The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island)

by Mary Gillgannon

  Resigned, he sank to the earthen floor and closed his eyes. He felt like weeping, but his eyes were so dry that no tears sprang forth. It was no use. He’d tried to summon aid, but either no one had heard him, or no one cared enough for him to defy Dessia. It looked as if he was going to die here, far away from his homeland, alone and unmourned.

  Of course, there probably weren’t many people who would mourn him in Gwynedd either. His mother would, and perhaps his younger brothers and sisters, if they remembered him. Regrets washed over him. Looking back, his life seemed very empty. He’d entertained a lot of people. Bedded a great number of women. But he’d never allowed any of them close enough to truly care for him. He’d kept everyone at a distance. Everyone except Dessia.

  He pushed the thought away, telling himself he wouldn’t think about her. If he was going to die, he had more important things to consider . . . such as the way he’d wasted his life. He’d been a fool. Afraid to love, afraid to ever embrace a cause or dream a dream. Although he’d thought he was being careful, it now seemed to him that he managed to condemn himself to a cold, meaningless existence. He felt lost and weary and miserably alone. Things seemed so bleak, so hopeless. He might as well give up and let death take him. It was easy to drift off, easy to succumb to the allure of sleep, blessed, endless sleep.

  * * *

  “Bridei.”

  He woke to the sound of his mother’s voice. She stood a few feet away, looking exactly as he remembered her. Her hair, a rich warm red. Her skin as pale as moonlight. Tiny as she was, she seemed to radiate a vibrant energy, filling the dark chamber with light. “Bridei,” she said again. “What’s wrong? Why are you giving up? Don’t you understand that if you don’t deal with things in this life, you’ll only have to face them on the Other Side?”

  “But what can I do? How can I change things? I’ve tried. I’ve truly tried. But it’s no use. I’m going to die here.” His voice shook on the last words.

  “Oh, Bridei . . .” She exhaled a deep sigh. “My poor lost son. You still don’t understand. Your whole life is waiting for you. All you have to do is reach out and grasp it.”

  “How? Tell me how.” With great effort, he made himself stand and move closer to her. “Please help me,” he whispered. “Give me some of your strength. Your magic.”

  “You don’t need it,” she said. “You have your own strength.” She smiled. “And your own magic.”

  “That’s not true! I’m all alone. No one cares for me. I’ve ruined everything!”

  “Those are the words of a child. But you’re a man now. You have to think as a man would. You have to be strong. You can do it. I know you can.”

  Her form was fading. In another few heartbeats, she would be gone altogether. “Mother,” he cried. “Don’t leave me!”

  “The gods are with you.” Her voice sounded in his head. “Ask them to help you.”

  * * *

  He woke later and knew it had been a dream. But what a vivid dream. It almost seemed he could smell the sweet scent of herbs that always clung to his mother’s clothing. The fragrance lingered in the air, banishing the dank, moldy odor of his prison. When he was a boy he’d half hated that fragrance. It represented safety and peace, things he’d scorned. Now the smell comforted him, reminding him how his mother used to hold him on her lap when he was little. She always seemed so slender and delicate, yet strong. How he yearned for her strength now. But what had she said—that he had his own strength? She’d also mentioned the gods, and told him to ask them to help him.

  It was worth trying. The gods had sent the storm that saved him from the slavers. And it must have been the gods who created the vision he saw in Dessia’s scrying bowl and the things he'd seen in the lake. He’d always felt the presence of the Ancient ONes when he was in the Forest of Mist. But it was very hard to imagine them in this place. He glanced around, wondering what god to call out to. Or perhaps it should be a goddess. His mother always said that female deities were more powerful than male ones, because their energy came from the earth.

  Ceriddwen represented wisdom, grain and plenty. Arianrhod ruled the moon and destiny, while the great mother goddess Donn was connected to the land. In this place, he couldn’t see the moon or the night sky, and he had no magic cauldron as a Ceriddwen did. The great Donn seemed very remote and was seldom evoked in ritual. But there was another great goddess—Rhiannon, the deity his mother had been named for. Rhiannon was associated with death and the underworld, and also horses, which made it very fitting that he should call on her. He was facing death in an underground realm at the hands of a queen of the tribe of the white horse. The goddess Rhiannon was said to ride a white mare as she gathered up the souls of the dead.

  But now that he’d decided to ask Rhiannon for aid, how did he do it? When he’d brought the storm, he’d evoked the force of the sea and the might of the weather. How should he reach out to Rhiannon? One of the legends of the goddess was that she was accompanied by three birds who sang so beautifully they were able to bring the dead back to life, or lull the living to sleep. What he needed were some birds that could rouse the living before he ended up dead!

  Perhaps, to save himself, he should evoke the magical birds that served the goddess. But how did he do that? Maybe he should try singing. But at this point he was too hoarse and weary to do more than croak. He sighed, then licked his parched lips and called out, “Rhiannon, Great Queen, help me. Give me the strength to sing. Ask your magical birds to join me. Together we will sing a song that will reach the ears of all who are near and draw them to this place to aid me.”

  Having evoked the goddess, Bridei felt uneasy. Although there was a dark aspect to most of the deities, with Rhiannon it was especially pronounced. She was associated with death and the underworld, which made her a dangerous deity to bargain with. And bargain was what he as doing, although he hadn’t offered the goddess anything. Some sort of sacrifice, that was what was needed. In the old days, sacrifices were usually of blood. An animal was killed and its spirit offered up. But he had no living creature to offer. He could give the goddess nothing but himself, offer her nothing except his own life.

  The foreboding sense grew stronger. He could feel the goddess’s power surrounding him. What if instead of bringing him aid, evoking her brought about his death? But if that happened it would be the goddess’s will. He must accept that he might die. “Oh, Great Queen,” he intoned. “Give me life. Offer me another chance. If you do so, I vow I will be a different person. I will change and become a new man. One who gives instead of taking. One who loves instead of running away. One who believes in dreams instead of scoffing at them. Send your enchanted birds to sing me back to life and I will join in their song.”

  He waited, thinking there should be some sort of sign that the goddess had agreed to do his bidding. Nothing happened. Yet the next moment, he remembered his mother’s words. You must be strong. You can do it. I know you can.

  He took a deep breath and began to sing:

  Rhiannon, Great Queen,

  Send your gilded birds on the wing

  Bright music across the orb of time

  Their song, sweet and healing

  Magic to set me free.

  His voice sounded scratchy and weak and the effort hurt his throat, but he knew he had to continue.

  Comb moonlight from your long, pale hair

  Like dreams falling from the heavens

  Enchanted stars to guide me.

  Their song, sweet and healing

  Magic to set me free.

  His voice grew stronger:

  Lady Rhiannon

  Ride your white mare

  Out of the dark shadows of the deathly realm

  Gather the souls of your loved ones

  Their song, sweet and healing

  Magic to set me free.

  All at once, he could hear someone else singing along with him. A woman. Her voice was deep and sad, unearthly.

  Great mother, divine queen

&
nbsp; Bring me water from the enchanted pool

  Quench my thirst with memories

  Their song, sweet and healing

  Magic to set me free.

  Carry me on a boat

  Across the river of pain and suffering

  Sparkling silver coins to pay my way

  Their song, sweet and healing

  Magic to set me free.

  Finishing the chorus, he paused. The mysterious voice paused also. Bridei took a breath and began again. The first time, he had been tentative, singing slowly as the words came to him. Now he sang with his heart, putting his whole being into the song. He forgot that he was weak and thirsty. That he was imprisoned in a dank, dark hole. His strength seemed to return. It was as if the haunting voice that sang in unison with him was filling his body with vitality and power. As he began the song for a third time, his voice rose, as rich and vibrant as it had ever been.

  Finishing, he fell silent. Three was a magical number, and Rhiannon was said to be accompanied by three golden birds. He’d evoked Her power. Now all he could do was wait.

  * * *

  He must have fallen asleep. When he woke, he heard a woman calling: “Bridei? Bridei, where are you?”

  He got to his feet, so relieved he was trembling. “Aife? Aife? Is that you?”

  “Bridei. Oh, Bridei!” Aife pulled aside the wicker covering the opening above him. “What are you doing down there? Did O’Bannon do this to you?” She sounded strange, as if she’d been weeping.

  Bridei couldn’t make sense of her question. “O’Bannon? What are you talking about? Dessia put me here.”

  “The queen? But why would she do that? Was she trying to protect you? Oh, of course she was. She didn’t want them to kill you like they . . . did . . . Keenan.” Aife began to sob.

  “Keenan? What happened to Keenan?” Bridei’s head was spinning. His wits must be confused by hunger. He couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

  It took awhile for Aife to speak. Finally, she answered, her words punctuated by choking sobs. “They . . . killed Keenan. He was . . . trying to protect . . . the . . . queen . . . and . . . they . . . killed him.”

  Bridei felt his body go rigid with dread. He could barely draw a breath to ask, “The queen? What happened to the queen?”

  Aife gave another heartrending sob. His heart thundered in the chest as he waited for her to answer. “They . . . took . . . her!”

  He swallowed. Forced himself to take a breath. “Where? Where did they take her?”

  Aife sniffed loudly. “I don’t know. To Dun Cullan, I suppose.”

  Bridei felt his insides go cold. Dun Cullan. The stronghold of Tiernan O’Bannon. Dessia had been abducted. She was in the hands of her greatest enemy. The man who’d killed the rest of her family.

  “But how?” he whispered. None of it made any sense. He called up to Aife. “What happened? How did O’Bannon get access to the queen?”

  “No one knows.” Aife’s voice was mournful. “It happened at night. Somehow they got in. Killed Keenan. Took the queen.”

  “Was anyone else was hurt?”

  Aife let out another sob, then recovered herself. “Scanlan was also killed. They found his body in the watchtower.”

  “But if Scanlan was watching the gate, how did they get in?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Aife began weeping again.

  Bridei sought for control himself. A few moments before, he’d been concerned for his own life. Now his own situation seemed insignificant. Dessia had been abducted. She was in the hands of her enemy. What might O’Bannon do to her? Bridei told himself he couldn’t think about it. If he did, he’d become so crazed with dread he’d be unable to reason.

  “Aife,” he called up. “You have to get me out of here. I . . . we . . . we’ll gather together all the warriors and storm Dun Cullan. We’ll get Dessia back.”

  “There are no warriors. They’ve all left Cahermara.”

  “Why? Have they gone after the queen?”

  “Nay. They ran away. Almost everyone else has left the hillfort.”

  Bridei was stunned. Dessia’s people seemed devoted to her. He couldn’t believe they would desert her like this. “But why, Aife? Why would everyone leave?”

  She sighed heavily. “They’re afraid to stay here. They say that now the spell is broken, it’s not safe. They took all the livestock and the foodstores and left. Some of them went back to their families. Some of them are living in the woods.”

  “But you stayed,” Bridei said. “Bless you for your loyalty and your bravery.”

  “I’m not brave,” Aife answered wearily. “I just don’t care if die. If O’Bannon’s men come back and burn the hillfort, it won’t matter to me. My heart is in the grave anyway.”

  Poor Aife. She’d loved Keenan passionately. Bridei understood her terrible grief all too well. If O’Bannon killed Dessia, he would feel the same. But at least he had some reason to hope. If O’Bannon had meant to kill Dessia, he would have done so already, then taken over the hillfort. The fact that he’d stolen her away instead meant he must have a reason to keep her alive.

  “Aife,” he said firmly. “Go and fetch a ladder or rope. I must get out of here if I’m going to help the queen.”

  “But what can you do?” Aife asked in a bleak voice.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” He must. The Great Goddess Rhiannon had given him another chance at life. She had saved him. Saved him so he could save Dessia.

  Chapter 16

  Aife came with a ladder and slid it down to Bridei. He climbed up shakily, wishing he wasn’t so weak. Although the goddess Rhiannon had given him the strength to sing, she hadn’t magically restored him. When he reached the top, he sank down on the wooden floor. “I need water,” he said. “And food. Will you help me, Aife?”

  She nodded and left. Bridei sat there a moment, then got up slowly. Down in his prison, he’d thought once he got out, all would be well. He’d assumed his greatest challenge would be convincing Dessia she’d made a mistake and somehow winning back her affections. Instead, he faced the daunting task of trying to free her from the clutches of a determined enemy. Even if he had a large and well-equipped army behind him, he wasn’t certain it would be possible to force O’Bannon to give up his prize. But he had to do something. Had to try and help Dessia, even if he died in the attempt.

  The realization of how much he’d changed shocked him. The old Bridei would have walked away. He’d have grieved for Dessia, but never risked his life for her. Now he felt as if his life had no purpose without her. He’d made a vow to the goddess Rhiannon that he would change, and become a man who cared for others and who lived his life with passion and meaning. But in many ways, that vow wasn’t necessary. He’d already changed, and it had been Dessia who’d changed him. She’d inspired him with her determination and her dedication. And she’d made him fall in love with her. He ached to hold her, to be near her; he couldn’t imagine going on without her.

  The awareness frightened him. He didn’t want to end up like poor Aife, lost in grief and despair. But there was no turning back now. Dessia was his soul. Her spirit and his were bound together. He’d seen a vision of them in the lake of the Forest of Mist. Although he’d never told Dessia, after he’d seen the vision of his parents, another image had formed in the dark, still waters of the lake. It was of him and Dessia, standing side-by-side.

  The memory heartened him. The gods had sent him a sign they were destined to be together. Their shared destiny might be in the next realm rather than this one, but knowing that made the connection between them no less powerful. As long as he was alive, he must do whatever he could to free Dessia and restore her to her rightful place at Cahermara.

  A new sense of determination and resolve filled him, helping to banish the appalling weakness. He left the storehouse above the souterrain and went to a nearby storage shed. Opening the door, he was shocked to see it was empty. The people fleeing Cahermara had ta
ken everything. He knew a surge of anger to think they could be so cowardly. But then he recalled what Aife had told him. Dessia’s people had always believed the spell she set upon Cahermara protected them. Now that she was gone, they felt vulnerable and helpless. Some of them probably also remembered what O’Bannon had done when he attacked Cahermara in Dessia’s father’s day, and they feared the slaughter and destruction would happen again. Still, it was rather foolish of them to abandon the hillfort. It was a stout, formidable fortress. If they all worked together, they could have defended it easily.

  Bridei moved on to the next storehouse. There were a few baskets of grain here, but nothing he could readily eat. He began to wonder if despite having escaped his prison, he would still end up starving to death.

  Discouraged and hungrier than ever, he started toward the hall. On the way he passed the smithy. The place appeared deserted, and looking inside, Bridei found that the fire in the forge was out and all Niall’s tools were gone, as well as the raw metal Dessia had purchased from the traders. Bridei shook his head in consternation. He would have thought at least Niall would stay. On the other hand, maybe everyone thought by leaving the hillfort and taking everything of value from the place, they were doing what Dessia would have wanted. This way, if Dessia could escape, they would be able to come back and help her, having preserved the wealth of Cahermara by hiding it elsewhere.

  His hunger and thirst still raged. If he didn’t get something to eat and drink soon, he felt as if he would collapse. Then he remembered there was a rainwater cistern behind the smithy, providing Niall with a ready supply of water for cooling metalwork. He went to the large stone basin, knelt down and scooped up handfuls of the icy cold water and began to drink. The water chilled him, but he kept drinking, quenching his terrible thirst.