Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  Both Lucia and Bran let out audible sighs. Lucia looked up at the ceiling, hands clasped. “Thank the Great Mother.”

  “She’s chosen to apprentice under Scáthach, the great warrior in the north, and Scáthach has accepted her.”

  “Scáthach?” Bran’s face and reaction were exactly the same as Urien’s. “She’s a real woman?”

  “She is,” Taliesin said for the third time that day, “and no fiercer woman breathes on earth. Except, perhaps, her daughter.”

  Lucia looked at him, her face twisted in disbelief. “But why wouldn’t Arhianna come home?”

  Taliesin looked at both of them. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Jørren is dead.” He softened the story for Lucia’s sake, but did not leave out any of the facts. “A warlord named Ingvar killed him for betraying Hengist. He also killed all the men in Jørren and Ragna’s clan and enslaved the women. Arhianna was among them.”

  Lucia’s hands flew to her mouth. “But…she could have burned the entire village down, torched all of them alive! She would never have allowed it to happen.” She shook her head again, refusing to believe what she had heard. “No. It’s impossible. She couldn’t have been there.”

  Taliesin turned his palms up, feigning ignorance. “I wasn’t there. I only know what Ragna told me.”

  Bran wore a face of granite. “Go on.”

  “Ragna escaped and, somehow, found and appealed to Scáthach for help. She accepted, and her warriors raided the village and freed the women. Ragna now rules the village.”

  “And then Arhianna went to train with Scáthach,” Bran concluded. “I don’t find that surprising at all.”

  Lucia looked at her husband as if he had betrayed her. She stood up and paced, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Taliesin knew she was trying to make the pieces fit, but they would never fit—because he had left out the one crucial piece that would bring them all together.

  Bran squeezed his arm and gave him a piercing look. “You and I must speak alone, later,” he said in a low whisper.

  Taliesin nodded and swallowed hard. He knows.

  ***

  Bran knew the only time a Firebrand lost her power was during pregnancy. Seren had once confided in him that she was pregnant with Aelhaearn’s child. He told her to keep it to herself, as all wise women should, for at least three moons. It had been good advice, for she had miscarried. Neither of them had ever told another soul about it. She must have been pregnant or she would have defended them. But now, to be training as a warrior? She must have lost the babe. He thought of what men did to enslaved women and cringed, swallowing back a surge of sickness and rage. It was no wonder she would have lost the child under such abuse.

  Then, it began—the torturous march of “why did I allow it” through his mind: Why did I allow her to stay in Jutland? Why did I allow her to marry Jørren? Why did I betray my king and spare Jørren’s life? Why did I allow her to go north with him? If I’d only taken her home, all those years ago, she would have found another to marry—one of our own—and none of this tragedy would have befallen her.

  I’ve failed my daughter. I’ve failed my wife. I’m a terrible father. I’m fit for no one but you, Lord Arawn.

  ***

  Taliesin played for Urien’s court that night until the dawn broke, for he could sing for hours without his voice giving out. Then, he bid Urien farewell, and went to the stables with Braith to wait for Bran, Lucia and Creirwy.

  It was not long before they arrived. They were soon on their way back to the ship. Taliesin and Bran rode in front, side by side. The silence between them felt like the heaviness in the sky before a snow. Taliesin glanced toward Bran from time to time, wondering how much he suspected. He wore that same granite expression, staring straight ahead, not even seeming to blink. Great Mother, I want to tell him—I do—I want to tell him everything and unburden myself of this weight—about Myrthin, about Knockma, about Morrigan—but I can’t.

  Tegid’s booming enthusiasm lightened the mood somewhat as they came aboard, but it was not long before Bran’s smile smoothed away, back into stone.

  Once they set sail and the women were off settling themselves, Taliesin joined Bran at the front of the ship.

  “She was with child,” Bran said, his words disappearing in the wind.

  Taliesin squeezed the wooden rail in front of him, his knuckles whitening.

  “She had to have been with child, or she would have burned them all.” Bran turned and looked at him. “Did you leave anything out? To spare my wife?”

  Taliesin took a deep breath. “I did.”

  Bran nodded. “I don’t need you to tell me. I can imagine what happened. And, I assume, as she is training with Scáthach, that she lost the child.”

  “Scáthach does not train women who are with child,” Taliesin confirmed.

  Taliesin saw tears stream back from his crow’s feet into the wind.

  “And the men who did this? They’re all dead?”

  Taliesin felt he owed him the truth in this matter. “No. Not all of them. Ingvar escaped, and perhaps a few others.”

  Bran nodded once more, staring at the sea’s hazy blue horizon. “I will take Lucia home, and then I am going north to find the men who did this to my daughter and avenge her.”

  Taliesin knew Bran, in his condition, would never accomplish such a feat.

  Bran looked at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You do?”

  “I know it’s a journey I cannot make as I am.” Bran gave him a half smile and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid this may be the last time we see each other, my friend.”

  Taliesin’s stomach dropped. He felt as if the keystone of an arch had just been set into place. “You’re going to Arawn,” he murmured.

  Bran nodded, looking off toward the blue haze on the horizon of the wide sea in front of them. “Gareth is settled. He will lead the Oaks far better than I ever did. He’s got an heir already, a good wife, a solid head on his shoulders, and he’s the best damn swordsman and blacksmith I’ve ever seen.”

  Taliesin glanced across the deck to where Lucia stood, leaning on the rail with Creirwy and smiling. He felt a pang of sympathy for her so deep it sickened him. “What about Lady Lucia?”

  Bran looked over at his wife. “She has a grandchild to love, now. And, likely, another on the way soon. That will give her something to live for. She loves more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever known.” He squinted at her through the wind. “She’s much stronger than she thinks she is.”

  In lieu of Bran’s news, Taliesin felt compelled to return to Mynyth Aur and be a comfort to Lucia and Gareth afterwards, but he knew he could not. “When will you tell her?”

  “Soon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Race to Caer Leon

  Viviaine awoke to the sound of voices and the smell and heat of a nearby fire. Her mind scrambled to remember where she was. Urien’s castle? No. The ship? No. Oh, yes. Someone came onboard...someone took me off the ship. Her heart raced as she recalled what had happened. She dared not open her eyes. Instead, she listened to what bits of conversation she could make out above the crackling of the fire.

  “I’m quite sure she doesn’t know,” a familiar voice said.

  “She must! Look again!”

  The second voice sent chills through her blood. No. It cannot be. She swallowed down her fear but dared not open her eyes to confirm her suspicions. She would only hold the advantage as long as they thought she was sleeping.

  “There is no need for me to look again. I’ve gone as far as I’m willing to go with this sort of magic. I will simply ask her when she wakes.”

  “Oh, and I suppose she’ll just tell you where the brat is, is that what you think?”

  Now there could be no mistake. Maelwys! He didn’t die of his wound, after all.

  She knew the other voice for certain. Myrthin’s powerful, modulated tenor was unmistakable. “The best course of action is almost alw
ays the simplest course of action,” he added. “Forcing your will upon another always has a cost. Wisdom is knowing when the cost is justified. I do not believe this is one of those times. And, after what you’ve done, we can’t afford to offend the gods any further—I taught you better than that. You’ve grown arrogant and reckless. A terrible combination.”

  “What? It’s not like I killed them! I only took their skins. Seals aren’t the brightest creatures—especially the ones who don’t live near humans. Quite careless, really. I’ll go back in a few moons, and I suspect they’ll start talking. Although, I’ve become quite fond of this cloak. I’m not keen on giving it up.”

  Viviaine heard Myrthin sigh. “What makes you think the selkies know anything?”

  “The mother is in the fortress with Scáthach. My spies insist she’s given birth to a daughter and that Scáthach gave her to the selkies to raise, like she always does.”

  “And you’re absolutely certain the child was not among them?”

  “I looked at every newborn babe on that isle. All were selkie.”

  “Please, tell me you did not take the skins from the children—you know they’ll die without them—”

  “I’m not a monster! No, just the adults. Besides, I would have had to have spent twice as long sewing my cloak together.”

  Again, Myrthin sighed. “So, that’s your plan? We are to live up here in this cave for two moons, waiting for the selkies to have a change of heart? I think not. My bones are too old for this sort of weather. I’m escorting your sister home, and, if she’ll let me, pass the winter on Ynys Wydryn.”

  Maelwys laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  Viviaine had heard enough. She opened her eyes and sat up. “Yes,” she said to Myrthin. “You may stay with me through the winter.” She turned to her brother. “But not you. Not until you’ve found the child, as you promised you would. And once you have her, you will bring her to us on Affalon, unharmed. On that day, I shall let you in as well. But, as I said before, only by the grace of Arianrhod will you be allowed to stay. If you continue to offend the gods, I doubt she’ll be so inclined. Stealing horses and selkie pelts like a dirty thief is beneath a man of your abilities, brother.”

  Maelwys sneered. “So I’m to stay here, alone, and do all the work while you two lounge around in the grass on Ynys Wydryn, eating summer apples? I think not.”

  Viviaine stood up and glowered down at her brother. “Go wherever you like—I don’t care. I’m done looking for the child. I haven’t broken my vow. I simply haven’t gotten around to it yet. Eventually, the child will emerge, and, when the time comes, I’ll fulfill my oath. Time means nothing in Knockma.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “No, but it does here—and I’ve spent far too much time in it. I must get home.” She took stock of her surroundings for the first time. A few stars peered down at her through the tree canopy overhead. Beyond the wood smoke, the air smelled strongly of loam and pine. “Where are we?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She stepped away from the fire and put a hand on the nearest tree. Oak. She smelled the air, and felt the ferns around her ankles. “South of Urien’s fortress, in the forest where we met.”

  “Good, Sister. You haven’t completely lost your senses.”

  Myrthin stood up and joined her. “Your brother seems to have quite a few allies within these northern forests. That is why I thought him the right man for the task at hand. But I’ve since changed my mind. Please forgive me for involving him in this unfortunate situation, my lady. Shall we go?”

  “Why, you doddering old spiteful wretch!” Maelwys spewed the words out like bile. He stood up and charged at Myrthin like a young buck, chest pushed out and eyes blazing.

  Myrthin held out a hand and seemed to grow three feet in height. The flames in the fire stretched toward the sky, filling the grove with a blazing orange light. “Do not challenge me, boy!”

  As if he had been struck by lightning, Maelwys fell to the ground, silent as death, mouth and eyes open and hands curled up like old roots.

  Myrthin turned to Viviaine. “Shall we go? I have lost what was left of my patience. Knowing your brother, he will soon be on his feet again. I regret teaching him so much.”

  She nodded and took his arm, not knowing what else to do. Her powers had indeed waned. She had no choice. Once home, however, her strength would be restored. I’ll decide what to do with him then.

  “Wait,” Myrthin paused and turned back around. “He doesn’t deserve to have these.” He took the cloak from Maelwys’ back and put it around her shoulders. “Care for those pelts with your life, my lady—they must be returned.”

  He guided her through the forest by the hand, moving deeper and deeper, until they came to a large oak. “Shall I take you home, now?”

  “Yes,” she smiled as sweetly as she could muster. “Yes, take me home.”

  He took hold of her other hand as well. “Think of our beloved Beech, then. Where we first met.”

  He began whispering an incantation. She joined in, imagining the graceful, wide upturned limbs of the Beech on Ynys Wydryn, where Myrthin had first appeared to her a lifetime ago.

  Even in the darkness, Viviaine felt the changing of the forest around her. The temperature waxed and waned from bitter cold to the warm breeze of summer, and from the smell of fresh pine to that of apple trees and sunshine. Her heart melted. Home. Joy swelled up in her like a great wave, pushing them toward the shores of Ynys Wydryn, until, at last, they found themselves standing beneath the Beech.

  Energy coursed through her blood, restoring her power and youth. She let go of Myrthin’s hands and opened her eyes, awash in bliss.

  “Welcome home, Nimue,” Myrthin said.

  The sound of her true name made her giddy. “Come, let’s swim to the cave, like we used to. It’s been so long.” She took off her robes, drinking in the warm summer sunlight on her skin after so long in the cold north.

  Myrthin hesitated, staring at her. “I’m an old man, now, my love—I dare not show you my body.”

  “Nonsense! Look at your hands! You’ve grown young again, as have I. Besides, do you think me so shallow as that?” She dove in, knowing he would follow. She swam down into the tunnel to the crystal cave, surging toward the beckoning shafts of golden light, then surfaced within its faceted glory. It seemed more vibrant than ever before; glittering prisms bounced off the walls and surface of the water, welcoming her back in a magnificent display of dancing color.

  She got out of the water and sat upon the sand, waiting for him to surface. A fitting prison for you, my old friend. You shall be well-cared for here.

  Myrthin surfaced a moment later and swam toward her. “You are the most beautiful woman who has ever drawn breath, Nimue. I am tired of the world beyond Ynys Wydryn. Let me stay here with you.”

  She smiled and stroked his cheek. “I am happy to hear you say that, Myrthin Wyllt, for I am about to grant you your wish.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Into the Blue

  The Ceffyl Dŵr arrived back in Gwythno to its usual adoring crowd. Taliesin turned to Arvel. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather stay here and learn to build ships, with Irwyn?”

  “No.” Arvel shook his head emphatically. “I shall stay where the dream of my heart stays.” He glanced over at Creirwy, who was on the dock helping with the moorings.

  Taliesin sighed. “She loves another, Arvel.” Though, in truth, he had no idea whether Creirwy still harbored feelings for Idris.

  Arvel shrugged. “So? If this is true, where is he?” He looked around and shrugged again. “He is not here. One day, she will forget him, and it will be my turn. She will see.”

  Taliesin knew it would be pointless to argue with him. “Fine. But the ship will not come back for a long time—not until the summer.”

  Arvel stared at him, uncomprehending.

  Taliesin gave up trying to explain. “Stay here.” He went and found Tegid. “Arvel wants t
o stay onboard.”

  “Good!” Tegid boomed. “Selkies make great crew members. Only eat fish, catch ‘em themselves, never complain—wish I had more of ‘em. With Ula gone, he’ll be a big help.”

  Taliesin had not been expecting that answer, but felt relieved. “That’s settled then. You’ll be back at midsummer?”

  “Same as always.”

  “I’ll be here to meet you, then.”

  Tegid clapped him on the back. “See to it ye are. Wouldn’t be the same without yer company.”

  Taliesin bid farewell to the rest of the crew and then disembarked with Bran and Lucia. They spent the night enjoying his father’s hospitality, but Taliesin dared not stay any longer. “I’m sorry, Father, I must ride south at dawn.”

  “What?” Elffin pinned wide eyes on him. “You’ve only just arrived!”

  “I know, I’m sorry, but I’ve been gone too long, and Uthyr is expecting me. I should have returned moons ago.”

  Elffin sighed, but did not pry any further. “I suppose I can’t complain about my only son becoming Pen Bairth to the Pendragon, can I?”

  Only son. The words twisted into Taliesin’s heart. He wanted so desperately to tell his father about Arvel, but he had made a promise. A son of his own blood, but a short walk away—and I’m to say nothing of it. It’s not right.

  He retired early that night, and though his bed was soft and comfortable, he did not sleep well. He had spent a good portion of the night struggling with whether or not he should have told his father about Arvel. Finally, he resolved again to convince Ula to tell him at midsummer, when the Ceffyl Dŵr returned. By then, I’ll have convinced her—and, if not, I’ll simply tell her that I’m going to tell him myself.

  ***

  Taliesin left the next morning on the fastest horse in the stable, well equipped and provisioned, thanks to his father’s typical generosity. He knew everyone—including Amergin, Nimue, and her possible captors—would be expecting him to arrive in Caer Leon by ship, not by land, and he dared not trust any of them.