Cade allowed Hywel to take his place at the archery range and moved beside Taliesin, out of earshot of the two young men. Taliesin put a hand on Cade’s arm and Cade leaned closer to hear him better.
“There is only one way to stop Arawn, you know,” Taliesin said.
“Kill him?” Cade said.
Taliesin smiled a sad sort of smile. “One can’t kill a god. For all that you have the power of the sidhe, they are not as you are.”
Cade didn’t reply. Instead, he studied the bow in his hand and rubbed the carvings along the wood with one finger. Taliesin, meanwhile, maintained his smile while watching the water drip from the leaves above him into a puddle in the middle of the trail.
“I was afraid of that,” Cade said, eventually.
“Even worse,” Taliesin said, “it is beyond any man’s ability to harm a god. No man can even lay a hand on Arawn without dying himself.”
Cade looked up. “Or woman?”
“Of course, ‘woman,’” Taliesin said. “Did you think to ask Rhiann to try?”
“No, no.” Cade shook his head. “I was just making sure. So what can we do to stop him?”
“Banish him to the Underworld through the cauldron itself.”
“Though we can’t kill him or touch him, and have no sure way to get him in there unless he climbs in himself,” Cade said. “We could always set Dafydd on him to talk him to death.”
“You are flippant,” Taliesin said.
“You tell me that no man can harm Arawn,” Cade said, “and for some reason that amuses me. As we know, I am not a man, but even with that knowledge, we are still guessing.”
“I am confident we will come up with something,” Taliesin said. “This journey with you has been long and strange, and not without its surprises. I suspect the gods have more in store for us than we can guess.”
“If you can’t discover a way,” Cade said, “I don’t fear death. It has already come and gone for me, and every day I walk the earth is something of a gift.”
“And what about Rhiann?” Taliesin said. “I know you have feelings for her.”
That stopped Cade. “That’s not fair. You know I cannot act on them, and you know I must try to stop Arawn. I have no choice.”
“I know it,” Taliesin said.
* * * * *
Cade walked into the great hall, shedding water along with his cloak as he went and made his way to where his mother sat breakfasting. She made to rise as Cade came closer, but he urged her to sit.
“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Cade said. “I expected you to take your morning meal in your solar.”
“I have taken it there for nearly twenty years,” she said. “I’m tired of that room.”
Cade pulled out the chair next to her and sat in it. He couldn’t help but feel uncertain about her, but knew she was telling him something, perhaps the same thing of which Rhiann had spoken when she asked him not to return her to Aberffraw or leave her at Bryn y Castell. To both of them, the forts had become prisons. His mother, like Rhiann, only wanted a chance to walk in the light.
“Anything you need, Mother,” Cade said. “Tell me and I will grant it.”
“But that’s the problem,” Alcfrith said. “I don’t want you to grant me anything.” She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap, and picked at a loose thread in her dress. “When have I ever done something for myself? I went from my father’s house to Cadwallon’s, and then to Cadfael’s.”
“That is the usual way, Mother,” Cade said.
She looked into Cade’s face. “Not for you. Why, then, for me?”
“You were born a princess,” Cade said.
“And as a woman, I was a commodity to be bartered away for the right price. My father gave me to Cadwallon before I’d even met him, and then the Council sold me to Cadfael in exchange for peace. The only say I had in the matter was whether or not I’d keep you with me.”
“I know why you sent me away,” Cade said. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Or would the right thing have been to refuse them?” she said. “I could have taken you away, perhaps to Cornwall or Brittany and raised you myself.”
“But then I would not have been of the Cymry,” Cade said.
“And that is why I didn’t,” Alcfrith said. “And that makes me sound far more noble than I was, because what really happened was that I was twenty years old, alone, and scared.”
“Rhiann is twenty,” Cade said. “I can see you in her.”
“Except Rhiann took the reins of destiny in her hands and held on as tightly as she could,” Alcfrith said. “She fought for what she needed, where I lay down in the path and let others tread on me.”
“You are too hard on yourself,” Cade said.
“I’ve not been hard enough,” Alcfrith said.
“It must have been very lonely,” Cade said, trying to find something to say that would ease her suffering and self-recrimination.
“It was,” she said, “and much of that is my fault, not Cadfael’s. I could have cared for Rhiann, but I hid myself away in my misery, and never learned to take what chance at life I could. She is full of life, our Rhiann. It’s a miracle she’s as whole as she is. When do you plan to marry her?”
Cade gaped at Alcfrith. “I ... I can’t marry her, Mother.”
“Of course you can.”
“She wouldn’t have me anyway.”
“Why on earth not?” she said.
“Rhiann made it clear just now where her heart lies,” Cade said. “She’s in love with Dafydd.”
Alcfrith’s eyes narrowed. “The boy? I find that difficult to believe. You must have misunderstood, or perhaps Rhiann feels herself unworthy of you. I have never seen a girl as much in love with anyone as Rhiann is with you.”
Cade felt his head spinning and if he’d had a breath it would have caught in his throat. Could it be true?
Alcfrith patted Cade’s hand. “It will work itself out.” She studied her own hands and then looked up at him. “What are your plans for Wales?”
Cade smiled, a little rueful. “I’ve given this more thought than perhaps I ought to have, but the legacy of the Pendragons is not one that I can forego. I don’t know if the kings of Wales will accept me, but I will not just be the King of Gwynedd. I am the rightful High King, and I intend to rule as one, from the seat of my father, and of the ancient kings at Dinas Bran.”
“The lords here accepted you,” she said. “They swore their allegiance and bowed before you. The other kings of Wales will follow suit.”
“I don’t know that, Mother,” Cade said. “Even the lords of Gwynedd don’t truly trust me, not yet.”
“You truly are Arthur returned to us,” Alcfrith said. “They will follow you.”
Cade shook his head, not necessarily disagreeing, but not able to agree. “They give me their allegiance because I carry Caledfwlch. They accept my claim to the throne of Gwynedd because of my father, and because I took Dinas Emrys from Cadfael. Since Cadwallon died, however, we have all lived without a High King. The other kings will wonder why they need one now.”
“To hold the Saxons at bay,” Alcfrith said. “To fight against the creatures of the Underworld who ally themselves with our enemies.”
“Yes,” Cade said. “But it’s not only the other kings who do not know if I am worthy. I have to ask that of myself as well. Especially—” Cade stopped, realizing he couldn’t tell her how Arianrhod had changed him. Not now; maybe not ever.
“Especially, what?” she said.
“Especially because of who my father was,” Cade said. “It’s not enough to be Cadwallon’s son or Cynyr’s son. I have to be Cadwaladr. I have to rule as King in my own right.”
And maybe then, I’ll know if what my mother says is true. Maybe then I’ll have the courage to tell Rhiann that she has my heart.
Chapter Three
Rhiann
Rhiann didn’t like boats. The bards sang of the Welsh being caug
ht between the mountains and the sea, and despite having lived near the sea her entire life, there was no doubt that it was the mountains she preferred. That the sea was growing rougher did nothing to help.
Cade, Rhun, and Taliesin had decided, in the end, to sail to Caer Dathyl, just the nine companions: Cade, Taliesin, Rhun, Goronwy, Dafydd, Hywel, Bedwyr, Siawn, and Rhiann. The rest, led by Geraint and Tudur, had left from Aberffraw the day before, riding to a camp just north of Caer Dathyl. Cade deemed it his job—and by extension theirs—to enter Caer Dathyl, determine what was happening there, and open the fort from the inside so that the rest of the army could enter it. If they could even go so far as to trick Teregad into doing it himself, they would. Cade was looking to improvise.
Siawn was a last addition. He had insisted on it. “Gwyn is my cousin too,” he’d said, “and Teregad my brother. I know I am no soldier, but I’m coming with you even if I have to hide in the hold.”
“You’ll give us away at Caer Dathyl,” Cade had said. “Everyone knows you.”
“They do,” Siawn said, “but I’m not so sure they’d betray me. I’m a younger son and a priest. I was never a threat to anyone, nor did I lord over the populace and call attention to my princely status. Because of me, the people may welcome us, perhaps even hide us.”
“It might be a chance worth taking,” Rhun said. Perhaps because Rhun, of all people, supported the idea, Cade had let Siawn come.
“At worst,” Siawn had added. “I can lead you safely there.”
It was a day’s sail, no more than fifteen miles from Aberffraw, even hugging the coast, but both Cade and Taliesin were grimly pessimistic about whether or not the companions would even make it. Within an hour of boarding the boat, a fierce wind had blown up. Now, Rhiann huddled in a corner, jostled every now and then by Dafydd who knelt next to her, hanging his head over the side of the boat and heaving up his insides.
Up and down the boat rocked. Increasingly, at every downward rush, a chasm opened before the prow of the boat, and then it would fight its way up through the spray only to fall again. As the weather worsened, the friends huddled together, either in the single cabin or on the main deck.
“By all the Saints who ever lived,” Dafydd said, “why did God create boats?”
“I don’t think that was God.” Rhiann stood up, making sure to stand on the windward side of him. Spray from the sea flew into her face, spotting her cloak and dress. Since sneaking around was the order of the day, Cade had dressed Rhiann as a peasant girl so, as he’d said, she’d be less easily noticeable. He had laughed as he’d said it, implying, as unlikely as it seemed, that it was a lost cause.
“Then why didn’t the first one sink, so we’d never think to try again?” Dafydd moaned and laid his cheek on the side of the boat’s rail. “I’ve been here before, you know. My boat from Ynys Manaw was wrecked right here. What was I thinking that I thought to try again?”
Rhiann patted him on the back making ‘there, there’ noises.
Dafydd opened his eyes. “I need to ask you something.”
Rhiann looked down at Dafydd, conscious that his tone had changed to one far more intent and serious. “What is it?”
“Why do you stay with me?”
“I’ve cared for sick men before, Dafydd. It doesn’t bother me.”
Dafydd shook his head. “I don’t mean that. Why aren’t you with Lord Cadwaladr?”
Rhiann gawked at him. “Wh—wh—what do you mean?”
Dafydd straightened his head so he was no longer looking at her sideways. He turned towards her, shifting onto one knee, and took her hand. “I love you, Rhiann. Desperately and completely. I would gladly keep you with me always. Do you love me?”
Oh no! How could I have been so blind? “I do love you, Dafydd.” Rhiann dropped to her knees in front of him. “But not that way. I—I can’t love you that way.”
Dafydd nodded. “You love me as a friend, while King Cadwaladr …” He paused as they both looked to where Cade stood near the prow of the boat.
“I do like you very much. I do like spending time with you and that was all I thought it. I would never want to hurt you.”
“But you love him,” Dafydd said. There was a finality in his voice.
Rhiann swallowed hard. “I know he’s a sidhe. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want me with him, and I’ve tried to respect that. I know that it’s crazy to think ...”
“It’s not crazy,” Dafydd said. “If Cadwaladr sent you away it was because he was trying to protect you from himself. Anyone can see how he feels about you. By now, however, he probably thinks that you love me instead of him. I can’t say the thought saddens me at all.” His last words were fierce.
Rhiann recalled Cade’s questions about Dafydd from the day before. What a fool I’ve been! She rested her forehead on the rail, as Dafydd had done, unsure of what to do next. She glanced over at Cade whose face was still turned away, focused on the weather and the gods. Can it be true? Dafydd is too young to know such things, isn’t he?
Dafydd smiled, despite his sickness and what the effort cost him. “Go. See to your lord.”
“Dafydd—” She shook her head in denial, desperately wanting what he said to be true but unable to believe it.
“Go,” he repeated.
Rhiann got to her feet. Then, with one last look at Dafydd’s white face, Rhiann went. She fought her way to the front of the boat where Cade had planted himself, holding onto the tail of Taliesin’s cloak to steady him. Taliesin stood, his arms spread wide, exhorting the clouds, which took that moment to defy him and release their rain.
The drops began to fall, soon soaking the boat in an unrelenting downpour. Seeing her beside him, Cade reached out with his free arm to grab Rhiann and pull her to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, her heart beating wildly.
“We should return to shore!” Goronwy said from his post against the mast.
“No!” Taliesin shook his head to give his words the proper emphasis. “That is what Arawn wants.”
“This is Arawn’s doing?” Cade tipped his head upwards. Rhiann followed suit, looking as he did for a face distinguishable within the clouds.
“Arawn is behaving exactly as we hoped,” Taliesin said. “He’s ignoring Tudur and Geraint in favor of pursuing us. Are we not sailing because we feared his minions would stop us between Aberffraw and Caer Dathyl? He wants us on shore to meet them! Not out here on the water where we’re safe.”
“Safe to you isn’t exactly the same as to the rest of us,” Goronwy said.
“So now we’ll simply drown,” Rhun said, “and relieve him of his problem!”
“We must pray!” Siawn dropped to his knees beside Taliesin. They made an odd pair, Taliesin standing, chanting his exhortations in a language Rhiann didn’t understand, and Siawn kneeling, his hands clasped before his face, the thin, knotted rope with which he counted his prayers peeking through his fingers.
“It can’t be Arawn,” Cade said.
“Why not?” Rhiann said.
“He’s the Lord of the Underworld, not the sea,” he said.
“Well then maybe he’s gotten his friend, Llyr, the god of the sea and Father of Darkness to help him,” Rhiann said.
Cade glanced at her face. “That is a daunting thought.”
“Get back! Blast you! Do you want to end up with the fishes?” A new voice shouted from behind them. “Sire! You and the lady should not risk yourselves.”
Cade and Rhiann turned as the captain of the boat, an ancient fellow named Dai, rolled toward them on legs long used to this kind of weather. With a hand on each of their shoulders, he hauled them backwards, away from the prow of the boat and toward the open cabin. As the deck of the boat rose again in front of them, they fell into it.
“Such idiocy!” Dai said. The boat crested the wave and he staggered back to the rudder. Rhiann heard him yelling at Taliesin and Siawn, who finally obeyed him and gave up their vigil.
Rhiann lay on her
stomach on the floor. Cade had rolled onto his back a few feet away. She pressed her face to the cool boards, and after a breath or two, began to laugh. Soon Cade chuckled beside her, and it was a relief to share the dark humor inherent in their peril.
“I am not a good sailor,” Rhiann said.
“I gather from our Captain’s comments that he doesn’t think much of me, either,” Cade said.
Rhiann laughed again but then was forced to curl up in a ball on the floor as the boat rose and fell, rose and fell, and the rain pounded on the roof. She lay there for a while, listening to the storm. Cade had his eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He never slept. She didn’t know how to begin to talk to him again; to cross the space between them, but she was willing to try if he was.
As it turned out, it was Cade who began. “You must understand, Rhiann, that I am a man out of legend, with neither soul nor substance. Sometimes I feel that I don’t really exist.”
“You do.” Rhiann reached out a hand to him, and then pulled it back, thinking better of it, not sure if she dared go that far. He was so resistant to human contact, even if he’d held her only a moment ago.
“Before I went to Aberffraw to greet your father,” Cade said, “I went to Din-Arth, the seat of Owain of Rhos. In the hall, I met an Irish trader.” Cade opened one eye to look at Rhiann and she gave him a half-smile in acknowledgement of the rarity of that: the Irish had raided the Welsh coast for the same number of years the Saxons had besieged the country from the east, but here was an Irishman who sought to trade. “He spent the evening telling stories to all who would listen.” Cade stopped.
“Go on,” Rhiann said.
“He mostly spoke of the sidhe faeries, beautiful young maidens endowed with the power of song and gifted with enchanting wiles.”
“We all know these stories. Every Welsh child is teethed on them. It’s why your men have accepted you. We’ve all heard them; dreamt them.”
Cade shook his head. “You haven’t heard about me, though, have you? Our tales don’t tell the whole story. I don’t know if we’ve forgotten, or never learned the truth. The Irishman explained that under the influence of such a sidhe, a man may commit any and every crime at her command. Then, when his soul is utterly black, the maiden carries her servant to the Underworld. He remains there forever, tortured by the same faery to whom he sold himself, now revealed in her true, hideous form.”
Song of the Pendragon (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 3) Page 3