The tree, Siladhiel, was in the center of the Grand Lawn and was the focal point of all the events which were held in the gardens at Galasriniel. Looking at it, Naida remembered all the stories her mother had told her about Mab and Oberon’s wedding which had been held beneath the majestic elm. She sighed at the memory of the story and turned away from Siladhiel. Her gaze fell on the rolling lawn which met the tree line of Vardainiel, the great forest. As she watched, some of the Thavron vuin were emerging from the forest carrying elaborate new bows and quivers filled with unfeathered arrows; no doubt they had just made them from the ancient trees deep in the forest. One of the faeries looked up and saw her there. The blaze of red hair caught by a gust of wind told Naida that it was her friend, Vanya. She raised her right hand in greeting and the troupe faced her and bowed. She lowered her head and they continued on their way. Naida watched them go until they disappeared through the armory gates.
Absentmindedly, she drifted to a knoll beneath the gargantuan canopy of the elm tree and sat among the wildflowers. She sat in the grass, spread out her skirt and sang as she picked bloom after bloom and placed them neatly on her lap.
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for love is more delightful than wine. Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out.
“Naida?” a voice called questioningly.
Startled, she looked around to see Minerva approaching her across the lawn. She heaved a sigh of relief before answering.
“How now, Minerva?” she said, “This is quite early to be about, even for you, friend.”
Minerva fell to the grass and hugged Naida tightly. She was obviously a little concerned about her friend.
“It is early for everyone except the birds.”
“And the flowers,” Naida added, shaking her skirt to show the blooms there.
Minerva gave a little laugh. They sat silently for awhile. Minerva joined Naida in picking long stems of flowers and placing them in her lap. Soon they both instinctively started to weave the stems into garlands. When they were finished they tied them off into circlets and placed them on each other’s heads.
“I crown thee, Naida of the Morning!” Minerva claimed.
“And I crown thee, Minerva the True!”
They giggled and then fell silent again. Naida stared at her newly idle hands, she was wringing them over and over. Minerva noticed and cleared her throat to speak.
“What is bothering you, friend? You have been distracted and very introverted these past days. Everyone is wondering if you are ill.” She paused before continuing. “Tell me what the matter is; maybe I can be of assistance.”
“Oh Minnie, there is a rock in the pit of my stomach that I cannot get rid of. It is heavy and causes my heart to ache. I do not know if I am sick, because I do not seem to have any other symptoms, but the pain gets worse every day.”
Minerva put her hand to her lips and laughed a small chuckle.
“What is so comical? I am in pain and hurt.”
“No, my dear, you are in love.”
“Do not be so silly, Minerva,” she replied, a little anger coming through in her voice. “That is utter rubbish. Love is supposed to be beautiful, wonderful. Not feel as if I had swallowed a Samhain pie whole and had it turn to stone in my belly.”
Minerva laughed again, out loud this time. The scowl developing on Naida’s face made her laugh harder.
“Enough!” Naida screamed and got to her feet. Minerva grabbed her hand to stop her and pulled until she returned to her seat in the grass.
“Answer me this Naida, do you feel this pain in your stomach when you visit with Rhys at the Everlasting Pool?”
“Not exactly; when we are together it is more a dull ache like that which one feels when one is anxious.”
“I see,” Minerva said, nodding her head slowly. “And do you feel the pain reaching into your chest when you see him?”
“No, but that might be because my heart is beating too fast to hurt.”
“You are in love, Naida,” she summarized. “With Rhys. Not bad, in my opinion. If you could not find a faery boy, why not find the best looking human on Earth, and in Avalon to boot!”
“I love him?” Naida whispered.
“Yes, you do and I think you will find it out for yourself soon enough.”
Naida was silent as her eyes fell to her lap inspecting the wringing hands that were there.
“Naida, do not fret.” Minerva reassured her. “I do not know quite what it was, but when I saw you together in the glen on Earth, there was a shimmering about his face that was almost magnetic. I am not an expert in these things but I think I am safe in saying that there is something more to your boy, something more than meets the eyes.”
“What are you talking about?” Naida demanded.
“Naida,” Minerva said sternly, “I think he may be the Nestaron.”
“Are you sure, Minerva?”
“I truly think that I am right. How is it that he found you and the Everlasting pool so easily? It is a protected place. And he sees you as well; only the gifted, those touched by the fae, can see us on Earth.”
Naida stared at her, jaw slightly dropped. “But that is just a legend. Isn’t it?” she asked.
“Not at all. The Lifetree is real, is it not?” she demanded.
“Yes, Minerva, yes it is real. Without it we all die,” Naida stuttered.
“Nestaron must make his way to us every few centuries and with him comes the silver branch needed to revitalize the Lifetree and keep it flourishing and sustaining us with life and magic.”
“Why does he always bring it?”
“Without the branch he may not cross over into Eon. The crux of it is that the mystical silver apple tree grows in a place of tempus incognitum which is guarded by the last neutral warrior faery left in the Four Worlds. She is a fierce barbarian whose work is to cast the spells which make the orchard impenetrable. Only Nestaron may enter and if he answers her riddle correctly, he may cut the branch and be transported over by ringing the silver apples on it.”
“It’s just a bedtime story for babies, Minerva,” Naida insisted.
“It is history. He comes to you for love but he comes to us with purpose. He carries the same blood within his veins as Morgana le Fae, does he not? He could just as easily be touched with the same magic as she is,” she replied soothingly. “You should be happy, Naida. He will be easily accepted here and when he asks, whatever he wishes will be granted freely.”
As Naida rolled her eyes at Minerva’s hopeful expression, a long horn blast could be heard in the distance.
“Come along, storyteller, it seems our free time has expired for the day.”
They stood and walked briskly up to Galasriniel and in to the breakfast hall.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Nottingham and her son were standing at the gates of Hoveringham House when the sortie rode up from the road. The men vaulted from their horses and bowed to them out of respect as the stable boys took the reins from their hands. The tall woman and her equally tall son returned the greeting gracefully. He bowed low to the men and she curtsied to the ground.
“Lady Nottingham. Owen. So good to see you both,” Caradoc’s voice boomed as he stepped forward.
“It is good to see you as well,” she replied in a gentle voice. “Come inside. There’s rain coming.”
Rhys sent Celyn off to the stables to ensure their horses were taken care of, while the others followed the woman and her son into the entrance hall. The house was magnificent. Rhys would never have guessed that it was so splendidly furnished, judging from its outward appearance. Tapestries depicting the Knights of Nottingham for five generations hung along the main hallway. Opposite them the wall was covered in a single enormous piece of weave work bearing the family sigil; a rampant stag surrounded by the house motto:
Vivit Post Funera Virtus.
Virtue Outlives Death.
She led them into an antechamber wh
ere two maids stood beside a table ready with basins and jugs of warm water to wash their hands. A little boy offered each of them a small towel to dry with.
“This is my last born, Roland. He insisted on helping to greet you in some way, even if it meant drying the hands of the great warriors of Dumnonia,” she teased, ruffling the little boy’s golden curls.
“There is nothing wrong with that, Roland,” Rhys said, taking his hand and leading him into the dining hall after the other men. “I, myself, am a steward to Morgana la Fae at Avalon. The lessons I have learned in my time in service to her have been many and quite incomparable.”
Roland looked up at Rhys in awe.
“You come from Avalon?”
Rhys smiled and nodded, watching the boy’s eyes widen further as they took their seats at the end of the table.
Dishes were already being brought in and placed before them. Food like they had not seen since their departure from Kenilwurt. It was a hurricane to their road weary senses. They ate heartily and were served wine and ale and fresh, creamy milk. After the meal, Lady Nottingham dismissed the servants and her younger children from the hall and kept Rhys and his sortie back to talk.
“My brothers will not arrive here for two more days, my lords,” she started, “It seems that they have already met the poor weather and have lamed several of their horses. They have held up at Bottesford but will continue their journey tomorrow.”
“So, we are to follow your suggested plan then, my lady?” Gwallawc inquired.
“Yes, my lords,” she replied, “We will house you and supply you and your men for your travel onwards to Sheffield when the weather clears tomorrow. Lord Grantham and Owen will meet you there in three days time.”
“Lady Nottingham,” Caradoc interjected, “It is as I said to your man, Aleric, while we were on the road; it is an excellent plan.” He turned from her to her son and continued, “Owen must turn over the protection of his family and his land to his uncle in person before he leaves on this journey. It is the right thing to do and I will not deny him his proper rights.”
Earth
The glen was silent with only the sound of the wind rustling the over head branches of the trees and a few songbirds breaking the quiet every now and then. The wind wandered round and round the clearing pushing the leaves to and fro. The invariable flow of the water that kept the pool constant was mesmerizing as the water sang its song ceaselessly all day. Dragonflies were climbing the reeds to warm their translucent wings before taking off to bob along the water’s surface. In the grass, the sounds of the crickets could be heard distinctly until the vocal cicadas in the trees became insistent on drowning them out with their own violent song. Silence returned abruptly to the pool as soon as the competition was won.
Minerva settled on a rock and stared at the water thinking about the appropriate thing to do. She knew too much about the depth of Naida’s feelings for Rhys to ignore her friends suffering, but she remained unsure of Rhys’ true feelings towards Naida.
As she sat, she thought and searched the recesses of her mind for every helpful piece of information she had.
“Erunanethiel!” she exclaimed. “Give me power, grant my wish, and bestow the answers!”
She slid from the rock and walked slowly towards the water repeating the words of the spell deliberately. She didn’t stop when her feet entered the pool. She waded down to the deepest part of the water and stood motionless.
“This can work, it has been done before, but Mab will not grant this to Naida if Rhys’ heart is not true. How can I be sure of his intentions?” she wondered to herself.
She began to turn around in slow circles as she thought deeper and harder. She chanted the incantation louder and faster. Suddenly, she stopped; her eyes wide.
“Your journey will take you deep into the North Country; you must be properly prepared…” a soft voice said. Minerva listened intently to the sound of the disembodied voice. It was as if it was whispering into her ear. Looking down, Minerva saw an image forming on the water’s surface. It was Rhys and there was an older man speaking to him. They were discussing a voyage that the older man described as a ‘coming of age’. The image shivered and dissolved.
“The North Country,” she thought as she continued to gaze at the water’s surface. “A journey to Keswick.”
“How do we test him, Minerva?” the dragonflies asked her.
“Who shall we enlist with the task?” the trees whispered.
“Quiet!” Minerva ordered impatiently “Allow me to think!”
Immediately, a silence fell over the glen which was as deep as Death itself. She resumed her slow turns in the water then suddenly stopped again. She smiled and as she descended into the depths of the pool and she answered them all with a name.
“Rinnah!”
***
Rhys gathered his things and went out in silence. He ate a sparse breakfast and joined the men in the corral. They would be departing for home but he would spend the rest of the day with the friars in the library at Sheffield’s Abbey and ride on to Leeds the next morning. He put Emrys’ halter on and tied a feed bag with oats and barley over his mouth. He led the horse over to Celyn and handed him the leads.
“Take him safely back to Kenilwurt for me Celyn, I would prefer to continue with Broderick.”
“But Sir, the distance is long and the hard riding may be too much for a charger to manage.”
“It does not make sense, I know, but I will need to hunt and I feel that I may require Broderick’s speed to survive this journey. Take Emrys back with you.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
Rhys said his goodbyes to his father, Celyn and the men of Nottingham’s household, then watched as they rode out of the yard and onto the road. His uncle stood beside him until they were out of sight then turned to the boy and gave him a fierce hug.
“I am off to Camelot, Rhys.”
“I know, Uncle. Ride safely and I will see you at Kenilwurt when I return from the north.”
“Aye, Rhys,” he mounted his black destrier stallion and looked down at the boy. “You will be victorious. You are a dragon already.”
“Would you take a letter with you, Uncle?” Rhys asked. “It is for Erasmus.”
“Surely, I will,” he responded, “I will take it myself as far as Gloucester, then on with a rider to Avalon.”
“Thank you, Uncle. Godspeed.”
The day passed quickly with the friars as they gave him lessons about the history of his family. They had come from western pagans but their traditions, being from royal roots, were maintained by the SheffieldAbbey monks. The Abbey had been supported by the Wledig of Dumnonia for generations and half Anlawdd’s wealth had been given to the abbey to keep them funded when Cunedda had inherited. They kept the oral history alive year after year so that they could pass it on to the next Ddraig boy making the pilgrimage.
When their lectures were finally at an end, Rhys lingered in the vast library of the monastery with only one thing on his mind; the story of Calamity. He stood and walked around the outer shelves in hopes of locating the appropriate section when he came upon a door. Over the lintel, hung a sign that read, ‘Ancient Historie”.
Creeping in through the large door unnoticed was easier than Rhys had thought possible. He had watched from a dark alcove outside the room for a long time before he was finally sure that all the monks had departed from the library. He observed the last man as he descended the main staircase and turned towards the courtyard exit. From the window, Rhys saw him cross the open yard and disappear towards the stables.
There was no one else reading there that day and the day’s lessons were all completed. He scanned the shelves quickly and found several books referring to Babylonian lore. Running his finger over the spines, he chose one at random, retrieved the huge volume and carried it up into the third level corridor. He went directly to the reading alcove at the back which was hidden from the entire library and lit the candelabra there. No one would k
now he was even here. He placed the book carefully on the table and rested both his palms on top of the book. He closed his eyes and raised his face towards the ceiling whispering to himself. “Please, please, please,” he pleaded, “Let me find something.”
He opened the book and sat marveling at the detailed pictures of the different scenes in history. He traced his finger over a drawing of a beautiful woman in strange clothing being crowned by a winged man in equally strange garb. It was so beautiful. He turned the pages ardently trying to see if there was a record of the story but he found none. Even as the last few pages were turned, he sat back and heaved a sigh.
Then a thought came to him; he reopened the giant book and turned to a picture of a terraced stone structure in the midst of what appeared to be a desert oasis. It was made of cut and carved stone walls but it was not a building. The walkways had no coverings and only sections of the top levels had roofs. Each angled pathway was lined by gardens in elevated terraces. Everywhere plants overhung the walls and vibrant flowers bloomed. Pillars lifted each level of the structure creating another elevated patio which resembled open verandahs with planters on every border. A wheel lifted water from the river and deposited it into an aqueduct at the top of the structure. The water followed canals delivering irrigation to every flower bed and planter within the gardens. Birds nested in the taller trees while butterflies, bees and other insects were abundant. Statues and relief carvings portraying Lamassu, the winged lion-man of Assyria, were set throughout the gardens.
He read the pages depicting the tragedy of Calamity and her lost lover, Zarek. The details were magnificent but one particular passage caught Rhys’ attention.
“Calamity knelt before the dais in the Throne room of the Ernil Vuin.
The Queen and her Prince were tearful as she rent her skirts and pleaded with them.
Sons of Camelot: The Complete Trilogy Page 16