There were the familiar trees, grass, and shrubs of the natural world, but the sky shone with a luminous bronze color, as if the only light in this world came not from the fiery orb of the sun, but from the sky itself or some great, obscure source behind it so that illumination reached this strange world dimly diffused, as rushlight through the glowing cloth of a tent.
He looked closer and saw that the trees themselves and even the blades of grass radiated this unearthly light. The air of this place-if it could be called air, for the atmosphere was dense and turgid, more like transparent fog-was also faintly luminous, so that it seemed as if the land were wrapped in a shining mist. The air trembled ever so Sightly with the sound of eerily exotic music, bright and flowing like the music of shepherd’s pipes, though purer, finer, and changeable as water. This music apparently emanated from the growing, living things around about, for there was no human creature or being near that Taliesin could see.
Away in the distance, across a wide and rolling plain, there were mountains whose tops were lost in the glowing sky. And the notion came to Taliesin that he had only to lift his foot and start toward them and he would be instantly transported across the plain and onto those faraway slopes. There would be caves in those mountains with passages leading down, down, down into the darksome underworld. But Taliesin did not lift his foot and did not travel to the mountains; instead he turned and saw a stream winding among the trees to a forest pool a short distance away.
The turf was springy underfoot, as if the grass resisted his footfall; he glanced behind him to see that his feet left no normal imprint upon the earth, though a slight glimmer outlined each step. He followed the stream to the pool and knelt in the bracken at the water’s edge where the stream entered the pool. Here he gazed into the crystalline water as it flowed over smooth-polished stones that shone like smoked amber. And there, just beneath the surface of the gliding water, he saw a woman, asleep among the long, flowing strands of green horsetail.
She was dressed in a white garment that shimmered as the water rippled over it. Her hair, golden like his own, was long, with two shorter braids at her temples and the rest streaming and waving in a golden halo around her head as if a gentle breeze, not water, vere passing through it. Her skin was fine ivory, her lips red and slightly parted so that he could glimpse her pearl-bright teeth, perfectly formed. Her eyes were closed; dark lashes lightly brushed her cheeks; and judging from the soft orbits of their sockets, her eyes, when awake, would be large and, like her other features which were shaped with such grace and symmetry, unutterably beautiful.
Her long, exquisite hands were folded over her breast where she held, lightly clasped, a gleaming sword whose gemmed hilt rested just beneath her chin. The long, tapering blade was chased with odd symbols and a strange inscription Tal-iesin could not decipher. It wavered in the play of water and light over its keen surface, which to Taliesin indicated that it was in some way alive.
Taliesin was not astonished to see this woman asleep beneath the rippling surface of the pool; rather, he was pleased, awed. And he was glad that she was sleeping, for he could not otherwise have stared at her with such audacity.
In looking, he experienced a longing to know and be known by this mysterious and beautiful woman, to lose himself in her presence. In all, a strange sensation, and one which the young Taliesin did not understand but identified as Belonging to that other, older part of himself. Overcome by the confusion caused by the intensity of these feelings, he rose and, letting his eyes linger over her comely form a last time, turned away.
He raised his eyes and looked across the pool to see a man standing among the cattails and marsh fern on the opposite shore, warching him. The man wore a deerskin hood and a cloak of glistening bristles, which Taliesin thought very strange until he realized the bristles were feathers.
The deerskin hood hid the man’s face and the marsh fern the lower half of his body; yet Taliesin imagined that he knew this man, or would know him if he could but see the hidden face. As if in answer to this thought, the man raised a gloved hand to the hood and pushed it back, revealing his face. Although Taliesin stared intently, he could not discern the man’s appearance, for the man had no face at all, merely the impression of a face where his features should be.
And where the eyes would have been, a midnight sky full of stars endlessly circled a hill crowned by an ancient ring of standing stones.
Taliesin thought to call out to the man, to approach and bow down before him, for the man was certainly a figure to be revered. But when he raised his hand to hail him, the feather-cloaked watcher vanished.
Following the stream back to the place where he had awakened, Taliesin emerged from the grove to see an apple tree standing in the center of the clearing where he himself had stood. The apples were great, golden globes among pale green clusters of leaves. Taliesin stepped forward and picked one of the apples; it filled the whole of his hand. His mouth watered as he looked at the flawless skin, imagining the white, tart-sweet flesh inside. He raised it to his mouth.
At once he heard a voice coming from beyond the glowing gold-green sky:
“Come forth, Shining Brow!”
The voice had in it the rumble of thunder and the authority of the storm. It was a wild voice, yet refined in a way which Taliesin understood as having to do with the command and governance of not only men and their actions, but their innermost allegiances as well. The voice of a chieftain, or better still, an emperor, for Taliesin heard in it the very essence of sovereignty-as if its owner were someone whose every utterance is obeyed by minions dedicated solely to obliging their lord in whatever form his concerns might take at any given moment. Clearly he had been addressed by one of the lords of this strange place, perhaps the supreme lord himself.
“ Speak, Shining Brow!”
Hearing this, Taliesin dropped the apple and fell on his knees, raising his eyes to the strange Otherworld sky. He opened his mouth, but no words came forth.
“Very well, Shining Brow, I will teach you what to say,” said the voice in response to its own command. There was a blinding flash of light and Taliesin fell on his face and hugged the ground. He was aware of a presence standing over him, for it gave off heat which he could feel through his clothing. But he did not move, did not dare to raise his head again.
When Taliesin came to himself again, the woods were dark with shadows and the sun a dull yellow glow in the west. The heavy drone of summer-sated insects filled the air, mimicking the buzz in his head. Cormach was still seated on the oak stump, his rowan staff across his lap. Hafgan, standing beside the Chief Druid, appeared anxious and agitated; his mouth was moving in an odd way and Taliesin realized he was talking.
“… was not ready… bringing him along too quickly… too young… not time yet…” Hafgan was muttering.
Cormach sat with his shoulders hunched, gripping the staif in his gnarled hands, his wrinkles creased in a scowl, but whether of anger or concern Taliesin could not tell. Neither one of them seemed to take any notice that he was awake and could hear them. He was about to speak up and show them he had returned when he realized that his eyes were still closed. Closed, yet he saw everything as clearly as if his physical eyes were wide open and staring.
“A moment!” said Cormach, and Hafgan stopped mumbling. “He is awake!” He leaned forward. “Eh, Taliesin?”
Taliesin opened his eyes. He was lying on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest. Cormach and Hafgan were standing as he had seen them, only now relief was clearly and largely writ across Hafgan’s face. “Taliesin, I am” he began. Cormach flung out a hand and Hafgan ceased.
“Quickly, lad, how do you feel?”
“I am well,” answered Taliesin. He sat up and crossed his legs.
“Good, good. Can you tell what happened to you?”
Taliesin described the place he had been as well as he could, but for all the vividness of the memory that persisted unabated his tongue tangled again and again over the maddenin
g inadequacy of words to describe it. In the end he simply shrugged, saying, “It was like no other place I have ever seen.”
Cormach nodded kindly. “I know the place, Taliesin, and you describe it well for only having visited once.”
“Is it the Otherworld?” he wondered.
“It is,” affirmed the Chief Druid.
Taliesin thought about this; Hafgan came near and reached out his hand. “Are you thirsty, Taliesin?”
“Do not touch him” Cormach warned. Hafgan withdrew the hand.
“I am fine, Hafgan. Really,” Taliesin insisted.
“Now, Taliesin, I want you to think about what you saw in the Otherworld and tell us about it-even if it makes no sense to you now.”
Taliesin did as he was told and the druids listened, intent on every word. He ended by saying, “And then the Other-world lord came to me and he called me by name and he said he would teach me what to say.”
“And did he?” asked Cormach.
Taliesin nodded uncertainly. “I think so.”
“What did he say?”
Taliesin frowned. “I cannot remember.”
“Is that all?” asked Hafgan fhen.
“Yes,” Taliesin said. “I have told you everything I remember. “
Corrnach nodded, and Hafgan once again extended his hand to help him up. “You have done well, Taliesin. Well indeed.”
The three began walking through the woods to the caer. “But what does it mean?” Taliesin asked.
“It may be that the message was for you alone, Taliesin,” replied Hafgan.
“About the rest of it-the lady in the pool, and the sword and all-what of that?”
The two druids were silent a moment, then Hafgan replied, “A druid does not like to admit that there are things that defy his an-especially when these things are uttered from the mouth of one so young.”
“Are you saying you do not know?” the boy asked.
“He is trying not to say it,” answered Cormach, “but it amounts to the same thing. Yes. we do not know what it means. I tell you frankly, lad, we did not expect your journey to be so long or so complete.” He stopped and took the boy by the shoulders. “Listen, Taliesin, you have been to a place we have only glimpsed imperfectly from afar. You have visited the world we know only from darkling glimpses.”
“Do you understand what Cormach is telling you, Taliesin?” asked Hafgan.
Taliesin nodded. “I think so.”
“Perhaps you do, perhaps not,” sighed Cormach. “You see, I had hoped for a sign from you, lad. I thought your young eyes would be able to see more clearly… and so you did. But what you have seen is for you alone. It is enough to know that you saw it. Lad, your feet have trod in a world we have only dimly perceived and that is something-something I will carry to the grave with me.” They proceeded the rest of the way to the caer in silence. That night Taliesin lay awake on his pallet by the fire thinking about what he had experienced in the Otherworld, wondering what it meant and whether he might go there again soon-not, as Cormach had said, out of mere curiosity, but to see the woman again and awaken her if he could from her sleep beneath the glittering waters.
CHAPTER NINE
Although confinement drove her nearly mad with frustration-here she was once again, immobile, so much to be done, time running out-Charis was able to muster a grudging appreciation for the fact that she was, after all, alive and that her infirmity granted her a change in status where Lile was concerned. Lile regarded Charis as another invalid to be cared for personally, which gave Charis a chance to study the mysterious woman much more closely than she could have otherwise.
In fact, Charis had no sooner returned from the encounter at the watchtower to take up residence in her old chambers than Lile swept into her bedroom with a servant bearing a tray of pots and jars of various shapes and sizes. Annubi had just left her bedside after examining the injury and prescribing enforced rest which, though it pained her to admit, was the only cure.
Charis glimpsed Lile and the servant with the tray bearing down on her and she groaned aloud, more from exasperation than from the loathing she felt when she laid eyes on Lile once more. She turned her face away as Lile settled lightly on the edge of the bed.
The first words the meddling woman uttered disarmed Charis somewhat, although she still remained wary. “I know you spare no love for me, Princess Charis. But I regard you as the head of this house now that you are here, and I am duty-bound to serve you with the best that is in me.”
Charis turned back but said nothing.
“Of course,” Lile continued, “were Kian here, I would defer to him. But he is not here and you are the king’s daughter.”
“You are the king’s wife,” replied Charis with a bit more venom than she actually felt.
“I am,” said Lile matter-of-factly, “but I am not noble born. I can never be more than his consort, and as you are his blood…” She lifted a hand palm upward. “…I serve you as well.” She motioned to the servant, who placed the tray beside her and departed.
Was this a trick of some kind? That Lile was devious Charis did not doubt, but was she also so subtle as to try to conquer an enemy with a show of humility?
“I need nothing,” Charis said. “Only rest, and you are keeping me from that.”
“I know what Annubi has told you, but there is something more that can be done.”
Charis uttered a caustic laugh. “I have been under the care of the High Queen’s personal physicians, and they could do nothing but advise me to allow time to take its own slow course.”
“No doubt the learned Magi are very wise,” allowed Lile. “But there are ways to help speed time towards its end where healing is concerned.”
“What ways?”
Lile smiled mysteriously and whispered a word: “Mithras!”
“What?”
“An ancient healing art practiced by followers of a god of the east-Mithras is his name, or Isis in her female aspect.”
“How do you come by knowledge of this god and its healing arts?” asked Charis.
Lile cocked her head to one side. “My father once sailed to the east, a long time ago. I do not know exactly how it was-I have since heard many different tales-but he brought back a slave which he had purchased at a market there. The slave was a scholar, and my father hoped he would teach me and my sisters to read and write in the old style”
“So that you might become refined enough for one of the royal houses, no doubt,” Charis said archly. “If that were possible.”
“No doubt.” Lile’s eyes narrowed. She looked away and continued. “This slave-a Phrygian named Tothmos- schooled us in our letters and when we were old enough taught us the old religion too.”
“Which you have been using to treat my father.”
“Yes.”
“To dubious effect, it seems to me.”
Lile looked at her curiously. “Who else could have done as much?”
“You flatter yourself. Why, anyone else could have done as much. The king’s wound was not so bad. It was merely”
Lile interrupted her. “The king’s wound was fatal.”
“What are you saying?”
Lile answered simply, “When I came to him the king’s body was cold and ready for the grave. True, the wound he received was not grievous, but those around him had not attended him properly. His life seeped away between the bandages of his ill-dressed wound while he slept. The fools summoned me when they could not rouse him, hoping, I think, to put his death on me.”
Charis had nothing to say. That her father had been more seriously hurt than anyone knew had not occurred to her. That he might have died she would never have guessed.
“Of course, when I revived him,” Lile continued, “they all insisted his wound was nothing after all. Nothing!” Lile gave a short bark of a laugh. “Then why send for me? You have never seen more worried, shame-faced, desperate men, I tell you.”
It was too much to take in all at once. So, pu
tting it aside for the moment, Charis said, “Given the chance, what would you do for me?”
“Your injury is deep inside”
“Which everyone knows.”
“A rib has broken just here,” explained Lile, touching the place on her own back where the injury was.
“A broken rib?”
“Very painful. What is more, a piece of the bone is pressing on the life cord which runs through the spine to the brain. More painful still, and no amount of rest will ever heal it.”
“I rested before and recovered.”
“And here you are, hurt again.”
“What do you propose with your jars and ointments?” asked Charis.
“The ointment is for your swollen cheek. As for the other, I propose to take out the sliver of bone so that you will heal properly.”
“Chirurgia? I will not allow it. I am not that badly hurt.”
“Not now perhaps, though there is the pain. But if you leave it, there is always the chance that the bone sliver will shift and penetrate an organ-the damage will be much worse.”
“The Magi”
“The Magi refuse to accept ideas they themselves do not originate. Besides, I have stone tools as fine as anything made of metal. Stone can be consecrated; its energy for healing is strong and long-lasting.”
Charis gazed at the extraordinary woman. Lile gave the impression of being small and dark, though she was nearly as tall as Charis; her dusky aspect derived from huge dark eyes which dominated her features and from the long dark hair which glistened with a satiny sheen. Although her skin was light as alabaster, there was nevertheless a hint of something darker beneath the delicate surface-as if a richer, swarthier blood flowed in her veins. She was slender and graceful in her movements, but the grace had a studied feel, as if her every movement were consciously contrived.
“Why do you care?” asked Charis. “About me, I mean.”
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