by Karen Myers
“I haven’t had the time to speak with you at length and would like to know you better. Can you tell me more about your arrival yesterday morning?”
George was eager to discover why, and how, he’d gotten here. Maybe this time he could get someone to agree on a plan to send him back.
He described how he’d followed the sound of hounds along a strange path and been distracted by the deer, before coming off at the unexpected jump.
“So, you heard the pack baying, and that’s what sent you to them. Was it your pack you heard, or mine?”
“I thought it was mine at the time, of course, but now I think not, that it must have been yours.”
Gwyn said, “They bayed at the murder. So, at the moment of Iolo’s death, the way was opened to you.” He paused. “You were brought here, I think.”
“By you?”
“No, not by me. What was the deer like, that you saw?”
“A big buck with a magnificent rack. The noise drew my eye and I had a clear view. He was quite pale, with dark eyes, and he just stood there and watched.”
“I detect other hands at work in this,” Gwyn concluded.
“Does that mean you can’t send me back?” George’s heart sank.
“It means I should understand why you’re here, first,” Gwyn said.
Gwyn continued, “Tell me more about your encounter with the stranger at the inn. What made you think he was a threat?”
“I’ve thought about that, and I can’t say. It’s almost as if he smelt wrong, though that’s not it. I knew his appearance was a lie.”
“Oh? Could you tell that Rhian was glamoured?”
“Well, I saw her altered form, of course, and I knew what she looked like normally, but, yes, I think I also knew it was false independently of that.”
Gwyn stood and his appearance abruptly changed to that of an older man with a stooped back. “What do you see?” he asked with a quavering voice.
“I see and hear the change, but I know in some fundamental way that it’s not true. I can’t see your real form directly, but I know it’s there. It’s hard to explain.”
Gwyn dropped the glamour and sat back down, thoughtfully. “This isn’t typical for one of us. A glamour works unless some counter magic prevents it. There’s no sensing of the true form otherwise. A skilled man can hold a glamour for a year and not be detected, as Pwyll did.”
Who was Pwyll, George wondered.
“Tell me of your father,” Gwyn said.
With some reluctance, George opened up the sunny memories of his childhood, blighted by the ending.
“Conrad Traherne. There’s not much to tell, since I was a child when they died. My mother, your granddaughter Léonie, met him in Wales when she was about twenty-two. There was some family story, never very clear to me, of getting lost in a woods and rescued at dusk. He worked as a gamekeeper and was away for days at a time while my mother wrote at her desk. I don’t know where the money came from, but we had a snug little cottage off against the woods by itself, with our neighbors at a distance. I had my pony and freedom to explore, and life was very good.”
George looked off into the past. “He was a lovely man when he was home. He would tell me stories and take me into the woods for adventures. He had this amazing knack for spotting animals and not disturbing them, and I would try to imitate him on my own when he wasn’t there, to make him proud of me.”
He glanced back at Gwyn, who was listening attentively. “I don’t really know what happened. One evening they went out together for a walk, and they didn’t return. I was nine years old, and sick with worry by morning. We had no phone. I was just about to take my pony to the next farm to find someone when a policeman knocked on the door to tell me there’d been an accident.
“He wouldn’t say much. I sneaked a look at his notebook when he was washing up, and saw something about wild animals. That’s also where I saw my father’s right name for the first time: Corniad Traherne. I showed them my mother’s address book and they contacted my grandfather. I met him the next day, and he took me back to Virginia.”
And how strange it is, he marveled, that I so rarely think of them. I never went through their things when I got older. I know grandfather has them. No longer. As soon as I get back I’m going to start asking questions.
George went to the sideboard to refill his glass and sat down again. His mind was in turmoil. How’s it possible that I never asked? It’s as if a veil’s been torn away and now I can see how odd that is.
Aloud, he said, “I never heard of any other family on my father’s side, but I don’t actually know.”
“What about your own family?” Gwyn asked. “Your wife and children? Who’s waiting for you?”
Who, indeed, George thought. Aloud, he said, “I’ve never married, and there’s no one special at the moment.” He looked down at that. He wanted children and was unhappy he hadn’t found the right woman yet.
“Still, I have a good career. I run a small software firm,” he smiled at Gwyn’s blank look, “but I’m at a point where I’m, well, bored by it.” There, he’d said it, admitted it out loud. “I live on a small farm, and visit my grandparents regularly. I go foxhunting. It’s a very quiet, dutiful life.”
“And you find it constraining and unsatisfying, I think,” Gwyn said.
George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes,” he said shortly. “But it’s what a man does, making his way in the world. No one said it had to be fulfilling.”
Gwyn rested one elbow on his chair and gestured with his hand while he summarized.
“You’re certainly my descendant, but you have skills I don’t recognize in glamoury. Your father is, at the least, unusual. Someone has brought you here, when we have a need for friends and a suspicion of enemies. I think I may know now who the player is on that side, an old but tricky ally.”
George hoped for more details but Gwyn went off in an unexpected direction instead and George held his tongue.
“Let me tell you a bit about us and our current situation.”
“I am old, and older than old. I remember the coming of the new humans before the ice, watched it push them south in the old world, and watched them return when it retreated. My sire and his are older still. We die, in time, but the longer we live, the more powerful we become. Unless we die by violence.”
George was prepared for something like this after last night’s history lesson from Eurig, but it still took his breath away.
“We form families, of course, but many of our marriages are alliances of power and don’t last more than a few decades at best. We have children, but not many and not often, and they make their own way in the world. Eventually, even that stops. I expect no more siblings, but now and then I’m still tempted myself.”
George smiled privately at Eurig’s judgment last night about Gwyn being “fond of the ladies.”
Gwyn continued, “The great houses mind their realms with smaller lords in their retinue, and they strive with each other over old grudges, new ambitions, or just out of boredom. Not all of us take the path of direct power; there are craftsmen, warriors, solitary dwellers, travelers, scholars, and all the flavors of any people that you might expect. We live long enough that many try their hand at a variety of activities and become expert in several.
“Some of us, like me, have children outside our own kind. Most of those lead short lives by our reckoning, in the outerworld, and come to nothing in particular, but sometimes they come back to us with true skills and some powers. A few are living here now, though none of mine.”
“It would be interesting to meet them,” George said. “Do you yourself have children in the current generation? What of Rhys and Rhian?”
“I have no young children at the moment. You must realize that, with our long lives, we rarely know our much older or younger siblings well, so our greatest bonds are with our parents and our own children. To connect us across the lineages, we typically foster each other’s children. It broadens
their education, and a foster-parent can be more objective about discipline and training than a natural parent.
“When my brother Edern’s son Rhys died, I offered to foster his young children. The Rhys you’ve met is Rhys Vachan, Rhys the younger. He and his sister have lived here for nine years. He’s now twenty-two, and she fourteen. It’s quite unusual for full siblings to be so close in age, and they wouldn’t be parted from each other, so they came together when she was old enough. They’re dear to me and I hope they’ll stay all their lives, but in any case I’m responsible for their rearing and, most importantly, their safety.”
Gwyn paused. “I wasn’t always the Prince of Annwn. It was a great honor to receive the realm, but many of my enemies date from that time. I was quick to remove it to the new world and to keep the ways obscure until I was better prepared, but for many centuries now we’ve fallen into a regular practice at the time of the great hunt of opening our ways to all who would come, as if we were all at peace. You understand, better to appear to be so strong that you needn’t show concern, yes?”
George nodded. This was all very interesting but it wasn’t getting him home.
“Now we’re paid for that with treachery and murder. And in truth I have even older enemies, in particular Gwythyr ap Greidawl. He was at one time betrothed to my youngest sister Creiddylad until I rescued her, at her request. It was a bitter fight, and many died at my hand whose families still wish me ill. For this old grudge I must meet Gwythyr every Nos Galan Mai at the spring equinox and strive again. Sometimes I win, sometimes not, and Creiddylad leads her own life at our father’s in the meantime, or on the lands that I gave her, accordingly.
“The great hunt is the heart and purpose of Annwn. All the mighty families come to see the world’s justice meted out. There are lesser hunts throughout the year but the one on Nos Galan Gaeaf is the one where all the ways are thrown open and no one can predict who will be pursued and where they will lead. For the great hunt to fail, or not to happen, would be disastrous.
“This murder of Iolo is a blow aimed at the great hunt, at the balance of the world, and at my realm. I can’t allow it to succeed. You understand?”
George nodded again.
“Good. That’s why I want you to serve as huntsman on that night.”
CHAPTER 10
Huntsman!
I didn’t see that one coming, George thought. I just want to get home. He sighed inwardly.
Alright, let’s think about this like a job interview. I’m offered a new position, but to be fair I’ve done it before when someone needed to cover for John at the Rowanton Hunt. This involves a new pack, a new breed of hounds, and a strange territory, but there are people who can guide me with that. Two weeks is an absurdly short time, but perhaps it’s possible.
But this is the Wild Hunt we’re talking about. Someone will die at the end, however well deserving, brutally and in pain. And, in some sense, the whole world will be watching.
On the other hand, what a challenge. George felt the pull of that thought.
“What would happen if I turn this down?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Rhian may someday grow into this, she wants to, but she can’t do it yet and under these circumstances. Rhys might be able to, but this isn’t the way he’s inclined and a lack of enthusiasm might well be fatal. I could do it, but it’s not permitted. Beyond that, there’s no one. Iolo shouldn’t have died, and so we’re not prepared.”
He continued, “Besides, I think you were brought here for this. At the moment of Iolo’s death, a new huntsman appears. It can’t be coincidence. I think your father’s kin may have something to do with it. It’s the right answer. Even if it fails, it’s better than not to try.”
George protested. “I have a life of my own in another world. It’s one thing to visit, but I hadn’t thought of uprooting it altogether.”
“Let’s make this just for the duration of the great hunt. After that, if we’re all still here, we can decide together if it should continue.”
“May I give you my answer in the morning? I need to think about this.”
“That would be acceptable.” Gwyn looked at him directly. “I must warn you, many will be hoping for this to fail—my enemies who want to see me fall, traditionalists who won’t tolerate a mixed blood in the role, and those who just dislike humans altogether. Some of them might take steps to ensure you won’t succeed.”
George translated soberly: if this fails I may not survive to worry about it.
“If you accept, you’ll need to study with Ceridwen. She can help you explore your talents.”
And I’ll also need to spend some time with the weapons-master, Hadyn, and become competent with physical defense, George thought.
Aloud, he said, “I assume I can have whatever resources are necessary to get the job done? I’d want Rhys and Rhian involved.”
“You’ll get all the assistance you need.” Gwyn rose. “I’ll await your answer tomorrow.”
George stood at the dismissal, nodded, and exited the room thoughtfully.
He walked out into the yard and stopped someone passing. “Where can I find Ceridwen?”
The man pointed out her dwelling—two stories high, of stone, and just beyond the infirmary. He knocked on the green door. The servant who answered asked him to wait and returned with Ceridwen.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” George said, “but I wanted to take a few minutes of your time today. Should I come back later?”
“No, this is fine. I thought I might see you. Was your discussion with Gwyn… interesting?”
“Indeed,” he said dryly. “He offered me a job.”
She nodded. “And you have reservations.” Clearly she knew this might happen. She must’ve already discussed it with Gwyn.
“More than that. He implied strange things about my father and speculated on inherited abilities. I need information, badly, if I’m to make any sort of rational decision, and I was hoping you might be able to help.”
She smiled and led the way back into a large study, more of a library, with comfortable chairs, a desk, and great piles of books both on and off the shelves. A low fire crackled cozily, and they settled into two armchairs before it.
She gestured for him to continue.
“I don’t understand what I might inherit from Gwyn, three generations back.” He recounted the conversation about detecting glamours, and the earlier one about sensitivity to animals.
Then he told her about his father, and Gwyn’s remarks about being brought deliberately, and his father’s kin. “I don’t understand any of that.”
The servant brought tea, and she served them both. “As to what you may inherit, that’s never predictable. Most commonly, the child of mixed blood has little or nothing, but not always. You’ve made your life, or part of it, with animals, and so I think that talent may be true, if unexplored. You’ll have to experiment to see what you’re capable of there. For the glamour, yes, that’s unusual. I can detect one, sometimes, and perhaps Gwyn can, but we don’t discuss it since it’s more useful as a hidden advantage.”
She looked at him. “There are other things to test. Can you cast a glamour yourself?”
“I wouldn’t know how to try.”
“As you sit there, think of yourself as an old man and try to convince me of it, silently.”
George let himself feel shrunken and tired, conscious of small aches and a certain tremor in his hands. It was acting a part, but persuading himself instead of an audience. He looked over at Ceridwen, keeping to character, then released it.
“I think you may have it in you. I could see the glamour, dimly. You’ll need to work at it, but it’s a skill like any other.”
She looked at him speculatively. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Remind me, I don’t see many humans. Do you seem young for that age?”
“It’s hard to know what normal feels like, of course. My hair hasn’t started to gray yet,
nor receded, but that’s not all that unusual. I feel well, but then I keep fit for foxhunting. I’m good for my age, but young? How would I know?”
“It’s possible you have some of the longevity, too. We mature at the same rate as humans, until middle age, and there we linger for a very long time.”
She took a sip of her tea.
“What Gwyn suspects about your father is much more of a surprise. Let me see if I have this right.”
She summarized. “You hear the pack at Iolo’s death, then see a pale stag, then, a bit precipitously, find yourself in the otherworld. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s about it.”
“Your father had no kin of which you are aware. He had a special affinity for animals. He worked in the woods. He vanished, with your mother, in the woods.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what ‘Traherne’ means?”
“I just know it’s Welsh.”
“It means ‘iron-hard,’ more or less. And ‘Corniad’ is ‘the horned-one,’ like a bull or a stag.”
She paused, exasperated like any professor facing a dullard at George’s apparent lack of comprehension, and spelled it out for him. “Gwyn thinks your father was a manifestation of Cernunnos, the lord of beasts, the great hunter, and that he brought you here for a purpose.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. Another stunner, he thought. He had seen archaeological portrayals of Cernunnos, a seated man with the antlers of a deer, but this implied a living god of some kind.
He shook his head in denial. “There’s a limit to my suspension of disbelief in the last couple of days, as I find myself here in the otherworld talking to near-immortal relatives, and we may have just hit it.”
Ceridwen smiled sympathetically. “We do have gods, they just don’t concern themselves with us very often, and the distinctions between our highest lords and our gods aren’t that great. Even our gods can die or vanish. Cernunnos is one of our old ones and, perhaps, still enjoys taking a hand in our affairs. He’s the ultimate sponsor of the great hunt.”