“Fill his cup again,” I instructed. “He has had nothing to drink for three days.”
“Is this so?” asked Llew.
“Yes, lord, it is so,” Rhoedd said, and I heard the splash of ale in his offered cup. “I had water enough for two days.”
Rhoedd drank again, gratefully. We waited while he gulped down the sweet, brown liquid. “Again, I thank you,” Rhoedd said when he had drunk his fill. “I am come from Cynan, who sends his greetings.”
“His greetings?” Bran wondered.
“Man, you have ridden the hooves off your horse to bring greeting from Cynan Machae?” Calbha asked bluntly.
“Greetings,” Rhoedd replied stiffly, “and a warning. The warning is this: protect your water.”
Surprised by Rhoedd’s words, it was a moment before the others could speak. But I had seen the vision of the dead pool. “Poison,” I said.
“That is the truth of it,” Rhoedd said. “Our water has been poisoned. It is tainted and any who drink it become sick. Some have died.”
“Poisoned water,” Calbha sympathized, his voice grave. “It is a cruel thing.”
“Where else has this happened?” Llew asked.
“In all the Galanae holdings it is the same,” Rhoedd said. “It is not known how far the corruption has spread—that is why I did not stop to drink on my way here.”
“But our water is good,” Drustwn said. “Could you not see that?”
“I will tell you what I have seen,” Rhoedd replied. “I have seen babies writhing as they die; and I have seen their mothers wailing in the night. I have seen strong men lose control of their bowels and collapse in their own filth, and I have seen children made blind with fever. That is what I have seen. The taint has spread far—I did not know how far. I dared not trust the water I found along the way.”
“Well, you may drink your fill without fear,” Bran told him. “There is no taint here.”
“What is to be done?” asked Llew. “What aid can we give to Dun Cruach? Can we take water?”
“King Cynfarch asks no aid,” Rhoedd said. “He only thought to alert you to the danger.”
“All the same,” Llew said, “we will go to him. And we will take with us as much water as we can carry.”
“We cannot carry much,” Bran pointed out.
“We can take enough to allow them to travel here,” said Llew. “We will leave as soon as vats can be prepared.”
Although I counseled otherwise, it was decided that we should carry water to Dun Cruach and bring people to Dinas Dwr. The decision did not sit well with me. I did not begrudge Cynan the water—no, far from it! Nor did I object to Llew’s desire to help. But the thought of leaving Dinas Dwr made me uneasy and anxious.
Llew wanted to know why I felt this way. “I do not think it wise for us to leave Dinas Dwr,” was all I could tell him.
The next two days the wagons were prepared which would carry the water, and the vessels filled. The night before we were to set forth from Dinas Dwr, I waited until Llew had quitted the hall and then went to his lodgings. “We must not ride out tomorrow,” I told him as I entered. “It is not safe to leave Druim Vran at this time.”
“Welcome, Tegid. What is on your mind?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you. And I have been expecting you all day.” I heard the soft tread of his feet on the stones as he moved to the table across the room. There he took up a jar, for I heard the light splash of liquid as he poured the cups. He turned to me, and I felt the brushing touch of his stump against my hand. “Here,” he said, “sit down and talk to me.”
He lowered himself to a calfskin on the floor, and I sat down facing him, placing my staff at my feet. Llew took up his cup. “Sláinte!” he said.
“Sláinte môr,” I replied, raising my cup. He touched the rim of his cup to mine and we drank. The ale was warm and stale; it tasted sour in my mouth.
“Now then, what is troubling you?” he asked after a moment. “You have begun your school for bards. You have said that we are safe here; the glen is secure.”
“The glen is secure. No harm can befall us here,” I replied. “That is why we must not leave this place.”
“I do not understand, Tegid. We sailed to Ynys Sci, and even rode into Meldron’s stronghold. You said nothing about staying here then. Correct me if I am wrong, but you urged us to action.”
“That was different.”
“How?” he demanded. “How is it different? I want to know.”
I felt my stomach tightening. How could I explain to him that which I could not explain to myself ? I said, “We took Meldron unawares. That will not happen again.”
“That is no reason.”
“Meldron must know we are hidden somewhere in Caledon. He is searching for us even now. If we leave, he will find us and we are not yet strong enough to face him in battle.”
“You surprise me, Tegid. We are only taking water to Dun Cruach, not riding to challenge Meldron face-to-face. Anyway, it is the least we can do for them after all Cynan and his father have done for us.”
“I do not question our debt to Lord Cynfarch and his son. You are right to feel the way you do. But we cannot leave the valley now.”
“But now is when they need the water,” Llew insisted, gently, but with growing agitation. “Now—not next Lugnasadh or whenever.”
“If we leave Dinas Dwr, there will be trouble,” I told him flatly.
“Trouble,” he said slowly. “What sort of trouble?”
“I cannot say,” I admitted. “Disaster.”
“Disaster,” he repeated. “Have you seen this disaster?”
“No,” I confessed. “But I feel it in my bones.”
“It is too hot to argue about this, Tegid,” he said, and my inward eye awakened at the words.
I saw dust billowing in dun-colored clouds from a parched land, borne aloft on wild winds. The sun did not shine, but hung in a brown sky with a dim yellow pallor. And no living thing did I see in the sky or on the ground. The words of the Banfáith’s prophecy came to me. “The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds,” I intoned softly. “The essence of Albion is scattered and torn among contending winds.”
Llew was silent for a moment. “Meaning?” he asked at last.
“Meldron’s reign is defiled,” I told Llew. “His desecration has begun to corrupt the land itself. His unrighteous kingship is the abomination which walks the land, poisoning it, killing it. And worse is to follow.”
He was silent again. I took up my cup, drank, and then replaced it on the floor.
“In the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass for a wonder,” I recited.
“Well? Enlighten me,” he said wearily.
“Root and branch have changed places, you see? In Meldron, king and kingship have changed places.”
“I am sorry, Tegid—it is late; I am tired—I do not understand.”
“The words of the prophecy—”
“I know, I know, the prophecy—yes. What does it mean?”
“Sovereignty, Llew. Meldron has seized the power that only the bards hold. He made himself king and now claims sovereignty. He has reversed the order.”
“And this has poisoned the water?” Llew asked, straining to understand. “Actually poisoned it?”
“So I believe. How long do you think such brazen evil can reign in this worlds-realm without poisoning the very land itself ?” I said. “The land is alive. It draws its life from the people who work it, just as they draw their life from the king. If corruption taints the king, the people suffer—yes, and eventually, the land will suffer as well. That is the way of it.”
“This is Simon’s doing,” he said, using Siawn Hy’s former name. “All of this has come about through him. It was Simon who told Meldron that kingship could be taken by force. And Albion is dying because of it.”
He did not wait for me to reply. “If I had done what I
came here to do, none of this would have happened.”
“It is pointless to talk this way,” I told him. “We do only what we know to do; we do what we can.”
“All the more reason to help Cynan now,” he retorted.
There was no changing his mind. I had said what I came to say, and it had not moved him. “Very well,” I said. “We will go. We will take water to Dun Cruach, and we will brave the consequences.”
“Whatever you say, brother,” Llew agreed amiably. “What about your Mabinogi?”
“Goewyn will look after them.”
“Then it is settled. We leave at dawn.”
We parted and I left him to his rest. I was too angry and overwrought to sleep that night; and the air was too still and warm.
27
THE GIANT’S STONE
I held vigil in my grove, sitting naked on my turf mound, feeling the heat of the night on my skin—listening to the unnatural stillness, seeking with my inner sight that which I once might have sought in the Seeing Bowl. I searched the many-shadowed pathways of the future for the source of my foreboding. My inward eye brought forth many images—all of them desolate and disheartening: starving children with wasted limbs and protruding bellies, bloated cattle lying dead in poisoned streams, silent settlements, withered crops, crows holding court upon the gleaming rib cages of the hapless dead . . .
It seemed to me that oppression lay like a stifling hide upon the land—thick, heavy, dense, and vast: a rotting hide, putrid with decay, suffocating all beneath it.
I rose heavyhearted, pulled on my clothes, and walked down the pathway to the lakeside where the horses and wagons were waiting our departure. Goewyn was among the few gathered to see us away.
“Farewell, Tegid. Worry for nothing while you are gone—I will care for the Mabinogi,” she said, grasping my hands. Her hands were warm as they pressed mine.
“Thank you, Goewyn.”
“You are troubled. What is the matter?” She did not release my hands but held them more tightly. “What have you seen?”
“Nothing . . . I do not know—nothing good,” I told her. “If it were left to me, we would not leave here at all.”
She leaned close, and I felt her warm breath on my cheek as she kissed me. “May you journey in peace and return to us in safety,” she said.
Llew and Bran approached just then, leading their horses. Goewyn bade them farewell, and, as Llew made no kindly remark, she departed.
“You and Alun lead the wagons,” Llew said, turning to Bran, “I will ride behind with Tegid and Rhoedd and the others.”
We mounted our horses and the signal was given. I heard the creak and grate of wooden wheels on the shingle as the wagons began trundling slowly along the lakeshore toward the ridge. We waited until the last cart passed before taking our places at the end.
In all, there were six high-sided wains filled with skins and vats of fresh water accompanied by ten warriors, led by Bran and two Ravens. The rest of our Ravenflight were to stay behind and guard Dinas Dwr under the command of Calbha and Scatha.
Though the sun was newly risen, the air was already hot. We followed the groaning wagons up the slope of Druim Vran, then carefully, and with great difficulty, down the steep face of the ridge wall. By the time we reached the glen on the other side we were all sweating and exhausted, and the journey had only begun.
We followed the river as it bent east and south. Our two Ravens, Alun Tringad and Drustwn, rode well ahead to scout the way lest we encounter any of Meldron’s spies. We met no one, however. Neither did we see any sign that Meldron’s blight had yet invaded northern Caledon. The rivers and springs ran clean and pure; the lakes appeared fresh. Even so, owing to Rhoedd’s warning, we drank nothing from any source along the way.
The first two days of our journey, I remained alert to every sound and every scent—searching, I think, for some sign, however faint, of the doom I felt looming nearer with every step away from Dinas Dwr. Still we journeyed on without hindrance, yet my fears remained as acute as ever.
After three days, we left the riverway and joined Sarn Cathmail, the old high track which joins the northern forests with the heathered hill lands of the south. Our scouts ranged further ahead as the land opened; and, though they proceeded with all caution, they saw no one. Thus we traveled on—and my foreboding grew.
And then, at midday on the fourth day, we came in sight of the way stone which marks Sarn Cathmail at its midpoint. Carreg Cawr, the Giant’s Stone, is an enormous blue-black slab which towers three times man-height over the raised stone-paved trackway. Like other such stones, it is carved with saining symbols which guard the road and those who travel upon it.
“One more day, I think,” Llew said. “We are doing well despite the heat. It is very dry here—the grass is brown.”
As he spoke, my inner vision kindled, and I saw the long, slate-colored road stretching before us across a grassy plain surrounded by low hills under a white, barren sky. I saw the loaded wagons lurching and bumping over the track, and rising above, Carreg Cawr, black in strong sunlight.
The scouts had passed the Giant’s Stone and had ridden on ahead. Indeed, there was nothing to prevent them. Bran and the warriors passed by, and then, one by one, the wagons reached the stone and rumbled on. But, as I neared the stone, the foreboding which had ridden with me since before our beginning grew to a palpable discomfort of dread.
Drawing near to the stone, I reined my horse to a halt. Llew traveled on a few paces and stopped, almost directly beneath the great hulking stone. He gazed at it, tracing the ancient symbols with his eyes. “The symbols,” he called back to me. “Can you read them?”
“I can,” I replied curtly. “They are tokens of protection. They hallow the sarn.”
“I know that,” he said testily. “I mean, what do they say?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned in the saddle, lifted the reins, and urged his horse forward once more. I sat for a moment, listening. I heard only the wind fitfully winnowing the long grass of the smooth hills and, far-off, the shriek of a hawk. And then I heard Llew cry out.
His shout was more surprise than pain. I glimpsed a shadow flicker behind the Giant’s Stone as Llew whirled in the saddle. “What was that? Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“Something hit me just now. It felt like a rock—right in the back. I could have—”
“Shh! Listen!”
Llew lapsed into silence, and I heard a slight scratching sound coming from the Giant’s Stone. Then I heard a dull clink—as of the links of an iron chain; and then . . . nothing.
“There is someone lurking behind the Giant’s Stone,” I told Llew, who instantly drew his spear from beneath his saddle.
He turned his mount toward the stone. “Come out,” he called. “We know you are hiding there. Come out at once.”
We waited. No answer came. Llew made to speak again, but I restrained him with a wave of my hand. “Hear me,” I called towards the stone. “It is the Chief Bard of Albion who speaks to you now. I demand that you show yourself at once. You will not be harmed.”
A moment passed in silence. Then I heard the soft, slow, stealthy tread of someone moving in the long, dry grass at the base of the Giant’s Stone.
A slight figure appeared, wearing the remains of a ragged siarc and a green cloak. And beside the mysterious person walked an enormous, slate-gray hound with a distinctive streak of white across the shoulder. I knew who it was, even before Llew shouted: “Ffand!”
He vaulted from the saddle and ran to the ragged girl. The dog barked and was silenced with a simple, “Twrch!”
“Ffand!” cried Llew. “Ah, brave Ffand!” He caught her up in an embrace that lifted her off her feet. She laughed as he kissed her on a dirty cheek. “What are you doing here—way out here alone?” he asked, releasing her.
“But I am not alone,” Ffand replied. “Twrch is with me.” She patted the dog’s back, which came even to her hip.
/> “Twrch!” Llew reached his good hand toward the dog.
Twrch stretched his neck and sniffed Llew’s hand. Did he recognize the scent of his old master? Yes, indeed; for the great beast began barking and immediately leapt up—placing a huge paw on each of Llew’s shoulders—and then proceeded to lick his face. Llew held the dog’s head with his good hand, stroking the animal’s neck with his stump, and Twrch licked that too. “Quiet! Quiet, Twrch!” Llew gazed at Ffand. “What are you doing here?” he asked again. “And how in the world did you get here?”
“I have been looking for you,” Ffand said.
“Looking for me?” wondered Llew, bemused.
“They say that Llew raises a kingdom in the north. And Meldron searches the north. So I have come north to find you,” Ffand explained.
“Very sensible,” Llew assured her.
“You said you would come for the dog,” Ffand told him crossly. “You came, but you did not wait for us.” Her tone accused him, and then instantly relented. “So we decided to come to you.”
“Wait for you? What do you mean?”
“When you came to Caer Modornn.”
I dismounted and walked to where they stood. “It is true that we came to Caer Modornn, but we did not see you, Ffand.”
“You forgot about me,” she said indignantly.
“Yes,” Llew admitted. “I am sorry. If I had known you were waiting for us, we would never have left without you.”
“And I would not have to throw rocks at you,” she said, and my inner sight flared with the image of a fine young woman with long brown hair and large brown eyes; her skin was lightly tinted from the sun. She had obviously traveled a very great distance, yet she appeared healthy and strong, if a little tattered and thin.
She had grown in the time since I had last seen her, although she still had much of the child about her. Lithe in her movements and manner, she seemed as wily as a creature of the wood. Indeed, she told how she had been living in the years since she had rescued us.
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