The Forgotten Kingdom

by Signe Pike

Silence fell between them as Angharad let settle all Artùr had said. A raid on Clyde Rock—what else might have happened in the years Angharad had been away? She’d felt at peace with her decision to train at Woodwick Bay, but now, for the first time, she began to wonder if it might not soon be time to return home. “Artùr?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes, Angharad?” His blue eyes looked almost hopeful.

  “If you should see Lailoken again, will you carry some words from me?”

  He bowed his head. “Aye.”

  “Tell him… tell him that I love him. And that I do not blame him. And…” Angharad searched. “Please tell him I hope to someday see him again.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Artùr promised.

  Lailoken had avenged Arderydd. But her poor mother, to be caught in the midst of so much bloodshed. Angharad blinked a tear, and Artùr reached gently to brush it from her face.

  “I’ve upset you. Perhaps I should have held my tongue.”

  “Nay. I’m glad you’ve told me. ’Tis only it seems so strange that you and I have met. And that you would know my uncle. It seems almost…”

  “Fated?” The playfulness in his tone belied the heaviness of his gaze.

  “Everything is fated in one way or another, is it not?” she answered.

  “Aye. I suppose it is.” Artùr considered her. “You’re lovely. Do you know that, Angharad?”

  She did not know how to answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then the door to the hut opened, and Ariane appeared with Cai.

  “Artùr, the boat is ready. Are you hale?” Cai asked.

  Ariane turned to her. “What say you, Angharad? Is he ready for travel?”

  Angharad blinked, returning to herself. “Yes. Yes, I believe so.”

  “Aye. I’m feeling well enough now,” Artùr added.

  “That is fortunate,” Ariane said, “for we’ve just gotten word that Bridei’s men will arrive here by day’s end.”

  Angharad’s stomach sank. Artùr looked at her a moment, but Cai stood, impatient, and she felt Artùr’s armor envelop him again.

  “Aye. We’ll endanger you no longer. We’ve taken too much of your kindness already. We’re grateful for your hospitality.”

  Ariane nodded, passing him a sack of food.

  It was better that Artùr go, Angharad reasoned. His presence tested her, and the pull she felt to him left her scattered and distracted. But Angharad had surmounted the challenge and helped him, hadn’t she? She gave thanks for that. And had he not landed here four mornings ago, she might never have learned of her uncle.

  Angharad walked him to the door and Artùr stopped, turning.

  “I’ll give your message to your uncle,” he said. “He’ll be joyed to receive it.”

  She was too aware of Ariane and Cai standing close. All she could say was “Thank you. I wish you safe travels.”

  But Artùr took her hand, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “You’ve healed me, Lady Priestess. I will never forget it.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Lailoken

  Grey Mare’s Tail Falls

  Kingdom of the Selgovae

  13th of June, AD 580

  I was standing at the foot of the waterfall, training with my blade. The pounding of the water was deafening, its spray beading my beard in a thousand tiny pearls. He came readily now when I called him, the Keeper of the Falls. When you are in exile, time is an enemy, unless one learns to make it a slave. Pain and adversity were my tutors. I exposed my body to such elements the likes of which few others could endure.

  I no longer wanted such things as Lailoken the man would want.

  I lost my taste for meat, for its flesh tasted only of death.

  Initiates came from Scotia.

  Let them come, I said.

  Let them come, Archer agreed. For Aedan mac Gabrahn sent word of a Gathering across the sea at Drumceatt. King Aed had outlawed Wisdom Keepers with the support of a priest named Columba.

  Send your brightest minds, then, to me, I said. Whisper on the wind that a haven awaits. Come to the forest. Come to Suibne—the wild man—I will take you in.

  CHAPTER 38

  Languoreth

  Grey Mare’s Tail Falls

  Kingdom of the Selgovae

  13th of June, AD 580

  Eira and I had been traveling for days by the time we reached the waterfall with my men.

  We’d found the chieftain called Archer in his hall, only to have him direct us a half day farther into the Caledonian Deep.

  “Go to the Mare’s Tail,” Lord Archer had said. “You’ll find your brother there.”

  So we rode to the place where a ringed stone wall stood upon a little mount, all that remained of an old Selgovian fortress. A sliver of white water cascaded down an impossibly high cliff, and I searched the vast landscape, feeling the land’s thrumming power.

  “Keep back, Torin,” I told him, turning to my guard. “We don’t wish to send him running.”

  I am shamed to say that neither I nor Eira knew my brother at first when we spotted him beneath the falls. I am shamed to say I thought, Who is that madman, spinning beneath the water’s spray, wrapped in pelts?

  He was thin—too thin—and his once neatly kempt hair had gone bushy and wild, threading down his shoulders in tangles and plaits. He was training with his sword. I had seen him work the weapon a thousand times. But now, as Eira ran to him, he rounded with a wary sort of rage. Seven long years my brother had been hunted.

  And then recognition dawned. He blinked in disbelief.

  His eyes were a question. Can it be you?

  His blue eyes trailed past Eira to where I stood. Can it be you?

  A keening escaped me as I ran to him, as Eira ran to him, and the three of us collided, tears streaming.

  But it was no longer just me and Lailoken now. I stepped back to give space for his love. He and Eira spoke hurriedly, their faces together, holding each other’s cheeks. Then my twin came and drew me to him.

  “I am sorry, I am sorry,” I said, my words muffled by his pelted shoulder. “We could not come until now.”

  “I knew you could not.” He drew back, holding me at arm’s length. He searched my eyes as if to find the story of the past seven winters, even as I searched his. I saw wisdom there, and suffering. A new kind of strength. He smiled and gestured to the twisted gold torque at my throat. “Pretty,” he quipped. “Was it a gift?” But he was yet waiting.

  “Come.” I beckoned Eira. “Let the three of us sit.”

  We settled on some boulders at the water’s edge, warm from the sun.

  “Tutgual is dead. Rhydderch has been named king, and I am now queen,” I told him.

  “Aye.”

  “You knew this?”

  “Aye. I hear much from this place in the forest. You might be surprised. I will admit I did not think to see you here at the falls.”

  “Then you knew I was coming.”

  “Your caravan is difficult for a scout to miss. You do not travel in small company, Languoreth. But I am so happy for you, sister. You are the queen our people have waited for. Our father would be proud.” His blue eyes were filled with warmth.

  “No, no. Don’t you see, Lailoken? I have come to bring you out of exile. I and Eira. Rhydderch wishes for you to be his counsel. We have come to bring you home!”

  “But this is my home.”

  I shook my head. “No, brother. How can you say that? Your home is with me, in Strathclyde, where it has always been.”

  He frowned. “Strathclyde has not been my home for quite some time.”

  Eira, who’d been listening, reached to touch his bearded cheek. “Lailoken, I think you are a man much changed.”

  “If that is so, then change was much needed,” he said. “I answered the death of my kin. Everything I have done since, I have done in search of some sort of peace.”

  She took away her hand, and it settled uncertainly.

  “Brother. I am offering you freedom. Freedom t
o come home. Is that not what you wish? Is that not what we have waited for these past seven years?”

  “At what cost?” he asked.

  “Very well.” I knit my fingers in my lap. “At great cost. For Mungo, too, returns from exile. And the Christian lords of Strathclyde have demanded his place as Rhydderch’s counsel. You and Mungo would offer counsel together.”

  His blue eyes went wide. And then he laughed. He laughed with the wild abandon of a madman, his hand to his stomach.

  “I cannot say I share your humor,” I said when he ceased.

  “No,” he agreed. “Your humor has left you. For surely you might’ve seen what folly this is.”

  Eira frowned. “The man I knew would have been eager at the opportunity to quell Mungo’s influence. This is what your sister and Rhydderch offer, Lailoken. That and your freedom.”

  “My love, they offer me shackles. Here I am free. Rhydderch seeks me out to quell the worries of the lords of the Old Way. And he fears Aedan, king of Dalriada and Mannau, a man I now call a friend, along with his son Artùr. He would use me to his ends. Mungo—” He gathered his mucus and spat, then turned, looking at the empty path behind him. I watched his eyes trail to the top of the falls. “Come,” he said. “You are weary from your travels. I would take you to our village. You will see what it has become.”

  But he stopped when we strode toward my guard. “I’ll not lead a caravan of Strathclyde’s soldiers to our door. Pick one man, and make it one you trust. The rest must wait at Archer’s.”

  “Well enough,” I said. “Torin?”

  Torin nodded and I climbed astride my horse. Lailoken mounted Eira’s mare, helping her sit before him. Wrapping his arms round her waist, he led the way along the trail.

  We had not spied any huts from the forest road. As the rest of my guard followed back to Lord Archer’s hall, we turned at a silver birch, following a herd path that twisted and folded in upon itself. Lailoken took one way and then the next in a manner that left me utterly disoriented until the path suddenly widened, becoming one trodden by many feet.

  It was a boot print in mud that summoned thoughts of Maelgwn. Could one of these prints be his?

  I had bent my mind and my heart to loving my husband. I had tried to push Maelgwn from my mind, dismissing the fact that finding my brother would very likely mean seeing my love once more. But now, as we drew closer to the place where the Dragon Warriors had sought refuge, I felt all the more a traitor for becoming another man’s queen. It had been eight years since Maelgwn last touched me, yet I still carried the ring in my pocket, still found myself brushing my thumb against my fingers as if some trace of him lingered there. He had been with me always, a shade in the shadows of my chamber, unseen by any but me.

  Lailoken spoke of freedom. How lucky my brother was. There was no freedom for me. Not while Maelgwn yet breathed.

  Soon we saw huts. Some ramshackle, some neatly kept, built with what pieces of wood and nature’s gifts as could be spared. Lailoken called out a greeting, nodding at the men and women who came out of their shelters. There were dozens of them. Possibly hundreds. And though they beamed at the sight of my brother, their faces went stony as I passed slowly by.

  “Why do they look at me so?” I whispered as we drew ever deeper into the forest.

  “Because you are wedded to Rhydderch,” he said. “The new Christian king.”

  “They do not understand the path I must tread.”

  “It has been treacherous to them. Which is why they look at you so.”

  “Do not speak to me about treachery, Lailoken. I have lost both a daughter and a son.” And he’d no idea what Eira had endured.

  “Aye.” Lailoken bowed his head. “Aye.”

  We rode awhile in silence.

  The wood thickened. Broad-trunked oaks and fat towering pines. And then at last we came to a pasture at the foot of a mountain. Clouds choked the crevasse that led up into escape, drawing a cloak over the hilltops. It was beautiful. Beautiful and desolate.

  “Did you ever have to flee?” Eira asked, and Lailoken followed her gaze.

  “Once or twice. In the beginning, we climbed the valley each day, those who were able. We had to gain strength. We had to know we could climb faster and with surer feet than any who sought us from below.”

  The thought of it struck me, and I wanted to tell him how a day had not passed when I had not thought of him, thought of them all. But then, up ahead, I spotted a little farmstead. There at the mouth of the valley sat two thatched huts of wattle and daub, encircled by an unassuming earthen bank, their only protection a wall of sharpened stakes. Goats milled, grazing on new spring shoots. Beside the stream, a fulacht fian had been dug out for cooking, garment washing, ritual, and bathing, the squat dome beside it covered in skins.

  And then, like a trick of the eye, warriors stepped into sight as if dropping from a hidden realm. They appeared from behind boulders or the boughs of a tree. From behind Torin’s horse came two men I would have sworn a moment ago had not stood there. They came, too, unhurried, from the doors of the huts.

  I had steeled myself all the way to Black Mountain to show the warriors strength rather than weakness. But now, as they stood, shoulders back, looking at me in silence, I was overcome. Proud and noble men, persecuted. Hunted. Dishonored. Survivors of a forgotten kingdom.

  The last of Pendragon’s men.

  My fingers flew to my mouth and I swallowed a sob. But their eyes were full of distrust. Did they not know how I loved them? Did they not understand where my loyalty lay?

  “Stop,” I said to Torin. “Stop here.” I dropped from the horse and walked to the fence.

  Let them see me, I prayed. Help them see the honor in which I hold them.

  Lailoken lifted his hand, gesturing to the men. “You recall Diarmid the Diviner and, of course, Fendwin.”

  I smiled and clasped both their hands. “It does me much good to see you. I am so glad you are hale.”

  And then I heard his voice, the one I had so longed to hear, unaltered by time, unaltered by circumstance.

  “Welcome, Languoreth of Cadzow, queen of Strathclyde.”

  Maelgwn stepped through the cluster of men. There were no new scars upon him—only the familiar little crescent that cut into one dark brow. But his black hair had grown long and fell loose past his shoulders. He stopped before me and his men waited, watching.

  Maelgwn bowed ever so slightly. Then, eyes locked upon mine, he dropped down to one knee. One by one, the Dragon Warriors followed. I could no longer hold back my tears.

  Maelgwn stood then and nodded, turning to his men. “We have waited many long winters. Now, at last, our queen has come home.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Languoreth

  A time long ago, Malegwn and I spoke of running away.

  Boarding a boat out of Rheged and sailing off. This now was a taste of the life we might have had—friends gathered round a hearth telling stories, the touch of a hand at the passing of a cup, our eyes catching each other’s when we laughed. I had tasted it before, in the moments we’d stolen. I had buried the memories like acorns in the crevices of my heart. For a little while, there in the huts at the foot of Black Mountain, the rest of the world felt so far away. Then I turned my head, and the terminus of my torque poked the hollow of my throat. I looked at Maelgwn and mourned for all the years of a life unlived. One we might have—in some other dream—dwelled in together. He looked up from across the hut, sensing my shift like a change in the weather.

  “Aye, that’s a lovely tune,” Diarmid grumbled to the Song Keeper plucking her cruit. “You’ll soon have us dashing our heads against rocks.”

  “Torin.” I set down my cup. “I would speak with Maelgwn Pendragon.”

  Torin nodded and stood to summon him, picking his way over men seated on the rush matting upon the floor. Maelgwn leaned forward, his green eyes upon me as Torin spoke.

  “You would speak with me?” he said, closing the space between us. />
  “Yes, if you do not find it a trouble.”

  His brows drew together at the nerves in my voice. “Come, the other hut is at your disposal.”

  “I will follow,” Torin said, for it would not be seemly.

  But I had already beckoned my brother. “Lailoken will come. Will you keep watch outside?”

  “If you wish it,” Torin said.

  The hut was littered with skins for sleeping and smelled of men. Lailoken ducked through the entryway and nodded at us both, then sat upon a chair, turning it to face the door to give us what privacy he could. Malegwn drew two stools side by side, then reached for a hunk of wood to toss onto the hearth.

  “The fire,” he said. “We must give a care not to let it die out.” But his eyes held more meaning. Awkwardness fell between us, and I felt like a child. For all the absence we’d sustained, embers had burned between us. But now, after the battle of Arderydd and the seven long years of exile, after Rhydderch’s ascension to the throne and my queenship, seeing Maelgwn only made me more aware of the toll this endless and disorienting battle between duty and love had taken on the both of us. I loved him. I longed for him. But I was so very weary. I no longer wished to be that careless young woman, consumed by an impossible love and dreams of running away.

  My place was in Strathclyde, at the center of a kingdom. I had a duty to my people, and the trial of my days had only just begun.

  “You look well,” I said, sitting, smoothing my skirt. “I worried over you. I worried you had been injured, or worse.”

  “Aye, I am hale.”

  “I am sorry…” A look passed between us. Sorry my husband had brought war to them, that they had spent these past seven years in exile, that I had been unable to see them sooner, that now my position would forever keep us apart. He read my face, and I saw the shift and roil of my emotions reflected in his eyes.

  “You sent warning at great risk to yourself. I swore to you I would protect your daughter,” he said. “I failed you. I am sorry. It seems we were all tasked with things we could not do.”

  He straightened then, a formality entering his tone. “And you… you look well. Your new station suits you.”