I looked now with both visions—the eyes of the body and the eyes of Sight—at the one who led us, her golden hair barely visible beneath the hood. Morgan, my beloved… It seemed that my heart had always known it, though Sight had been clouded and seeing delayed. And that other… Perran it was, or had been, and yet not so, never once so: I did not need to turn round to see that face before me, sgian-sharp, eagle proud.
But we were sweeping now through a break in the hill-line, a pass that led through a natural gateway into a bright and secret vale; I turned in my saddle, last now in line as Gwyn and Arthur passed me, and waved my arm to Taliesin who watched from his high vantage, from his schoolroom stool in Daars, and followed the others into the wild loveliness that was called Glenshee.
The inland sea here spilled over into the valley's foot; indeed, the truth was that the source of that sea could now be seen to be a mighty river that led down from a still-unseen, further source. The valley was not a wide one, and thickly forested on the slopes; a pleasing prospect, I thought, as I stood in my stirrups to get a better view.
Arthur had come up beside me as we paused in the mouth of the pass. "A fair place," he said, nodding toward the landscape spread out before us.
"And a fair folk to dwell within it." I had been looking at our guides, who sat their horses a little apart from us,—and the thought in my mind, if thought it could be called, was how in all the hells had Kelts ever thought the Sidhe like to humankind. Some indeed had actually mistaken them for such, and never knew their error; others, knowing full well the difference of the races, had all the same ignored it, or defied it—had wedded with the Shining Folk, had even begotten children with or by them. I had thought the differences most visible when one looked into their eyes: those deep dark wells of a long knowledge and a far magic.
But now as I gazed upon Gwyn, whose face was turned away from us, I saw that the difference went deeper, it was in every pore of his skin and bone of his frame; as if light and not blood did run within him. And yet his own mother had liken to herself a mortal lord… had borne Edeyrn to be a purge upon the worlds… With a shock I saw that Gwyn was watching me—he had turned while my attention had been wandering—and now he beckoned me forward.
I gave Meillion a bit of leg, and he willingly ambled up beside the white stallion, whose nostrils widened a little but who was far too aristocratic to otherwise forget his manners. I, less aristocratic but at least as well trained, remembered mine far enough to keep silence until Gwyn addressed me: It is for princes to speak first, faerie princes perhaps in especial.
"This is Glenshee," said Gwyn, "the secretest home of my people. Yonder"—he pointed to a great gray hill whose top was hid in cloud—"is the Hill of Fare, under whose skirts lies Dun Aengus, where Nudd does reign as king."
I looked where he had pointed: a day's journey on horseback at the least, and maybe two. No great hardship, for the valley was lovely and looked rich in game and other such foodstuffs as might be found in the wild; and even did we choose not to eat of aught within the valley walls we had still the provisions in our pack…
But Gwyn was unslinging from his belt a leather-wrapped bundle that had hung there, and now he began to unfold the swathings, to reveal a small gold horn. Ancient of design and of great skill of workmanship, the horn had coelbren letters etched into the flare of the grip, but I could not make out what they did say. A baldric of green silk was knotted to rings at bell and mouthpiece.
Gwyn set the horn to his lips and sounded a single clear note upon it, a note that sent such a weakness through my body that I thought I would die of it, then and there. Such sweetness, and such joy, and such—well, even I, a bard, have no word even now for what was in the note of that horn; and though as the echoes rang and died over the valley and the water I wanted naught more than to hear it sound again, I also wanted naught more than never to have heard it at all.
Strangely, it did not seem to affect the others so: I saw Arthur staring at me as if I had on that instant grown another head, and Morgan with a look of wistful memory but no more than that. Yet I was staggered, I felt as if my bones had been turned to water and my flesh to stone; and still I nearly wept for joy.
I felt the need to explain. "That horn-But Gwyn raised a hand, and in his dark gaze I read clear warning, and I said no more.
We rode for two days, as it turned out; Gwyn and Birogue plainly glad to be once more in their own country, felt no need to push the pace, and the three of us were glad in turn that they did not, for so lovely was Glenshee that it would have been scorn and insult to have raced through it in unseeing haste.
Toward sunset on the second day we sensed a change in the air, a new softness,—sensed a rumbling in the earth, that the horses had earlier perceived, for they had been restless all day, save for the faerie beasts. Then coming round a cliffside, where the path had been cut into the living rock, we saw what no human yet had seen: a ledge two miles wide, over which poured a cataract of waters heavy as marble and light as foam, unearthly white against the darkening sky behind, flaming gold where it caught the light of the setting sun.
Behind that wall of waters there is a great high hall of the Sidhe, and those who dwell within it know themselves safe, for no mortal can unsummoned pass that mighty curtain. The waters fall away into a great stone bowl cut into the gorge below, and from that welling cup the river runs down to feed the inland sea. The sound of the waters' descent, booming off the rocks as they fell, was that distant rumble that had troubled the horses, and, later, ourselves; so tremendous is the power of the force that the sound can be heard for miles—and felt too, if one were at rest upon the ground.
Not only sound but sight of it, the streaming veils of milky white,—and its clean, wild, fresh scent, strong as sea-tang but with woods in it, not salt—branches and leaves and dark mossy places—all the inlands it had rolled over before coming to this place.
We were struck into speechlessness, nor did Gwyn and Birogue say aught until we had had our first fill of staring. For me, it seemed that never would I tire of gazing upon this wonder: my eyes moved up the force, past the falls themselves to where the drop began, where the water hung in curve at the lip of the cliff, clear green above the hidden rocks, white water as a standing wave. Yet it is the rock makes the wave stand so firm and not the racing water, for the water is gone by in an instant and the rock alone remembers that it has gone past, giving shape to the immanent flow. Without the water, dry stone; without the rock, stagnant swamp: But together they make the torrent sing.
Gwyn's voice came clear above the water's roar, and it seemed deeper even than that deep and mighty note. "This is Sychan, the DryRiver."
It seemed anything but dry to us: Even where we stood we could feel the spray upon our faces, the mist drifting up from the boiling white pools below. But Birogue pointed, and we took the meaning of the name, for behind the cataract was a gate that led into the heart of the hill.
"That is the way we must go," she said. "There are other entrances to Dun Aengus, it is true, but this gate is for those who come on such errands as yours. It may not always be so—but for now it is Nudd's law, the first test of those who would come before his throne beneath the Hill of Fare."
This was the first mention anyone had made of a test, and although I had begun to suspect that there must surely be something of that sort in store for us—Merlynn was not the one to send us anywhere a test would not have been likely—I was dismayed all the same.
But I followed in my turn, as first Birogue, then Arthur, then Morgan, then I, with Gwyn coming after, stepped out on the narrow stone path, little more than a ledge, that wound behind the force itself. 'Dry river' indeed! The spray that misted the stone, that gleamed upon our hair, that weighed down our cloaks, here turned into droplets of water the size of grapes, flung with such strength as to hit us more like rocks than water; and I was not the only one to flinch a little at the stinging pain of it.
Birogue saw our distress. "Only a few feet mo
re until the ledge shall shield you," she assured us. "It can hurt, I know, for that you are not used to it. But folk have died under those drops before now."
I was not comforted; but just then it was as she had said, and the assault from above ceased. We had passed behind the water-curtain now, and here the roar redoubled. The thunder of the falls was in the rock itself; so reverberant that our ears throbbed with it, and to lay a hand on the passage walls was actually to see the vibration, so strong it moved one's hand upon the rockface.
We had entered a passage that wound back into the cliff for it seemed miles—our horses had been left on dry land at the force's edge, under Gwyn's assurance that some would come to take them to suitable stabling with the Sidhe'own mounts—and which ended abruptly in a great gate, solid silver and studded with gems and resonant with magic.
Birogue, with a glance at Gwyn, laid her hand upon the worn place at its center and spoke softly in a tongue I did not know. As softly, it swung open for us. I could see Arthur questing round him: He of course had noted their presence as swiftly as I, being Druid like myself, though neither of us as swiftly as Morgan—those hidden watchers who guarded this entrance.
"Lay aside your swords here," said Gwyn. "Cold iron is not master under the hill."
Arthur obeyed at once, as did Morgan, but for no known reason I delayed a little.
"Naught here that cold iron will keep from you," said Biroque with a smile, as she saw my hesitation.
"I know that," I muttered, embarrassed that she should see me so uncertain, cheeks flaming that she should think me so ignorant. But in truth I did not know why I held back—indeed, the best surety of our safety in the Sidhe halls was not our swords nor even our magic, but Morgan—and then all at once I was past it. Instead of driving my sword into a crevice near the gate-frame as I had been half-minded to do—there was no wood round this gate to sheathe the iron as the spell required—I placed it gently on the floor of the stone passage, beside Llacharn and Morgan's own sapphire-hilted weapon.
"Well done," said Morgan softly, and stepped with me hand in hand through the gate.
* * *
* * *
Chapter Nine
BEYOND THE SILVER PORTAL, the passage continued for maybe half a lai. I could see now that the hall was well named 'DryRiver,' for plainly it had once been the course of an underground stream, with its many turns and windings. But whether it had dried and died of its own natural shiftings, or had been diverted by hand in the building of this strongplace, I could not say; and how long since either event had happened, I did not care to guess.
But, led now by Gwyn, we were coming to the inhabited regions of this terrifying place; though still we had seen none but those two who were our guides, and neither Birogue nor Gwyn had spoken any word since the passing of the gate. All the same, I could feel the covert weight of many watching eyes upon us, and not a one of them was human; maybe not even mortal…
We were coming to the monarch of the faerie hall. True it was we came in peace and on an errand of state, and had such words to offer as would incline even a monarch to give ear to us; but it was daunting nonetheless, and I tightened my grasp on Morgan's hand.
Gwyn had led us by secret ways, and so it was that all unnaware we came to the throne-room of Nudd. Doors opened, and then we were there, standing frozen under the silver stares of Sidhe-folk, those who attended their king as he sat in his hall of state. They seemed as surprised to see us as we were to come so upon them, but if we were too shy and awestruck to rise to the moment, at least the presence of our guides gave us a kind of borrowed sanction, a vouchsafement or warrant that we clutched round us as desperately and as proudly as a beggar does his rags.
And for other of the same reasons, too, as that beggar: defense, and defiance, and challenge; though we had been better advised to have gone more softly, as things turned out…
But just then there was little leisure for such considerations: Gwyn had bowed deeply, and the press of folk had parted, and now we could see clearly to whom he had made his reverence. For upon the crystal throne beneath the golden roof sat one less tall, less fair, less—shining than the others in that chamber. Not that he was in the least uncomely to look upon—none of the Shining Folk could ever be that—but that by compare to all the rest he did at first glance seem so.
We followed Gwyn's lead at once, Arthur and I making the same bent knee to the faerie lord that we would have made to Uthyr Ard-righ, while Morgan and Birogue dipped and rose again like ships on the tide. At a sign none of us three could say we truly saw, Gwyn gathered us with his glance and led us down the length of the hall, between the ranks of fair courtiers. Though I tried for wisdom's sake to keep my eyes fixed on him who sat beneath the golden canopy, I dared to steal glances to either side as I walked; and when twice or thrice my eyes met those of the Sidhe, I was sorry I had so dared.
So I strove to keep my gaze on Gwyn; him at least I knew, though he was surely Sidhe—he was their prince!—how he seemed to me less strange and fearsome than others who clustered round. Or perhaps it was simply that I felt I had known him before—well, I had known him, as Perran, true enough, but still. As for Birogue, she was Morgan's teacher, and had called my mother her friend, and was lady to Merlynn Llwyd: To my mind, that made her kin.
Now Gwyn halted, and we did likewise, stopping not three paces from the foot of the crystal throne. At such close distance I dared not turn aside my glance, and with a mighty effort I brought my eyes to the face of the king.
Nudd ap Llyr, King of the Sidhe, lord of Dun Aengus looked upon us. How shall I tell of him? He had the darkest eyes I had ever seen in living thing, black as sapphires in the cool light; his hair was the black of siodarainn, the silk-iron that is strong and workable and makes the best shields in the world. He was richly clad, though I do not call to mind details of his costume, and bore upon his finger a ring with a golden stone.
He was not looking at me just then, but at his son. Gwyn met his father's glance full on, in silence; and whatever they said to one another then, they said without one word spoken. Then that dark gaze travelled on, lighting first upon Birogue, and lighting up as it did so,—moving to Morgan, to whom was given a respectful pause and the barest hint of a nod; then I felt the weight of Nudd's glance, and almost staggered beneath it.
Oh, fairness of face or form had naught to do with this: Here was one whom evil could not touch, nor ages alter, yet who had seen both wickedness and time; here was one who had known wisdom, and folly, in all shapes and ways and tempers. I believe I almost went to one knee just then, or both, as a man might before a god; but I was released—and I thought I saw the least flicker of amusement and approval in that gaze before it let me go—and then Nudd looked upon Arthur.
Who seemed to have no such trouble as I: He stood as proudly open to Nudd's glance as had Gwyn, and it seemed Nudd spoke to him as to his own son, and found him as worthy…
"Arthur Pendreic ap Amris, stand thou forth."
The words were in the High Gaeloch, that stately ancient tongue, the accent more antique than I had yet heard. The voice was as deep as the silence, deep as the note of the falls without; no question of its not being obeyed. Arthur took measured steps forward of the rest of us, and waited for the Sidhe king to pronounce.
"I know your errand," said Nudd at last. "And though I do not fault Merlynn Llwyd for sending you, perhaps, when first I heard of your coming—Well, no matter now. You are come in kinship, and in friendship, and in such company as would of itself dispose me to hear you out. Yet so great and grave a matter must be tried, and an asking be answered."
"Ask then," said Arthur, not in the high tongue, with steadiness in voice and bearing.
"Then answer," came that calm deep voice again. "And on your answer stake your life: What are the Four Beasts from the morning of the world?"
My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, and I could only gape in my speechless ignorance, without knowing and without hope. Not even in the h
alls of the Pheryllt had I ever heard mention of such a piece of lore, and knew—or thought I knew—that Arthur was ignorant as I.
But to my utter astonishment he spoke at once, in a clear and confident voice.
"Not hard: These are the White Mare of the Moon, who dwells in the East and is shod with silver; the Red Hawk of the Sun, who dwells in the South and whose wings are tipped with gold; the Green Hound of the Sea, who dwells in the West and who can run dry-foot upon the wave,—the Black Bull of the Mountain, who dwells in the North and whose horns can lift the world."
And silence fell like rain upon that great hall and all within it. I dared a glance upward: Nudd and Arthur were met in gaze, and to my Sight the glance of the one seemed no less filled with magic, no less fenced with power, than that of the other.
Nudd smiled. "Well answered," he said. "But answer me this: What are those three who are Eldest among all living things?"
Again my ignorance struck fresh panic into my soul; buts time it was Morgan spoke up from her place beside me. Not hard: These will be the Stag of Redinvyre, and the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, and the Eagle of Gwernabwy; and one there is who is Elder even of all these." But who that was she did not say.
And again Nudd smiled. "Well answered, as befits thy teacher's pupil. But answer me now this: Who is it throws light into the meeting on the mountain?"
Ringing silence; and though none looked in my direction nor spoke my name to prompt me, nor even it seemed so much as thought of Taliesin, I felt as if the Hollow Hills above us did shout my name to the stars. And I knew what I must do… As if I moved through water, I stepped forward as had Arthur and Morgan, and I touched my harp-satchel in the ancient gesture.
A gesture well understood even here beneath the hill, it seemed: A gleam came and went in Nudd's dark eyes, and had it been any less august than he I should have called it a gleam of pure amusement.
The Oak above the Kings Page 10