A Blink of an Eye

by Troy A Hill

  As the kitchen girls cleared away the last of the evening’s dishes, Seren and her parents headed towards Bleddyn's rooms for another session of healing. Gwen and I stayed in the great hall. Tonight, I was going to the northern end of the cantref.

  “You don’t need to supervise Seren?” I asked as Gwen and I walked towards the grove.

  “She has surpassed me in many ways,” Gwen said. “Healing and magical wards are clearly her specialties. She senses the paths of magic far better than I do.”

  “But…?”

  “She is at the beginning of this journey,” Gwen sighed. “Seeing a magic pathway is easy for her. Using the magic for something that takes complex refinement is also easy. But her ability to use large amounts of power… She needs to build stamina.”

  At the top of the hill she pointed to a tree. “Opening the rift is easy, but for us to walk in the mists I have to open myself to the power of the land, and keep if flowing as we walk. Seren can’t handle that much energy at once. Perhaps in time.”

  “Like Sawyl is large and strong,” I suggested, “and can handle tasks that take large muscles. You have the same ability with channelling magic.”

  “Seren is more like Emlyn. Tasks that require dexterity, fast thinking and quick reflexes come easy to her. Ask Emlyn to move the smith’s anvil, though…”

  “And he’ll go find Sawyl to do it for him,” I added.

  “Exactly,” she said, and pressed her hand to the tree. The familiar red rift split the bark and I stepped between the worlds again. I couldn’t handle any magic beyond making things glow. My skills were in other areas. I shrugged. We each had our talents. Mine lay with the blades. That was enough for me. Hurling spells about sounded good. Unless the spell was sizzling at me like those flaming arrows from the cave where the shifter disappeared. But, I imagined, sticking steel in someone would be a good way to end whatever spell they wanted to hit me with.

  Gwen and I travelled in silence through the mists until our raven guide circled a shadowy tree, cawed, and flew away. Gwen paused before she opened the gateway out. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “Not a replacement for cuddling,” I said.

  She grinned and kissed me. “It will have to do for a while.”

  “One of us has to stay at Caer Penllyn. And you can move about with tree-walking,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. If the dead were to attack, you’d have to return to get me, then bring me back. Emlyn’s good at spreading his resources.”

  “We’re more than resources,” she said and pulled me in for a lengthy hug, then opened the portal. I stepped out of the mists back into our world and recognized the hilly forests of northern Penllyn. I scanned the area with my mind and sensed Gerallt and his men half an hour’s walk away.

  We exchanged smiles one last time before she closed the portal. I waited a few beats to make sure I was alone in the forest, then set a quick, quiet pace as the last red rays of the sunset faded into the blue of twilight.

  I found Gerallt and his men at a small farm near the borderlands in the village of Cilfach Mwd—“Muddy Creek” in the Cymry language. They had arrived that morning. This was the family farm Sawyle had grown up on. His father, was bent with age, but amiable and welcoming. Gerallt and the others already had bowls of stew, and mugs of ale in hand. I wave off the food, claiming to have eaten on the journey.

  Once I shared Sawyl’s message for his family, preparations flowered quickly. We would take up residence in their house, while Cledwyn and his family would make the long day’s walk to Caer Penllyn.

  One of the neighbouring farmers would sent a couple of their sons to take over the farm chores each morning. They invited our party to stay there until the family returned in a fortnight. I’d have to return to the Caer for the wedding in about a week. But until Gwen came to get me, I’d stay and run patrols with Gerallt and his men.

  On the fourth morning, Gwen let me know she was heading my way and would bring a surprise. I took a stroll to the woods on the edge of the farmstead, and when the red rift opened, Enid stepped through, followed by Gwen. Enid wore a large smile—along with her sword.

  “Oh, Mair. I was going stir crazy,” she said and slid an arm around my waist. Her sword banged against my hip. “I hate being cooped up with this pregnancy. How do you sit there and do nothing but sew all day?”

  “Practice, dear. Centuries of practice.” I said.

  “Rhian suggested we show Enid the sunny countryside to get her out and about,” Gwen said.

  “How is she?” I sent as I hugged Gwen.

  “Fine as can be.” She kissed my cheek before she stepped back. “I’ve done what I can to help her morning sickness, and the herbal teas have helped with the rest. We believe we’ve stabilised her tummy to where she will keep her meals down if she doesn’t exert herself.”

  “I’m feeling far better,” Enid said, as if reading our silent conversation. “I miss our sword practice.” She grinned at me slyly.

  “I see you came prepared,” I said.

  Gwen sighed and nodded her blessing.

  “Gerallt and his men are still asleep in the farmhouse,” I said. “They’ll rise in another few hours. Let’s go to the other side of the woods so we don’t wake them.”

  Gwen sat on my cloak to watch Enid and me. We worked through a new set of intermediate meditations. This would give her something unfamiliar to practice on her own and help keep her mind off her confinement. Aemi wouldn’t have taught these meditations until a student’s second year, but Enid had already learned all the first year meditations.

  “I’m fine,” she said as Gwen called for another break to rest. Gwen had fetched a pitcher and mugs out of a magical slit in a log, then found water in a nearby stream. She made sure Enid sat and drank every time we took a rest from our sword meditations. “I want to be active but everyone is treating me like I can’t do anything.”

  “They’re just worried,” Gwen said. “Remember, you’re three people right now.”

  Enid sighed and laid a hand on her slightly swollen belly. “I know, but…”

  “Once we’re sure the morning sickness will not drain your energy, and put a strain on the babies,” Gwen said, “Rhian will let you have other duties. But for now, you have only one duty: Caring for those babies.”

  “I know, but… how long will this morning sickness continue?”

  “Most women get over it in a month or two, but,” she said, “with twins, your body could carry on even longer. I can’t stop it from happening, I can only lessen its impact.” Gwen wrapped her arm around Enid. “Everyone at the keep loves you and cares for you and your babies.”

  “I know… thank you.” Enid shifted her eyes towards me. “Can I come back for more meditations?”

  “Yes, when Gwen says. Perhaps two or three days a week?” I glanced at Gwen. She nodded.

  Enid smiled and stood to hug me.

  When Enid and I had finished our lessons, she and Gwen walked me back to the farm. We were chatting about the impending autumn festival and the upcoming wedding when Gwen stopped. Enid broke off her comment mid stride and glanced around.

  “Something is different,” Gwen said.

  I glanced around the forest, probing the typical mist that followed the morning rain. But Gwen was correct. This fog was different. Otherworldly. But unlike the mists we traversed when Gwen opened a portal on a tree, these tendrils of vapour were darker. More sinister. Like spectral fingers reaching out from the grave.

  My fingers wrapped around the hilt of Soul. We continued our walk, but slowly. I reached out with my undead senses. I could detect nothing. Not even forest creatures. No birds in their nests; no rabbits in their burrows. The hairs on the back of my neck went taunt. I drew Soul.

  As we crested a small rise that should have shown us the path towards the farmstead, we found ourselves faced with a tall hedge, taller than any of us. The shrubs were cropped straight along the side and top. The dark mists threaded through the leaves, dripping like
slow-falling water to swirl around our feet.

  I glanced at Gwen. Her eyes were uncertain. Enid reached for her blade, but I put a hand on her arm. I didn’t want her to think about a fight. Her role was only for defence until she got a lot more time on the practice field.

  Our desired path blocked, so we walked along the hedge. No breeze touched us, but the fog danced a dance of death. A creeping sensation crawled up my spine.

  Another few paces and the dreary mist parted just enough. A pike stood upright in the foliage. From it, a decomposing head grinned at us. A few paces away, the mists swirled to reveal another pike with a severed head, then another, and another.

  Wherever we were, we were clearly in trouble.

  26

  Enid’s Story

  “Recognise it?” Gwen asked.

  I shook my head, but Enid nodded.

  “Geraint and Enid’s story,” she said, then swallowed hard. Her hand slid across her belly. Poor girl. I hoped her delicate stomach could handle this. “Behind the hedge is a game… of sorts. Geraint was a man of Arthur’s who protected the honour of Queen Gwenhwyfar, defeated a fighter in black armour, and married a young lady named Enid—my namesake.”

  I remembered. Gwen had told this story and Enid and Cadoc’s wedding. Gwen had searched her own memories of long ago tell the tale of the real Geraint to me afterward. The real person named Geraint was apparently more precocious than the bards’ tales let on. But, at the wedding celebration, she told the standard tale, the one the bards told. I had the feeling this part of the tale was more deadly than the bard’s tale.

  “This was one of Geraint’s final challenges,” Gwen said. “The games in the mists. Anyone who entered the courtyard in the middle of the hedge had to battle a great fighter cursed to remain and fight all who challenged him. They always lost.” She pointed at the next severed head on a pike.

  “Perhaps if we go another way…” I suggested. A battle in the mists wasn’t on my list of what I wanted to do today. Something like that could wait. Forever.

  Gwen shrugged. It was worth a try. We turned and walked away. The mist was thick now. Twenty paces later, we found another hedge, identical to the first. More pikes and more severed heads that grinned ominously at us. I reached down along my connection to The Lady. Soul glowed with her light.

  “Tree walk?” I suggested. Gwen reached towards a nearby tree. Her hand glowed with The Lady’s power, but no rift opened.

  “Looks like we play the games…” I said. I hated being led.

  “The heads are fresher if we go that way,” Gwen said. “No doubt, that’s where we’ll find the entrance.”

  Enid’s face grew increasingly green as we went. I hoped she could keep her breakfast down until we got through whatever was ahead of us.

  The dark mist parted for a gap in the hedge.

  Gwen shrugged. “No other way in or around.”

  I still had Soul in hand. Luckily, being dead, I didn’t perspire anymore. With the way my nerves were on edge, I would have been wiping my palms on my dress to make sure I had a good grip on my sword. Instead, my fingers twitched to realign the flat sides of the hilt into my palm.

  “Let’s go play the games,” I said and stepped between the hedge walls.

  Just inside, another wall of dark green leaves blocked my way forward. Even the plants seemed deadly here. The leaves were thick, with sharp, jagged edges. The path bent towards the left. I took several cautious steps. I held my blade in a guard position in front of me, ready. A dozen more paces, then the path opened to the right. With Soul in front of me I turned the corner. Behind me, Enid sucked in a quick breath. We had reached the courtyard.

  It was large—large enough to fit an apple orchard, with a red tent and two golden sling chairs to one side. A cleared area with matted grass and bare patches of dirt indicated a weapons practice area. More decaying heads stared vacantly from pikes set around the courtyard, their mouths set in macabre grins. Empty eyes peered from white skulls around the hedges.

  In one chair sat a woman in a fine golden dress. She gave no greeting other than a smile. I reached out with my mind. I found only a wrinkle where she was, like that of a shifter, but different, though I couldn’t figure out why. There was a subtle shift of something there, but not there. I sensed another wrinkle inside the tent. Had I not been actively searching, I wouldn’t have noticed

  “Anything?” I asked Gwen mentally.

  “Nothing. Or rather, everything here is magical. I cannot make sense of it.” She turned, her eyes closed. “If only Seren were here. She seems adept at understanding complicated magic.”

  “The Lady’s mysterious opponent seems to have found us,” I said aloud for Enid’s benefit. I couldn’t help remembering my dreams of the gwyddbwyll board, and the player who stayed in shadows beyond my vision. “Now if we only knew his game?”

  “Touch nothing,” Gwen whispered.

  The lady in the chair motioned towards the chair across from her.

  “What is the story we’re supposed to be in?” I asked.

  “Geraint came into this place to fight the one who cursed to be in the game. Sitting in the chair signalled the other fighter to appear.”

  I glanced at the tent. Either I was going in, or whatever was inside would come out.

  “And then?” I asked.

  “Geraint defeated the other fighter, who begged for mercy. They told him that the only way to end the enchanted games was to blow the horn. So he did and broke the curse. Geraint was the hero once again.”

  Here, today, there was no horn. The woman in the chair was still, her smile fading. She said nothing.

  “I see no other way,” I said.

  The woman sat strangely silent, but smiled again as I approached. She waved towards the chair, a simple cloth sling strung between two sets of stout wooden legs, painted gold, and crossed in an X. Atop the golden legs was a golden cushion. The woman’s smile grew as I stepped towards the chair. Again she motioned for me to sit. I smiled back.

  Soul’s glow intensified as I pushed The Lady’s power into the blade. Soul arced in an underhand swing. I sliced the cloth and sent the cushion into the hedgerow. Another swing, alive with the magic of my goddess, shattered the wooden legs. A little destruction felt good amid this uncertainty.

  The seated woman, still smiling, turned towards the red tent. The door-flap opened. Apparently, destroying the chair was as effective as sitting in it. A man as large as Sawyl stepped out. His tunic was dyed black, and black leather mail covered his chest. Thick metal rings covered the leather. The rings were dull. Deep black. A colour that reminded me of death. Long tangles of black hair cascaded from the metal helm on his head. He carried a large golden horn. A gilded ram’s horn. He hung it on a branch of the nearby apple tree. He drew his great sword and stepped into the clearing.

  “Be careful, dearest,” Gwen sent.

  I couldn’t get any magical read on him, either. He was probably the null-wrinkle I had sensed inside the tent. I raised Soul into a ready position. My legs stirred the dark mists as I stepped onto the weapons field.

  From his first swing with his large blade, I knew I was to win the fight. He fought slowly and gave me lots of openings. I dodged his blows with ease. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t a fight. It would be a slaughter. There was no skill in this fighter. No skill that could line the hedge walls, inside and out, with a severed head.

  I slid easily out of line from another of his blows. Gwen and Enid wore puzzled expressions. My bulky opponent chopped at me with his sword again. I decided to end it. I sliced into his arm, an attempt to get him to drop his weapon. Instead he maintained his grip and took another slow swing at me. What should have wounded him clearly had no effect. I used some of my special strength and shoved Soul into his flesh. He pressed forward and drove my blade deeper into his chest. He pulled his arm back for another blow.

  I jerked my sword free, pivoted around him, and swung the blade at his calves. Soul sliced deep, and t
he big fighter tumbled to the ground. With the muscles on his legs severed, he couldn’t stand. The fighter, with vacant eyes, stared at me as he struggled to pull himself along the ground with his off hand. His other hand continued to make wide and clumsy swings at me. His mouth never opened. No cry of pain rang out.

  I dodged his swipes. Off to the side, Enid had drawn her blade, but hadn’t moved to interfere. Gwen’s puzzlement was clear on her face.

  The fighter, unable to stand, continued to drag himself along after me. His wounds weren’t bleeding. I sighed. This made sense now. Our mysterious wizard, the one who caused the dead to walk, was playing games. And I was one of the pawns he toyed with.

  Time to finish the game and see what came next. I struck hard. Soul connected with his neck as I channelled The Lady’s power into the blade. His head parted from his shoulders and spun off. His body collapsed at my feet. No blood gushed from his wounds. Raw flesh was bare at his neck.

  The woman rose to her feet and walked stiffly towards the apple tree where the fallen swordsman had hung the golden horn. I let her pass. After retrieving the horn, she took several steps towards me and held it out with both hands.

  “In the story,” I asked, “Geraint had to blow the horn to end the games?”

  “In the story, yes,” Gwen said. “But…”

  “I’m not that stupid,” I said out loud. This was clearly not Geraint’s story.

  I used my undead strength for the blow. Soul slice through her neck. The woman’s head spun to the side. No fountain of blood. No gurgle of breath. She had been dead before I struck her.

  My second blow was intended to pin the golden horn to the dead woman’s chest. But as I shoved my blade, alive with the glow of the goddess, into contact with the horn, a violent flash of energy threw me back. Gwen spun and covered Enid with her own body.