And folk, as usual, were right.
I woke to hear a woman calling me from a long way off. At first, naturally, I thought Morgan, but that did not seem right; nor did it seem to be Ygrawn or Gweniver, or even Majanah, concerned about her child. I knew I slept, for I could feel my sleeping body heavy about me, but my mind was bright and waking, and it seemed that I stood on a ledge behind my eyes to peer out at… what? Or whom?
The woman’s face I saw shining in the firelight was no face I had ever seen in waking life, and yet I knew I knew her. When she smiled at me and held out her hands, I smiled back and spoke her name.
"Mamaith."
"My son." Her voice was of medium pitch, clear and light, and her accent not of Keltia, nor of any other outfrenne world whose accents I knew. I threw out my arm like some small earthly graffit, to keep me linked with myself though I was all asea.
"How come you here, mathra?"
"No matter that. I have words for you, Taliesin, if naught else, and little time to speak them. So hear me. You must leave this place before high twelve tomorrow, and go on from here alone."
"But Donayah—"
A glimmer of impatience flashed over the smile. "—will be well on her own way. I think you will find when she awakens that she too has had instruction this night; and any road the young of the duck soon learn to swim. But listen now, amhic—here is one who would speak to you of weightier matters even than a mother’s love."
The vision pulled back, another figure fading forward through its radiance. And I sat up with a gasp, for this was Merlynn Llwyd himself, my beloved teacher.
And clearly I was still beloved of him, for he smiled at me every bit as warmly and protectively as my mother had done.
"I have as little time as the Lady Cathelin, lad, so listen well, and having heard remember: Bid Arthur take with him, when he goes out in Prydwen from Keltia, the Treasures from beneath the hill, and Fragarach with them."
"But how can that be, as we have not yet found the Pair!" I cried out in my desperation. "And what going-out is this you speak of, why would Artos and the rest of us be doing so?"
Merlynn waved a hand in impatience, as so often he had done in time past, and in spite of myself I gave a snort of laughter: How little do things, and people, change on the other side!
"All in good time; as I was bidden tell you, so I have told you. No more, no less." He seemed as amused as I; but suddenly, through his shimmering light-form, I glimpsed Donah’s man in black, and knew Fionn the Young had hand in this as well. Other shapes there were, too; gods and goddesses both, but them I could not discern so clear… for this was the Wood of Shapes.
Then my mother came back. "Talyn, cariadol, one thing more. The sword must be reforged before the end; see you do not forget. Return it as you did find it, to the place in which it lay… Farewell, amhic, for this time!"
Now where had I heard that cautioning before, to be ‘ware that a sword (which, whose?) needed reforging… But she was fading out now with Merlynn—Fionn had swirled his black cloak to usher them away—and I felt a last wave of love and warmth so strong it felt like a blow, so that I doubled over and wept as it ebbed and eddied round me. When I could see again, they were gone, the clearing stark in moonlight, and I looked in anxious haste for Donah.
The girl was lying on her back as if asleep, but her eyes were wide open, moonlight trembling in them, tears upon her cheeks. When I scrambled over to her, she gave a great start, as if some spell had been broken, and clung weeping to me as if we had been back on Aojun again, and she a child of three.
"Was it real, uncle?" she whispered, still in tears, looking up at me.
I smoothed back the hair from her face, with a sudden pang that I had so seldom done this for Gerrans, and never for a daughter of my own. "Oh, aye, lass, most real! True, too; which is not always the case. Can you tell me what, or whom, you did see?"
Donah looked at me as if I were some aged doddering relative whose last remaining wit had just been vanished away.
"Why, him, of course. I saw him. The King that was. Uthyr. And the King that should have been." When I still looked my question: "My grandsir. Amris."
Well! After that, as you can imagine, sleep was right out of the question for the remainder of the night; which, thank gods, was not much, and so we sat up again, utterly awake, drinking new-brewed shakla and rehearsing over and over the import of the visions we had been given to see.
"Well," said Donah at last, looking around consideringly, "that ban-a-tigh did say that this was a place where things happened! But to see them so, all of them! Was she wise and lovely, your mother?"
The question caught me off guard; but after a moment I nodded. "Aye. Aye, she was; and is. I did not know her in life, you know. And in the haste of our leaving on this quest, I did not even have a chance to see those belongings of her that came from beneath the hill… Nor did I have the chance even to visit the splendid new castle Morgan built for me when I was in Marguessan’s prison."
"Tair Rhandir, modryn called it," said Donah complacently. "For that your old lost home was Tair Rhamant. We have all been there; it is most fair. But, uncle"—she twisted a little where she sat, as if to better focus herself—"what does it mean, what we have seen tonight? Why did they come to us?"
I curved my hands carefully around my mether, taking heart and comfort from the warmth of the steaming liquid therein. How best to tell her… well, as she herself had said earlier, she was the child of two monarchs, I would guess straight out would be the best for all.
"In the Graal Kinship, for a woman it is her fathers that signify most; for a man, his mothers. Plainly put, in this thing, it matters more that you are your father’s daughter, not your mother’s; even more so, that you are your grandfather’s granddaughter."
"The Prince Amris was never king." She was looking less feared—only minutes ago, she had seemed taut as a harpstring about to break—indeed, seemed eager to hear and learn.
"No more he was. But he should have been king, and would have been if Darowen his mother had not knocked dan awry by her pigheaded refusal to accept Ygrawn as her son’s choice of mate."
"Who could refuse the Lady Ygrawn?"
I gave a short laugh. "You did not know your dama-wyn. Be grateful! The High Queen Darowen had many ideas that did not march with wit, or even common sense…"
"And my great-uncle Uthyr?"
"Ah, he." Suddenly I could not speak for the tears that blinded me, the tightness that had closed my throat… "Forgive me," I said presently. "I love Uthyr-maeth still, as my own father; would that he had come to me as well as to you, though I do not grudge my own niece her vision of him… And after all, it was given to me to see my mother, and Merlynn who was mother and father both to me, in those terrible days after Gwaelod—
"Aye," said Donah doubtfully. "But was it only that they came to hearten us—which is no small thing, and I am most grateful!—or did what they say have meaning?"
"Meaning? No question," I said. "But what meaning—that, I think, may take some time to sort out."
We fell silent then, each of us busy with our own thoughts, our own speculations. When I opened my eyes it was full day, perhaps an hour past sunrise; I had fallen asleep without even noticing.
And another thing I had not noticed until now: Donah was gone. But she had left for me a message, and I smiled in spite of myself even as I read it. Morgan has been teaching her well, no matter all her disclaims of magical gifts…
For Donah’s brief note to me hung sparkling in the air above the ground where she had been sleeping: Lord uncle, I go as my grandsir bids me. And as I read the words, they vanished clean away in the brightening air of dawn. I drew water from Venton Race for Feldore, filled the water-keeves either side of my saddle and rode out of the wood, strangely contented.
* * *
Chapter Nine
So I was alone again, but feeling much less disheartened. It seemed to me that, though we had little solid news of the Pa
ir we sought, the quest on the whole was progressing well.
For the undertext of the quest—to speak like a bard yet again—was far more than the regaining of the Cup. Though the recovery of the Hallow was of course most paramount, and did we fail all Keltia failed with us, still there was more to it than that. And Avallac’h had had the right of it, when he spoke to Donah of the timeliness of the Calling.
True it is, that long we never so dearly, we cannot be called upon any Path until we are free to be called so. We may still choose, of course, to refuse the call once it comes to us—and not be blamed for so doing—but unless we are at liberty to accept, we will not hear the call to begin with. And if you think about it, you will see it must be so. No matter her own wants and wishes, how could a ruler be called away from her realm, or a man be called from his family who need his strength? They might well wish to follow such calling, or even imagine they have one; but the lords of dan will never send a clear summons save to those who can freely answer.
Now this should have comforted me, when I in my rabbity fears and frets did agonize over having chosen Gerrans for the quest, or Gwain, or Donah. But it came to me that I had not chosen; they had. The lords of dan had spoken their names, and therefore it was correct for them to be on the search, and that should have been enough for me. But I did not seem to be able to let it rest, and now I began to worry it all over again.
Only by degrees did I become aware that Feldore, far from his usual responsiveness, was steadily ignoring even the minimal commands I gave him, and choosing his own way. I sat up and began to ride more actively; but the stallion would neither turn aside nor halt to let me dismount. When I tried to rein him one way or another, he began to rear and kick and goat-jump with all four feet together; and when at last in desperation I cut him a good one behind the girth with my belt as an improvised whip, he bent his neck round and tried to bite my knee above the riding boot.
I yelped aloud and gave him my heel across his muzzle, and he turned his head to the front again and kept right on cantering. I did not try again to jar him from his chosen course, and he seemed tireless in his long rolling gait.
As dusk shut down, I noticed that we were making, apparently, for where a light showed in the valley cleft between two distant hills. Not a light of steading or township, but a light as from some great outdoor lowe, a festival-fire, perhaps, though today was no feast-day I knew of… Feldore continued on, but even after full night had fallen I saw with some misgiving that the light between the two hills had drawn no nearer.
By midnight we were no closer still, and I had begun to panic. Feldore kept on in gait unchanged, and this seemed most unnatural, no beast could go on so, cantering untired hour after hour, not with a man and full pack upon him. All unbidden, tales of my childhood leapt to my rattled brain: stories of were-horses, water-horses, creatures of dwimmercraft that would take on the form of honest beasts, to lure the unsuspecting riders to destruction…
I shook myself. This was I, this was Feldore, nothing of dark making here… Looking ahead between the black-tipped ears still pointing toward the hills, I saw with a tiny shock that we had arrived. The edge of the light was just before us now, and I could see that it was a great stone circle, a nemeton, with a huge fire blazing in the center. Indeed, it seemed most like a feast.
And the folk who greeted me merrily and ran forward to lead Feldore by the bridle, welcoming us to Shadow Valley, seemed most like festival-goers, dressed as they were in fine attire. And the ale in great keeves, and the many cookfires with savory roasts and stews on each, and the music from many harps and pipes and borrauns, and the flying feet of the laughing dancers… it all seemed most well.
They all seemed to know me—sometimes being wedded to the King’s sister can be a help as much as a hindrance—and there joy in their greeting. They helped me dismount from Feldore, who was steaming as if he had just come off a racecourse, and led him away to be cooled down and brushed and given his fill of oats and mash and water.
Me they treated similarly, talking all the while, soothing me, sympathizing with me for all my hardships and difficulties of the road, stuffing food into me, pouring drink after it, helping me out of my stiff travel-stained clothing and into soft clean fine new garb. A beautiful new green cloak, cut full and hooded just as I like my cloaks cut, was laid upon my shoulders and its great bronze brooch clasped at my throat. I was led by my new friends, or guides, or whatever they were, to a place on the edge of the circle, from which I might watch in comfort all that went on, and I take no shame to tell you that I proceeded to enjoy myself greatly.
And why not? I had been through much over the past weeks; I was still deeply worried for Morgan and Gweniver and Gerrans, if now less so for Donah (and that only because I had had earnest of those who were looking out for her from the other side); why should I not take this chance to forget my woes and the quest itself for a time?
I cannot say just when the change began to become apparent: The music was no less merry and loud, the dancers no less enthusiastic, the food and ale no less abundant or less freely supplied. But a change there was, for after a while I noticed that the revellers were all watching me. And not the usual attention to which, as bard and prince, I had long been accustomed to receive—that was part of my job, to be looked at, and I had accepted it, though without much relish. Nay, this was a different sort of note I was occasioning, and then I began to hear what they were whispering to one another in apparent dismay.
"Gods, who is that? It is not he! It is not he!"
Now what did that mean? I endured it for as long as seemed prudent or polite; then I cast back the fine new cloak and rose to my feet. And was struck dumb, for in the instant of my rising all folk save I myself had vanished away. I had been drawing breath to address the nearest dancer; now my mouth hung dumbly agape and my chest went down in one bewildered puff, and I began to tremble a little, for I was confused, and alarmed, and very, very frightened indeed.
Now that the press of whirling dancers was gone, I could see clear across the nemeton, to where in the usual place in the north an altar stood near the border of the ring of stones. Two torches had been set in the ground, one on either side of this altar, and though all other light in the circle had vanished with the people, these still burned. I located Feldore tethered over to my right—he was munching hay, and seemed perfectly content—then I went across the well-trodden turf to the circle’s far side, where the altarstone stood dark between its torches.
As I approached, I began to make out something laid upon the altar, what seemed a huddled length of rags: some clootie offering, perhaps—a bundle of torn strips of cloth often left by country people at a sacred spring or well, as symbolic gift to the tutelary spirit dwelling therein. But the nearer I got, the less the mysterious thing could be so featly explained away: It was far too regular and neat of aspect, for one thing, and for no reason I could put into words, then or later, my heart began to pound.
As it turned out, with most good reason: For as I halted before the waist-high bluestone slab, and looked down on what lay there, I went as frozen and moveless as the stone itself… A dead body, arrayed as for Fian burial, lay upon the altarstone: a bearded man, his hands folded over the hilt of his leaf-bladed sword, the scadarc crystal set upon his breast, all according to custom. But as I forced my gaze yet once more to his face, seeking dreading confirmation of what I knew to be true, I felt such a terror as I had not known even in Oeth-Anoeth, that place of death and bones.
For the face of the dead man who awaited Fian speeding was a face I knew well. Indeed, how not… The face was mine.
I cannot tell how long it took me to come back to myself from that; moments only, or just as easily days. All I know is that when I was ‘ware of myself again, as myself, I Taliesin, it was dawn, and, still cloaked in the fine green mantle they had given me, I was standing over the empty altarstone, clutching with both shaking hands the hilt of the heavy little bronze dagger I had found in my belt-pouch a
fter Oeth-Anoeth; and the bluestone altar-top bore scores and flaking gashes where I had stabbed it over and over again. Whether that act had broken the illusion (if illusion it had been) or scotched the vision (if vision it was), I know not; but surely it had done something.
I felt all at once unspeakably tired and depressed as I stared first at the stone and then at the bronze dagger. In truth, I had forgotten I even had the little knife with me; and I had still to learn whence it had had origin, for I did not recall coming by it in Glenshee… But that was the least of my frets just now; and presently I shed the green cloak as if it were aflame, put the dagger into its soft leather belt-sheath and ran my hands over my face.
Feldore had come up behind me, and now thrust his muzzle into my oxter, the vigorous insistence of which nudge moved me several feet sidewise. But I agreed with my dear horse’s impulse and wisdom.
"You are quite right. Time to go. Let us do so."
Perhaps the sgian had some special power about it, or some remnant of the magic of Fyntenras still clung to me even after this false corvaen, for no sooner did we return to the main valley track than we were loudly hailed by one approaching at a gallop from behind.
I turned Feldore about, half hopeful, half fearing, my hand not far from the dagger-hilt; I was otherwise without weapon, for you will recall only Fians had been permitted to go armed upon the search. But in a moment or two I saw there was no need to fear, and was pleased beyond measure to see ride up to me Loherin, Ysild and Tryffin’s lad, and he for his part seemed as glad to encounter me.
I knew him chiefly through his cousinly friendship with my son Gerrans; the two had trained at the Fian academy Arthur himself had not long ago established in the Arvon hills near Daars (and had reluctantly allowed to be named for him; Caer Artos it was from the day he had gone to Gwynedd and blessed its founding). As has been pointed out, Pendreic and Tregaron cousins were not thick on the ground, and given the alternatives available, no surprise that these two should have grown friends beyond mere kinship.
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