by J. M. Hofer
Lucia proceeded to tell her about everyone in the clan, keeping her mind occupied. Soon, Arhianna could swallow, and her mother noticed. “Aha! Now we can get somewhere.” She poured something into a spoon and put it between her lips. “This ought to speed things up a bit.”
Arhianna swallowed the bitter liquid and listened to her mother tell stories from the past few months. Somewhere between the story of the sheep escaping from the paddock and Maur’s fifteenth grandchild being born, she realized she could move her head.
Her mother smiled. “There we are.” She held Arhianna’s head up and helped her drink the rest of the tonic. Within the hour, Arhianna could move her limbs. She sat up. She could move but suffered from a terrible headache.
“That will pass,” her mother said. “Keep sipping on your tea. I’m going to fetch your father and then you can tell us everything.”
Arhianna drank three more cups of tea before she heard voices outside the door. She saw her father’s large frame duck down and come into the room. “There she is!” She set down her tea, knowing he would come and scoop her up in his arms. “Thank the gods, girl. Thank the gods.” He rocked her back and forth, squeezing her tight.
He was not the only one who came to see her. Maur and Buddug were there, too, beaming down at her. “Ah, lass! So glad you’re well!” Maur cried, coming in for a hug. Buddug was next. “We were so worried. Been prayin’ to the Great Mother every mornin’ and night for you, I have.”
Her father sat down by her side. Now that she could see his face clearly, she was shocked by how much he seemed to have aged. “Father, have you been ill?”
He seemed taken aback and gave her a wounded smile. “Just a bit tired, cariad. Why do you ask?”
She knew he was lying. She had also seen the glance he had shot her mother. Something’s wrong.
He squeezed her hand. “I’ve sent word to Gwythno that you’ve recovered. I imagine Elffin and Irwyn may want to come and see you.”
Arhianna set her worries aside for a moment and concentrated on remembering what had happened. Yes, Taliesin was with me. We sailed to Eire…we went to get the stones. She tried to speak but all that came out was dry croaking. She swallowed more tea and tried again. “Taliesin is in Gwythno?”
“He is. Elffin’s called upon dozens of healers, but they couldn’t do any more for him than the sisters or Mabyn could, so now only she watches over him.”
Arhianna’s heart sank.
“It was the same with you,” her mother said. “Creirwy took you both to the isle. She and the sisters sent for me. We did all we could but none of us could bring you back. After a moon, we decided the best place for you to be was here at home. I’ve been watching over you ever since.”
Her father squeezed her hand again. “Tell me everything you can remember about what happened. What did you eat that night?”
I don’t know. She felt her blood rise in panic. I can’t remember anything. She did not want to ask again how long she had been ill, because she could not bear to hear it again. Ten moons? No, it just can’t be.
***
Nimue’s dramatic departure had the Daoine Sídhe talking for days. She had fascinated both Oonagh and Finbheara, who longed to know more of her and where she had come from.
“Affalon,” Oonagh whispered to her husband. “I must see it, my love. I simply must.”
Finbheara felt grateful for his wife’s interest, for he desired nothing more than to see Nimue again, but he was wise enough to know that a journey to visit Nimue had to appear to be her idea and hers alone. She was terribly jealous when she was with child. “If that is what you wish, sweet one, then we shall have Taliesin take us there. He knows the way.”
Oonagh nodded. “Yes, but we would lose him as our bard. He’ll not want to return with us.”
Finbheara shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The derry Rowan carries his child, though I doubt she knows it yet. We’ll steal it away once it’s born, and our work will be complete. We don’t need him any longer.”
“Yes, but I’ll miss him.”
“As will I, but what do you desire more?”
“You’re right. Let’s ask him. It’s been too long since we’ve left Knockma, and soon, I’ll not be able to travel.”
Finbheara and Oonagh summoned Taliesin that night and invited him to sit at their table.
“We have a proposition for you,” Finbheara began, glancing over at his wife.
“What is it, your grace?”
“We wish to grant you the freedom to come and go from Knockma as you please, if you’ll agree to take us to Affalon.”
Taliesin narrowed his eyes. “You’ll grant me my freedom?”
“Yes, if you take us to Affalon.”
Taliesin looked confused.
“Come, come. There’s no trick to it! It’s very simple. You take us to Affalon and we let you come and go as you please. My people love you, as do we. We shall miss you. But my wife desires to see Affalon, and she wishes to do so before she becomes too heavy with child to travel. So, let’s have it. Yes, or no?”
Taliesin smiled. “Yes, I agree.” He held out his hand, and Finbheara gripped it, sealing the agreement.
Oonagh clapped her hands. “Wonderful! We wish to leave in the morning.”
Taliesin nodded. “Of course. As you wish.”
That night in Knockma, the music and dancing in the courtyard were more lively than usual. Spirits were high, fueled by Taliesin’s joy and the king and queen’s anticipation of their impending journey.
***
Thank the gods. I am to be free, at last! It seemed too good to be true. Taliesin could not sleep that night, kept awake by a myriad of anxieties. He felt sick about the heartbreak he had caused Nimue. What if she refuses to let us enter Affalon? He did not know what to do. Romantic love was something he had only experienced twice. The tragedy was that he loved both Nimue and Arhianna dearly, yet to choose one was to cause the other grief. There was no clear path out of his dilemma.
The next morning, Finbheara, Oonagh and Taliesin left Knockma through the western door of the Sídhe. The air and light changed, and the door closed behind them.
“Ah, Eire,” Finbheara remarked, breathing in the smell of the air. He bent down and plucked a few wildflowers that were growing between the rocks at his feet. He handed them to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. “Lead on, Taliesin.”
Here, in his world, Taliesin’s instincts returned. He could sense where the sea was and set off in that direction. Some hours later, they reached the coast. “We need to cross the sea. You’ve brought gold, I hope?”
Finbheara shook the pouch at his side, which responded with the heavy clinking of coin.
“Good.” Taliesin pointed to a fishing village down the coast. “Let’s try there.” He started walking off, Finbheara beside him.
“Wait!”
They turned around to see Oonagh pointing down the beach. “What’s wrong with that one?” She did not wait for them, walking down to where the boat was. Before she reached it, several seals came out of the water and pushed it away, edging it into the surf. Oonagh laughed, turning toward her companions and pointing at the scene. “Oh, they don’t want us to have it!”
Taliesin smiled. He took off his clothes, dove into the sea, and swam out to where the seals were guarding the boat. Finbheara and Oonagh watched from the shore. Taliesin played with the seals the way a man plays with his hounds. He chased them under the water, followed them through long strands of kelp, and caught fish for them. Within an hour, they let him climb into the boat and row it back to shore.
Oonagh handed him his clothes and stepped aboard. Finbheara guided the boat off the shore and then leapt in himself. His eyes twinkled as he settled into the boat. “This is a grand adventure already!”
***
When they reached the marshes, Taliesin’s stomach felt as if he had small fish darting around in it. Will she let us in? And if she won’t, will they try to take me back to Knock
ma? Taliesin rowed them through the calm waters, steering the prow of the boat through the willow veils toward the shores of Affalon.
He had spent the entire journey rehearsing the words he would say to Nimue, if she allowed them in. Dearest Nimue, you are my companion in spirit, my eternal love—the love I will return to when I die—but Arhianna is my chosen companion in this life. My love for her does not diminish my love for you. I plead for your forgiveness for any pain I’ve caused you and any you may endure in the future. You must believe it cleaves my heart to know I’ve hurt you…
Oonagh waved her graceful hand in front of his face. “Taliesin? Are you there? You’re daydreaming, again. Such a faraway look. What are you thinking?”
“You know what he’s thinking,” Finbheara said. “He’s thinking of what he’ll say to Nimue.”
Oonagh nodded. “Well, what will you say? Perhaps I can help.”
This, Taliesin had not even considered. Who better to advise him on what to say to an otherworldly woman, than another otherworldly woman? He repeated his speech.
Oonagh threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, dear. We shall never gain entry that way!” She shook her head and put her hand on Taliesin’s arm. “My dear, the only thing she wants to hear is that you’re sorry and that you adore her. If you’re half as smart as I think you are, you’ll take her in your arms and make love to her.”
Taliesin shook his head. “I can’t do that! What of Arhianna?”
Oonagh’s beautiful face twisted into a fierce scowl. “What of her? She left you!”
Taliesin kept quiet.
Then Finbheara, as he always did, made his checkmate move. “If you really love the derry Rowan and want to return to her, you’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure Nimue lets us into Affalon. Otherwise, we’ll be taking you back to Knockma with us. That was the agreement. Besides, what kind of fool has any reservations about making love to a woman the likes of Lady Nimue?”
Oonagh gave her husband a look that could cut glass. He was quick to placate her with kisses and sweet words.
The prow of the boat hit sand unexpectedly, lurching forward and catching them off guard. Finbheara looked up at where they had landed. He leapt out of the boat with the grace of a roebuck and walked up on shore. He caught the scent of something upon the air. He breathed in deeply and grinned. “Do you smell that?”
Taliesin most definitely did. It filled him with pangs of melancholy. “It’s her apple grove.”
Finbheara put his hands on his hips. “Seems Lady Nimue’s agreed to see us, in spite of your foolishness.” He winked at Taliesin, splashed his way back to the boat, lifted his wife up and carried her to shore.
Taliesin pulled the boat up on the sand and led the way through the trees. As he walked, the isle worked its magic on him. The sound of the birds and the sunlight coming down through the branches eased his mind. He felt calm. Beautiful memories that he had forgotten came rushing back to him, as vivid as if they had happened the day before. He remembered all of the afternoons he had spent with Nimue, laughing, swimming, and running with the deer—but more vivid and potent than these memories were the ones of the nights they had spent making love in the perfume of the grove.
Taliesin felt so overwhelmed by emotion, he did not notice Finbheara and Oonagh were no longer behind him. Someone else was.
“Now, you remember,” a soft voice whispered.
He turned around to behold Nimue, as nude and perfect as the day he first met her. Dappled sunlight shone down through the branches overhead, dancing on her cheekbones. A light breeze blew strands of her golden hair across her face.
He moved closer, wanting to embrace her. “I love you. I’m so sorry.” The words Oonagh had suggested came from his lips, but they were not a lie. They were as true as words could be.
***
“Thank you for bringing him back to me.”
“We could not bear to see you suffer, dear lady.” Finbheara caressed her cheek.
Oonagh snatched her husband’s hand. “So, we are agreed? Keep in mind, time between the realms may alter how and when the babe begins to grow.”
Nimue nodded. “Yes. Bring me his body, and I’ll bring you the child when it’s born.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Return to Caer Lundein
Through Uthyr’s efforts and the tireless devotion of the men who served him, he regained control of the northern provinces inside of six moons. His position strengthened to his satisfaction, he gave orders to prepare for the march south to Caer Lundein, where he planned to move his headquarters. He had kept his Saxon prisoners alive, using them for labor while he strengthened his garrison. Now, he would march them down to Caer Lundein in chains, Octa and Eosa his prize jewels, and decide all their fates.
“Gareth!” Uthyr bellowed, taking him aside. He frequently visited the forge. “Will everything be ready in a week?”
“Yes, Pendragon. We’ll be ready.”
“Good. And I have happy news for you as well. Your father’s sent word that your sister’s recovered. She’ll be traveling with your clan to meet us in Caer Lundein for the games.”
Gareth threw his head back and looked up into the sky. “Thank the gods. I’ve not slept well in moons.”
“Well, it seems the gods have heard your prayers.”
“And what of Taliesin? Still no word?”
Uthyr felt a pang in his chest. “No, I’m afraid not.”
The bard had simply disappeared one night, as if into thin air. Not a soul had seen or heard anything. Theories abounded in Gwythno about his disappearance, but the only one that seemed plausible to Uthyr was that the young bard simply woke up and left. He always preferred being alone. He’s probably gone off and found himself a place in the woods. Can’t blame him—people can be such a bother. Still, the mystery had not been solved to anyone’s satisfaction, least of all Lord Elffin.
Gareth shook his head, wincing as if he were in pain. “I keep hoping he’ll turn up. It doesn’t make any sense that he’d leave without saying a word to anyone.”
Uthyr often fantasized about doing just that, so chose not to comment. He clapped Gareth on the back in farewell. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.”
***
All was ready in a moon, or near enough, and Uthyr led his men south as planned. He divided the reclaimed territory between his faithful northern allies, Gwrast of Rheged, Dyfnwal of Bryneich, and Ceredig of Alt Clud. He awarded it in accordance with the goods and arms they had pledged in the efforts to seize them back, feeling this was the fairest way to divide it. Now, he had solidified his alliances in the north. He felt confident he would not have to march that way again for some time. Hopefully, never again.
The weather gave them no terrible arguments along the way. Once the Pict country was behind them, spirits began to rise. Songs were sung to pass the time. Uthyr often heard laughter among the ranks—something he had heard rarely on the march up.
Days grew warmer and less windy as they descended into the kinder heartlands. Green hills, forests and lakes replaced the rocky moors. Farmers and villagers had come to recognize the red and gold dragon upon his banner and flocked to the roadside with their children as he and his regiment rode by.
Uthyr’s excitement mounted when they reached the outskirts of Caer Lundein. He felt as if there were a storm brewing in his breast. Why such anticipation? I feel as if something terrible awaits me—or something wonderful. I can’t tell.
It was mid-morning when they arrived at the gates of the city. The cheering crowds that had been absent when they returned from the battle in Menevia some years ago were there in throngs this time, tossing flowers and chanting Uthyr’s name as he and his men rode into the city.
“Today, the scales of justice shall be balanced,” Uthyr said to Gorlois, who rode alongside him. “At last, I will avenge my brother, and a thousand eyes shall witness it.” He turned to look Gorlois in the eye. “Today, my friend, belongs to the Brythons.” He took a deep breath
and felt a warm satisfaction swell within his breast. “We shall do it at sundown. In the center of the city.”
“The executions?” Gorlois raised his brows. “Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight.”
He did not argue. “As you wish, Pendragon.” Gorlois rode back to see to Uthyr’s demands.
Uthyr turned his attention to his people, who crowded in all around him. Yes. My people. These are my people. Proud and fierce. Together, we shall crush the Saxons and take back what is ours.
He rode through the sea of adoration and hope as if his horse were a ship and he its mighty captain, eager to embark on a voyage to a new world.
***
Gareth set out for the grounds where all the invited clans were camped. Hundreds of large tents or quickly constructed roundhouses stood upon a vast field, all of them flying the banners of their clans or houses. Gods. Gareth had never seen a camp of such grandeur and scope. He rode through the labyrinth of tents, searching for his father’s sigil. It took him the better part of the morning, but, at last, he saw the Sacred Oak, beautifully-stitched in gold upon a green banner, flying over a large tent.
“Gareth!”
Gareth smiled at the sound of his sister’s voice, scanning the crowd until he saw her red curls bouncing his direction. He jumped off his horse just in time to catch her up in his arms.
“Arawn’s balls, you’re huge!”
Gareth burst out laughing. “Arhianna! Since when do you talk like that?”
“Sorry, I’ve been listening to the men swear and carry on for nearly two weeks on the journey down. Between them all, they say that at least a thousand times a day. Come on, let’s tell Mother you’re here. Father’s gone to make arrangements to see Uthyr.”
Arhianna dragged him by the hand inside a large tent. “Mother, look who’s arrived.”
His mother turned around. Her eyes grew wide and she grinned. “Gods! You’re a beast!” She rushed over to him, arms outstretched. He lifted her off the ground and squeezed a squeal out of her.
“Ah! My back! Put me down, please!” She giggled as he released her. She stood back, looked him up and down and shook her head. “I can’t believe how huge you are.” She smacked and squeezed his arms and chest, marveling at him. “That does it. Your father’s not the biggest man in the camp anymore.” She winked. “Challenge him to an arm wrestle now, let’s see what happens.”