by J. M. Hofer
CHAPTER THREE
Secrets
Igerna gazed out at the river Usk from Caer Leon, known as the City of the Legions by the Roman rulers of Brython. If Uthyr can rule as they did, while respecting the Old Ways of our own people, I shall be married to the greatest king Brython has ever known.
Such were the things she and her mother discussed once the subjects of weather and happenings at home had been exhausted. She always looked forward to her mother’s visits. Whenever she was at court, Igerna felt less alone in the world. She often craved her mother’s ever-sound advice on running a household and making a man happy. Yet, there was only so much of her current situation she felt comfortable discussing with her. She had told her mother she was with child but that the babe had been fathered by Gorlois, not Uthyr. She dared not tell her what had truly happened that fateful night, for she knew her mother would worry incessantly, both about her and the child she carried. Though her mother honored the Old Ways, she forever cautioned against any kind of intimate engagement with the spirit world. “There’s no telling what might happen, child,” she cautioned. “And there’s no closing that door once you’ve opened it.”
She had confessed her secret to but one person—Myrthin. Though he had initially been of great comfort and counsel to her, she had not seen him in many weeks. She felt grateful for his understanding and support, but he was inconstant and clearly more concerned with his own affairs than her predicament. There’s only one person in this world with whom I can share all my worries and sins–only you, Arhianna. Please, come and visit me. I fear for the child in my belly. Most mothers wonder only if their child will be a son or daughter and worry about the babe’s health…but my worries go far beyond such things. Far beyond.
She had not yet told Uthyr she was with child. Soon, however, she knew her body would tell him what her mouth could not. Already, her belly was beginning to swell. She had been told as much from the midwives—the second one is always more evident than the first. She deliberated day and night about how much to tell him, and how. Yet, even if she wished to tell him the truth of what had happened, she could not—for even she did not know, truly, who—or what—the father of her child was. She felt a surge of fear and put a protective hand over her belly. There must be a way to discover who fathered you, child. But it will not be through the churches.
***
Igerna had been staring out the window of Uthyr’s chamber for at least an hour, waiting for the night to end. He still slept so soundly, he had not heard her wake and creep from their bed. When, at last, dawn began chasing the stars from the sky, a sense of urgency ignited in her breast. The castle will wake soon. I must hurry.
She donned a shawl, stole out of the castle and ventured down to the river. The summer grass had grown tall along its banks. In the faint light of the coming dawn, she collected a flask of water and whispered her thanks. She then returned to her own private chamber and barred the door. She unlocked a chest her mother had given her on her wedding day, filled with many gifts that were meant for her alone. She pulled out a wide, silver dish. Though it appeared to be something to bring out on high feast days, it was no serving dish.
She set the dish by the open window, poured her flask of water into it, and then arranged several candles in an arc around it. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Well, I suppose if this doesn’t work, I’m no worse off than I already was.
Unbeknownst to her father, Igerna’s mother had often retired to her room to scry into a silver dish when faced with a vexing problem. When each of her daughters came of age, she had shared this ritual with them. Igerna discovered she possessed a natural ability for it, unlike her sisters, and her mother had encouraged her to practice at it. “It’s a blessing to be able to see within the waters, daughter…and the more you practice, the more you shall see.”
Being a young beautiful woman, Igerna had been more concerned with dresses, suitors, and exploring the moors. She had not taken her mother’s advice. She had never regretted not doing so more than now.
She closed her eyes and sat for a moment, composing her question in her mind, remembering how her mother had always stressed the importance of this task. “It is not so much the magic we perform that matters, but rather the words we choose. Choose them with care. Ensure they embody the very soul and spirit of your desire. If the question is clear and potent, the answer shall be as well.”
Igerna sat until the words of her question at last rose up in her mind. She uttered them, and the chills that ran through her body verified she had chosen well. She then lit her candles, one by one, from left to right, chanting her question into each dancing flame: “Fire of life, reveal to me…the man whose spark quickens in me.”
She was about to gaze into the dish, when she felt something sharp prick her thigh. She gasped and discovered an embroidery needle in the folds of her robe. She had dropped it while sewing the night before and given it up for lost. In a moment of inspiration, she picked it up and pricked her finger, letting several drops of blood fall into the water. They moved in swirling curls in the water, dancing with the reflections of the candle flames. Shapes came forth. A crown…a fist…and…what is that? A dragon? Who are you? Reveal yourself! Show me a face!
As if in response, a loud pounding on the door shocked her from her trance.
“Igerna! Wake up! It’s me!”
Heart thumping, she tossed the bloody water out the window, put the dish back in her chest, and rushed to open the door for her husband.
***
The sun shone mildly, a crisp breeze the only sign of autumn in the air. Igerna had gladly accepted her husband’s offer of a morning walk. Such offers came seldom. He was a busy man and rarely had time for anything but his counselors and duties.
“I want to invite Arhianna to come and stay awhile,” Igerna proposed. “She still hasn’t met Morgause.”
Uthyr frowned. “I neglect you. I know. I’m not proud of it.”
“No, no.” Igerna turned toward her husband, reached up and put her hands on his shoulders. “No, my love. Don’t misunderstand me—I simply long for her company—we are dear friends. I wish for her to meet Morgause and to show her Caer Leon. What you’ve done here is astounding!” She flourished toward the castle and the industry bustling all around it. “Besides, she adores the sea, and it’s not long off. I know she will fall in love with Caer Leon, as I have. I think her health would benefit from some time here with us. And, we all need close friends of our same sex, do we not?”
“We do.” Uthyr smiled at her and caressed her cheek with his large, rough hand, setting her heart aflutter. “Write to her. I’ll see to it the Lady Viviaine takes the letter with her when she goes.”
“Thank you.” Igerna felt a wave of gratitude for her husband, soon spoiled by a pang of dread. Oh, my love, what shall I do? I cannot bear to deceive you. Yet, if I tell you the truth, you may leave me, or worse, resent me—for what man wishes to raise the child of another, let alone a halfling? A wave of fear sickened her as she remembered the night two men wearing the face of Gorlois stood within her bedchamber, as if her late husband’s reflection had somehow escaped the mirror to slip into her bed and make love to her. It was an image so sharp and shocking, she would never forget it. She shuddered, her blood running cold.
As if he sensed her discomfort, Uthyr took her hand and squeezed it. She drew strength from its dry warmth and relaxed, forcing her torment back into the cage she had built for it. Not yet. We can be happy a while longer. Nothing must be revealed today. I still have time.
Uthyr led her back through the castle gates, across the yard, and up the giant stone stairs to the top of the wall. They stood together talking and gazing out down the river toward the sea.
Just a few days longer, she bargained with herself. Then, I swear, I will tell him.
***
Igerna awoke a few mornings later, resolved to keeping her promise. She had her horse saddled and rode out to consult Myrthin. She needed his
reassurance to bolster her courage. She told no one but her most trusted handmaiden where she was going, instructing her to simply tell anyone who inquired that she had gone out riding and would be back before nightfall.
In truth, no one had heard from Myrthin in some time. She had asked Uthyr why Myrthin no longer came to court. “He does what he likes. He always has,” was his answer. She suspected there was more to it than that and wondered if it were because of Archbishop Dubricius. Lately, Uthyr seemed to prefer the archbishop’s counsel over Myrthin’s, so the increasing infrequency of Myrthin’s visits had not concerned him much. In fact, she suspected he found this a relief. Myrthin frequently got into heated arguments with the archbishop, which typically descended into unsavory, yet, in Igerna’s opinion, quite creative name-calling. The last time Myrthin had come to see Uthyr, she had asked him if this were the reason. Myrthin had denied it, saying he had grown weary of Caer Leon and longed to move to a place “closer to the sea, and further from people.” Igerna had felt hurt and abandoned, but had not let it show.
Myrthin had not returned since then. She was not even certain he still lived by the sea. He had quite a reputation for both wandering and disappearing, but she felt compelled to try, at least.
She spent the better part of the morning combing the coastline, asking fishermen and anyone she encountered about a lone old man living along the shore. At last, a young boy gave her a nod. “Yes, my lady. I know him. He lets me fish on his beach. I always go home with a full catch from that cove.”
Igerna smiled. “I imagine you do. Can you take me? I’ve got some fresh oat cakes. I’ll give them to you for your trouble.”
The boy’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t need to do that, my lady. But I do love cakes. Any kind at all!”
Igerna smiled and dismounted. She untied a cloth bag from her saddle and handed it to him. He poked his nose inside and took a deep breath. “Oh, they smell fine! Thank you!” He pointed toward a cove not far off with an outcropping of rock not too far down the shore. “He’s on the other side of those rocks.” The boy shoved half a cake in his mouth. “We have to take a boat,” he said with his mouth full. “But I’ve got one. I’ll row you in. I can watch your horse, too, if you like.” He swallowed and ate the other half. “These are the best cakes I’ve ever eaten!”
Igerna smiled. The boy reminded her of her brother, Llyg. Oh, how I miss you, sweet lad. She longed for him to come to Caer Leon with her mother for a visit, but their father insisted he was too busy with his studies. She feared Llyg would have a beard by the time she saw him again. No, please...that won’t do. Keep him young and sweet until I see him again.
She followed the boy to a fisherman’s hut not so far away, close to an estuary that flowed into the sea. “I live here,” he said. “We can tie your horse up, and I’ll row you down to the cove.” He led her to a boat crusted with salt. The bottom held nets and pikes, all clearly used that morning, for there was still blood on the pikes and fish guts floating in the puddle of seawater. She said nothing of it, taking his offered hand and settling in, tucking up her skirts to keep them out of the bloody water. The boy rowed out past the outcropping of rock and down the coast until they reached a sheltered cove. The smell of wood smoke raised her spirits. Someone’s here. Please, let it be you, Myrthin.
The boy rowed the boat up onto the shore. Igerna smiled as she heard the clatter of the bones and beads Myrthin always wore. A moment later, she spotted him emerging from the smoke of the bonfire at the entrance of a cave she suspected he lived in.
The boy pointed in Myrthin’s direction. “That’s who you mean, right?”
Igerna nodded. “Yes, that’s him. Can you leave me here a few hours and then return for me?”
“Yes, anything you like.”
Igerna smoothed his hair and gave him a coin. “This is for the catch I’ve kept you from netting today.”
The boy furrowed his brow as he fingered the coin. “This is worth three catches, at least, my lady—it’s too much. I can’t take it.” He tried to give it back.
She refused. “No, you will take it. Just take good care of my horse and come back for me. That’s all I ask.”
The boy gave her a skeptical look. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, quite certain.” Igerna nodded and stepped out of the boat, taking Myrthin’s outstretched hand. “Now, don’t forget about me. I must be home before dark.”
“I won’t, my lady. I’ll be back when the sun hangs right there.” He pointed toward a sector of the sky.
“That sounds fine.” Igerna waved in farewell, then turned and looked at Myrthin. He gave her a perplexed frown, his eyebrows arching up like two grey, furry caterpillars. “This is a pleasant surprise, my queen, but what possessed you to make such a journey? You should have sent for me.”
Igerna shook her head. “No, I wish to speak to you here, alone, and hear your counsel one last time.” She put her hands on her belly and sighed in dismay. “The time has come to tell him, but I need courage.”
The caterpillars on Myrthin’s brow relaxed. “So you’ve not yet told him.”
“No.”
Myrthin led her to the fire and motioned to a large piece of driftwood positioned beside it. “Please, my queen, sit down.”
She did as he asked and he settled onto a stump across from her. “I must beg you. Tell him your news. He will be pleased. This, I can assure you.”
She did not understand how Myrthin could be so certain of Uthyr’s reaction. She shook her head. “But why? How could he possibly be happy about raising a halfling child, neither half of whom is his?”
Myrthin replied with a suggestion rather than an answer. “Shall I return with you? I could explain the magic of your situation to him. Would that ease your mind?”
Something about his expression triggered a wave of uneasiness inside Igerna, as if she had just wandered into a bog. A moment later, a strong flash of realization sent a chill down her back. She narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re hiding something from me.”
Myrthin hesitated.
Like a shark smelling blood in the water, she attacked. “How can you be so certain he will be pleased? Tell me what you know.”
Myrthin met her eyes but did not surrender. “What I know is not for me to reveal. I can only assure you, beyond any doubt, that he will be pleased.”
Igerna swallowed hard, a feeling of betrayal seeping into her bones. Oh, Great Mother—what is afoot here?
CHAPTER FOUR
The World is a Cruel Place
Viviaine pulled her cloak around her, unable to stop herself from shivering. In spite of it being summer, thunderclouds had turned the sky a stern slate grey. She was not accustomed to such weather. In Affalon, the air was ever mild, its breezes as warm and gentle as a mother’s caress. Here, the wind lanced through her clothes like a horde of merciless needles. Her weakened state made it all the more unbearable; walking the double path drained both the body and mind. She felt fragile, ever on the verge of illness. Respite came only at night, while she slept, for then, she could return to Affalon and became Nimue once more. She let out a weary sigh. One day, my love, this horrid business with Finbheara and his selfish queen will be over. Then, I will return to you for good. She drew strength from the memory of his warm embrace, longing for night to fall.
The sound of children’s voices in the distance broke her thoughts. She scanned the countryside. The road led past a sad-looking farm, where she spied a young boy and girl struggling with buckets of water. As if they felt her eyes upon them, they looked her way and ran to meet her. “Please, m’lady, can ye spare any bread?” the boy asked her, breathless.
Viviaine looked into their eyes, abnormally large inside their gaunt, dirty faces, but saw nothing but hungry desperation. Tears clouded her vision as she pulled two apples out of her satchel. She did not have many left to spare, but she did not care. Today, at least, she resolved, these children will know happiness.
The boy marveled at the silver
orb, turning it about in the muted sunlight with his grubby fingers. The girl was about to take a bite of hers, but he snatched it out of her hands. “Are ye mad? We kin sell these for more than yer worth!” he scolded.
Viviaine watched with a heavy heart as the girl’s smile withered. She could not bear it. She rode off before they could see her cry. The world is a cruel place, Mistress.
***
“Who is here?” Lucia asked Gareth, her brow furrowed.
Gareth shrugged his huge shoulders. “A woman named Lady Viviaine from Caer Leon. She has a message for Arhianna from Queen Igerna.”
Lucia looked down at her clothes in dismay. She had been dyeing wool all morning with Buddug, and her arms, hands and dress were all stained a stubborn dark blue. “Can your father not receive her?”
Gareth gave her an apologetic look that clearly said his father could not.
She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Well, I can’t be faulted for being unpresentable when visitors show up unannounced, can I?”
“Nay.” Buddug winked at her. “I think more queens should get their hands dirty, if ye ask me. Do ‘em some good.”
Lucia smiled and followed Gareth to the motherhouse. A slight woman sat near the fire, perched on the edge of a low bench like a magnificent white butterfly. She heard them enter and leaned out to greet them like a day lily toward the sun.
This woman is no messenger, Lucia thought immediately. She felt a surge of alarm at the idea of so beautiful a woman traveling without an escort all the way from Caer Leon. She glanced with approval at the ale and bread next to her, glad someone had brought her sustenance, but observed they looked nearly untouched. “Good day, Lady Viviaine. Might we bring you something else? I understand you’ve come all the way from Caer Leon. That’s no small journey.”
“No, no. Thank you. I am quite satisfied. I do not eat much.”
Lucia noticed she was shivering. Such a delicate creature does not belong up here in the North. “Gareth, will you bring my winter shawl?”