Rise of the Pendragon (Islands in the Mist Book 3)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Best get indoors, my lady.”

  She nodded and moved toward the stairs that led to the window above. Thunder shook the stones of the tower as she ascended. A moment after, she heard rain falling against the stone in spattering torrents. Her heart quickened as she ascended the steps. Oh, Myrthin—what will you look like now?

  Over the past few days, she had spent much time reminiscing about the time she and Myrthin had spent together in Affalon.

  As she neared the top of the stairs, long shadows appeared along the wall. She looked up to see a silhouette standing in an archway.

  “Myrthin?”

  Myrthin held a lantern up into the darkness of the stairwell, flooding it with light and revealing his face. “Nimue?” His eyes widened as he reached out to touch her, perhaps assuming she were an apparition.

  She took his hand and smiled. Though he had aged, she recognized him well. “Yes, it’s me.”

  He stepped back to allow her through, never taking his eyes off her. He shut the door behind her and locked it.

  “Why are you here?”

  “It seems you’ve created quite a mess, Myrthin. I’ve come to help you. And Nimue yet lives in Affalon. You may call me Viviaine.”

  Myrthin narrowed his eyes and gripped a few of the talismans about his neck. “Viviaine? I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand. Listen to me.” She came and took his hands in hers. “You traded two souls to Finbheara of Knockma in exchange for his help in transporting the stones of Eire to Ambrius, did you not?”

  Myrthin’s expression waxed from confused to concerned.

  “Finbheara used the pair to breed a halfling. I assume you were aware of this, but perhaps not. Regardless, the mother has escaped. Taliesin resides with me, in Affalon, and that is where I intend to keep him for as long as fate allows.”

  Myrthin sat down, shaking his head. “Wait, wait—you are telling me the two have escaped Knockma? How is this possible?”

  “For as old and wise as you should be, you’re quite the fool. You could have sent any of the men in Uthyr’s camp to Knockma—yet you chose to send Taliesin? You underestimated him, and, now, unless Finbheara and Oonagh get the child they were promised, you’ll suffer for it.”

  Myrthin scoffed at the threat. “No, no. I didn’t promise them a child. They wanted a man and a woman from this world, and that is what I delivered. If they failed to accomplish their plans for the couple, that is not my concern.”

  Viviaine looked him in the eye. “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Viviaine nodded. “And what do you think Taliesin would do to you if I helped him escape Affalon?”

  “He is no match for me.”

  Viviaine smiled at his bluff. “Well, then it seems I’ve journeyed here for nothing. I bid you good day.” She turned and left. She had taken only four steps before she heard Myrthin’s voice calling after her.

  “Wait, wait. Don’t be so hasty. The storm would drown your horse under you. Come back. Sit down. Drink something.” Myrthin poured her some mead, which she took but did not drink.

  “You say the girl is with child and has gone home to Mynyth Aur?”

  “So I’ve heard. But she must be watched. You know how it is with a Fae child. It could choose to come now, or ten years from now. Finbheara must be made aware the moment her belly begins to swell.”

  Myrthin shook his head. “No, my place is here.”

  Viviaine sighed. “You’re not understanding me. The grove near Mynyth Aur needs a guardian, does it not? Introduce me to Uthyr. Suggest he send me there to take your place and watch over it. I am the High Priestess of Affalon. They could do no better. From there, I will keep an eye on the mother and let Finbheara know when her time is nigh. Once he has what he wants, he will be indebted to us both. It is a wise alliance. You know as well as I the times that are coming.”

  Myrthin sat awhile. He glanced out the window at the rain and then back at her. He stood up, dragged his stool directly in front of her, and sat down again. He reached for her hands and held them awhile before bringing them to his lips to kiss them. He held them there, breathing in the scent of her skin. She saw tears well up in the wrinkles of his closed eyes. “I still dream of you, at times.” He smiled faintly. “When I do, I am always young again, free from the aches and worries of age.”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Dear Myrthin, in the Otherworld we are forever young.” The rain had nearly stopped. A light breeze blew fresh clean air into the tower, causing the candles to flicker.

  Myrthin stood up and offered his hand. “Let us go to the Pendragon.”

  He arranged a meeting that evening, ensuring it was late enough that Uthyr would have eaten. They both knew all men were in better spirits with a full belly and a bit of ale in their blood.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Jørren

  The Oaks broke camp at first light. The women emptied and swept out the tents so the men could dismantle them. While the men loaded up the wagons and prepared the horses for the long journey home, the women boiled eggs and baked bannocks for a quick morning meal.

  Arhianna paced the now barren field, mouth dry and heart thumping against her ribcage. They should have brought him by now. He should be here. We’re ready to leave. It’s nearly mid-morning. Why isn’t he here? Oh, gods. Maybe Uthyr’s changed his mind. Oh, please, Freya. Please, Great Mother.

  She had not slept at all the night before. She sat down on a large rock and put her head in her hands. Please, protect him. Let him live. Please, forgive me. She stared at the ground for some time, watching the breeze blow the grass and small meadow flowers, whispering her mantra, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Gareth’s face. He sat down and put his arm around her.

  She swallowed, fighting the lump in her throat. “I feel sick.”

  “I imagine so.” He reached over and squeezed her hands to stop her from wringing them.

  She shook her head. “What do I say to him?”

  Gareth shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll know when you see him. What are you afraid of?”

  A short nervous laugh escaped her. “What am I afraid of?” She looked up at the sky. “That he’ll blame me for what happened to him…that his people suffered because of me…that Ragna may be dead or in danger…that he doesn’t love me anymore—“ She choked back a sob. “They were my people, too. I was their queen. I left Jørren, yes, but I abandoned them as well. The worst thing is, all this time, I felt I did the right thing—but, when I’m honest with myself, I know I left out of pride. I chose pride over love.” Now, she could not stop the tears from spilling out of her eyes.

  “You only say that now because you know he didn’t do it. He gave you no reason to believe he would reconsider.”

  Arhianna looked off at the horizon and saw soldiers coming down the road, bearing Uthyr’s banner, and her father riding out to meet them. As they rode closer, she spied a man in chains stumbling behind their horses. “Oh, gods,” she whispered. She stood up and ran closer to get a better view.

  Uthyr’s soldiers yanked the man forward and handed him over to her father. They spoke briefly and then turned back toward the city. She held her breath as she watched her father ride back toward the camp, her husband’s chains hooked to his pommel.

  Gareth came and took her hand. “Courage.” He led her back toward the wagons. “Father’s going to chain him up in an empty wagon. I’m going to pretend to be standing guard over him. Once we’re safely out of Caer Lundein we can get him some food and drink and let him bathe. By then, perhaps you’ll have found the words you wish to say to him.”

  Arhianna nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from Jørren. She did not recognize him at all. His body, once wide and muscular, was now emaciated. His hair was so matted and his beard and mustache so long, she could not find any of his features. “Are you certain it’s him, Gareth? They wouldn’t have brought us the wrong man, would
they?”

  “No. It’s him.”

  Arhianna ventured closer, watching as they loaded Jørren into the wagon. She did not want him to see her yet. Not like this. Not until they could be alone and speak freely.

  Gareth put a hand on her shoulder. “Be strong. I’ll tell him the plan.” He ran off toward the wagon and climbed in, playing his part.

  Arhianna ran to her horse, eager to leave. The sooner we get out of Caer Lundein, the better.

  ***

  The moon rose early that night, while the western sky still glowed with the last embers of the day’s light. Her father gave the order to stop for the night. There was a river nearby where they could water the horses and a wide flat field where they could circle their wagons.

  Arhianna sat down with Buddug and busied herself with cutting vegetables. Her mother came and kneeled beside her. “How are you?”

  “The truth? I feel like a rabbit caught in a snare.”

  Her mother put a hand on her back and set some clothes down next to her. “He’s gone to the river to bathe. He’ll need something clean to wear, and Gareth says he wants to shave his head.”

  “I’ll go to him.” She sheathed her knife, took the bundle of clothes, and stood up.

  Her mother stood up with her and squeezed her shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Arhianna nodded but said nothing. She headed down toward the river and walked along its edge until she found him. He was standing in the middle of the river up to his waist, his back to her. She stood there a moment, studying his body, trying to find something about it that she recognized but found nothing. He had many new scars on his back and she could make out his every rib. She walked to a place where he could see her.

  He looked over at her but did not smile or speak. He crouched down and submerged himself in the river, staying beneath the water a long time. He surfaced, looking up at the sky as if he were saying a prayer, and then turned toward her. He climbed out of the river, pushing his matted hair out of his face, and looked her in the eyes for the first time.

  At last, she recognized him. She held out the clothes, her hands trembling. He took them and put them on, never taking his eyes off her, as if he thought she might disappear or run away if he did. He kneeled down in front of her, took her knife out of its sheath, and handed it to her.

  Arhianna took ahold of his hair and began to free him from it, one handful at a time. Then, she sharpened her blade, shaved his head, and cut his beard to the length she knew he preferred.

  When she finished, she could see his face. Memories of their time together flooded her mind, and she began to weep.

  He breathed in as if he were going to say something but instead put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

  ***

  The week’s journey that followed was surreal for Arhianna. She felt as if she had a foot in two worlds, each of them tugging at her to take another step, yet could not move forward in either one without leaving the other. She felt the heat of fate breathing down her neck as they rode into Mynyth Aur.

  Everyone gathered in the motherhouse that night, laughing and singing, but Arhianna felt like an outsider alongside her husband. He moved through the world as if he were seeing or hearing things that were not there, yet unaware of the people who were. She sat next to him, praying, as he ate in silence. Freya, help me. I don’t know what to do.

  He finished his meal and stood up abruptly, startling her. He walked over to her father and extended his arm. “Thank you for what you have done for me, Earl Bran. I owe you my life.”

  Gareth, who was sitting beside her father, translated his words.

  Bran stood up and took Jørren’s arm. “You cared for my children when they were in your land. You protected my daughter. You owe me nothing.”

  Jørren nodded and gave her father’s arm a firm squeeze.

  Gareth added, “We’re glad to have you among us. You and Arhianna can live in my house while you build your own. I sleep in the forge most nights, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Gareth. That’s generous of you,” Arhianna said before Jørren could refuse. She felt relieved they would have somewhere private to go, where they could discuss all that had happened. She felt desperate to reconnect, yet feared it was perhaps too late. Oh, Freya—what’s happened to him? He seems so distant. How do I bring him back? It was not long before she could no longer withstand the tension.

  “I want to go,” she whispered to Jørren. The once-familiar tongue of her adopted clan felt foreign in her mouth again.

  Jørren stood up, and Arhianna announced they were retiring for the night. He led her out of the hall. Once outside, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She pointed to Gareth’s house across the village, still visible in the twilight. “That’s it.”

  They crossed the village in silence, listening to the laughter from the motherhouse fade into the night. She swallowed hard, her heart racing. “Jørren, we must speak about what happened.”

  He stopped and turned toward her. “Speak, then.”

  All the words she had rehearsed in her head were gone. “I—I’m so sorry.” Regret came flooding into her the moment she spoke the words, filling her eyes with tears. She put her arms around his waist.

  Jørren put his arms around her but said nothing.

  “I couldn’t have lived with it,” she stammered weakly. “I had no choice. I had to leave. I’m sorry.”

  She felt his chest expand against her cheek as he took in a deep breath and let it out in a long, tired sigh. “You had a choice and so did I. You chose honor over love, and I chose love over honor.”

  His words hit her like stones. She pulled away and looked up at him, shaking her head. “No, you didn’t—you chose not to murder unarmed men! What could be more honorable than that?”

  Jørren’s expression contorted as if he were in pain. “No. I broke my oath. I defied my earl. Many of my people are dead because of me—my mother likely among them!”

  “But…”

  Something snapped inside of him. “No, Arhianna! I was a fool—my love for you made me blind. And for what? You betrayed me!” He let her go and turned away from her, staring up at the darkening sky.

  Arhianna felt stunned. She searched frantically for the right words to say, feeling as though she were were sliding down a mountainside, unable to find anything to grab ahold of.

  He turned back around, calm again. “I will stay here until I regain my strength. Then, I must return north and see if there is anything left of my people.”

  Arhianna noticed he no longer called them “our people,” as he always did before. Now, they are his people, and these are mine. There is no “ours” anymore.

  Though they slept in the same bed that night, he did not make love to her.

  Arhianna had never felt so alone. She curled into a ball and wept through the night.

  ***

  Though it was difficult for her, Arhianna refused to give in to her feelings of rejection and despair. The following night, she did not lay meekly beside Jørren, hoping he would reach for her. She reached for him, forging a path to his heart with her hands and lips until he softened and made love to her.

  The wall between them cracked, though she imagined it would be many nights before it crumbled. Arhianna gave thanks in the tender exhaustion of their reunion, awash in relief and gratitude.

  The following week brought them closer. Jørren worked every day at the forge with Gareth, Laust and Brokkr. Between the labor and the steady meals, he soon began to look like the man he once was—at least, on the outside.

  Though she knew it was perhaps foolish of her, Arhianna hoped he would consider bringing whomever was left from their clan to settle in Mynyth Aur. After all, what’s in the north for them? The Picts are always raiding. And now, Hengist is gone, as is Octa. Under Uthyr, we’ll surely prevail against the Saxons. With this in mind, she sought every opportunity to integrate him into the clan—to show him his people would be welcome. She stre
tched herself as thin as she could to bridge the gap between him and the others, especially her father, but exhausted herself doing it. Jørren was not like Brokkr. He had no interest in forging ties with anyone. He never denied her his attention, however. He made love to her every night. Yet, even so, something felt wrong. Is he simply happy to have me to warm his bed until he leaves? Or will he ask me to go with him?

  She craved advice and went to her mother, who suggested they hike up to the Eagle’s Nest. “Sometimes things become clearer from up there.”

  They walked up the mountainside together, occasionally remarking on the weather or bending down to pick a useful herb. They reached the lookout point within the hour and sat down to take in the view. The sky was clear, allowing them to see a few miles in all directions. Arhianna watched the wind blow patterns through the sea of barley below. She spotted a hawk sailing over the fields in smooth, graceful circles, waiting for a mouse or rabbit to betray itself. Beyond the fields and across the meadow stood the forest, which she would always think of as Islwyn’s. Her eyes followed the edge of the tree line west, until she caught a glimpse of the river winking in and out of view in the morning sun. The scene calmed her, making it easier for her to share her worries.

  “I don’t know what to do, Mother. I’ve tried everything I can think of.” She shook her head. “He won’t even consider bringing the rest of the clan here.” If there are any of them left. She felt a terrible pang of guilt in her stomach.

  Her mother reached over and put her arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know Jørren very well, but if settling here is out of the question, that means he is either going to leave you behind, as you left him, or ask you to go with him.”

  Arhianna nodded. “I know. I keep thinking there must be a way to convince him—that I’m missing something.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to lose any of you again. I don’t want to choose.”

  Her mother chuckled. “My advice is to think well on it and choose, cariad, or a choice will be made for you. You don’t want that.” She squeezed her shoulders. “And whatever you decide, I’ll support you. You’re a woman, now, not a child.”