"She told you this?" Dafyd had the sudden and inexplicable urge to flee.
"She has told everyone—even the singer himself, but he will not listen. She told him she would not come. He waits in vain."
"I would like to see Charis now."
Morgian nodded gravely. "Then you had better follow me." She started toward the door, took a few steps, and then hesitated. "Perhaps I can help the singer."
"Perhaps," replied Dafyd, "but I will speak with Charis first and then we will see."
TWELVE
"DID YOU THINK TO GO TO HIM WITHOUT TELLING ME?" Avallach filled the doorway to Charis' room. She straightened from pulling on her riding boots and faced him.
"How did you know?"
"Morgian told me," he said, disappointment and anger roughening his voice. "She said Dafyd had come with word. You do not deny it?"
"How did Morgian know?" she wondered. "I was going to tell you. Dafyd has only just left."
"When?"
"When I was certain." She returned her father's gaze directly. Avallach stood just inside the doorway, a hand pressed to his side as if the knowledge that his daughter meant to leave him had pierced him through. His face was the color of carved ivory behind the blackness of his beard. "I do not know if I love him, Father, but I know I want to try."
"No." He shook his head slowly. "I cannot allow it. We are a noble people; our race is a noble race."
Charis moved around the table and laid her hands on Avallach's arm. "Why have you come here this way?" she asked gently. "It cannot be Taliesin." Avallach turned his face away. "Who spoke of joining the destiny of our races, of adapting to their ways—who said these things if not you? You gave them lands; you gave them a home."
Avallach stiffened. "I did not give them my daughter."
"No," replied Charis softly. "I did that."
"I will not have it," he said through clenched teeth. "I will not! Our blood is pure. You cannot mingle the blood of royal Atlantis with these…these—"
"Cymry barbarians?" Charis stepped away from him. "You were the one who said our future lies with them. And you were right; it is true. Every year there are fewer of us. Counting Belyn's people, we were nearly two thousand strong when we landed on these shores. Now there are only a thousand left. Six children were born last year—"
"Six! You see—"
"None of them survived the winter! We are dying, Father. If we are to survive it must be with them, for we will die alone."
"I did not mean—" he began and stopped, looking at Charis helplessly. "It need not be this way."
"There is no other way," replied Charis firmly. "Our royal Atlantean blood means nothing to us here, Father. You know this; you have said it. Taliesin loves me—he wants us to marry. He has come back for me and I am going to speak to him."
"If you want to marry, I will find someone—one of our own people. There are many in Belyn's house who would marry you."
"Tactfully put, Father," Charis said wryly, "I might be more grateful were I one of your brood mares."
"Better that than marriage to—to a Briton! I forbid you to do this," he growled and raised his fist. "Do you hear? I forbid it!"
Charis went to him and knelt at his feet. She took his hands in her own. "I want this, Father. I want to make him happy." Saying it to her father made it real to her, and she knew that it was true. Her heart had spoken. "I do love him."
Avallach lifted a trembling hand to his daughter's head. She lay her cheek against his knee and he stroked her hair. "You drove me away once, Father," she said. "Do you remember?"
"I do." The king made a choking noise in his throat. "And the memory brings me pain."
"Please, please, do not send me away again. Let me go to him freely, so that I may return freely. Do not put this between us."
"Charis, you leave me no choice."
She raised her head. Avallach's lips were pressed into a firm line, but his hand was soft against her hair. "There is always a choice, Father—if we want it."
He looked away. "This is more bitter to me than death."
"No," Charis said sharply. "You do not mean it. You cannot bind me to you with false feeling."
"There is no falsehood in me!" he cried. "Our line has remained pure for a thousand generations."
"Atlantis is lost; it is gone and will never be again. But I am alive, Father. Alive! And I cannot live in a world that has died. Our so illustrious line will end here—is that what you want?"
"There are others…our own people."
"Where are they? Let them come forward and declare for me as Taliesin has done." She gripped his hands very hard as if willing him to understand. "There is no one, Father."
"Wait but a little. Perhaps you will change your mind."
"How long would you have me wait? How many seasons have passed since we came to Ynys Prydein? How many more must pass?"
"Your place is here, among your own people," Avallach insisted.
"I am dying here." Charis lifted her hand and put it against her father's cheek. He stared at her stubbornly. "Every day I die a little, Father. If I stayed I would become like Annubi— which is worse than death. I grieve for Annubi, but I will not become like him."
Avallach stiffened and rose to his feet. "And I say you shall not leave. I swear by my life that you will not!" He stormed from the room.
Charis listened to his heavy footfall fade. Now what? she wondered. I cannot go like this. I will not. I must find a way to soften Avallach's heart. Taliesin will understand. Oh, but he is waiting—I must take word to him.
She went at once to the stable where a groom met her at the stable door. "We have caught but one small rat today, Princess Charis. How is the merlin?"
"He is well, but I did not come about his food."
"Oh?"
"I need a horse at once."
The groom's placid smile faded. "Do not ask me, Princess Charis. I cannot allow you to have a horse."
"The king?"
"He said you were not to have the gray or any other mount."
"I see," said Charis, glancing around quickly. "What is that horse being readied there?"
"Why, that is mine, Princess," answered the groom. "I am going out to the foaling in the meadows beyond the marsh."
"Then you can take word for me."
"At once, Princess."
"Good. This message is for Taliesin."
"The barbarian harper?"
"The Briton bard," Charis replied firmly. "Tell him…Ah, tell him I am prevented from meeting him. Say that Avallach must be reconciled. Tell him to return to his people and that I will send word to him there. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Princess. Where will I find the bard?"
"He waits in the apple grove," she said. "It will not take you out of your way."
The groom nodded once and hurried off to finish saddling his horse.
Morgian waited until the groom reached the gates and then stepped from the shadows to hail him. "Here!" she called, running after. "Wait!"
The youth reined up. "Princess Morgian."
"Charis has changed her mind," she explained, moving to the horse's head. "I am to take the message."
The groom glanced back at the palace. "Well…"
"She thought better of her plan," Morgian went on hurriedly, "and asked me to take the message." She smiled and entwined her fingers in the horse's mane. "Some things are better dealt with by a woman."
"That is true," allowed the groom slowly. "Perhaps I should—"
"Give me the horse. Princess Charis does not wish her message to be delayed even a moment." Morgian smiled again and reached for the reins.
The stablehand swung himself down and helped Morgian into the saddle. "You may go back to your duties now," she told him. "I will return to Charis as soon as I have done as she asked." She flicked the reins and started down the track.
* * *
Sitting beneath the bough of an apple tree, Taliesin heard the hoofbeats of a hors
e coming up the track from the causeway. He stood and went to the grove entrance to meet the rider.
"Morgian!" he said in surprise as she came up, looking beyond her for the one he had hoped to see.
Morgian noticed his glance and said, "She is not coming, Taliesin. She sent me to tell you."
Taliesin walked slowly toward her. "What did she tell you?" The young woman looked away. "She must have told you something. What did she say?"
"She will not come—"
"Tell me!" Taliesin's voice boomed in the peaceful grove. "Tell me," he repeated more softly.
Morgian's face wrinkled with distaste, as if the words she was about to speak were bitter in her mouth. "Charis said, 'Go to him, Morgian. I cannot. I do not love him, but he will not listen. He will make me go with him. I am weak and I would go—and hate myself for going. We are not meant to be together. My place is here with my father. Tell him I will not come.'" Morgian paused and looked Taliesin in the eye, as if defying him to disbelieve her. "That is what she said, and the telling brings me no pleasure."
"I see," replied Taliesin. He regarded the young woman carefully. There was no way of telling whether what she said was true. The words she spoke sounded like those Charis might say. But hearing them from Morgian's lips…
"Will you reply to her?" asked Morgian.
"Yes, tell her I will not leave until she comes to tell me herself. I will not force her to go with me—if that is her fear—but I will hear it for myself from her and no one else."
"She will not come."
"Just tell her. I will wait at the shrine of the Savior God."
"Very well." Morgian nodded, turned the horse, and started away. A few paces along she called over her shoulder, "How long will you wait, Taliesin?"
"Until Charis comes to tell me herself." He turned abruptly and started for his horse. He did not see Morgian's cool smile as she watched him swing into the saddle and ride away.
* * *
It was nearing twilight when Morgian slipped unseen into the palace. The torches and rushlights had not been lit and the corridors lay in deep shadow. She hurried along, her sandals slapping the smooth stone, her red-trimmed cloak billowing behind her as she flew up the steps leading to a small upper room. Reaching the door she stretched her hand toward it, and a voice from inside said, "You may enter, Morgian." With a quick, backward glance, she entered.
The room was dark, steeped in twilight and the rancid smell of spent incense. Objects appeared as dim, insubstantial shadows heaped one on another—a lighted candle might banish them all and reveal an empty chamber.
"Where have you been?"
"I lingered at the orchard for a while. I wanted to see about the apples."
"Did you do as I told you?"
"Of course." Morgian's fingers fumbled on the table before her. "Let me bring a light…It is so dark."
"What did he say?"
"He said he would wait," replied Morgian impatiently. "Please, it is dark. Let me fetch a light."
"In a moment, child. After you have told me all."
She sighed and sat down in a chair beside the table. "I rode to the shrine and met him at the stream. You should have seen the disappointment fill his eyes when he saw that Charis was not coming. But I gave away nothing. I told him Charis would not come, that she did not love him and feared that he would make her go with him, that she wished to stay here in the palace."
"And?"
"And the singer said he would wait until Charis came to tell him herself. I told him she would not come, but he said he would wait. He told me to tell her this."
There was a long silence and Morgian became impatient. She leaned forward and reached out toward the shadow before her. "I have told you all. Let me bring the light."
The body shifted in the darkness; the chair creaked. "Not yet. What did you do in the orchard?"
"I told you. I wanted to see about the apples."
"Bah! I know about the apples. What else?"
"Nothing else."
"Do not lie to me, Morgian. I know you too well."
"Annubi, let me bring the light!"
"What else?"
Morgian paused. "I went to the caldron."
"And?"
"And nothing," Morgian sighed. "There was nothing."
"Nothing but flames and smoke and vapor…and shapes. What shapes, Morgian?"
"I saw nothing today. There were no shapes."
"You should have come to me, girl. I would have shown you what you were so eager to see. I would have let you touch the Lia Fail."
"I prefer the caldron," muttered Morgian sullenly.
"You know," Annubi continued, "Charis had the touch. Once. As a girl she often used the stone—the seeing stone, she called it. Sometimes when she thought I did not know she would come to my room. I never troubled to hide it from her. She used it…" The seer lapsed into silence. Morgian moved in her chair and Annubi started. "You should trust me more, child."
"I trust you, Annubi," she said softly. "Are you hungry? I will go to the kitchens for food—"
"No," said Annubi. There was a rustling of clothing as the seer stood. "Tonight I will dine with the king. Come, Morgian, let us go down together."
THIRTEEN
DAY BY DAY THE SPRING PASSED AND SUMMER CAME ON. THE green deepened on the hillside where sheep and cattle grazed; and in the low valleys the corn sprouted and grew into stalks. All the marshland round about the Fisher King's Tor rang with larksong and blackbird calls. Deer in new velvet ran through woods of beech and hawthorn; black-footed fox chased quail and pheasant through the brake; wild pigs furtively herded their squealing young along the thicket-bound trails; speckled trout leapt in the streams, and pike flashed in the reed-encircled lake.
Taliesin waited at the shrine of the Savior God for Charis to come to him.
While he waited he worked with the pilgrim priests rebuilding the shrine. Most of the shrine's timbers had been replaced, as had the wicker wattle between the timbers which had then been redaubed with the mud-and-straw mixture and limed. Work was now proceeding on the roof, for which Taliesin and Dafyd were occupied—wading in the bogs, cutting last year's dried reeds and stacking them in bundles.
The work was not overtaxing and allowed Taliesin to give his thoughts freedom to fly where they would, whether to ponder points of Dafyd's philosophy or to compose the songs he sometimes sang aloud to the priests' chorused acclaim. But always his mind turned to thoughts of his people as they took possession of their new lands. And each day, when Charis did not come, his hope dwindled, shrinking away gradually, like the silver dew drying up drop by shining drop in the heat of the day.
"In truth," he told Dafyd one morning, "I did not think to wait this long. I am needed by my people. I told her I would wait, but…I can wait no longer." He looked across to the palace on Tor, misty in the morning light, its walls and towers forming a dense and featureless silhouette against the white-gold sky. "She knows I am waiting. Why does she not come?"
"Perhaps it is as she said," suggested the priest gently; he had marked Taliesin's growing disquiet. "Or perhaps there is some other reason."
"Morgian," uttered Taliesin darkly.
"No. I meant perhaps she is prevented from coming."
"I was wrong to trust her. I should have gone myself. Well, that is one error soon put right." Taliesin stood abruptly.
Dafyd put out his hand and pulled the bard down again. "Sit easy, Taliesin. We do not know how the matter stands. Let me go to the Tor and see for myself how it is. I will soon discern the truth of the matter—"
Taliesin hesitated. "We will together."
"—and I will come back and tell you what I have discovered."
Still Taliesin hesitated. "I do not mean to steal her for myself, you mad druid!"
Taliesin blushed. "Very well, I have waited this long—I can wait a little longer."
Taliesin saddled his horse and the priest mounted up, saying, "I will return as soon as may be."
/> * * *
Charis stood at her window beside the merlin's perch, stroking the bird's feathers when she saw a rider approaching the Tor over the causeway across the marshland, and her heart quickened. She watched the black horse until it was lost from sight, cantering up the winding track, and knew that Taliesin had come for her.
Avallach must not seem him! she thought, dashing from the room to meet him in the courtyard before he reached the palace. But it was not Taliesin astride the prancing black. "Dafyd," she said running up. "How is it that you ride Taliesin's horse? I told him I would send word. Why has he come back?"
"Lady, he has never left!" replied the priest in surprise.
"What do you mean? I sent the groom Ranen with the message. I told him—"
Dafyd shook his head gently. "Perhaps you sent by Ranen, but it was Morgian who brought it."
"Morgian again! What has she done?"
"She told Taliesin that you would never come. He could not accept that from her and waits at the shrine for word from you."
"But I am made prisoner here," she explained hurriedly. "Avallach has set himself against our union and will not let me leave. I thought to soften his heart, but—" She looked pleadingly at the priest. "Is he much disheartened?"
"No," Dafyd reassured her. "You know how he is."
"Still, I must go to him at once."
"How? If Avallach must be appeased, I might speak with him on your behalf."
Charis shook her head. "He will not be persuaded; I know that now."
"Your father loves you, Charis. I would see you reconciled."
"Would love keep me captive?" She saw from the priest's expression that she was right. "I thought not. He and Morgian have conspired against me in this; they have no care for me or my happiness.
"In time," she continued, "Avallach may be reconciled, but it is not right that I should be kept here against my will."
"I understand."
"Will you help?"
"In any way I can, Charis, but openly and without deception."
"That is all I ask," she said. "Go to his chamber and speak with him—about anything at all—only give me a little time to gather my things."
"You mean to leave now?"
"I know that I must go now or I never will," she said. "When you are finished, go back to the shrine by the way you came. I will be waiting for you outside the gates. Have no fear—no one will see you leave with me."
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