by J. M. Hofer
The faces in the room varied from wide eyes and open mouths to furrowed brows. Seconds later, the room erupted into speculations as to what Lucia had seen. It shocked her that none of them questioned her vision. How odd that I doubt my own vision more than these complete strangers do.
Rowan raised her hand to speak again. She paused a moment, as if pondering carefully how to say what she needed to say. “Daughters, dark times are coming. I regret to tell you that the troubles of the past five years will seem like a warm and gentle spring compared to what lies ahead of us. We must prepare ourselves for war.”
Sounds of alarm and concern erupted again.
“For the past five years we’ve searched for Cerridwen and Morvran, but have heard nothing. We suspected they went to lands across the sea or deep into hiding in the Northlands. Our efforts to find them and bring the Cauldron back to the island have failed. However, Talhaiarn has brought news that there have been sightings of a man in the countryside so grotesque he strikes terror into the hearts of all who see him. We are both convinced it is Morvran the field folk have seen, and that Cerridwen has returned. Talhaiarn will speak to you of this.”
She motioned toward the arched doorway of the motherhouse, and a tall, silver-haired man entered. He wore dark traveling robes, and though he was an older man, his frame still seemed muscular and capable beneath them. He walked forward, his quiet power filling the hall. Lucia noticed the expressions of the other women had become more anxious.
Aveta leaned over and whispered in her ear, “He only visits in times of great trouble.”
“Greetings, daughters,” he began. “Though she was once a dear sister to us, Priestess Rowan and I believe Cerridwen has been abusing the power of the Cauldron.” He glanced at Rowan as if to say, I’m sorry. “It has long been sung that the power of the Cauldron can be used to resurrect a corpse. From the stories I have heard, I believe Cerridwen has discovered the truth of this.”
Lucia felt Aveta stiffen next to her.
“However, what the Cauldron gives birth to can never be a true and complete being, for what is not possible, is to bestow the gift of Spirit, for Spirit is not of this world.”
This can’t be true. Lucia looked about furtively, but no one in the room had anything less than a look of serious concern on her face. Stealing bodies from the peace of their graves and bringing them back to life? Can that be done? Even the thought of attempting it was appalling.
“As there is no place for Cerridwen on the Isle, and no place for her son among the men of this world, I believe she is plotting to take over the Crossroads and name her son Protector and High Chieftain. I believe she’s been reaping corpses from the fertile battlegrounds that litter the countryside, and cursing them with a wretched half-life borne of the Cauldron. With no true blood of their own, these men are re-born with a ravenous hunger for the blood and flesh of the living. They are like animals, simply seeking to satisfy their hunger. They feed upon anything they can manage to subdue, which in the beginning, is sadly a woman or a child. They have already attacked all three of the clans of the Great Circle, and though none of them have fallen, we have nevertheless suffered terrible losses at their hands.” He paused a moment and sighed heavily. “Lady Agarah, Priestess of the South, and her protector, Lord Cadoc, have both died from wounds they suffered in an attack.”
Many gasped, hands flew to mouths, and whispers of astonished anguish rippled through the hall.
Rowan’s face grew ashen. “For generations, the four clans have lived simply, managing to keep the Old Rites and our relics a secret from those that would desecrate or exploit them. It grieves me that this time, the threat comes from within.”
Lucia felt sorry for her. How troubled she must feel, knowing the evil we face came from her own womb.
“Talhaiarn and I believe Cerridwen’s heart has become poisoned by her desire for power and revenge, and that she plans to capture the remaining relics. With the power to bring back the dead and control the Crossroads, none could oppose her. We cannot let this happen. The Great Mother demands balance in all things, and the very existence of the cauldron-born in this world offends this balance—they are incomplete beings, neither living nor dead—their souls trapped in the in-between. A spiritual thread tethers their soul to their body, preventing it from being able to enter the Summerlands. They are tormented and to be pitied. The only way to bring them peace is to return their bodies to the earth, where they are meant to be. This will free their souls, so that they can continue on their journey. Life is a sacred gift that only the Great Mother may bestow. When we attempt to do so ourselves, a price must always be paid.”
One of the women whom Lucia did not know raised a hand to speak. Rowan acknowledged her.
“What of the South, now? How do they fare? Who will take the place of Lady Agarah and Lord Cadoc?”
Rowan turned to Talhaiarn.
“Lady Seren, Agarah’s daughter, has been named Priestess. She and the council have chosen her brother, Lord Bran, as Chieftain. They are preparing for battle. The East and North are sending them what warriors they can spare. Although the cauldron-born have been kept at bay, they will grow stronger as they feed. Time is an advantage we must not fail to exploit.” He glanced at Rowan. “Daughters, I will take my leave. Lady Rowan will tell you what must be done. I am sure that together, with the Guardians watching over us and the help of the other clans, we will overcome.” He bowed his head in respect and disappeared through the archway as quietly as he had entered.
“Prepare yourselves, Sisters. We need to make enough arrows to fill every quiver and then some. There is no time to waste. Until the Cauldron once more rests in the grotto, we must be ever ready for war.”
She walked over to Creirwy and whispered something to her. Creirwy nodded and left.
The women grabbed armfuls of arrows from the far wall and filled their quivers. Every one of them had a magnificent bow, all carved differently. They took turns braiding each other’s hair tight against their heads, and then set to work making arrows. Their fingers flew, and arrows filled one large basket after another.
Lucia looked around. They did not look frightened, but she was. I’ve never wielded a knife for anything but paring vegetables or skinning a rabbit. I’m good with a bow, but I’ve only hunted animals—not men—and certainly not demonic soldiers.
Rowan came over. “I have matters that I would discuss in private with the three of you, if I may.”
“Of course, Mother,” said Aveta, glancing at Lucia and Gwion.
They followed her again to the privacy of the old castle ruins. They gathered in the old throne room, now decked with a ceiling of stars. A fire blazed in the old fireplace made of massive stone, surrounded by a half dozen large stones about the hearth in a half-circle.
Rowan motioned for them to sit. “Children, this misfortune touches us most deeply of all. Cerridwen is daughter to me, mother to Creirwy, sister to Aveta, and aunt to Lucia and Gwion—we share the same blood—she is family. From the day she left our shores, I have asked for her to be blessed with understanding, and for the waters of compassion to wash away the anger and resentment in her heart. I have prayed for mercy and goodness to pierce her blindness, but she has grown ever blinder, taking Morvran into the darkness with her. Talhaiarn’s news means my worst fears have come to pass.” She took a deep breath. “I gave her life, and my new prayer is that I not be called upon to take it from her.” She turned to Lucia and smiled. “Your presence here proves that whatever the Great Mother takes away, she gives back in some way. We are never left bereft of her blessings. Though a daughter has been taken from me, I have been given one back—in you. Know that as it was your mother’s destiny to leave the Isle, it was your destiny to come to it. This place is like a beating heart to our blood—it may leave the Isle in the veins of one of us, but it never fails to return in the veins of another. I am certain that you will have an important role in the days to come, Granddaughter.”
Lucia sat mu
te, not knowing what to say.
Everyone’s attention turned toward the sound of someone’s footsteps approaching. Talhaiarn appeared, and came to sit upon one of the stones. “Before I take my leave, I have come to make an oath to you all. You, most of all, Lady Rowan, for I know there is nothing stronger than a mother’s love for her child. I promise, if there is any way to bring Cerridwen and Morvran back from the darkness, I will.”
“Thank you,” Rowan said. “I fear to hope anymore, but thank you.”
Talhaiarn turned to Gwion. “Gwion, your gifts surpass even mine. Your destiny may be to become the most powerful High Priest the Crossroads have ever known. Cerridwen knows this, and if she means to follow through with her plan, you are in grave danger.”
Gwion nodded.
“However, I believe that you will all be safe here for awhile. Cerridwen already possesses the Cauldron, and she is intent upon obtaining the other three relics. I feel it is the South that is in the most danger now. I am sure news of Agarah’s and Cadoc’s death was encouraging to Cerridwen, and that her next move will be to make another attempt at capturing Dyrnwyn.”
Rowan furrowed her brow. “My lord, the journey from the North to the South is much farther than the journey from the East. It will be four days before the North can aid your cause. The women of the Isle are skilled as both warriors and healers. Let some of us journey south.”
Talhaiarn did not seem to like the idea of sending the young women into battle, and it showed upon his face. “Lady Rowan, it causes me pain to imagine even one of you perishing.”
“Lord Talhaiarn, please—we are closest, and the enemy you face is one of our own. We may not be the best of warriors, but none are better healers. We have many skills that will give you a much better chance at victory. You know this to be true.”
Talhaiarn looked very tired all of a sudden. The power he had exuded in the motherhouse now seemed drained from him. “Very well, my lady,” he agreed after a moment. “I am sure the South would be honored if the Sisters would join the cause.”
“It shall be done.” Rowan turned to Creirwy. “You are the best archer we have, but it is your mother we fight. You do not have to go, if you do not wish it.”
“She’s not my mother.” Creirwy put an arm around Aveta, who was sitting next to her. “This is my mother. I’ll go.”
“As you wish.” Rowan motioned toward the village. “Let us return. We must make preparations for as many women as we can spare.” She turned to Talhaiarn. “Please, my lord. You are weary. You must sleep. It has clearly been days.”
“I wish again that you were not correct, but you are. I must rest. My body is not what it used to be. I will leave to return to the Crossroads as soon as the cock crows, which feels to be just a few hours away.” With that, he stood, and the women all rose in respect as he left.
They walked back to the motherhouse where the women were still working. All fell silent when Rowan entered. “Lord Talhaiarn believes strongly that Cerridwen’s next move will be to attack the South in an attempt to capture Dyrnwyn.” Rowan scanned her audience, her face grave. “With the recent attack and the deaths of Lord Cadoc and Priestess Agarah, they are weak. Although the North and East are sending warriors to their aid, it will take two days for the East to make the journey, and four days, at least, for the North. We are much closer. I would send all who are willing to go South at first light tomorrow.”
Creirwy stepped forward first. Quickly thereafter, most every young woman stood and stepped forward as well. It was obvious Creirwy held the respect of all of them. There were only a dozen or so older women who remain seated, Lucia and Aveta included.
Lucia felt her heart pounding. Without thinking, she stood.
Aveta reached up and grabbed her arm. “My lady,” she whispered, with a tone of alarm that caused Lucia to doubt her decision, but it was too late. She had committed herself, and her pride would not allow her to back down now.
Rowan nodded in her direction, acknowledging her decision. “Very well. Prepare the boats.”
Aveta took Lucia aside. “Lucia, are you sure? I had assumed that you would stay. You are not seasoned in battle. Do you know what that’s like?”
“I’m no stranger to what it does to men. I’ve seen plenty of battle wounds in my life.”
“Lucia, I’m sorry, but I must ask again, are you sure? The Sisters of the Isle have been trained from a very young age to handle knife and bow, and know a thousand ways to disappear—they also know how to call on the water spirits for help.”
“Then I’ll be in good company. Aveta, this enemy has destroyed my home, and very likely all of the good people who live on my land. We’ll need to face these things sooner or later, and it may as well be now. I won’t lie, the idea of facing them frightens me, but I have faith that I’ll be able to do what is necessary when the time comes. Perhaps my visions can give us an advantage. I’d be burdened by heavy guilt if I were to stay here, knowing I could make a difference.”
The look upon Aveta’s face changed from worry to acceptance. “You’re right. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just being selfish. I can’t bear the thought of losing you or Creirwy. She’s my only daughter, and you’re my dearest friend.”
Lucia embraced her. “I’ll return, and so will Creirwy. We’ll see the end of this darkness and celebrate on the other side. I’m sure of it.”
Aveta pulled herself together and smiled. “You’re right. We will. The Great Mother will set things right.” She wiped her eyes. “Now, let’s go make some bloody arrows.”
They joined the others around the fire. There was still much to be done. Lucia learned quickly, and soon arrows were piled up next to her. “Aveta, tell me what happened to Gwion.”
“Ah.” Aveta sighed. “Very well. We have all night, and it’s a long story.” She tied another arrow and tossed it aside. “Cerridwen was a very powerful priestess of the Sisterhood—one of the most powerful we’ve ever had. She was destined to take my mother’s place as High Priestess when the time came. She had an insatiable passion for herb lore from the time she was very little. It surpassed even mine. She possesses a mastery of earthly substances that I suspect no priestess of the Isle has ever come close to—not even my mother. When she was sixteen, she gave birth to twins—Creirwy, whom you know, and Morvran, whom we spoke of earlier. Sadly, he was born extremely deformed. Only Cerridwen could bear to look upon him, so Morvran spent his childhood almost entirely by her side.”
Morvran is Creirwy’s twin? It seemed impossibly unfair for one child to be so beautiful, and the other such a monster.
“As Morvran approached his thirteenth year, Cerridwen began to worry for him, for the father of her children was not a living man, but rather the lonely spirit Tegid Voel, who is said to dwell within the waters of the very lake that surrounds us. As such, she had no father to send her son to when the time came.”
Ah, yes, Lucia recalled. No men allowed.
“She knew she couldn’t keep him here. She also knew that with his appearance, he’d struggle in the outside world. He’d very likely never know the love of a woman, nor would any man ever pledge allegiance to him in politics or battle.” Aveta paused and sighed. “She appealed to our mother, who went to Talhaiarn for help. He agreed to take him as an apprentice the following year. In the meantime, Cerridwen employed all her knowledge of herb lore on Morvran’s behalf to transform his features. She worked incessantly, but time after time, failed to produce a tonic or potion that would correct his deformities. Finally, she decided that if she couldn’t heal or transform his appearance, she’d try to grant him wisdom to compensate for it. So she began her most ambitious undertaking yet. For a year and a day, she patiently brewed a potion for him, adding each herb and substance at precisely the right time of the year. She brewed it beneath the open sky, allowing the energy of the sun to infuse it during the day, and the calm of the moon to reflect upon it at night. She brewed, oh, hundreds of herbs and flowers—acorn from the mighty Oak
for patience, yarrow for courage, mistletoe for fertility, sycamore for strength, clover for balance—all the gifts the earth could impart, she brewed into it, watching over it carefully. When finished, she was certain her potion would make up for the physical beauty her son lacked by giving him the power to inspire and do great things here upon the earth.”
Lucia felt like a child again, listening to Aveta. Her ability to weave a tale was one of the things she loved most about her. There was no voice she enjoyed listening to more.
“On the day the potion was nearly finished, she asked Gwion to stir it for her. Gwion helped her often, as it needed to be stirred constantly, day and night, until it was finished. On this particular day, she’d been gone longer than usual, and the fire under the cauldron began to die down. Gwion knew he’d suffer her wrath if he let it go out. In his eagerness, he put too much wood in the hearth, and the fire caused the potion to boil away. He panicked and tried to pull it away from the heat, but the pot was so hot he dropped it—“
”Oh, no.” Lucia looked up from her work and glanced over at Gwion.
Aveta nodded. “The little bit of liquid that was left in the bottom splattered out onto his hand. He sucked his burned fingers, and the few drops of potion that remained ended up in his mouth.”
“But he was just a little boy!”
Aveta smiled and shook her head. “That didn’t matter.”
“What did the potion do to him?”
“It gave him his abilities. You know he can communicate with animals, as well as see and hear things none of us can. As a small boy, knowing nothing of what was happening to him, you can imagine how overwhelming it was. I went to my mother, explaining what had happened. She sent us to Talhaiarn to put Gwion under his apprenticeship, telling us she would deal with Cerridwen. We left immediately. Unfortunately, this only made things worse, because the plan was for Talhaiarn to take Morvran as his apprentice that spring—instead, in addition to receiving all the gifts of Cerridwen’s potion, Gwion had that privilege as well.”