew we were coming.”

  “Then, why?” I saw again the sentinels coming for her. Riding her down.

  “I have asked myself the same question more times than I have drawn breath since that day.” His eyes were damp as they locked with mine. “Maybe they didn’t want it healed, maybe the folk we dealt with were betrayed. Maybe you were their target all along.”

  “Cass, it’s cold. You must let Rhodri go,” Callum said gently from behind me. “Say goodbye.”

  Autumn faded and became winter, the hills and mountains reflecting the sun as the world I travelled in order to sing to the lines turned white with snow. Another feast, with ivy, holly, and berries this time. There was even a delivery of mistletoe that Rion cold stored, because the need in the country had declined.

  Despite her position as High Druid at Glastonbury, Fidelma attended the winter solstice at Keswick, and after we had tended the line came back to Carlisle for the Yuletide festivities. She had helped, so I did not have to take the full brunt of the tide change myself. The winter solstice rite had been early in the morning, so there was plenty of time to attend the evening banquet, though as tired as I was I planned not to stay for the dancing, which could go on all night. Unlike a winter party in Londinium, there were no concerns here for transport across the city. Celtic celebrations, I had learned, were considered a failure if they ended before the sun rose.

  Gideon followed me as I attempted to slip away after the meal. I had seen more of him in the last few days than in previous weeks, obliged as I was to attend the festivities.

  I occasionally saw him around the castle, always with the child. There she was now, in his arms, as he stepped in front of me.

  I had long since moved out of the nursery and into my own rooms. Working with the ley lines was exhausting, and I needed my rest; there were many others all too willing to provide care for the next Lady of the Lake.

  Gideon’s face was carefully blank as he greeted me.

  “I would like to speak with you, my lady,” he said formally.

  I drew in a deep breath. I knew what was coming, had felt his reproachful eyes following me in recent weeks.

  “Do we have to do this now?” I asked, fatigue setting in.

  “You are seldom here these days, and I would like to take the opportunity while you are.”

  He stepped to the side and opened a door that led to a small parlour where guests waited before meeting their king. I stepped through the door ahead of him, walking as far as the hearth before turning to face him.

  He seemed to hesitate before starting to speak, choosing his words with care. “Cat, I’ve no wish to fight with you. I am aware you allow me access to your daughter when you do not care for my presence.”

  I gazed at him steadily, recalling the words I had flung at him in my anger and grief in Conwy. I shrugged – it seemed so far away now.

  He seemed to struggle to find his next words before finally blurting. “Do you care for her?”

  “Who?”

  “Féile.”

  “Of course.” I gave him a small smile to accompany my words. Of course I did; I remembered the swell of emotion I had felt when she was born. The memory of it was still strong.

  “When was the last time you touched her? Held her?” he asked, still in that same careful tone.

  I thought back over the last days, weeks. I had been busy – in Keswick and before that at Penrith. I had little energy, and what I did have was needed to heal the land and hone my own skills. When I was here in Carlisle, I focussed on restoring that energy, on eating, sleeping, and studying.

  “I may not be with her,” I defended, “but I am doing this for her.”

  “I understand, but she is so young. She needs her mother.”

  “There are plenty of people to take care of her.”

  “They are not her mother,” he said through gritted teeth, losing some of that studied calm.

  “You are not her father,” I flung at him. Who was he to say such things to me?

 
“Not husband. Not Griffin. Now, not father. That may be. But there is little evidence that you are her mother,” he lashed back, his eyes dark with anger. They flashed to the door as it opened.

  Fidelma entered with Rion following close behind.

  “What is this?” Rion surveyed the scene, the pulse of Gideon’s anger pervading the entire room, causing the child to stir in his arms. Rion gently transferred the bundle into his own arms with a quelling look when Gideon went to protest.

  “Gideon tells me I need to be a better parent,” I offered casually when no explanation was forthcoming from my accuser.

  “The Lady of the Lake has a higher duty,” Fidelma countered immediately.

  Gideon levelled a dark, narrow-eyed gaze at the older woman who, I recalled, he did not like or trust.

  “A child should have a mother,” he said flatly.

  “Not every mother has the luxury of being with her child as much as she would wish,” Fidelma said. “Cassandra has the ability to heal the leys lines. You’ve seen for yourself the impact she has had on the land in just a few months.”

  “At what cost?” Gideon countered.

  “Cost?” Fidelma’s brows raised almost to her hairline. “The child is well cared for.”

  “What would you know of raising a child, druid?” he challenged.

  “This is so much bigger than the needs of one small child,” she dismissed, in a tone that nonetheless told of her sorrow for Féile. “It is vital that Cassandra trains and tends the songline. She is so late in starting and the lines are in dire need of her – you’ve seen the harvest, it’s the best we’ve had in years. Not just here in Mercia, but in Anglia, Cymru, even Kernow. How many children are better off because of her actions?”

  “The improvement has been incredible in the short time since the lady has returned,” Rion concurred. “The lines are recovering, and once they are more stable, perhaps a better balance can be found. In the meantime, we are all here to help with Féile.”