Gwyn glared at him. “What kind of warrior are you?” he demanded. “When I’m grown up I’ll come and fight you. You can’t take Rhys away like this: he’s sick. Teleri and Mama both say so. Mama!” She had reached him and caught him by the ear. “Mama, he can’t!”
“He can,” said Elidan. “And nun’s bastards never become warriors, which is something to thank God for, for you will never be tempted to vulgar brutality.”
Medraut was too surprised to react, at first. Elidan dragged Gwyn out of his way. The boy protested, “But Mama, he’s…”
“He is a dog, but we have no power.” She thrust him out of the way.
Medraut drew his sword with a rasp of steel, and Elidan turned to him, graceful as a deer, her head lifting and her eyes clear and brilliant with contempt. I wished, wildly, to do something to distract Medraut: to laugh at her, or point out the ridiculousness of her gesture. But it was not ridiculous. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was making Medraut absurd by the purity of her own courage and honor; she was showing his act at its worst, and letting him see it too, and she smiled at his sword now, completely scornful of her danger. She was astonishingly beautiful.
Medraut swore, inarticulately, knowing what she had done; then clapped his heels to his horse and rode at her. He only used the flat of the sword, but the blow caught her on the head and she fell; and Medraut touched his horse to a canter and rode off without looking back. I risked one glance, as someone jerked the pony’s lead rein and dragged me off after them. Gwyn was screaming, but Elidan had risen to her knees, her forehead streaming blood, and was putting her arms about her son and soothing him. Her eyes met mine over his shoulder, still brilliant, but now full of a profound grief and helplessness. Slowly, she shook her head.
The track up from the abbey seemed much shorter than the agonizing trip down to reach it. Medraut insisted on moving at a fast trot, which was about the best speed my pony could manage. When we reached the main road he ordered one of his men to ride ahead of us with some message. They spoke in Irish, and I understood nothing they said except for one word: Riga. I had already learned that this was the word the men of the Ynysoedd Erch used to refer to Morgawse. Riga, “the Queen.” The messenger nodded to Medraut, called a greeting to his comrades, and touched his horse to a gallop, off to find Morgawse and tell her that Medraut had recaptured me. The rest of us followed him along the road at the same jolting trot. My head, which had been feeling better, began to throb again. I stared ahead blankly, trying not to see the men around me, trying not to feel. After so much, to be returning to Morgawse. After everything! If I thought of it, my hands began to shake and it became unbearable.
But at least Eivlin was safe—if she lived. Ach, Yffern take Morgawse, and Medraut and the lot of them. Eivlin had risked her life to save me. And now she was probably dying, but she wasn’t Morgawse’s tool. Nor would I be. And yet, I had been nearly spent when Eivlin had broken in to rescue me. Morgawse had very nearly succeeded. I remembered her smile of triumph.
But perhaps by now she did not need me for any plot against my lord. If Gwalchmai were dead, all that Morgawse would want with me would be to punish me for my presumption. If Gwalchmai were dead—I had no reason to believe that except a nightmare. A nightmare, and Medraut’s sword, and the whole situation. What was Rhuawn doing? Still deluded? Ready to go back to Camlann with Medraut, leaving Morgawse with Maelgwn and…what had Morgawse said? “Others will join Maelgwn in his alliance, and wait until the Family is at war with itself. Then will the shield-wall be broken and the gate of the stronghold be battered down; then Arthur will die.” All that order and unity, strength and laughter, all that Light, to fall and be broken. And there would be nothing, then, nothing but a wilderness which used to be a kingdom.
I looked down at the road. Could I throw myself off the pony head first and break my own neck? To kill oneself is a sin, but with nothing before me but a painful death, the act must be justifiable in God’s eyes.
But I couldn’t do it. It was sheer idiocy not to, but I couldn’t even think of it seriously. I sat silent, clenching my hands against their bonds and looking at the mountains which stood calm and joyful in their spring green.
We did not ride to Degannwy, but headed off up another track, deeper into the mountains. Something in its curve touched my memory, and I recalled that I had ridden down it in the moonlight with Eivlin, laughing uncontrollably with the joy of our escape. Now Medraut sent half his men back to Degannwy, and the rest of us trotted up the narrow track in single file, riding in the last of the afternoon sun. We had made good time on the journey. My little pony was sweating from the pace. I was sweating too, but I felt cold, as cold as if it were February instead of late May.
We saw the shepherd’s hut before us, and Medraut turned his gray steed over to the place down the hill where the horses had been tied before. There was a horse there now, a chestnut mare with fine trappings: Morgawse’s horse. I closed my eyes, unwilling to keep on seeing it. We stopped.
“Get down,” Medraut commanded me. I slithered off, stood looking at my bound hands on the pony’s thick mane. The beast tossed its head, sides heaving. Medraut gave some orders to his men, again in Irish, then turned back to me. “Come,” he commanded. I took a deep breath, turned, and went.
All but one of the warriors remained by the horses. The one who came was that same Ronan who had stood guard before. It was almost more than I could bear, and I bit my tongue.
If the ride from St. Elena’s had seemed short, that march up the hill seemed to take years, and I was ready to scream by the time we reached the door. I bit my tongue harder, tasting my own blood. Medraut opened the door and shoved me in first.
Morgawse stood in the room, dark in gold and crimson, but there was someone else there as well, someone standing behind the door, because her eyes were fixed there. I saw that that was how it must be as I took another step in, as Medraut followed me; and then the door slammed in Ronan’s face. Medraut whirled about, his hand on his sword, his face astonished, and I turned too.
Gwalchmai stood against the bare wooden door, his sword a streak of fire in his hand, mail-coat gleaming. His eyes were steady on Morgawse’s eyes, his face without expression.
Ronan behind us pounded on the door, exclaiming angrily in Irish. Without moving, Gwalchmai gave some order in a low voice, in Irish. The pounding stopped, and Ronan queried.
Morgawse nodded, her eyes not stirring. She repeated what Gwalchmai had said. There was a long silence. Then I heard Ronan’s footsteps retreating, and the air in the hut lay thick and still.
“So.” Gwalchmai spoke at last, his voice cool and detached. “You had no notion where my servant might be.”
“Why is he here?” demanded Medraut, looking towards Morgawse. He eased his sword from its sheath, ready to attack. Morgawse said nothing, and, after another moment’s hesitation, Medraut dropped back towards her.
Gwalchmai took a quick step forward and caught my shoulder, brought down his sword with a single swift stroke that cut my bonds in half. “Rhys. Are you well?” His voice held expression again: concern. I was shaking. For one awful moment I had believed that Morgawse had carried out her first plan against Gwalchmai and succeeded. But this was clearly not the case, and I was too confused to think.
“I am fine,” I stammered. “But you—you’re not dead.”
“Of course not. Why should I be?” I shook my head, unable to explain, resolving never to trust a dream again. Gwalchmai gave my shoulder a soft shake and took another step forward so that I stood behind him.
“Lady,” he said to Morgawse, “I have found my servant, and will not trouble you further. We will go.”
Incredibly, she smiled. It was a smile I had no liking for, an intimate, secret smile directed towards Gwalchmai alone. “You have conquered, my falcon,” she said, very, very softly. “Never would I have believed it, once.
Always I thought you were a fool: first because you could be used, and then because you rejected power when it was offered to you. Now I see that you are wiser than I.” She stepped nearer. Medraut stared at her, bewildered. Gwalchmai stood motionless, just looking at her as he had that first night we came to Degannwy.
“It makes me like you the better,” the Queen went on. “All the men I have known, and all my sons, they have always been weak. I am very glad, my spring-tide falcon, that you are stronger…”
“Mother!” said Medraut in an agonized whisper. She did not turn, but only took another step towards Gwalchmai, smiling that smile. It made my hair stand on end.
“My lord,” I said, “let us leave.”
He didn’t seem to hear. He kept looking at Morgawse. The point of his sword drooped, slowly, and she came closer.
“And yet I should have expected things of you, my second son. Born not to please Lot, nor for my plans, but for myself.”
Gwalchmai stepped back, almost stepping into me. I caught his arm. “My lord, don’t listen to her.”
She came nearer, lifting her arms as though she would embrace him. Her eyes were too dreadful to look at. Gwalchmai was shaking. He drew the sword up and sideways, the edge turning towards her.
He might kill her. He might not. If he killed her, his mother—what would it mean to him, what would it do to him, afterwards? I became very afraid. And if he did not kill her, she was coming to claim him, very plainly dragging up whatever dark memories she had left in his heart from his earliest years. Whatever he felt for her, he could not simply oppose her with his will. He was pulled by her into an unholy murder or a worse love, and I could see it all plainly when I looked at her.
Morgawse took one step nearer, and I looked away. Gwalchmai’s sword gave a little lift, and I knew that he was going to strike.
“Mother!” said Medraut. She did not look at him, only at Gwalchmai. The sword swung back the merest hair, and I grabbed my lord’s wrist with both hands.
He gave one heave that nearly tore his hand loose, but I was holding tightly. Morgawse did not move. Gwalchmai whirled and looked me in the face. His eyes were wide and furiously dark.
“Gwalchmai,” I said. “My lord, let us leave. There is nothing more to do here.”
He spun back, looked at Morgawse.
“Come along,” I insisted. “There are things to be done, and we must not waste our time.” I fumbled behind me for the latch of the door. Morgawse began to frown.
“What must be done?” asked Gwalchmai, like a man in a dream.
I risked it. “I have found Elidan—and beyond that, there is the work your lord set you.”
His fingers went white on the sword hilt. “Elidan?” he looked back at me.
“Stop,” said Morgawse.
“Lady,” Gwalchmai said, recovering himself, “Rhys is right. There is nothing we must do here, and very much to do elsewhere.”
Morgawse, frowning, dropped back towards Medraut, not turning about. She lifted one thin, dark hand and held it palm up, fingers pointing at Gwalchmai.
“You will not leave,” she said. “Medraut, assist me.”
Gwalchmai gave one long, sad look at Medraut, and looked back to Morgawse. Medraut dropped to one knee and held the hilt of his sword with both hands, the point slanting upwards before both his mother and himself. He did not look at Morgawse, but he was biting his lip in a kind of frenzy, so that it bled.
“Is that to be the way of it?” asked Gwalchmai, very quietly. He almost said something more, but checked himself. He drew himself up, raised his sword and held it point down, his right hand on the hilt and his left hand clasping the naked blade. He lifted it until the cross-piece was level with his eyes. A light stirred along the steel, and the ruby in the pommel began to glow with a deep radiance.
Medraut glanced at Morgawse, looked back at Gwalchmai, and seemed to brace himself. The Queen’s face was taut, pale, her eyes fathomless and too wide. Slowly she raised her other hand and placed it, palm down, on top of the first.
I gripped the latch of the door, ready to fling it open. But Gwalchmai showed no signs of moving, so I merely held my place, waiting. The silence grew denser.
Morgawse spread her fingers, shifted her hands a very little. Her face was like a lightning bolt, vivid and inhuman with strain. As though with a great effort, she drew her hands apart a very little. I heard my own voice gasp: darkness boiled between her hands, seeped out to blacken the dimness of the room. I closed my eyes, opened them. The darkness still seethed between the Queen’s thin hands. It trickled downward along the blade of Medraut’s sword and flowed onto the floor, piled about Medraut’s knees into a mass.
The sword in Gwalchmai’s hands began to burn brighter, the deep crimson glow running from the hilt down the blade, paling to an almost white shade at its tip.
“Do you truly believe that will be sufficient?” whispered Morgawse. Her voice in that stillness was like the first breath of wind stirring the air before a thunderstorm: it made everything shiver. Her fingers arched about the darkness, curling with effort till they resembled claws. “Behold! I am Queen and Ruler of Air and Darkness, and all Earth will be my domain, and all flesh obey me. Do you think that sliver of steel enough to restrain me? Fool!” She tossed her head back, and her hair swirled about the night, seeming to draw in the blackness, or to hurl it out.
I saw Gwalchmai tighten his grip on his sword, the bare blade cutting into his left hand. The radiance deepened. “Darkness does not have sole dominion over Earth,” he said, his voice hoarse with effort. “It is by Light that this sword was formed, and by Light it will hold, not as steel, but as the image of a will.”
Morgawse flung wide her arms, and utter blackness swallowed the hut and the very ground beneath our feet. I could no longer feel the latch of the door, and I could not tell where we were. It was as though we hung suspended, or fell through a huge gulf into which all light and life were pouring. I fumbled before myself and found Gwalchmai’s shoulder. For all the blackness we could still see Morgawse, but as if she were the center of that blackness, though she seemed ghastly pale, standing beyond the brink of that abyss before us, painfully near, appallingly remote. Gwalchmai’s sword still burned, steady as a hearth fire on a winter night, or a candle standing before an altar: but his shoulder beneath my hand was knotted with effort, hard and cold as any stone.
“And what is Light?” asked Morgawse the Queen. Her voice was thin and cold, not a woman’s voice, not a human voice. “All things began in Darkness, and all things will return to Darkness, though you may struggle your brief moment on the edge of the abyss. All things are touched and shot through with Darkness. See how in this present age the darkness engulfs the world: Rome has fallen, and all the West has followed her. Can a little light hope to live in Camlann? Darkness has gripped the hearts of all who fight for Light. The heart of Rhuawn your friend has listened to it; Arthur your lord has obeyed its impulse; it holds its place in your own heart. All must fall back to the Darkness, break and return to where it began. Night comes, and there will be no day again. Light is illusion; Darkness alone is true and strong. Know this!”
For a moment the light from Gwalchmai’s sword seemed to grow paler, fainter, seemed to illuminate nothing. I felt him stir, bracing himself. I wished to cry out to him, tell him to leave the struggle and flee, if there was anywhere we could flee to. But I could neither move nor speak. My body seemed locked in chains of ice, and my mind was full of darkness. Dear God, I thought, only let me see the sun before I die. Only let there be something besides the darkness.
“And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light,” replied Gwalchmai, his voice ringing clear and strong and glad. “Though Rome has fallen, and though Camlann should fall; though I, and Arthur and Rhuawn have been shaken by Darkness to our souls, you cannot shake the stars, or call back th
e March winds when the spring breathes upon the orchards. Light is the first-born of Creation—by Light and in Light the world was formed, and Darkness is only that which Light illuminates, not force, but only its absence.”
Morgawse flung her arms above her head, the blackness moving about her like water, her eyes distended and unnatural. Medraut’s sword moved up like a wisp of shadow, and I glimpsed him, saw that he knelt before Morgawse on both knees now. In a high flat voice the Queen cried in a strange language, syllables I had not thought a human tongue could shape, sounds that made me want to cover my ears. Gwalchmai staggered, dropped to his knees. His eyes were shining in the light from the sword, his face streaked with sweat or tears. I crouched behind him, afraid to stand, to move, to breathe. I watched Gwalchmai’s hands on the sword shaking, saw the blood from his left hand trickling across the blade. The light flickered.
Morgawse cried again. I saw that Medraut’s head was bowed as if in exhaustion, but still he held the sword up, his arms shaking as though it were a terrible weight. At Morgawse’s voice the night flowed upon us like a wave cresting, breaking. For an eternal instant I could see nothing at all, nothing but a faint glimmer where the sword had been, dimming as though it were receding into the dark.
But the glimmer did not vanish. It brightened, faded again, brightened and continued to brighten. I felt Gwalchmai tense, gather his strength, rise. The darkness ebbed, fading, and with a shock I realized I could see the beaten earth floor of the hut. I would not have exchanged that sight for any rose garden on the green earth.
The Queen held her hands out, palms towards Gwalchmai, mouth framing words that came without sound. But the light stirred again in the blade, grew bright, clearer, the crimson brightening to rose, glowing almost white. The Queen managed to cry out one last time, but the darkness was fading. Medraut gave one sob and collapsed on the ground at his mother’s feet. His sword fell on the earth before him, and the darkness vanished. The room was filled with scintillating light from the sword, light that broke like sunbeams through unquiet waters.
Kingdom of Summer Page 24