by J. M. Hofer
Bran’s smile disappeared. “What? Where is it?”
“I think she’s taking it to the Crossroads.” Gwion’s face was wrinkled with concern. “This is bad. She wouldn’t chance taking the Cauldron there if she weren’t sure she could overtake it.”
Bran seemed undaunted by the bad news. “With Talhaiarn’s knowledge of sorcery, Aelhaearn wielding Dyrnwyn, Caledgwyn in my own hand, and the strongest warriors of the four clans, I can’t see how she could possibly defeat us. She is one woman with a host of puppets. Though they’re stronger than the average warrior, they can be killed as ordinary men can. My only worry is time. We don’t know if she’s already there, or on her way.”
“Indeed,” a voice behind them said.
Everyone turned abruptly to see Rowan descending from the trail that led to the pools.
Gods, I’ll never get used to her appearing like that! Her grandmother’s ability to approach without being seen or heard was deeply unnerving. Lucia never knew how long she had been there, watching or listening, before making her presence known.
“My daughter is not a fool. She rarely fails in judgment. If what the selkie says is true, she surely has the upper hand. We must find out why.” She narrowed her eyes on Bran. “I poured all my knowledge into my daughter, in the hopes she would one day be honored as High Priestess after me. She has instead chosen to wield that power in her own name, rather than the Great Mother’s. Do not underestimate her. She is extremely shrewd, and Morvran is said to be a terror in battle, unlike any other.”
Gwion shot Bran a look that went unnoticed by no one.
“What is it?” Rowan demanded.
“Morvran is dead.” Bran let out a sigh, but did not look away from her gaze.
“What? How?”
“I killed him.”
Lucia was just as surprised as her grandmother. Where had he found him?
Bran went on to explain. “A black wolf nearly twice my size attacked me in the grotto where I discovered the Cauldron. After I managed to kill it, its body transformed from a wolf into that of a deformed man. I described him to Gwion, who assures me it was Morvran.”
Rowan went pale. She leaned against the oak in the courtyard, clutching at its bark with her thin hand as if she could squeeze strength from it. “Her rage will know no bounds.” She shook her head, and then looked up at the sky through the tree branches over her head. “Though Morvran was her greatest burden, he was also her greatest love.” She looked at Bran. “You will never be free of her wrath. Or his father’s.”
“His father?” Bran raised his eyebrows. “Who’s he?”
“Tegid Voel. His spirit dwells within the lake.” Rowan looked off in the distance, and then began nodding in realization. “That explains the mist. He is angry.”
Lucia saw Bran’s face contort, as if trying to choose his next words carefully. “Lady Rowan, I know Morvran was of your blood, and for this, I ask your pardon.”
“You did what you had to,” Rowan replied, again her competent self. “My greatest sorrow now, I fear, is that the same fate awaits my daughter. She will never compromise, nor come under anyone else’s authority. Not now. She has gone too far to return to us.”
Rowan looked at the ground, looking very frail to Lucia. “I have work to do.” She said nothing more and left in the direction of the village, disappearing into the mist.
Here we are—a young boy, a young girl, a single warrior, and a crazy woman. She looked toward the sky, above the moss-covered stones of the last great tragedy that had come of defying the Great Mother’s ways.
What do the gods have planned for us?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Journey Home
Bran rose and packed the boat early the next morning, thoughts of Lucia distracting him from his tasks. From the moment they met something about her had called to him, but it had remained a pleasant whisper until the night he had kissed her. Since then, it had surfaced with a vengeance, vexing him. He chided himself for it. I can’t afford any distractions right now.
Then, there was Ula. He was not blind to how she looked at him. What am I supposed to do if she offers herself to me? I’ll have to refuse her, and then what? What’s a selkie like when she’s spurned? I don’t want to know.
Lucia appeared on the shore with her arms full of supplies. Her green eyes pulled him in, emphasizing the conversation he had just had with himself.
“Will you go and fetch Gwion and Ula?” he asked flatly, taking the supplies from her. “We should have left already.”
Her smile vanished. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m anxious to leave, that’s all.” He gave her a half-smile, hoping she would accept his explanation. She did not seem convinced, but did not pry further.
Instead, she made it worse. “Yesterday in the courtyard you said there was something you wanted to tell me.”
Damn. I was hoping she wouldn’t remember. Emboldened by ale, he had almost confessed his feelings for her. Sober, it no longer seemed prudent. What could I do about it now, anyway? “I’m sorry,” he replied sheepishly. “I don’t remember.”
“Oh.” She looked at the ground.
Is she relieved or disappointed? He was trying to get a better look at her face when Gwion showed up. Ula, Aveta, and a few of the other Sisters were close behind him. Good. We can leave.
“Gwion!” Bran put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Glad you’re here. What’s your plan to get him back across the lake?” He motioned toward Gethen, who was grazing in the trees. Lucia was standing next to him, stroking his muzzle, her face grave. It seemed their exchange had taken all the wind out of her sails. Perfect. I’ve upset her now.
Gwion pointed to the skiff. “We’ll sail him across on that. My mother and the others have offered to navigate us through the mist. Once we’re across, they’ll row the skiff and the boat back here. Before we leave, we need to tie the boat and skiff together, so we don’t get separated.”
“Good.” Bran gave a nod of approval. “Let’s get started.”
The task was soon accomplished, and Bran and Gwion led Gethen onto the large skiff. Gethen seemed to know what was required of him. He walked to the center of the skiff and stood completely still, like a great statue carved of black marble. Bran and Gwion boarded as softly as they could, so as not to spook him.
Ula chose to swim alongside them, rather than riding in the boat.
They pushed off the shore, and within a moment, they could see virtually nothing. Bran turned to Gwion, who rowed beside him. “The mist’s as thick as a wall.”
“Don’t worry.” He nodded in the direction of the boat they were tied to. “They don’t need to see to navigate through it.”
Bran nodded. He thought again about Lucia, and let out a sigh of exasperation.
“What troubles you, my lord?” Gwion asked.
“Many things, Gwion, but this morning it is women.”
“Ah. Lady Lucia, or Ula?”
“Both.”
“I imagine many men would enjoy such a dilemma.”
Bran chuckled. “I suppose they might, but I require a clear head at the moment.”
Gwion nodded. “Understood.”
Bran was about to lecture him on the wiles of women, when he noticed Gwion looking into the water with concern.
“What is it?”
“There’s something in the water,” Gwion said nervously. “Something big.”
Bran peered into the lake. Sure enough. He saw a shadowy form moving beneath the skiff. Very large. Gethen became restless, pawing at the skiff and causing it to teeter. Gwion reached up to calm him.
“Where’s Ula?” Bran cried, suddenly remembering she had been swimming alongside them.
“She’s fine. It’s you it wants, my lord.”
“Me?” Bran asked, surprised. “Why?”
Out of nowhere, the skiff was hit from beneath with tremendous force. Gethen whinni
ed and struggled to regain his balance. All three of them were nearly thrown into the water.
“Gods!” Bran yelled. “What is it?””
“The afanc,” Gwion replied with dread.
“What the bloody hell is that?” Bran asked, standing and taking up his spear.
“I’ve never seen it before, but the songs say it has swum the waters of this lake for at least a hundred years.”
“Well, I won’t risk your life or my horse’s, so if it’s me it wants, I will take the fight to it!”
Before Gwion could protest, Bran clenched his dagger between his teeth and dove into the water to search for the creature, but it was too murky to see anything.
He heard Gwion yelling a warning from up above. Before he could react, something clamped down on his leg and dragged him rapidly toward the bottom of the lake. He was grateful he had trained to hold his breath for so long, but even so, he knew he would drown if he could not free himself quickly. He stabbed at the beast as hard as he could, but its hide was like armor. He refused to give up, stabbing blindly until fortune granted him an eye. He jabbed his dagger deep into its socket and twisted its eyeball out, causing it to release its hold on him. I’m saved. He swam as fast as he could toward the surface and burst forth to fill his lungs, thankful to be alive.
Once he regained his breath, he listened anxiously for some sign of his companions. He called out as loudly as he could, over and over, but no one returned his call. No idea which way the shore is. The shifting mist obscured everything around him. He could see nothing at all. He continued to tread water and yell, hoping the others would eventually hear him. After ten minutes, he gave up. I’m on my own.
He began moving in the direction that felt right to him, and hoped desperately for two things – that he was swimming in the direction of the shore, and that the afanc would not be back.
***
“What’s happening?” Lucia cried in terror.
“Lord Bran has disappeared,” Gwion’s voice called anxiously out of the mist. “He dove in after the afanc.”
“Oh, Great Mother.” Aveta looked into the water, her face distressed.
“The what?” Lucia yelled back, growing more upset by the second.
“The afanc is a lake-dwelling demon,” Aveta explained, “much like a dragon, but with fins.”
“What?” Lucia cried again. “What is it with this lake?”
“I’m afraid this might have something to do with Tegid Voel. He must know of Morvran’s death, and that Lord Bran is responsible. The afanc serves him.”
“What are you saying, Aveta?” Lucia felt herself growing angry. “Bran!” she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “BRAN!”
She could hear Gwion rowing the skiff closer. Soon, Gethen’s massive black form appeared through the mist.
“We need to get Gethen off the lake,” Gwion counseled. “We can’t search for Lord Bran like this. We must go back to the Isle.”
“Yes.” Aveta nodded.
“Will Bran be alright?” Lucia asked, looking at each of them in turn.
No one answered her.
Aveta began rowing, turning back toward the Isle. Gwion stayed close behind, maneuvering the skiff very carefully to keep Gethen steady. After some time, the shore reappeared. Gethen looked eager to dig his hooves into land. He leapt off the skiff as soon as it slid upon the sand.
“What are we going to do?” Lucia demanded, now that they were safe.
“All we can do is appeal to Tegid Voel and ask that Bran be spared,” Aveta replied, “but he is sure to ask a price.”
Lucia felt her stomach lurch. “What kind of price?”
Gwion nodded, but said nothing.
“I don’t know. Come with me, you two. We must speak with your grandmother. The others can finish up here.”
Aveta led the way through the trees back to the village.
Lucia’s mind raced. “How do we find this Tegid Voel to make him an offer?”
“He is not of our realm,” Aveta explained. “We can’t go to where he dwells.”
“What are you saying?” Lucia snapped. “That Bran is lost to us?”
“I would never say that, child.” Aveta came and put her arm around her shoulders in reassurance, but Lucia wanted none of it. She strode on ahead, eager for solid answers.
She reached the motherhouse first, and found her grandmother waiting. She did not seem surprised at all to see them. “You could not cross, could you?”
“No.” Lucia shook her head.
“I feared this might happen.” Rowan sighed. “He knows already.”
“Who is this Tegid Voel?” Lucia demanded. “He sent some horrible beast called an afanc to attack us.”
“A spirit of the lake. He lives between the mists,” Rowan answered simply, as if that were a sufficient explanation. “Is the selkie with you?”
“No. She didn’t return to the boats after it happened.”
“With any luck, she has gone to your warrior’s aid. She is likely his only hope. Being of the water, Tegid Voel may listen to her. Pray that she can convince him to spare Bran, or I doubt you shall see him again.”
***
Bran was beginning to lose strength. It had been hours. I can’t hold out much longer. He was about to turn over to rest on his back, when he sensed something swimming near him. It latched on to his hand before he could swim away.
In a panic, he yanked it away and raised his dagger, but suddenly a familiar voice cried out. The mist cleared to reveal Ula’s face, her big brown eyes locked fearfully on his weapon.
“Thank the gods, Ula!” he cried breathlessly, lowering his dagger. He felt a rush of joy and relief. “I thought I would drown here!”
She reached for his arm again. This time he let her take it, scarcely able to keep his head above water anymore. She pulled him along when he slowed down, swimming powerfully with him in tow.
They swam for some time, until the mist thinned out. She let go of his arm, stood up, and walked out of the lake. He put his feet under him and did the same, stumbling up on shore.
What’s wrong with her? He could not help but notice she seemed especially somber, no trace of her regular childishness or fun in her manner. Is she worn out from searching for me? He hated the idea of having been a burden. I didn’t even manage to kill the afanc, and now I’ve been rescued by a woman. Gods.
Ula sat down on the bank to rest. Bran collapsed on the ground next to her, thankful for the solid earth beneath his bones.
After catching his breath, he turned to speak to her. To his surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and straddled him. She held him tightly with all her limbs, clinging to him like a child who does not want her father to leave. However, fatherly feelings were not the sort he was experiencing.
He tried his best to ignore them. No, can’t do this, his mind asserted, bringing his body under control.
Just when he was about to lift her off of him, she began to kiss his neck and face. “Ula, anwylyd…” he said tenderly, stopping her. “We can’t.”
She pulled away and looked at him in confusion, her brows knit. She’s probably never been refused, and no wonder.
He held her, but refused any other advances from her. She finally accepted this, resting against him, and he looked at their surroundings for the first time. Where are we? Back on the Isle? Which shore of the lake are we on? He had no idea. Exhausted, it was only moments before he fell asleep.
Some hours later, Ula unwrapped herself from him, waking him. It had grown much colder. He went to collect some wood for a fire, and Ula dove in the lake for fish. They soon shared a quiet meal together, Ula occasionally looking up at Bran, that same sad demeanor upon her face. I was afraid this would happen. It worried him deeply.
After they finished their meal, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him again, more tightly and desperately than ever.
“What is it?” he asked when she finally released him.
Without
a word, she walked to the water and slipped back into the lake.
Hours later she had still not returned.
***
“My lord!” a voice cried, shaking him.
Bran woke to see Gwion’s face hovering above him with the morning sky behind it. “Gwion! Thank the gods! Is Ula with you?”
“No,” Gwion replied in a soft tone. “She isn’t.”
Bran stood up and saw Lucia and Gethen approaching from the lakeshore.
“Bran!” Lucia cried out when she saw him. “You’re alive!” She ran and threw her arms around him.
“Not to my own credit, I’m afraid.” He held her tightly in return. I’ve never been embraced this much in my entire life. “I’m sure I’d have drowned or frozen to death if Ula hadn’t found me.” He looked around, wondering where she was. “I don’t know where she’s gone. We need to find her.”
Gwion nodded somberly. “She loved you, Bran.”
Now, even Lucia looked sad.
“What is going on?” Bran asked, looking suspiciously back and forth between the two of them. “Why do you both look as if you’ve just been to a funeral?”
Lucia looked at Gwion. “Tell him.”
“Tell me what?” He was growing impatient.
“Ula offered herself to Tegid Voel, in exchange for your life.”
“What?”
“She agreed to stay and be his companion, if he would let you go,” Gwion explained.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Bran moaned. He remembered Ula’s sad, dark eyes, and how desperately she had clung to him the night before. He felt sick to his stomach. It all made sense. “What does this mean for her? What sort of spirit is this Tegid Voel?”
“A lonely one, as most lake-dwelling spirits are,” Gwion said. “He is something of a giant, but he is certainly not cruel.”
“On the contrary,” Lucia interjected, obviously trying to muster some cheer, “he is said to have romanced and seduced Cerridwen most utterly. Perhaps Ula may come to love him.”