by J. M. Hofer
She resolved to keep swimming, but confused currents thwarted her efforts. There were no fishing boats out today. No ships at all. A grey sky shifted ominously above her, purple and heavy with rain, lashed through with frequent lightning. It was best to swim deep, away from the surface.
She put her large fin next to where the child was, feeling for her heartbeat. It was still there, but it was slow. She is dying, the poor pup. She will not make it. And it shall be my fault.
Ula doubled her efforts against the currents, moving ever southward. I shall not disappoint you again, Sea Child. I shall see your pup to safety, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.
***
Taliesin sang yet another song, and still, Arvel reacted as if he were hearing it for the first time. He smiled and danced, whirling about the fire, learning and singing every refrain, and then howling with the dogs whenever the song allowed it. His enthusiasm was catching. Gawyr’s normally sour mood seemed sweetened by Arvel’s exuberance. Though he did not sing along, he grinned often, enjoying Arvel’s display of joy.
“So now what?” Gawyr asked Taliesin between songs. “Your lady’s left you for the life of a warrior. What’s next for Taliesin the Bard? Besides a year in Urien’s court, of course.”
Taliesin had not forgotten his commitment to Urien, but he could not fulfill it now. “I can’t serve Urien now. I must go south, to the Pendragon. Then, I’ll return.”
Gawyr’s grin disappeared. “What do you mean, ‘you must go south?’ You made Urien a promise, Bard.”
“One that I swear to you I’ll keep, but it must wait. I must go south. I have no choice.”
Gawyr shook his head in confusion. “Why?”
Taliesin still longed to tell him about Morrigan, but dared not speak her name. “I must call upon the Pendragon.”
Gawyr shook his head. “You made it seem you’d serve him upon your return.”
“Yes, and that’s a conversation I’ll need to have with him when we get to Rheged. It’s no concern of yours.”
Gawyr raised his brows and leaned back, eyeing Taliesin. “Is that so?”
Taliesin met his gaze. “Yes.”
Gawyr scowled and then lay down, turning his back on him. “Good night, then.”
***
Ula felt the menace close in behind her, its dark shadow moving ever closer. She zipped toward shore, moving out of the open water, but it was too late—it had honed in on her and pursued. She dared a glance behind her, and saw it closing in. She had dealt with them before, but never when she was so tired. She had been swimming for five days and could scarcely will her muscles to react. And he knew it. He knew she was slower than she should be. He knew she was weak. Sharks smelled weakness in the water as acutely as they smelled blood. She summoned her will and shot herself again toward shore, praying there might be a kelp forest for her to hide in. But there was no kelp. Just more open water. She twisted and turned, but he moved toward her like an arrow, cutting through the water with purpose, and then attacked.
The force of his strike stunned her, sending her off course and disorienting her senses. Adrenaline shot through her body, propelling her forward, but the next time he struck she knew he would snap his jaws down around her body. She had witnessed such horrors often enough to know. It was not strength but terror that drove her on, every twist and turn fueled by the sheer will to survive and protect the child in her skin. Then, she heard a loud reverberation in the water, one that filled her ears with disorienting sound. She twisted to see what had happened.
Porpoises.
Porpoises had converged on the shark and were charging him in numbers, sending him off course and back out toward the open water.
She seized the opportunity her ocean brothers and sisters had granted her and swam inland to seek refuge in the shallows. With what strength she had left, she scooted up on shore. She lay on her side, keeping the child safe from her weight and bulk, and laid her fin across her belly. To her relief, the child’s heart still beat.
Should I take her out? Try to nurse her? Ula wondered. I might have milk for her, as I did with Taliesin. I could take her to Caer Leon by land. I could find a horse.
She peeled off part of her skin, freeing her breasts, and reached for the child. The wee thing latched on to her breast and whimpered, suckling desperately, but no milk came forth.
I have grown old, lamented Ula. Too old to suckle babes. Too old for many things. Her granddaughter’s hunger spurring her on, she slipped her skin back on, took to the water and forged on, hugging the shore for fear of the terrors that hunted in the open water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nothing Else Matters
“Fine horse, isn’t she?” Maelwys commented, reaching down to stroke the neck of the mare he rode. He let out a wicked chuckle. “I would have set the bitch off course for the horse alone. The Oaks of Mynyth Aur breed the finest horses in all of Gwynedd. And this one is finer than most.”
“Well, she should be—she belonged to the queen, after all.” Viviaine felt uncomfortable. “Are you certain she will be found? I do not want her harmed. You left her with only her cloak to keep her warm.”
Maelwys scoffed. “Winter has not yet come in earnest. She seems healthy enough. She might suffer a fever, I suppose.”
Viviaine did not comment. They had been traveling all day under a somber sky that had wept ceaselessly, like a mother over a stillborn son, and her nerves were wearing thin.
As if he had sensed her fatigue, Maelwys turned around and added, “This will be a long journey. We cannot afford to rest for long. The child is coming.”
“How long?”
“Nine days, perhaps.”
Nine days? And does he plan to ride like that the whole journey? Maelwys had left Lucia’s saddle and bridle behind. He preferred to direct the horse by touch alone. He had also chosen to remain nearly naked and without shoes, refusing her offer of a robe. He seemed wholly undisturbed by the rain or cold.
That was not all she found disturbing. For the past three nights, Maelwys had left their camp at sundown and had not returned until dawn. When she had asked him where he had been, he gave her no answer but “hunting,” and then threw down rabbits or small fowl as evidence. During the day, he rode as if he had gotten a full night’s sleep, only stopping if she asked. She suspected if he were traveling alone, he would never stop to rest, except for the horse’s sake.
Now, the sun was setting once more. Viviaine expected he would soon take his leave, but darkness fell and still he remained. “No hunting tonight?” she inquired.
“Not tonight.” He was staring at his hands, picking various things up and changing his skin to match their colors.
“Who taught you such magic?”
Maelwys glanced up at her for a brief moment, his hazel eyes flashing in the firelight. “The same person who sent me to find you. He wants you to succeed as much as I do.”
Viviaine felt a chill and moved closer to the fire, waiting for him to tell her, but he had turned his attention to a spider crawling across the log he was sitting on. He picked up a twig, and his finger soon morphed into the same shape. He placed it in the spider’s path. It stopped a moment, raising its front legs to feel about, and then crawled upon it.
She grew impatient. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
He raised his brows. “You don’t know?”
“No.”
He shook his head as if she were a child. “Who has the most to gain from your success?”
She felt uneasy. “Finbheara?”
Maelwys tossed the spider aside and leaned forward, pinning his eyes on hers. “Have you lost your wits, sister? Think.”
She felt a surge of contempt for him and stood up. “I will not play your games or suffer your disrespect.” She turned her back on him and left the camp, seeking solitude. Once she was deep in the trees, away from the crackling of the fire, her ears picked up something on the wind. A surge of desperate joy leapt up in her chest. Ple
ase, let me not have merely imagined it. She held her breath and listened. It came again, floating on the breeze, like a promise from the heavens. She nearly wept. My love—is that you? She closed her eyes, trying to determine how far away Taliesin might be, but she knew magic had no knowledge of time or distance. He could be anywhere. She waited for the song to come again. When it did, she breathed in the breeze it rode on. It smelled faintly of brine.
“What do you hear?” Maelwys demanded, his voice invading her ears.
She denied the smile that longed to show itself, for it was not for him. “I hear the reason I left Affalon; the reason I am here, miserable and cold; the reason for all my suffering.” She turned with triumph to Maelwys. “Thank you for bringing me this far, but tomorrow we shall part ways. I shall honor our pact, but I no longer wish to travel with you.”
“You have lost your wits.” He moved around to stand in front of her. “The further you stray from Affalon, the more your powers will wane. Or have you failed to notice?”
She had indeed noticed. Since arriving at Caer Ligualid, she found she could no longer hear the voice of her mistress when she prayed. Her visions had grown so cloudy she could not make out faces or locations. She had been left with only her feelings to guide her.
He moved uncomfortably close. “I know this, because it happened to me. You will become as weak and lost and confused as they are, stumbling through your life and crying to the gods for help, but they will not answer. Desperate, you will journey back to Ynys Wydryn, but you will find nothing but an island surrounded by a marsh, covered with mundane apple trees and a temple to a new god—one who does not hear our prayers.” He clutched her arms and squeezed them with such force she cried out in pain. “That cannot happen. If you lose your way, I shall never be able to return either. So wherever you go, I will follow.”
She jerked away from him. “Then you can follow me to the sea and help me find my love. Without him, nothing else matters to me—not even Affalon.”
***
Viviaine led the way from that day on, and, true to his threat, Maelwys followed. They traveled west until they came to the sea and then moved northward. Every night by the fire, Viviaine had visions of Taliesin. She could see him sleeping beside a fire of his own along a stretch of sea, just as she was. She found it comforting. Sometimes, after Maelwys wandered off into the night, she whispered to the vision of Taliesin that lay before her. “I must make you understand, my love. Hear me. Know my heart. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. The desire you felt for her was nothing more than a dream—as was hers for you—a cruel trick played upon you both by Finbheara’s queen—a spell she wove around the two of you so tightly you could not help but resist one another and breed the child she wanted. You must understand that a child conceived in the enchanted world of the Daoine Sídhe, where all nature lives in harmony, shall never be happy in the world of men.”
“Who are you speaking to, sister?”
Her heart and stomach jolted at the sound of Maelwys’ voice. She turned on him and glared. “Don’t ever eavesdrop on me again.”
“Oh, believe me. If I wished to eavesdrop on you, you would neither see nor hear me. You would never know I was ever there.”
Viviaine wished she had never crossed paths with her brother. Every day that had passed, she cared for him less. “Why did you leave Affalon?”
“You say that as if I had a choice.”
“Why? Did Father send you away?” She could hardly picture her father anymore. Like the yellowed clothing in her forgotten wooden chest, any memories she had of her youth seemed like strange things that belonged to someone else.
Maelwys laughed. “Oh, no. He practically begged me to stay. But I wanted to study the mysteries, like you.”
Viviaine had longed to live on Ynys Wydryn and serve Arianrhod for as long as she could remember. Her father had marriage plans for her, but her mother convinced him having a priestess of Arianrhod in the family would be a far greater blessing. That was when she left her given name of Viviaine behind and took the name Nimue. Maelwys had been just a boy when she left, destined, she thought, to become the next lord of the Summerlands. Apparently, that had not happened.
“So where did you go? Who taught you?” Viviaine was no fool. She knew the things her brother could do were not the sort of things any druid could teach.
“Fine. I can see I shall have to tell you after all.” He grinned at her in a way that made her feel unsafe. “It was your old lover, Myrthin Wyllt. Did you know he served Father at court after you cast him out of Ynys Wydryn? He said you had broken his heart, but he couldn’t bear to leave the Summerlands. So, Father let him stay and tutor me.
“All you can do, you learned from Myrthin?”
“Most. I was his apprentice up until that nasty Vortigern ruined everything. Myrthin sailed for Armorica to tutor those ungrateful bastards of Constantine’s. They didn’t appreciate his wisdom or his magic. They didn’t deserve his knowledge.” He grimaced in disgust. “What a waste. Look at all I learned in such a short time. And what did they learn? Nothing. They rejected his power and built churches to the Christ god of the Romans instead. Christ isn’t the god of our land. He never has been. Our gods live in our trees and lakes and rivers; they dwell in the caves of our mountains and the grottos by the sea; they run with the deer, fly with the raven, and swim with the salmon—and just as we must take this land back from the Saxons, we must take it back from that weak Christ god as well.”
Viviaine ignored his tirade. She was wise enough to know the Christ god was there to stay. A middle path was the only way forward. “So, it was Myrthin who sent you to find me.”
“He did. He said you would need help.”
Somehow, though she had not wanted to admit it, Viviaine had known his answer would be Myrthin. Shall I ever be free of you, Myrthin Wyllt? Or shall you haunt me for all time? From the moment she had first met him, he had felt like the sun to her, and she but a small planet, destined to circle his power forever. Though she had tried to pull away over the years, she could only do so for so long. His gravity always pulled her back.
She said nothing more to her brother that night. She lay down and stared at the dying coals until sleep came.
***
“How many more days from here, do you think?” Taliesin asked Gawyr.
“Two, perhaps three. Depends how many lochs and forests we have to avoid. The coastline goes in and out for miles back and forth.”
Arvel seemed to know his way around the fingers of land quite well, never wavering in his choice of direction. Taliesin wondered exactly how far he had ventured from the island he had been born on. Gawyr dragged the rowboat behind him with a rope. They used it from time to time to cross over strips of water that would otherwise take hours to walk around. Gawyr was able to wade for quite some distance, sometimes the entire way across, pulling them behind him. Sometimes, the water got too deep for him to stand. He would swim the rest of the way across while they rowed.
Two days came and went. Still, the horizon did not look familiar to Taliesin or seem to show any sign of changing.
“We’re going to have to trust him to get us there,” Gawyr muttered, nodding his head in Arvel’s direction. “Never traveled this way. My people prefer the mountains. You sure he knows the way?”
“No.” Taliesin glanced at Arvel, who was playing with the dogs.
Gawyr shrugged. “Well, at least we’re moving in the right direction. And we haven’t come across any damn Sídhefolk.”
“Yet,” added Taliesin.
Gawyr sighed. “Yet.”
***
“We’re close,” Viviane whispered, almost to herself. I can feel you, my love. She imagined herself entwined in his limbs again, surrendering all her senses to her memories. She could smell him and hear his heartbeat in her ear. She let out a long, relaxed breath, clinging to the peace she felt before the demons came slinking in to snatch it from her. I must make you understand. I must.
/> She lost track of time, floating in and out of a shifting mist of thoughts. She put one foot in front of the other, listening, until the song she had been following became clearer.
Maelwys blurted, “I hear it.”
Her brother’s presence felt like an obscene violation, as if he had barged in on her and her beloved making love. She turned and glared at him. “It’s not yours to hear.” She clenched her fists. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want anyone here! This is what ruined us—other people.” The words nearly curdled in her mouth. “Don’t you dare follow me, now.”
***
Taliesin smelled apple blossoms on the wind. His throat tightened, choking on bittersweet memories.
“What’s wrong?” Gawyr poked his shoulder. “You going to faint?”
“No.” Taliesin lit a torch. “Don’t follow me.”
The moon was but a crescent hanging over the sea as he walked down the shore. He had thought to find her quickly, but it was some time before he at last saw her silhouette in the moonlight. His stomach leapt and his heart beat faster as he ventured closer. It felt strange to behold her there; he had never seen her in the world of men. Never dressed like that. Never so ordinary. She reminded him of a flower that had wilted, or an abused animal. Yet, still, she smelled of Affalon, and it made him want to weep for joy.
She reached out to him. “Please, my love. I must make you understand.”
He could not navigate the torrents of emotion swelling up inside him at the sound of her voice. They were far more volatile than he had imagined they would be, for he had known this moment would come someday. All he could do was shake his head, as if it might keep the terrible truth away. “You betrayed me.”
“Please, listen to me—all I did, I did for us—to free you from Myrthin’s curse, so we could be together—”
Taliesin’s anger surged up, nearly boiling in his veins. “And for that, you sold a woman I love and my only child? What kind of love is that?”