by Signe Pike
Ariane shifted her eyes from me and fixed them on the water, allowing me the time I so desperately needed to make sense of my boiling emotions.
In the ripple of the river, visions from the bloody riot in the Gathering Place reflected back unbidden. The oaks of Bright Hill had been felled. The White Spring was now home to a monastery. Christian zealots had desecrated the sanctity of Clota’s waters in the very sight of White Isle. Such things could not be undone, and they warned of more danger to come. What kind of woman would I be to turn my gaze from this?
I could not become a Wisdom Keeper. But I was being given the opportunity to become a leader. If Ariane and the other Keepers were right—if I alone was suited for this task—could I regard myself with any honor in refusing?
The choice was mine alone. I could attempt to win Rhydderch’s affections, or I could sabotage his heart against me. The sharp cry of a gull sounded overhead, and a shiver traced my arms as I watched the bird dive for a fish; its call summoned a memory of standing on Bright Hill the moment Lailoken had heard the call of the crow. Cathan had once said a path was being laid at my feet. Soon, he said, I think you will be asked to walk it.
A salt breeze blew off the water, whipping at my cloak. I blinked and turned to Ariane as if stirring from a dream. The crow’s call. Though it was years ago, it quite suddenly seemed of great importance.
“What does it mean when a crow calls from the south?” I asked.
Ariane frowned, taken aback. “Whatever are you speaking of? A crow?”
“Yes. I once heard a crow call out on Bright Hill, just beyond the White Spring. It came to me now, the memory of it, as if on the wind. It was before the oaks were felled, before the body of Fergus was buried on the hill. What does it mean?”
Ariane studied me a long moment. “Death,” she said at last. “When a crow calls from the south, there will be death.”
Death. So this was why Cathan had seemed so keen to protect us from the truth. He hadn’t wanted to frighten us. But whose death might the crow’s call portend? Was it merely the death of Fergus and his entombment in our sacred grove? Or was one of us yet in danger? Me or Lailoken. Or Cathan himself.
Ariane angled her head as if reading my thoughts. “The birdcall you speak of. I do not think this event has yet come to pass.”
“Perhaps not.” I twisted my fingers in my lap. The mere thought of it struck me with dread. The tides were shifting. I would be a fool not to see it. And now I was being given a chance to protect the balance between the Old Way and the new.
If by winning Rhydderch’s favor I could somehow prevent this death and at once protect an ancient way of life for my people, how could I not act?
I must only say the words. I took a steadying breath and turned to Ariane.
“It’s done, then,” I said. “I have made my choice. Now tell me what I must do.”
CHAPTER 22
* * *
A fortnight passed before the summons arrived from Clyde Rock. In that time I set about repairing the devastation I’d wrought to my own reputation. I rose early and dressed in my finest robes despite the timid assistance of Desdemona, my new dressing girl.
“Keep Crowan by your side as a companion,” Ariane said. “But you are no longer a child, and Crowan is aged, burdened by too many duties. You need a chamber girl who can travel, not one whose bones will crack with each jolt of a pony. You need a young girl who will keep up with the latest preenings from abroad. This is what women of court will expect.”
“But Desdemona has no skill in dressing. She is a servant in the kitchens! And it was she who spread the slanderous—”
“The slanderous stories you intended?” Ariane raised her brows.
“It only proves that she cannot be trusted.”
“You knew you could not trust this girl. You used her to spread your lies, and now you owe her a kindness.”
“But—”
“Enough.” She held up a hand. “You think you are clever. You are not yet nearly clever enough. You are soon to be surrounded by those you cannot trust. It is a lesson you would do well to learn before you enter Tutgual’s court. I prefer you learn it here. Desdemona will stay. And you will make it your work to be ready.”
Ariane was right: I was yet ill-matched for court. And Ariane, being a female Keeper, could not accompany me. She was forbidden from entering the high king’s court.
In the fortnight before the summons, I visited the market daily with Desdemona and Crowan, chatting with the merchants of Partick’s finest shops. I nodded and smiled at the other noble families as they passed in their carts. I attended feasts with Father and Lail, matching wits with war-mangled chieftains, smiling coyly at their boastful sons and even laughing at the tales of their bloodthirsty warriors.
But on the morning we were due to depart to Clyde Rock, I woke before dawn, my throat so tight I could scarcely breathe. Outside, night was giving way to a dusky pearl morning. I tugged on the old tunic and breeches Lail had given me, belted my knife round my waist, and crept outside to the stables.
I could not see the horses, but I could hear them gently breathing. The soft snores of Macon and the grooms sounded from the loft overhead as I moved silently along the planking. Only the moonlike glow of Fallah’s coat was visible in the stable’s dim, the lamplight long extinguished. She turned to blink her lashes at me as I bent my head to her flank, tacking her in darkness. I had just led her beyond the stable door when a razor-sharp sting jabbed at my breastbone. I dropped her reins with a gasp and froze.
“Who’s there?” A deep voice demanded.
“Languoreth,” I said quickly.
Brodyn stepped from the shadows, casting his hood back to reveal his scowling face.
“Gods save me, cousin, I nearly impaled you,” he said, lowering his spear.
“All’s well. Not a scratch.”
He eyed my riding clothes warily. “And where is it you’re going?”
“I’m just taking the path that runs above the river,” I whispered. “I swear I will come back.”
The crease of his brow eased but he nodded to the man posted by the gate. “Then Arwel and I will accompany you.”
“No need. I’ll be back for breakfast.”
“Languoreth. You cannot ride alone.”
“I will answer to Father.”
“It is not yet morning. If anything should happen, it is I who will answer to your father.”
“Brodyn”—I met my cousin’s eyes—“in just a few hours we must leave for Clyde Rock.”
Brodyn’s dark eyes softened and he bowed his head. “Very well. As you wish. But I beg you to take care. And should they notice you’re gone, you’ll find I’ll be quite quick to tell them where you’ve run off to.”
“Of course. I’ll be careful, I swear it.”
Brodyn took Fallah’s reins in hand and saw me to the gate. The previous night’s rain had left the lane muddy but not dangerously slick. I slid my hands along Fallah’s neck as we trotted beyond the fields of Buckthorn and away from town, turning onto a grassy path that opened onto a windswept plain scattered with towering oaks. The last breath of summer gusted over the fields, ruffling my hair, and I inhaled, letting the fresh smell of rain and wet grass fill my lungs. Fallah tossed her head, her smooth muscles tense beneath me; she wanted to run as much as I did. Leaning forward in my saddle, I gave her ribs a quick squeeze.
“Go, Fallah.”
In an instant we were off in a gallop. We raced over the field as if the ground smoldered beneath us, away from Father and Lail and the Wisdom Keepers, away from obligations of highborn daughters.
Away from Lord Rhydderch.
Ahead of me the eastern sky burned crimson. The shadows of night were retreating to their secret world, the world of the Summerlands, the world of the dead. I took a breath and let myself sink into the relentless drumming of Fallah’s hooves, wanting, willing. Emptying myself again and again, until there were only me and my horse, streaking like a pair of
furies across the lands of the north. The fields and forests became a wash of green around us. The wind lashed at my face, ripping hungry hands against my clothing. We were nowhere now; we were in between. Dropping the reins, I thrust my arms wide, lifting my face to the rising blaze of the sun, my eyes closed in surrender.
As though the sheer starkness of my longing had summoned her, the ancient and wild goddess of Midsummer, her hair coils of living fire, her heart a molten flame, peered from the east. A keening built from deep within me, a wail born of resignation, of acceptance, and, finally, of purpose. Lifting my head to the brightening sky, I let this brazen new song rip through the break of morning like the cry of a hound.
We raced for what seemed like an eternity, the waters of the Clyde burning orange and pink with the rising sun. Fallah showed no signs of slowing. It was as if she knew that after today we would never be the same. I felt as though we could keep on racing, riding until we hit the kingdom of Gododdin, which bordered the edge of the eastern sea.
In the end, we rode as far as the gates of the city, where I saw the soldiers stiffen atop their high wooden watchtowers. Spotted, I pulled back on Fallah’s reins and she slowed to a trot.
We turned reluctantly and headed for home.
In the courtyard, mist swirled in shafts of light. My eyes met Brodyn’s with a grateful nod as I entered Buckthorn’s gate, my backbone as strong as iron.
Sliding from the saddle, I led Fallah to her stall and returned a moment later with a bucket of sweet-smelling grain. She chomped contentedly as I worked her coat with a hog’s-hair brush, coaxing the salt and sweat from her pearly flanks.
“So you’re off to Clyde Rock.”
I spun to see Maelgwn leaning against the rough planks of the stable wall, his thick, dark hair free of its usual leather binding. He wore his padded leather armor open at the neck, a lightweight linen shirt peeking from beneath it. My hand went self-consciously to my hair. What a sight I must be with a head full of tangles, dressed in Lail’s clothing.
“Sweet Gods, you frightened me!” I blinked in disbelief, as if he were a trick of the light.
He eyed the knife at my belt, lifting his hands in surrender. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. I suppose I’ve gotten too accustomed to stealing about quietly. Lucky for me I’m wearing my leathers.” His smile was easy but his green eyes were troubled, as if heavier matters weighed on his mind.
I set Fallah’s brush aside. “Whatever brings you to Buckthorn?” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t reconcile his standing before me, the way his green eyes roamed the length of me, recalling the memory of his hands round my waist, his lips at my ear.
“I’ve come bearing messages,” he said. “One for a chieftain in the west, another for your father.” He straightened and gave his shoulders a slight roll as if his back were stiff from riding. “I arrived here not long after first light. Your father was kind enough to see me.”
“Bearing messages?” I asked. “Surely you are more valuable to Emrys Pendragon than a common carrier bird.”
Maelgwn shifted uncomfortably. “Some messages require a more personal delivery. This was not one suited for a henchman.”
“Please do not say Gwenddolau is unwell.”
“Nay, Gwenddolau is well—well as can be,” he said. “In recent days there’s been raiding; Picts, we think. Since we doubled our patrols, sleep has become a precious commodity.” Fine lines around his eyes spoke of exhaustion.
“I am sorry to hear it. Though I must say I’m relieved to hear lack of sleep is the greatest danger on hand at present. Far better that than the threat of Angle swords.”
“Ah. Angle swords.” Maelgwn grinned. “Shoddy pieces of work, really. Dull as the men who carry them. You needn’t worry ’bout that.”
I allowed a smile, but I couldn’t evade the feeling there was something Maelgwn was not speaking of.
“I suppose you consider matters of state beyond my understanding,” I ventured.
“No. In fact I do not.” His eyes lingered on my face. “It’s only that the issue has resolved itself. And I’m afraid that now I must be leaving.”
“Leaving? But you’ve only just arrived.”
“You wish me to stay, then?” Maelgwn seemed pleasantly surprised.
“Any proper hostess would wish a tired rider the comfort of her hall,” I said, trying to conceal my attraction, to make my invitation perfunctory.
“Of course.” He straightened. “No, I’m afraid I must go. I’ve lingered too long already, I’m sure.”
“At least let me summon the grooms,” I said, heart sinking. “They’ll fetch you your mount.”
“No, don’t trouble yourself. I like to tend to him myself.” He gestured to a handsome brown-and-white horse waiting patiently on a tether, and a look of consternation flashed across his face. “With good reason,” he added. “It seems they’ve braided his hair.”
I laughed at the sight of it. “Ah, well. I think he looks beatific. I hope you’ll forgive them a harmless prank. I’m afraid our stable hands are young and too quick-witted. Last week I came to ride only to find Fallah wreathed in flowers.”
“It would appear you have more than an average woman’s share of admirers,” he said.
“It’s nothing like that. They’re grateful is all. They came to us as boys. Their parents were slain during the Angle incursion and Father gave them shelter. They’ve been with us ever since.”
“Your father is a good man,” he said sincerely. “He wears the purple well.”
“Yes, I believe so.” A silence fell and I swallowed the tightness gathering in my throat. From her stall Fallah regarded Maelgwn beneath sooty lashes and he reached to stroke her.
“She’s a fine horse.” He patted her flank. “White as winter’s snow.”
“Yes. I suppose Fallah’s middle-aged by now, but she can still run.” I brightened. “My father delights in recounting the day she first wandered up to me in the fields, a foal on trembling legs. I was little more than a babe myself. He has always said the best horses choose their masters.”
Maelgwn’s eyes found mine. “It is a lucky horse that can choose its master. Many do not have the luxury of choice.”
His meaning was unmistakable. But it was the tenderness in his voice that threatened to undo me.
“Please don’t pity me,” I said. “I have long known that when the time came I would be given away to a stranger. It was a dream to believe I might be afforded the right to choose.”
“Did you?” he asked, suddenly intent. “Did you dream?”
Alone in the stables, Maelgwn’s nearness was dizzying.
“What young woman doesn’t dream?” I looked away. Feigning a lightness I didn’t feel, I gave Fallah a pat and tried to brush past Maelgwn, but he reached out to catch my fingers.
“Languoreth.”
I turned and wished I hadn’t. Maelgwn’s eyes blazed green, flecked with gold like fallen leaves, and in that moment I was terrified I might drown in them completely. His hand touching mine sent a gentle buzz down the length of my body, and I steeled myself against it, summoning my strength even as he drew me gently closer.
“Languoreth, I—”
He was so close I could smell the clean scent of leather and soap mingling with the dust of the road on his skin.
“Please,” I begged, not knowing what I was asking for. I could not bear for him to move away yet could not stand for him to stay so close. He reached a callused hand to gently trace the curve of my cheek as if I might shatter. I closed my eyes, my pulse pounding in the hollow of my throat.
“ ’Tis a funny thing.” He shook his head.
“Whatever could be funny?” I whispered, lifting my eyes to his.
“Talk of your beauty does not prepare one for the thing itself.”
“Come, now,” I said. “I may be an innocent, but I am wise to the ways of warriors.”
Maelgwn drew back suddenly as if struck, and the spell
was broken. “You think I have come here for sport?”
“I would not flatter myself,” I sputtered. “But you happened upon me, here, in the barn—”
“Happened upon you?” His jaw clenched. “Is this what you think?”
“What am I to think?” I shot back. “I’ve heard the way my father’s men speak of their conquests. And you, one of the great warriors of Pendragon? I cannot imagine your bed goes cold.”
Maelgwn’s face reddened. “I can see now you have formed an opinion of me.”
“Do correct me if you feel it unjustified.”
He turned away with a curse before swiveling back, raking a hand through his dark hair. “This is not how I hoped our conversation might fare.”
I took a breath in regret. I was baring thorns because I had to, because a charlatan was what I needed him to be. But Maelgwn’s eyes were stormy, as if my words had pained him. And my fingers still hummed from the heat of his touch.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I did not expect to see you again. And certainly not here. I’m afraid you’ve caught me unawares, and with matters weighing heavy on my mind.”
“Indeed.” His green eyes softened. “You travel today to win the heart of a prince, I hear. I’ve no doubt you’ll have it.”
“I cannot thank you for such a compliment. Winning his heart would bring me no joy.”
Maelgwn paused. When he glanced up, his voice was softly accusing. “I have only just met you, and now you are bound to another.”
I searched for the iron-sided resolve that had flooded my veins only moments before.