The Oak above the Kings

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  It is a shameful thing to have to confess to, but I have a fear of thunderstorms better seen in a five-year-old than a fifty-year-old. A thing left over from some long-forgotten scareful storm of childhood, or maybe from some other life, I do not know,—but when the low rolling mutter comes along the valley, or cracks short and tremendous in the height of heaven, I feel a terror such as I have never felt even in the worst battles of my life.

  So it was that I huddled and shivered now, flinching at every booming crack, muffled even as most of it was, up in the mountains where the rain still fell as snow. Only a spring storm, I told myself over and over, far from uncommon round Brighnasa here in this northern part of Tara… After a while Cabal came to sit with me—dogs hate and fear thunderstorms even more than do I—and I gratefully threw my arm around his warm solid frame, and we shook together as the rain poured down.

  The next morning was clear and bright; the wind had dried the rain-soaked ground, and it was colder than it had been, more the cold of early spring than late winter.

  I had not seen Arthur since our little brangle of the previous evening, and by the time I awoke he had gone off with Tarian and some others to inspect the lines. As a rule I had ever been included in all such parties, and the fact that—today of all days!—I had not been so summoned stung more than a little.

  Morgan rolled her eyes at my complaint. "No great matter! If you are feeling left out, let you come with me on my own errand."

  "Where?" I said sulkily. "And whyfor?"

  "Well, the 'where' is up the dalehead, to spy out the approaches to Nandruidion; and the 'whyfor' goes without saying."

  In spite of my resolve to sulkiness, I brightened at the prosect. Indeed, the going was its own excuse: We had no knowledge of Edeyrn's dispositions in this region; Ratherne was all we knew for sure. There might well be hidden outposts along the Loom-edge, or high up in the remote folds of the dale country. Or not—we had not encountered any on our force-march, at least; but we did not know, and it would be best for us to learn, one way or the other, and as quickly as we might.

  So Morgan and I rode out an hour later, with a word to the watch as to our going, and that we went by Arthur's express command. She waved us off cheerfully; behind us, the campment was as all such are on eve of battle—alert, alive not merry or pleased, perhaps, but with a sort of vibrancy running through it, a quivering note just below the power of the human ear to sense.

  For myself, I was glad to be shut of it awhile, and (most secretly) gladder still not to have to face Arthur just yet. The storm had not blown away my ill humor of the day before; and knowing my fostern as I did I guessed that his mood stood much the same as mine. Morgan, riding easily on my right, was far and away the best companion I could have found for the day,—and little did I think how glad I should soon be to have her with me—for reasons I could never have dreamed.

  We had been riding perhaps two hours, going slowly and carefully up the length of the little glen, a ridge or two west of Nandruidion itself. It was a gentle, still place—we surprised foxes unconcernedly trotting about in full daylight, fat bramblings, in their patchy winter plumage like rust-splotched snow, swinging on black branches, even a badger humbly crossing the one track that wound up into the very dalehead. A minor place, all but nameless: The local folk called it Butterdale, for the richness of its summer grazing, but it appeared on no map; chiefly of note to us for its proximity to Nandruidion. And, not for the first time, I wondered, and my wondering led me to ask.

  "Did Birogue ever tell you why the Marbh-draoi should choose to dwell in so remote a place as Nandruidion, and not at Turusachan? Or even at any other strong place, for surely he had his pick of homes, once Keltia was his to choose from."

  Morgan brushed back a wisp of gold hair from her eyes. "There have been prophecies about Nandruidion from the earliest days of Keltia," she said. "Prophecies that a great battle shall one day be fought here, with the strongest magic Keltia shall yet have seen; and whoso is victor that day shall drive out the enemy forever. Therefore did Edeyrn build Ratherne here, so that he could sit in the middle of Nandruidion and wait for it."

  "Thinking himself to be that victor," I said, disgusted; was there no end to the man's vainglory? "Well—small hope to him, then!"

  Morgan smiled. "Smaller hope than he may imagine: The prophecies Birogue spoke of to me said all alike—that that victor shall be a woman. Indeed, she shall be a Queen of Kelts."

  I turned in my saddle, surprised and about to question her further, when all at once the air shimmered and misted and darkened around me. My horse, the ever-placid Meillion, reared screaming, and came back to earth to stand four-footed and shivering. I was trembling myself, and not least for that I could not see Morgan at all. Everything looked alike, there seemed no distinction or difference any way I turned, only a haze over the walls of the glen, or perhaps the veil was over my eyes instead.

  In terror more for Morgan than for myself I rode forward—with greatest difficulty, as Meillion in his own terror was stiff-legged and white-eyed, and did not wish to stir even under my heels. But the view, or lack of view, was the same in all directions. I shouted for Morgan until my voice cracked like a bell and woke the echoes, but no answer came, and then not even echoes; and when at last the hands reached up to seize me, the unseen hands, I struggled a little for pride's sake, that they should not take me down without a fight. But I was almost thankful and relieved to give in.

  When I came to myself again I was most definitely not in Butterdale; that much was immediately plain. I was lying on a softly cushioned couch, in a chamber of what appeared to be a castle. A spacious chamber too, well and richly appointed, judging by what I could perceive from my limited vantage: tapestries, carvings, gilt and furs and plate. And since no castle lay within a day's ride in any direction, no castle save one only—

  Ratherne… I was not aware I had spoken aloud—indeed, I was certain I had not—but whoever it was that now replied had quite clearly heard me, one way or another.

  "Ratherne," said the voice, agreeing with my observation; and the voice was deep and pleasant, modulated with a bard's own skill. "Clever of you to see so swiftly—though of course I should expect no less from Taliesin Pen-bardd."

  I sat up carefully; my head was pounding and my inner ear was roiled and jangled. The haze upon my sight was gone now, my vision was clear again. Indeed, all too clear…

  Across the room, a man stood at the tall lancet window—a keen-cut silhouette against the light, it was yet full day without; then, as he turned and bent his gaze upon me, my whole being seemed to turn to stone. Or wished it could, for the man was Edeyrn Marbh-draoi himself, and we were alone in the chamber.

  "Stand up," he said then; and it was less a command than an invitation.

  When my legs failed to raise me at once, he snapped an impatient hand at me, and I found myself rising to my feet like a feather on a puff of air. I frankly stared at him, and he smiled a little at my open regard.

  He was no smallest whit changed from that memorable night at Caer Dathyl, what was it, fifteen years since. Well, from all reports he had not changed overmuch in two centuries, certain sure fifteen or twenty years were not about to do it… Tall; dark hair to his shoulders; eyes of a shade between gray and hazel, deep-set, less dark than I had thought them. And though I tried mightily to keep my mind from that way turning, I found my thought going unerringly to Gwyn ap Nudd (say rather Gwyn ap Seli!), half-brother to this—this—

  "Tyrant?" he suggested, still in the tones of utmost courtesy. "Regicide? Duergar-king? Marbh-draoi? I have heard them all before, you know…" He seemed to read my thought as easily as if it had been printed upon my forehead in letters of fire; my best defenses, as Druid and bard, seemed no better against him than the littlest untaught child's; and I would not think of Guenna…

  But if he had heard my thought of Gwyn he chose not to speak to it just yet. A door opened somewhere behind me though I refused to turn to look. But suddenly
it was as if a window had been thrown open in a stifling room and a great fresh clean blast of air was pouring through: With a thrill joy and terror alike, I knew Morgan's presence, and turned a cry as she strode past me.

  "I could not find you in the mist," I blurted out. "You did not get away, then—"

  "I was not trying to," she said tartly. She did not look much like a prisoned princess: Her hair was smooth as ever, her garb unruffled, and she moved with all her own grace and a confidence that was somehow even more than her own—and that own was considerable. With scarce a glance at me and none at all at Edeyrn, she chose the most regal chair in the chamber, seated herself as if by right and laid her arms along the arms of the chair, as would a queen in the throne of her House.

  "Pray be seated, Princess Morguenna," said Edeyrn with a slight bow. "And you also, Lord Taliesin; I should not care to have an aer made on me, that I failed of welcome to an ollave—a true ollave. Your father once sat with me, here, in this room," he added as apparent afterthought, and my breath went out of me as if I had been gut-punched.

  "And was it here you killed him, also?" I asked presently, and felt the tiny touch of Morgan's silent warning.

  "Nay," said Edeyrn, and he did not seem to gloat over it, though his eyes had gone to smoke-color. "That was in the Great Hall below, before my court. He should not have defied me, Taliesin, he knew well what defiance would cost him."

  "And Gwaelod?" I asked, when I could speak again. "Did Gwaelod count that cost too, before you drowned it?"

  He looked genuinely puzzled for a moment, as if he did not recognize the name, nor even comprehend my anger and pain.

  "Ah," he said then. "I had forgotten—"

  My wrath redoubled. "So many drowned provinces you can scarce keep track of them, is that it? And Daars—oh, but Daars was burned and not drowned; did you weary of water and think to give fire a try? What next? A cam-anfa, maybe, to spin Arthur's army down the dale like leaves in autumn, or a—"

  "Taliesin." That was Morgan, and I knew that voice of old. I bit back my words only by dint of biting my lip so hard the blood came, but I stayed silent as she did bid me; and Morgan looked at Edeyrn, and Edeyrn looked at her. She did this, I knew, only to gain me time to calm myself, lest the Marbh-draoi grow irritated and think to make a clean sweep of Gwaelod after all. Well, one Glyndour had already perished in Ratherne, no disgrace for me to follow him… But the inner hand I closed over my fury was one of the greatest achievements of my life.

  When I could see again, hear again, Morgan was conversing pleasantly with our host. Incredibly, it sounded like shop-talk: two master craftsmen comparing notes on their trade in the presence of one less skilled than they, and unlike ever to attain to their level of mastery. (And, of course, they would have been quite right to think so…)

  "—a stray-sod!" Morgan was saying, with what sounded almost like admiration. "But no other place-magic is like to it. I did not know you had Ratherne so well defended."

  Then of course I knew what the strange hazy mist had been, why my senses had been so outraged, back there in Butterdale… The stray-sod is an old, old magic, some say even from Earth, and the way of it is this: A single piece of turf is cut from the green growing earth of a field, and magicked, then replaced where it was cut; and any living creature who sets foot or hoof or claw or paw upon it has its sense of direction utterly taken from it. All things look alike in all airts; no matter how one may turn there is never a way out, naught looks familiar, all is mist. Even beasts are deceived by the stray-sod, as Meillion and Morgan's Nyfer had been; and there are tales of folk caught by this ill-omened turf wandering for days in the same field, unable even to find their way to a gate in plain view, perishing of thirst and exhaustion within sight of help they could not see.

  Edeyrn was nodding complacently. "One of the simpler tricks," he said. "If little used in these less simple days… But why do we discuss peasant-magics, Domina?"—Morgan her Ban-draoi title—"We have other things to speak of, and I did not bring you both here for simple revenge.'

  I had by now recovered myself, if not my manner. "Nay, let me guess! You have need of us to serve as messengers:

  "Oddly enough, that is exactly right…" Edeyrn was silent a moment, and suddenly I saw the—the weight of him, the force, the massive intelligence. Not like Merlynn's, who was quicker, sharper—as the Fians say, a mind like a laighen, where Edeyrn's for all its force was more a mataun. But I saw too (and feared of the seeing) that for all that, the Marbh-draoi's mind was sharp enough.

  Nevertheless he seemed unaware of my thought, for he spoke more slowly now. "Out of his honor—or perhaps out of his traha—Arthur Penarvon returned my heir to me. No matter his motive; Owein Rheged is all the son that I shall ever have, and his son shall be my heir after him. Aye indeed do I wish you to carry a message to him,—and not to him alone but also to Merlynn Llwyd your teacher."

  And then I remembered: how once Merlynn had told us of the Pheryllt, those Druids above Druids, and that the chief of the Pheryllt, the Ro-sai, the Great Teacher, had been one time Edeyrn himself.

  He saw that I knew, and smiled; and the smile all but drew me in. "You are wondering, Taliesin, how it was that I turned my back on all that; how came it that I betrayed my once-brothers and my friend and my King. Shall I tell you why? Why I chose to put an end to the House of Don?"

  Morgan shivered convulsively, once, from head to toe, and I saw that she was only just managing to bear Edeyrn's presence, though she had kept this well hid until now. But—gifted with senses the Marbh-draoi's Sidhe kin trained up to match their own—she was feeling the evil of him far more keenly than I…

  "Nay," she said with a smile of the greatest serenity, "you have not put an end to the House of Don."

  Edeyrn laughed outright. "True enough! You and your brother and your cousin do still exist, to trouble my peace; the King your father, not so much longer now, I think. That wound of his—"

  Morgan had doubtless known all along, but I am slower and stupider, and so it was only now that light broke… "It was you, by Owein's hand!" I cried out unheeding. "You used Owein, by magic, to give Uthyr his wound—he let us to believe it was his own magic, dearly learned and bought, but it was you all along, not so?"

  Edeyrn nodded once in assent. "And before you leave here, there is someone of your acquaintance wishes to greet you, whom you have not seen for long…" He sat back in his chair, sent out a silent call. Morgan and I, unheeded for the moment, glanced at one another: What fresh hell was this? And whom could the Marbh-draoi be speaking of?

  We soon had answer to both queries. For the chamber door opened again, and in the doorway stood Gwenwynbar. By her side was a half-grown boy, tall, thin, wiry, with a shock of red-brown hair.

  For once even Morgan was surprised; but I was not so much so, not myself. In truth I had been half-expecting her to turn up: Gwenwynbar had been too invisible too long to have been hidden by any lesser shield than Edeyrn's own. As to her seeming: Well, she appeared much the same as when I last had seen her, one time at Caer Dathyl, in the hard days of my service to her lord Owein, when I called myself Mabon Dialedd, before Arthur had come to take me with him at last, north to Collimare.

  She looked well, even I must say so. Her form was slim as ever, her skin even milkier, but still there was there that same—overness about her: the overpainted face and overdone jewels and overflaunting garb and over-red hair and overbearing manner. There is no whoredom in Keltia, we have long since grown beyond that vile demeaning traffic,—but if there were, then Gwenwynbar Rospaen would have been a prime exemplar.

  She ignored Morgan completely, but looked at me and smiled that old slow smile of hers, the one that had ever made me think of the annic, slim and white, that most deadly of snakes. Though Kelts have ever held the serpent race in honor, calling the wise snake of the rock by a name near to father and teacher, revering it for its prudence and sleight, we find naught about the annic to be clean or good or wholesome, and I ever fel
t the same about Gwenwynbar. And I marvelled yet again that Arthur had taken her to his bed and to his heart.

  My glance went to the boy at her side, and seeing my attention upon him Gwenwynbar drew him protectively closer. He shrugged out from under her confining arm took a step forward, unmindful of Edeyrn's amused maliceflickering flamelike in the room, his wide dark eyes moving back and forth between Morgan and me. Well, whoever's son he might be, at least the lad was no coward nor milksop either, had a mind of his own and did not fear to show it. I smiled at him, but he remained wary; then all at once some duergar took me, and I spoke in the tones of a herald.

  "Hail, kinsman! Malgan Pendreic ap Arthur—" And as I said it I looked neither at the boy nor his mother nor Morgan beside me, but straight at Edeyrn.

  It well repaid the risk and the watching both: Edeyrn's face changed like that little lizard, the mankeeper, that out of need for protection and concealment takes upon itself the appearance of its very surroundings. And Edeyrn at this moment was as gray as the stone walls of his chamber… But the thought that the Marbh-draoi Edeyrn, supreme ruler of Keltia and of Kelts for two hundred years, should feel the need for either seemed too strange even for me to think upon.

  Gwenwynbar had not noticed this, but kept her baleful glance trained upon Morgan and me.

  ''Pendreic'!" she snarled. "Not in your brother's dearest dreams, Glyndour, Morguenna! My son is Owein's heir of Rheged, heir after him to Keltia, and you may tell Arthur so from me at your leisure!"

  Morgan made as if to reply, but Edeyrn, his face now once again the impassive ivory mask it had been for the past hour, spoke first, and spoke mockingly.

  "Before you take your leave, guests of my house, tell me of my kin in the HollowMountains. Stands Sychan as it did?"

  In spite of my surprise to hear Edeyrn speak before Gwenwynbar of his connection with the Shining Folk, I did not answer, and Morgan too was silent. This was yet one more play, still another diversion: But it had come to me in that moment why we had in truth been brought here, and why we were to be let go unharmed. Oh, not for Edeyrn's gloating, nor to be used as hostages, nor to have our thoughts kenned against our will; nor to answer this diversionary query, a shock tactic if ever I had known one; nor yet to carry messages back to Arthur—though all these were of course part of it. Nay, we had been brought here for one reason above all these reasons: to see Malgan and Gwenwynbar: That was the real message we were to take with us from Ratherne; and yet—and yet—