"Nothing would surprise me less," she replied; and Arthur sighed deeply, but said no word, and after a moment Tarian adroitly shifted the topic.
But the seed was sown.
Little more to tell of our time of preparation: That same fortnight we had given to those we had chosen for this questing was filled for us at Turusachan with the like cares and frantic doings. Gweniver had suddenly realized she would be apart from Arawn for perhaps months, if not longer, and was full of haverings and heartscaldings so that one would think Arthur could not care in her absence for their son, or even had had aught to do with him in the first place. Morgan, who though she loved Gerrans dearly had turned him over to his milk-mother and then to his fosterers with scarcely a backward glance, found this tiresome in the extreme, and was rather less patient than was her wont.
For the rest of us, it was, past the initial flurry and clamor, a quiet time, where we began to reflect on and to realize the huge import of the task we were about to undertake, and to prepare our spirits as well as our bodies to face it.
We were on point of setting out to reclaim one of the chief Treasures of our race, the lack of which bore greatly upon our physical well-being as well as on the peace of the Keltic world-spirit. Without the Pair, all healing would vanish utterly from Keltia, and that Seeing I had had so long since, in the wake of Cadarachta so long ago, come at last to be: the land laid waste, made waste; the dead land—and the dead King.
So I reflected; and came to see that I needed something more by way of making ready for this endeavor than the others seemed to need. Before dawn one morning, therefore, I rode quietly out of Caerdroia down to Mardale the spaceport, where I had ordered a small ship of the Royal Flight to be made ready for me; and dismissing the pilot I took the controls myself—and if you think that was not a hero’s feat you do not know how bone-deep went my fear of heights—and headed east like an arrow in the dark.
By the time I reached Mount Keltia the sun had still not yet tipped the peak’s double horns; but I knew my hours even so ran short. So, greatly daring, I breathed a prayer against the possible sacrilege of the thing and set the ship down on the very plateau that cupped Caer-na-gael, a safe distance away from the sacred stones.
The air struck clear and chill as I stepped from the ship; the grass—it was early autumn, after all—was brown and crisp with frost under my boots. I reached the dolmen gateway, and laying a hand upon the deosil pillar I cast my othersense about me. No need, even, for so much as that: The one I had come here to meet already awaited me at the circle’s heart.
Gwyn ap Nudd watched me gravely as I came toward him barefoot over the frozen turf. He said no word; and when I halted and made the reverence I ever made him when we did meet, I too was silent. He was Prince of the Sidhe; the first word was his to speak. And presently he spoke it.
"You are wondering why we did naught to keep you from falling into Marguessan’s hands, when you left Glenshee all those months since. And I think you are blaming us—me, even—for that we did not protect you our guest. Talyn?"
Now I would never in all my lifetimes, yet to be or past and done with, have laid the least littlest feather of blame upon the Shining Folk. They are not to be held to mortal standard, though sometimes I have thought that they, for reasons of their own, hold us to theirs… But Gwyn had just now named a thing I had indeed felt in my heart’s core, that I had not dared to name or admit even to myself, and he merited the truth in answer.
I rose from my reverence and looked him straight in the eye; and that too was a thing we were warned against… "Aye, lord," I said after a moment. "And aye again. My sorrow for it, but it is what I have felt, perhaps, sometimes. I have not spoken of it to any, not even Guenna. It seemed—not correct; either to speak so or to feel so."
Gwyn laughed, and though the sun had still not touched the circle I felt suddenly flooded by light and warmth together.
"And in despite of that you came here to seek me… We called this place Turusachan ourselves, once, you know, long time since."
I started violently at that small, seemingly offhand remark, though well I knew that the Sidhe did nothing offhand. Turusachan—the name Brendan had given to the palace hill that rises above Caerdroia—means simply ‘place of gathering, pilgrimage’s end.’ Even on Earth we had had sites named so, though not very many. Though the word had become ours by usage and linguistic shift, I knew from my bardic studies that it had not been Keltic in origin; but none even among the ollaves knew from what tongue it had come to us of old.
Yet though in the common tongue Turusachan signifies completion, in the bardic speech the word means ‘The First Place.’ Not journey’s end, but place of beginnings; first, not last. A paradox? Perhaps; but a unity also.
Gwyn saw my surprise, but he offered no further elucidation, and for my part I had more pressing concerns than a word gloss, however much I was intrigued (and I was), and asked for none. But he touched my arm, startling me even more, and began to walk with me toward the circle’s center.
"Of all those chosen to go on hunt for the Pair," he began, "you are the only one who thought to come here before setting forth. Morguenna and Gweniver are ranking sorceresses among their sisters, and others there are who might be—no insult—better expected to set a seal of the spirit upon the questing by making pilgrimage here. Yet you are the one who came; and I am not surprised."
"Nay, well, it seemed the thing to do," I muttered. "Although I did not think to find you here, lord—"
"Did you not? Was it not to find me here that you came at all?"
I glanced sidewise, but his eyes were on the great recumbent stone at the heart of Caer-na-gael. Yr Allawr Goch, the Red Altar; none knew why it was named so, as it was neither a proper altar nor red in color… Saint Brendan himself was barrowed beneath it.
"He it was who brought the Pair to Keltia," said Gwyn, following my thought as easily as ever Arthur did. "And all else besides—Kelts, Treasures, all."
"And you? Did he bring the Shining Folk with him also?" That was a question to which I had long wished an answer—I and every other Kelt who ever was.
"It may be," said Gwyn, but the deep voice was veiled, and the eyes still would not meet mine. Abruptly he turned to face me. "Taliesin. This quest that you go on for the Pair concerns my folk as well as yours, for it was out of our keeping that Marguessan caused it to be lost."
I closed my eyes briefly and drew in a deep breath. "No fault to you or your folk, Lord."
Gwyn gave a short gentle laugh. "Not fault, but dan; and we love not the part we have been made to play in it. Yet things of dan can be altered, as you have come to know—" He fell silent a while. "It is not given to us to aid your search, at least not openly. But I may tell you you will have help unexpected on your way."
"And I too have a word for you." Birogue of the Mountain’s clear sweet voice came from behind us, and I turned at the sound. She smiled at me and came forward, as I gave her the bent knee due a queen, though she did not hold that rank among her folk.
"I had a thought you might be here, lady," I said. "Yet why me to come, and not my Guenna?"
"All messages are not meant for general messengers," said Birogue. "This one, as it falls out, is for you. Morguenna shall hear what she needs to hear in good time."
I was beginning to sense that vertiginous dazzle with which the Shining Folk were wont to take leave of mortals, building up around us all three like the dyster, the coriolis-driven storm that scours the Timpaun, the great plain of the Drumhead on Erinna.
"The sword broken must be reforged," said Gwyn, and already he was almost an echo of himself, iridescent as the sun now beginning to touch the peaks above our heads. "That too is part of the quest for the Graal—for any graal."
"Taliesin," came Birogue’s voice out of a sparkling woman-shaped cloud, "evil came never out of the east. Remember that. We cannot be with you, but we shall be among you. Remember that too."
Then the Gates of the Sun blazed open
to the dawning day, and they were gone, and I was alone in the circle, cold and sad and strangely exalted. I had the blessing I had come for, the benediction of the Sidhe upon the quest. But something else was needed—and turning back to the Red Altar I knelt briefly, and spoke to him who lay beneath, whose spirit was all about me; spoke and asked his help and blessing, he who had set it all in motion long ago. I wish I could tell you I had some great, some tremendous revelation, some towering assurance, some touch of Brendan’s hand, or Nia his mother’s, to take with me upon our hunt. Not that the grace and words given me by Gwyn and Birogue were insufficient to their purpose; but only for that it would round something off within me, give to this moment that feel one has when a magical action has been full and well completed. You stand in the circle, and you—know.
I sighed, and rose stiffly from my knees. Perhaps it had been too much, after all, to ask for. But then, as I began to turn away, I caught something of that feeling of certainty I had prayed for. Who was it, then, if not Brendan, who had brought me here together with Birogue and Gwyn in the first place? As Gwyn himself had said, this was, truly, the first place, and had been named so, by his own folk, long since.
And so I took my answers with me, back to Caerdroia, and then out upon the quest.
* * *
BOOK TWO:
Neartrai
* * *
Chapter Seven
It was a dark and stormy night, with rain, a wind, no moon. I was alone; those with whom I had set out upon the questing had been separated from me several days since, and I could only dread what might have befallen them. As to what might befall me, I had no clue either; I but rode wherever my horse was minded to carry me, and prayed that he at least could choose a likelier path than I had so far managed.
I huddled my cloak tighter around me, but the rain was sluicing down my neck with what seemed a special viciousness: It was raining on me, on me personally, only on me, all others abroad this night had fair skies… I shook myself, and rain flew from the ends of my beard and draggled hair. All at once I sat up sharp in my rain-slick saddle, for I had seen something in the middle distance, or at least I thought I had seen… My horse in the same moment quickened his hoofworn plod, and not just for that I had shifted weight upon his back; he had seen too.
There was a crossroads up ahead, and in the angle between west and north stood a small annat. Nothing grand or lavish, merely a roadside shrine, such as might be visited by wayfarers or by local folk, if any resided roundabouts. Usually such places were consecrated to a deity with ties to the vicinity—perhaps some miracle of some goddess or god had been performed nearby, or some transformation had taken place, or a deity had dwelled here at one time long ago. I ran my mind over the possible divine connections, but since I did not know precisely where I was, I was not likely to find any answers. Or perhaps it was merely an annat to Aengus, the god of travellers, whom passers-by would be wise to honor if they wished fair roads and journey’s safe end; or one of the shrines to the Goddess and the God that are found all over Keltia—But my horse had come to a shivering halt before the shrine’s door, and I leaped from his back.
Leading him round to the lee side, out of the wind, I was surprised to find a small shelter, obviously designed for the comfort of any beasts belonging to those who would stop here; it was snug and dry and warm, and to my astonishment there was even hay laid by—not perfectly fresh, but still sweet and edible, no more than a week old. So I took it as gods’ grace, and gave thanks, and untacked my weary horse and made him comfortable.
All this took time; and then I thought to attend to myself somewhat, some dry boots and warmer garb and a meatroll or two could do no harm… But something, or Someone, said not yet, and with no thought of disobeying I set down my change of clothing and put my food-satchel carefully out of reach of any chance thieving animal, and going outside again into the storm I hurried round to the annat’s small porch.
The door was unlocked, of course, as was custom in all such places. Pushing it carefully open, I peered inside for the light I had seen from the road. There was a glimmer at the western end, but that would not seem to account for the brilliance that had caught my eye, and presumably my horse’s as well.
The air was cold but stuffy, as if the door had not been opened for a long time nor the windows unsashed. Yet the floor was swept and clean, its stone slabs ringing faintly under my boot-heels as I walked cautiously toward the faint light.
I came to the altar set a few paces out from the western wall, and looked for a dedication, but there was nothing; only the plain unadorned bluestone slab. Then suddenly the sky outside was split by a blue-white seam of lightning, and in time with the concussion of the thunder a light to match the skyfire blazed inside the shrine.
I reeled back, surprised at the abrupt coruscation but terrified witless by the thunder without. When I lowered my arm that had been flung across my face, the light still filled the annat, but fell down almost at once to a glow like an altar-flame, or one of the vigil lights we set out for rituals or holy days in places such as this.
I was all at once suffused by that sense of joyful expectation that so often a ritual will impart, though I had done nothing here with any remotest sort of ritual intent. So I assumed an appropriate attitude, and then I found myself entranced…
I was back at Caerdroia; we were just about to set out upon the search for the Graal that all Keltia so desperately sought. I saw myself, looking exalted, sitting my new gray stallion with the black mane and tail and stockings: Feldore, the very same draggled beast who now was hanging his once-proud head in the shelter outside. Saw Morgan, Gweniver, Gerrans, all the milling others who would ride upon this quest. Saw Arthur bless us, bid us go…
Then the scene changed, and it was as if I lived it all over again…
We had taken ship to sail round by the huge headland of the Dragon’s Spine, intending to begin our search in the southern latitudes of the Throneworld. Others of the seven companies had taken ship indeed: off-planet, to Gwynedd and to Scota and to Kernow, to Vannin and Erinna and Arvor—one company to a world. Later, as the plan went, those companies who found no sign of the Graal’s presence would join the companies who had not yet found any sign either aye or nay, and so augment the search’s numbers. In the end, again as the plan went, if the Graal had still not yet been found, all the companies would be searching one planet; we thought this might be Tara, but there was no guarantee. Some held the Cup would be found on Kernow, some said Gwynedd or Erinna… no one had had clear Sight, not even Morgan.
Any road, as I say, we had been sailing, far past the Kyles of Ra, when Donah, who was standing in the bow, suddenly straightened and lifted her head. I was close by, busy with charts and maps, but sensed her sudden alertness.
"Donayah? What is it?"
She pointed ahead and slightly to starboard. "A mouth in the sea."
I looked and was chilled from top to toe. Indeed, a mouth in the sea, a foaming gaping maw that looked all too capable of swallowing down our little craft in one snapping gulp…
Morgan had come up beside us. "Do not alarm the others just yet," she said quietly. "That is Corryochren, the Hungry Spiral, the great whirlpool that lies between the two isles Kedria and Carbria. Many ships has it taken down into itself, with all aboard them, and naught left upon the water for any to find after."
Donah flinched just a little. "Shall we sail round then, modryn?"
Her aunt put a gentle hand on the young woman’s shoulder, gave a little shake to her. "Nay, lass; we must sail through."
I would have been glad of a comforting hand myself just then. "Let me guess: It is part of the Rule of Seeking?"
Morgan watched me calmly, and though she gave me no answer I did not truly need one, for I knew… Before we left Caerdroia, she and Gweniver and I had held a taghairm to learn, if we could, what geisa might be upon this quest. And what we had out of that trance was this Rule of Seeking I spoke of so disrespectfully just now; though in t
ruth I respected it as well as any, and better than most. I had more reason to do so.
But Gweniver had now joined us in the bow, and after one quick glance at what lay ahead she deliberately turned her back on it.
"You had best call the others forward as well, Talyn," she said. "They will see it soon enough."
So I did as she bade me; and when Loherin, Daronwy and Roric had joined us, Morgan turned from her contemplation of the approaching horror and spoke.
"You see what is played out," she said evenly. "Now the Rule of Seeking has told us we may not turn away or aside from any encounter of this quest, be it boon or peril, but face all fairly; that is the way by which we shall come to the presence of the Pair. Therefore we sail ahead—through that."
I must say, they all took it calmly; but then, we had faced worse in our years together. The ones I was most feared for were Donah and Loherin; as the youngest of us by many years, of ages to be our children (and were our children, more or less), they had neither the experience nor the assurance we ourselves had earned and learned—usually the hard way. Now it seemed that their education had begun in grim earnest…
I glanced over at Loherin, Tryffin and Ysild’s boy. Of an age with our Gerrans (Donah was a few years older), he was as unlike his own parents as Gerrans was unlike Morgan and me. Tall like his mother, he had dark blond hair and gray eyes, and was built slight and lithe; more for the glaive than the claymore, as the Fianna put it. More than that, though: Loherin may well have been the fairest creature I had ever seen, on our worlds or any other. Indeed, he seemed too fair for the haps and harms of daily life. Yet he was clever like his father, wise beyond his years; though with a certain sadness about him that rose from no known spring. We call such a one ‘fey,’ an ancient Gaeloch word for someone who can sense what the dull rest of us cannot; and who is often fated to a dan very different from all other dooms that can be set down. Looking on Loherin, loving his parents as I did, I sent up a fervent prayer that this was not the case; but then I saw Morgan watching him too, and I knew…
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