by J. M. Hofer
In a burst of overwhelming gratitude and good will, he stood and raised his drinking horn high. “Let us drink to our beloved brother, Lord Bran, who has cheated the Lord of Death, and escaped the bowels of hell to drink among us once again!”
Everyone cried out and raised their horns in tribute, the men clapping Bran on the back and the women crawling over the skins and floor mats to kiss him.
Only Seren did not cheer. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed upon Aelhaearn like stone, no smile upon her lips.
Aelhaearn found it strange that, not so very long ago, he had been unable to think of any woman but her. Now, I wish she would disappear.
***
The morning after the feast, Aelhaearn went to the forge and gratefully found much work to be done. He often took refuge in metalwork when he needed to think. For hours, he settled into the comforting rhythm and force of his hammer blows as he mused over the past few days.
Some hours later, Bran came seeking him. “Aelhaearn, we did not have time to speak last night before you retired.”
Aelhaearn glanced up from his work. “There was plenty of time. You chose instead to waste the evening speaking to women.” He did not cease hammering.
Bran ignored his comment. “I’ll come straight to the heart of the matter.” He pulled a sword slowly from the scabbard at his side.
Great Mother! Aelhaearn was robbed of his breath. “How did you come by such a sword?”
“This is the legendary Caledgwyn.”
Aelhaearn felt shocked at the mention of the ancient weapon and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”
Or is it? The sword before him gleamed, as if forged from moonlight by the Fae. Whether or not it was truly the legendary Caledgwyn, he was wise enough to know that whatever he beheld was something far beyond what the hands of ordinary men were capable of.
“Now I understand why it was so easy for you to give up Dyrnwyn.” He felt his disdain for Bran returning. “You now wield a weapon for the ages.”
Bran shook his head. “Make no mistake, it still pains me to have parted with the sword of our people. That blade was my only companion in the caves, and my salvation, time and time again. Without it, I would have died in there. I will always think of Dyrnwyn as a close friend. I have no such bond with this weapon yet.”
“Then trade it,” Aelhaearn challenged, raising his brows.
“That I can’t do. The Lady Rowan allowed me to petition the Great Mother for it. It was my good fortune that she saw fit to grant it to me. In return, I gave my oath to serve her, and this is the weapon I’ve been blessed with. It’s not mine to trade, any more than Dyrnwyn may be traded by the Chieftain of the South. I am now protector to the Sisterhood.”
“The Sisterhood?” Aelhaearn scoffed. “They’ve lived safely on that island for generations without help. No one can approach their shores without them knowing of it. They have no need of a protector!”
“They do now.” Bran narrowed his eyes.
“If you say so,” Aelhaearn replied sarcastically. “I don’t understand why you would want to serve them, but as the men’s clans already have chieftains, I suppose the women were the only choice you had left, weren’t they?”
The look in Bran’s eyes confirmed to Aelhaearn that his comment had hit its mark.
Bran sheathed his sword. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I have reason to believe Cerridwen may try and take the Crossroads soon. I’ve come to ask if you and the clan warriors will ride with me to defend it. Maur and his men have already pledged to do so.”
“I see. And who’s told you she means to do this?”
“We’ve heard she’s taking the Cauldron there. I plan to return it to where it belongs.”
“Heard from whom?”
He had noted Bran’s hesitation, and came to the conclusion that his news was likely nothing but rumor. “I’m sorry, Bran, but hearsay is not reason enough for me to lead my warriors away from the fight we know is here. Cauldron-born still roam the countryside, and I’ll not leave our village undefended.”
He looked back down to the metal on his anvil and continued hammering, until he noticed Bran had not left and looked up again. “I wish you a safe journey. If the rumors prove true, send word, and we will follow.”
Bran nodded, staring at him. “Farewell, then. We leave at dawn.”
Aelhaearn did not believe for a moment that the Great Mother had anything to do with Bran obtaining Caledgwyn—such a weapon could only have been summoned by the most powerful sorcery. He also knew a warrior the likes of Bran could not possibly be content without a clan, living alone and doing the bidding of women. He thought on it a bit more, searching for the explanation that would satisfy all of his unanswered questions. What if Cerridwen approached him in the caves, and offered him a title greater than Chieftain of the South in return for helping her? What if she obtained the sword for him? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it was what had to have happened.
He had no way of proving his suspicions, and knew he could not discuss them with Seren, but there were others who could help him discover the truth. He sent a servant to look for Gawain, who had proven himself trustworthy. Among other things, he had kept his word to deliver news of Bran’s return to him alone.
Gawain was an eastern tracker whom Aelhaearn had granted permission to stay and live among their clan. He had fallen in love with one of their young women. As she no longer had a father, she needed Aelhaearn’s approval to marry. He had granted it, and Gawain had proven himself loyal in return. It happened often, in fact—marriages between the East and South. The men of the East loved the women of the South. No doubt they longed for some heat in the bedroom with all the difficult women they had at home. Likewise, managing to seduce an Eastern woman and melt her icy exterior was a challenge many a Southern man aspired to.
Gawain soon arrived at the forge.
“Gawain, I want you to accompany Bran and his party to the Crossroads. They ride at dawn. Pay close attention to all you see and hear, and then report back to me. I have reason to believe he may betray us.”
“Yes, Pennaeth,” Gawain replied dutifully.
***
Lucia was sitting with Llygoden and the twins around the fire in the motherhouse, working bread dough upon stones. She had spent the day at the task with the women, hearing of all that had happened in her absence, and likewise sharing news of their Sisters on the Isle.
Bran entered, and Lucia looked up. “I’ve chosen my men,” he announced. “We leave at first light for the Crossroads.”
“What? You’ve only just arrived!” Seren protested.
“I came only to deliver Dyrnwyn safely into Aelhaearn’s hands and ask for his support at the battle that I suspect will soon arrive at the Crossroads. He has refused. Now, I must go to Talhaiarn. Maur and his men are coming with me, but Aelhaearn won’t leave the village undefended for anything less than certain proof that she plans to attack. I don’t hold this against him—he’s right to put the safety of the clan first. I’ve told him I’ll send word once I learn the truth of it.”
Seren’s face was twisted with concern. “We can certainly spare some of our warriors. If nothing else, we should send a few of our fastest riders with you. They could bring word back should it be true.”
“See if you can convince him of it, then. My words have fallen on deaf ears. My return has not pleased him. Less so your disdain of him over it.”
“Yes, we’ve quarreled,” Seren admitted.
“Then go to him and mend things with him. Lives are at stake, Seren.”
She nodded. “I’ll go to him and make it right. You’ll have the riders, if nothing else.”
Bran walked over to Lucia and her stomach leapt. “Come with me.” He offered his hand. She stopped her work, dusted off her hands and took it.
He led her outside. A cold rain had fallen all day, and the late afternoon sky was grey and cloudy. She pulled her shawl closer to her against its chill
. “Let’s walk awhile.”
Finally, I have him to myself. The past week had been spent constantly in the company of others—Gwion, the Sisters, his people. Occasionally, he had looked over at her and pulled her into him with his eyes. She had ached for him to kiss or hold her again, longing for everyone to disappear.
He offered her his arm. They walked a long time, rarely disturbing the silence of the forest, listening to the rhythm of the raindrops on the leaves of the trees.
“Lucia, Gwion is coming with me to the Crossroads.”
She stopped in her tracks and let go of his arm. “What? You won’t take me, but you’ll take him? He’s just a boy! Less trained in a fight than I am!”
Bran shook his head. “You know that isn’t true. He has a vision that reaches beyond even what Talhaiarn can see, and that vision is a weapon far more powerful than Caledgwyn, or a thousand warriors. He’s the reason she will fail.”
“But he’s just a boy…” she whispered, terrified for him, and for Aveta. Her throat tightened.
Bran reached down and took her hand. “I’ll protect him. I promise.”
She looked up at him. He bent down to kiss her. She reached up and pulled him closer. She had been desperate for his touch since the Isle. Don’t stop, please.
But he did stop. Twilight had begun reaching its long, dark fingers across the sky, snaking them in between the trees.
“Come, it’s getting dark.” He offered her his arm and turned toward the village, leading her slowly back.
Fires appeared in the distance, like friendly beacons, as they approached. Although Lucia was nearly frozen through, she did not care. She dreaded their time alone coming to an end. They were too soon back in the village.
To her surprise, instead of leading her back to the motherhouse, he took her across the village to one of the houses. He held open the door and took her in his arms. “Stay with me tonight.”
Her blood raced. She nodded and walked in. She sat down upon a large pile of furs, watching him as he started a fire. Soon, the house was almost too warm.
He came and sat down next to her, looking at her the way he had before, only now there were no others to stop them. He leaned in and kissed her. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. He undressed her, and then himself, kissing her all the while. Soon, all she felt was the blissful smoothness and warmth of his skin pressed against hers; his arms wrapped around her waist, his lips on her neck and face, his hands behind her head, clutching her hair, and his fingers touching every part of her body until the flames began to burn low.
When neither of them could wait any longer, he crushed her body into the furs beneath them, as if he were made of stone or oak, at once making her feel both dominated and protected by the same forceful power he had turned on so many enemies.
Waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed in her body, shallow and gentle at first, then deeper and more powerful, until she could resist no more, and was overcome.
He followed her into that place of bliss soon after, and then wrapped himself around her like a cloak, caressing her skin and holding her close.
She watched the shadows from the flames dance around them, feeling his heart pounding against her back. She breathed in deeply, trying to memorize the smell of him.
Please, let there be a next time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Alliance
Aelhaearn moved and struck, getting the better of his opponent yet again. He and his warriors had been training all morning, and he had yet to be bested.
“Gods, you were near impossible to best before, but with Dyrnwyn in your hand I’m not sure it can be done,” gasped Beynon from the snowy ground beneath him.
Aelhaearn swelled with satisfaction. It was true, he felt nearly invincible with the weapon in his hand.“Next!” he yelled lustily. Another of his men attacked, and so it went, all through the morning, until all his warriors were spent.
Finally, hungry, he sheathed his beloved prize. “We’ll train again tomorrow morning. See to your other duties.” The men dispersed and he walked about the camp seeing to various tasks. Returning to his normal daily routine had improved his mood considerably, now that Bran was gone. He had left with that queer blonde boy and the Northerners two mornings ago.
He wondered how long it would be before Gawain returned. With proof of betrayal, he could see to it that Bran and all his companions were executed. Seren would be able to do nothing about it. Bran’s sword would then belong to him by right.
He went into the forest to hunt, but there was not much daylight left. They were now deep in the heart of winter, and the days were extremely short.
Twilight was soon upon him. On his way back, he noticed the silhouette of a lone woman on the path in front of him. “Woman!” he yelled at her. “Are you mad? What are you doing out here? Get back to camp! There may be cauldron-born about!”
As she came into view his heart nearly stopped.
“Are you not pleased to see me, Firebrand?”
I thought I’d never see her again. He approached her as he would a skittish horse, afraid she would disappear. As he got closer, he noticed her round belly.
She smiled at him. “The Great Mother told me it will be a boy-child, blessed with the Firebrand, like you.” She put her hands gently on her belly.
“What?” he gasped. He thought back to that afternoon in the glade. A son? The idea filled him with pride and a protective desire to possess her. He wanted to pull her into his cloak and never let her out of it.
He took her arm, pulling her to him. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you come to me again until now?”
“Let that not concern you. I have been where I was needed. Now, I am here, with you,” she offered. “You, Firebrand, the strongest chieftain of the three clans.”
I must have her for my queen. The clan admired power in their women, and her beauty and power would completely eclipse Seren’s.
“Stay here and be my queen,” he demanded, reaching down to touch her face. “Raise the boy here, among his people.”
She pulled away, and Aelhaearn feared she meant to leave. He cast a ring of fire around the both of them. “You’re going nowhere!”
She looked around her in delight and laughed as if he were a dog performing tricks. “Wondrous! You’re wondrous!” She turned back to face him. “We have much to talk about, first. There is much I have to say that you will perhaps not enjoy hearing.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing you could say that will anger me—not after the news you’ve just given me.” He reached down and put his hand on her belly.
“I fear there is much.”
“Not if the answer to one question is yes—“
“What question is that?”
“If you’ll swear to all the gods that my blood beats within the babe you carry in your womb.”
She looked him deep in the eyes. “I swear that this is so. And I have come to make you an offer.”
“Make it.”
“As I said, you are the strongest of the three chieftains of the Great Circle—stronger than Neirin, who was easily seduced and wagered the Helm of the East in prideful folly, and stronger than Taranis, who promised my unborn babe the Shield of the North in exchange for ale and my legs wrapped around him for one night.”
What? She lay with all of us? Aelhaearn backed away a few steps, staring at the woman in front of him in caution and wonder, dazzled by her brilliance and in awe of her cunning. By the gods, it’s her. Bloody hell.
“Cerridwen,” he whispered.
“Yes, I am she.”
He crossed his arms across his chest, stepping back a few paces. “You have all the relics but one, now.”
“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “All but the one you carry.”
He knit his brows, looking her up and down. “You swear you carry my child, and yet you admit to having lain with the other chieftains. Do you take me for a fool?”
“Don’t mistake
me for a common woman, Firebrand,” she warned. “The father of this child is three-fold.”
Aelhaearn narrowed his eyes on her. “What do you mean, ‘three-fold’? What sorcery is this?”
“Yes, I have also bedded the chieftains of the North and East, but to one grand purpose—to take the best of their seed and yours, and with it, knit together within my womb the future High King of the Four Clans. He will be blessed with the Firebrand of the South, the bardic singing voice and earthy passion of the North, and the cunning vision and mind of the East, and of course the gifts that come with having a mother of the Isle. With these gifts, along with the relics, he shall have no rival. He shall be my most beloved and wondrous creation, and all will bow to him.”
After a moment, she added, “I have never lied to you, Firebrand.”
Indeed, she hasn’t. She had not revealed her true purpose, but she had never lied.
She stepped toward him. “Your kinsman, Lord Bran, murdered my son. I intend to make him pay for it with his life.” Her beautiful face grew wrathful, like dark storm clouds swallowing the sun. “I understand the two of you have had your differences. I am in need of a protector who is more god than man—a man like you, Firebrand. You’ve been blessed by the Guardians with a gift that lifts you far above your brothers.”
That’s true. He had always believed he was meant for something better—something beyond ruling his own clan. Why else would I have been given such power, if not to wield it?
She reached down and took his hands in hers. “Should you choose to be my protector, Firebrand, I promise to share power with you that goes beyond this world and stretches into the next—power that no man who has walked the earth has ever known.”
He believed her. Against all logic, he believed her, and the idea of raising this momentous child as his son, with the feared and powerful Cerridwen of the Isle as his queen, filled him with unquenchable ambition.
“My love,” Cerridwen whispered softly, “you and I will rule the four clans from the Crossroads. There, we will raise the boy as your son, and he shall rule after you. Bards will sing for generations to come of you both.”