by J. M. Hofer
Viviaine could sense his nerves were pulled so taut, they were liable to snap. “You need to rest, Pendragon.”
“Yes. We can speak of this in the morning,” Myrthin concurred.
“No,” Uthyr sat up, trembling. “We shall speak of it now.” He turned to Myrthin. “The news of Gorlois’ death will come soon. When it does, you must travel to Din Tagell on my behalf. Tell Lady Igerna I wish to make the arrangements for Gorlois’ funeral and that I intend to provide for her and her household until the end of her days, out of respect for her husband’s loyalty.” Uthyr’s eyes welled with tears. “Tell her neither she, nor her daughter, shall ever want for anything.”
Viviaine relaxed a bit, relieved at seeing some signs of remorse.
Uthyr stood up, his composure regained. “Stay and watch over her. When you feel the time is right, send a message, and I shall come to Din Tagell and ask her to be my queen.”
Myrthin bowed his head. “Yes, Pendragon.”
He turned to Viviaine. “You have fulfilled what I’ve asked of you. By morning, you shall have a letter with my seal upon it. Give it to Bran of the Oaks.”
***
News of Gorlois’ death came within the week, and Myrthin left for Din Tagell, as agreed.
The next few months were torture for Uthyr. He had never been a dishonest man—not because he strove to be highly virtuous, but rather because deceit required so much effort. It was far easier to be honest than to remember what lies one told to whom. Yet, now, he had become not only a deceiver but a murderer, as well. And why? A woman. All for a woman. Is this the man I’ve become? I don’t deserve to be called Pendragon. I never did, brother.
He did what he could to turn his torment into industry. He poured his efforts into strengthening alliances, reinforcing the borderlands, improving cities and roads—even building churches, like his brother—but what he had done stole all but a few hours of sleep from him every night.
One night, plagued by his terrible deed more than usual, he left his chamber and made his way through town to the church his brother so revered. His god was the only one who promised forgiveness, and there was nothing he needed more. Brother, if you can hear me, help me speak to the Christian god you worshipped.
It was late, and the church was empty. He went forward to the altar and knelt down, humble and desperate for peace. God of this Holy Church, hear me. What I have done torments me day and night. I cannot sleep. I scarcely eat. I cannot husband Brython and protect her from her enemies in such a state. Bless me. Let me feel the forgiveness your followers speak of, and I will serve you, and no other, for the rest of my days.
For hours and hours, Uthyr prayed, until the cock crowed. He rose from his aching knees and hobbled out of the church, hopeful God had heard him.
Later that morning, a message arrived from Myrthin, saying the next new moon would be an auspicious time for Uthyr to come to Din Tagell.
***
Igerna had grown quite fond of Myrthin over the past few moons. He had come to Din Tagell on Uthyr’s behalf as soon as the news of Gorlois’ death reached Caer Lundein. Though cryptic at times, his manner toward her was kind and patient. She soon felt at ease with him. Together, they spoke of matters deeper than the state of the household. As of late, she valued such conversation more than ever.
Knowing he was a man with a deep knowledge of magic, she had shared with him what had happened the night Gorlois died. He had not judged her but rather helped her put the disturbing tragedy behind her. “Fret not, dear lady, demons do not love,” he had said, “and you were loved by the man who came to you, were you not? He was not violent or wicked with you, was he? I think he was more likely a noble spirit of the sea or land who fell in love with you, than a demon. Such love is not a sin, it is a blessing. And he did not murder your husband—he saved your life.”
The day after, Myrthin had given her a talisman to wear, insisting it would reveal any such deceptions in the future and urged her to forget the past.
Now, she stood upon the wall with him. They both liked watching the sea in the calm of the morning. Uthyr was to come the next day, and she craved his counsel. Their conversation was interrupted when Myrthin spied banners on the horizon.
“Those are the banners of the Pendragon, my lady. It seems he has arrived a day earlier than expected.”
Igerna’s heart leapt. She ran down the tower stairs as the Duchess of Din Tagell, ordering servants about with urgency and authority. She had her maid fix her hair and went to the courtyard to wait for him.
She felt as if a flock of birds were flapping their wings within her chest as she watched him ride down the narrow trail from the cliffs and cross the bridge. Am I wicked to desire him after only three moons? I suppose I am, yet I cannot deny it.
Uthyr rode into the courtyard as if he were coming home. He dismounted and came to her. “I’m sorry for your great loss, Duchess.” He took up her hands and kissed them. “Gorlois was a great and loyal man.”
For the remainder of the day, their words and actions were formal and proper. Not until that evening did they relax in one another’s company.
That night, Igerna had the hall decorated with green rushes and wildflowers, and all the food and drink they had in the larder prepared and laid out in the Pendragon’s honor.
Uthyr smiled as he entered. “A more beautiful feast has never been laid for me.” He ate and drank everything she offered with unapologetic groans of satisfaction, all the while telling her stories. The mead and his friendly manner put her at ease. Soon, she was smiling and laughing without reservation.
The next morning, the wagons were unloaded and all the goods Uthyr had brought delivered throughout the castle. Trunk after trunk went up the stairs to Igerna’s bedchamber, until the entire household began whispering of the proposal they suspected would follow.
Uthyr came to her that night. “I want you to be my queen,” he announced without warning. “Let me care for you and provide for Gorlois’ child.”
Igerna, like the rest of her household, had expected Uthyr’s proposal. She did not feel surprised or thrilled by it, but, rather, at peace. Fate had played her final card.
She returned to Caer Lundein with him, and, soon after, realized she was with child. She went to Myrthin, desperate for his counsel, for she knew the father of the child was not Gorlois or Uthyr, but rather the spirit who had come to her in Din Tagell.
“Fret not, child. Come closer.” Myrthin hovered his hand above her belly. “May I?”
“Yes.”
He put his hand upon her and closed his eyes. After a moment, he smiled. “I see a bear. The child is a boy, conceived in magic, and destined to do great things upon the earth. Name him Arthur, after the Great Bear, for he shall be ever noble and courageous.”
Igerna sat down and wrung her hands, shaking her head. “I cannot keep this from Uthyr. He has a right to know. I cannot live a lie my entire life.”
Myrthin put a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. “Then tell him, dear lady. Something tells me he will understand. Who knows? He may have secrets of his own to confess.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
This Mortal Coil
Taliesin sat upon the banks of Affalon, watching the deer graze as he serenaded the setting sun. Fish leapt for insects in the cool evening air, flashing silver against the dying light.
Just before dark, he thought he spied a fawn approaching the water. He turned to greet the animal but was shocked to see it was not a fawn that walked toward him, but a child. Gentle, wild and graceful, she was clad in a dress of starlight that drifted around her, as if she were floating in the sea.
He had never met anyone upon the isle but Nimue, and felt both curious and concerned. Fearful of startling her, he spoke with a low, quiet voice. “Hello, child. Who are you?”
Unafraid, she kneeled by his side and put her hand to his chest. When she pulled it away, a silver cord clung to her palm. “It’s time to leave this place, Father.” She stood up and wad
ed into the lake, leading him by the silver cord of light she had pulled out of his chest.
Father? Taliesin felt bewildered. Why did she call me Father? I have no children.
She turned around and looked at him. “Mother needs you, and I need you—you mustn’t let them take me away when I’m born. You must protect me.”
Before Taliesin could say anything, she dove into the water and disappeared. What does she mean, take her away? Who? Take her where? Stunned, Taliesin dove in after her, his mind scrambling to understand who she was. The silver cord glowed beneath the water, taking him deeper into the dark lake to the underwater tunnel that led to Nimue’s cave.
He surfaced in the crystal cave he had been to once before, its thousands of facets reflecting the twilight that flooded in from above. The child stood next to a niche carved inside the wall, pointing to a body inside it.
He swallowed hard, fearing Nimue lay dead inside the crystal tomb. He summoned his courage and ventured closer. When he saw who lay inside the tomb, he collapsed to his knees.
Before he could ask the child who she was, she took the silver cord and placed it on his body’s chest.
He awoke in a burst of adrenalin, as if from a vivid dream, trapped inside his cold and heavy flesh. He lay there within the stone, unable to move his limbs, his breath shallow, his throat screaming for water. Little by little, he willed his fingers and toes to move. When he could move his hand, he held it out to catch the drops of water trickling down the wall and put them to his lips. Yet, his physical agony was nothing compared to the agony of his heart.
Nimue, how could you forsake me?
Once again, he had returned to his body from realms beyond, struggling to reacquaint himself with its crudeness and weight. He wiggled to free himself from the niche in the wall, inching his body out, until he fell upon the sand. Every nerve exploded with pain, and he cried out in agony. He dragged himself to the water and slipped into its waiting embrace. His body relaxed, soothed by the weightlessness he had grown so accustomed to.
He swam out of the cave and left the shores of Affalon behind by way of the Willow. Once beyond its borders, he took Arianrhod’s feather between his fingers and invoked its power. Help me to remember.
Within moments, the memories of his time in Knockma with Arhianna came flooding back to him, including, in vivid detail, their last night together. His fingers trembled, and the feather quivered within his shaky grasp. Great Mother, can it be?
But he already knew the answer—he felt the truth of it in his heart and his bones, flowing through his body in his blood and marrow.
Great Mother, protect them. Protect them until I return …
EPILOGUE
I have thus been twice reborn as Taliesin, each time wiser, with deeper knowledge of pain and darkness.
My heart felt as if it had been cleaved in two as I realized the depth of Nimue’s treachery. Yet, as painful as her betrayal was, my misery was only just beginning. I returned to Mynyth Aur to discover Jørren had returned and taken Arhianna north in search of his clan, and that Myrthin had usurped my place by Uthyr’s side. He now holds the title of Pen Bairth, making him the most powerful druid in all of Brython. His betrayal has cost me everything, leaving me, once again, naught but a bard, with neither muse nor king.
There was only one place for me to go. I returned to care for the Sacred Grove as I had sworn to do, for it had been left forsaken by Myrthin. At first, I found solace in my childhood home beneath my ever-faithful Lady Oak. Now, however, visions of the child who calls me Father haunt me, refusing to let me rest; she comes to me nightly in my dreams, urging me to seek her mother. I know I must find her if I am ever to feel at peace again.
The Oak, too, has urged me to go where my dreams lead, feeding me visions of Lucia as her next protector. Though it breaks my heart to leave the peace of the grove, it is clear that I must.
Yet, do not pity me, my friend. None can tell the stories I can tell, nor sing with such rapture or agony. The path I have walked has rendered me a titan among bards.
I am Taliesin, and my birthplace is the summer stars…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.M. Hofer’s first novel, Islands in the Mist, was chosen as one of the top five entries out of two-thousand in the Fantasy genre of the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest.
Rise of the Pendragon is the third book in the Islands in the Mist series. All titles are also available as audio productions through Audible, narrated by the accomplished Irish actor, Mr. John Keating, at www.audible.com.
If you enjoyed Rise of the Pendragon, Ms. Hofer invites you to post a review on Amazon, and thanks you for your readership and support.
Visit her world at www.jmhofer.com.
Islands in the Mist Series
Book I: Islands in the Mist
Book II: Across the Sea
Book III: Rise of the Pendragon
Book IV, Into the Shadows, coming soon.