A Painted Winter

by H. Barnard

  Brei took the retching sounds from below as Naoise’s answer. He swung his feet off the bed and steadied himself.

  Anwen helped him to dress into his thick winter skins. She fastened his wolf’s pelt cape with a penannular brooch bearing the Snake of Caledon. “It’s too much to say goodbye, Brei.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I know you’re doing this for me, but I want you back. I want you to come home.”

  He held her against his chest and kissed her head. “I will.”

  When Brei had said goodbye to Nia and Ceridwen, he joined Taran, Naoise, Dylan, Talorc, and Drest at the stables. Naoise’s face was pale, and he leaned against the stable wall and convulsed as they laughed at him. Naoise stood up and wiped his mouth. “I will strangle you all in your sleep if you say one more thing.”

  “Naoise!” Taran yelled in Naoise’s ear. “Neeeeeee shaaaaaaa!”

  “Fuck off!” Naoise yelled as Taran danced away. “I swear to all the Gods, Taran. One day I am going to kill you!”

  Talorc ran up behind Naoise and tackled him to the ground, pushing his head into the snow. Naoise heaved himself onto his knees and vomited. Taran, Talorc, and Brei were doubled over, tears streaming from their eyes as Derelei walked towards them, smiling. “Leave the poor boy alone.”

  Naoise groaned and rolled onto his back. “Derelei, make them go away. I need help. I am literally dying. I may already be dead. We don’t know.”

  Derelei shook her head and reached her hands out to Brei. He embraced her. “My boy, my eldest boy and darling. Please be safe. I don’t want to lose you again.” She glanced at Taran as he feigned an attack on Talorc. “Don’t let Taran get to you. You were born to be a king. You are so strong when you believe in yourself. I believe in you. Promise me you will be strong.”

  Brei’s eyes prickled. “Mother,” he croaked, “I’m sorry about Anwen. I know you forbade me from binding myself to her, and the minute I thought you were dead, I betrayed you.”

  Derelei shook her head against his. “Hush, Brei, my darling, say no more of it. I will not have our final moments be like this. I forgive you. When I was a slave, I learnt what really matters in life, and who you love will never be a problem for me.” Derelei looked at him, her blue eyes shining with tears. “I’m so proud of who you are, Brei. When others see weakness because of your choices, I see strength. You are so strong, let yourself use that strength for Caledon, I know you could be a great king.”

  “What about Taran?” He glanced over at his brother. Taran pushed Naoise away and fended off an attack from Talorc. They wrestled in the snow until Taran ended the game by putting the king in a headlock.

  “Taran has much growing up to do before he will be ready.”

  “You don’t give him enough credit, Mother. He is a strong leader and he will be my king.”

  “You have a soft spot for him, of course, but don’t let that blind you. I’ve heard what happened between you two.”

  He bit his lip. “Mother, listen to me, I have to tell you this before I leave.”

  “What is it?”

  “Taran didn’t try to kill me.”

  “Oh darling, don’t be so naïve.”

  “Mother, please just let me finish. The night Caercaled was attacked…I choked. It’s one thing to train with your friends, but it’s another to face someone whose very survival depends on ending your life. I was terrified in the face of the enemy, and when a Roman soldier came bearing down on me, I could barely lift my sword. But Taran stepped in and killed him. He saved me. And…” Brei glanced at the snow that surrounded their feet. “And when I thought the battle was over, I snuck away.” He nodded his head. “I snuck away to the farmsteads that were burning, where Anwen was, and searched for her. Her father lay dying and told me they had taken her, and so I searched all night for the soldiers, but I couldn’t find them. And when I came back at dawn, I saw that a massacre had taken place. I admitted to Taran what I had done, and he belted me for it. As he was right to do, Mother. I deserved to be executed for it. And instead of telling everyone about it, he protected me.”

  Derelei’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “This cannot be true, Brei.”

  He squeezed her hands. “Believe me, Mother, Taran saved me twice that day. And when he made a claim for the throne of Caledon, I could have spoken up, could have endorsed him. I had already decided not to stand for the crown. Do you know what held me back from endorsing Taran? Jealousy. Because when it comes down to it, I am a small man. You think I made this big sacrifice? You think Anwen asked me not to make a claim? Well, she didn’t. You and Father denied me permission to bind myself to her, so I was going to run away with her. It was always her. I sacrificed nothing. Caledon is Taran’s. He is pure and strong, and I believe in him, and so should you.”

  “Brei, hurry up and kiss your mummy goodbye. The men are leaving!” Naoise mimed kisses in the air and grinned.

  Brei rolled his eyes and kissed Derelei’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Brei turned and strode through the snow to Rhuad, his heart pounding.

  When they had mounted their horses, Talorc led them forwards. Derelei, Aífe, Eithne, Anwen, and the twins waved to them as they passed the tower. Even Serenn and Eluned had made the long descent down the stairs to say goodbye and, like black ravens, they watched the men depart for war.

  His stomach tensed, and the leather reins creaked under his grasp. As the warriors passed through the gap in the wall, Brei could see the greys, browns, and whites of warhorses waiting in the Sacred Forest for King Talorc to lead them to the Great Wall. Brei could hear the snapping leather of a bridle, the metallic crunching of a bit against teeth. A thousand warriors waited in the forest.

  “Warriors of Caledon and Vortriu!” Talorc yelled. “The solstice is upon us! For glory! Revenge or Tirscath!”

  The warriors beat the hilts of their swords against their shields. “Glory! Revenge or Tirscath!”

  Talorc marched down the hill, riding three abreast with Brei and Taran to either side. The warriors parted as they rode through, and they beat their shields as they passed. Brei twisted in the saddle to look behind him. Warriors were mounting their horses and falling into line, and behind them men on foot carrying round-butted spears followed. Forest gave way to city, and the people cheered when the warriors appeared, lining the main lane all the way to the Western Gate. Women, children, and old men waved to them and clapped.

  The warriors wound their way down to the centre circle where the bonfire from the night before still burned. Drummers played a steady marching beat that Brei felt in his heart. Taran wore a bull’s horn around his neck and blew into it. A long, low note against the beating of the drums. The hairs on Brei’s arms prickled.

  “Revenge or Tirscath!” Talorc cried.

  “Revenge or Tirscath!” Brei roared with the warriors, and he beat his sword against his shield. The crowd cheered louder, and Rhuad tossed his head. Brei leaned forwards and stroked his neck as he smiled at an old man on the road.

  “Kill one for me, lad!” the old man yelled.

  They passed through the Western Gate and farewelled the depleted garrison that would remain to protect Caercaled. Brei glanced behind him again when they passed the farmstead. The line of warriors stretched around the bend in the river and out of view. He turned and smiled at Taran, who was staring into the distance, his features tensed. Following Taran’s gaze, Brei saw Sorsha on the edge of the forest with Nyfain. Snowflakes whirled around Sorsha’s head. As they drew in line with her, a gust of frigid air blew a strand of black hair, and it danced across her forehead. Horses’ hooves clipped on the ground as the warriors continued, and they passed her without acknowledgement. The snow fell thicker, and Brei looked back, but Sorsha had disappeared into the swirling white.

  Forty-One

  Winter, 367 C.E., Caledon

  Smoke plumes billowed over the city walls as Sorsha lingered outside the Western Gate. The wailing of female voices
cut through the icy breeze. Sorsha approached Brin, a warrior who had remained at the garrison. “What are they celebrating?”

  He wore a thick cape of animal pelts, and his hood was lowered over his head. “It’s not a celebration, lady. The king is dead. Can’t you hear the women keening?”

  Sorsha froze. “How did he die?”

  The man frowned. “It seemed sudden to me, lady, but I heard Owain and Gruffydd say that he had been sick since the leaves started falling.”

  Why didn’t Serenn send for me? She nodded to Brin and passed through the gate into the city. The lane that ran from the gate to the centre circle was lined with grieving people. A massive pyre had been built in the centre and black smoke puffed from soaring flames. Sorsha pushed through the crowd of mourners, edging her way towards the front. The fire was scorching against the frosty breeze. A body reclined on a bed of wood, nestled within the angry flames. Elderly women from the city sat around the base of the fire, keening with intense melancholy.

  Sorsha scanned the gathering of people until she saw Serenn standing to the left of the pyre with Eluned and Arian. She’s alive. Her heart raced as she pushed through the crowd towards Arian. Heat from the flames bristled against her cheeks, and she stopped. Anwen stood behind the Bandruwydds with Derelei, Eithne, and Aífe. Sorsha hesitated. Arian caught Sorsha’s eye, and her stony face rippled with anguish. Sorsha motioned with her hand, and Arian limped through the crowd of mourners to meet her.

  “Arian,” Sorsha whispered, her throat tightening, “what happened to you? I haven’t seen you for so long, I thought…”

  “I’m fine, Sorsha.”

  “But did she hurt you?”

  Tears shone in Arian’s eyes. “It will heal.”

  Sorsha reached forwards and squeezed Arian’s delicate hand. “Let me help.”

  Arian pulled her icy hand away. “Not here.” She glanced over her shoulder at Serenn and Eluned comforting the Princesses of the Blood.

  “Did you know King Gartnait was sick again?”

  “Oh Sorsha, I’m so sorry.” Arian’s brow contorted. “I tried to tell you about the king. But Serenn saw me and she’s kept me away from you ever since.”

  “Why didn’t she want me to help him?”

  “I want to tell you. But she’ll kill me. You need to speak to Serenn and ask her yourself.”

  Sorsha looked over Arian’s head at Serenn in her black robes. “When?”

  “The Bandruwydds are taking the ashes to the cairn on the night of the full moon.”

  “I have to wait three more days to speak to her? Why can’t she speak to me now?”

  Arian shook her head. “That’s what she said. She sent me over to tell you to meet her at the standing stone circle on the night of the full moon. Now I have to go, I’m sorry. Serenn is going to be furious I’ve spoken to you for this long, and she’ll…”

  “She’ll what?”

  “Goodbye, Sorsha.” Arian turned and limped back through the mourners to re-join the Bandruwydds.

  The keening wail rose above the voices of the mourners, and a log snapped and exploded in the fire. Sorsha retreated from the city and returned to the roundhouse. Serenn knew Gartnait was ill again. She must have.

  The silvery light of the full moon pierced through an opening in the clouds and sparkled against snowflakes whirling in the wind. Sorsha waited inside the standing stone circle, pacing around the snow-carpeted perimeter.

  A branch cracked and flickering torchlight penetrated through the trees. The black-robed Bandruwydds emerged from the dark forest. Arian held the flaming torch above her head, and Eluned carried a clay pot decorated with the Snake of Caledon. Gartnait’s ashes. Serenn glanced at the sky as a cloud crossed over the moon and plunged her face into shadow. Sorsha still saw Serenn vividly, and the whites of her eyes shimmered from within the hollows of her charcoaled lids.

  “Lead the way, Serenn,” Sorsha murmured.

  They walked around the standing stone circle and then processioned in a straight north-easterly line up the hill until the forest gave way to grassland on the other side. Sorsha followed. Eventually they came to three tall stones, and the Bandruwydds touched them as they passed, chanting to the Gods of the mountains. Sorsha knew that it was possible to see the great mountain ranges from the stones during the daylight hours. When they reached the furthest stone in the line, they turned left and trudged to the north. After a mile, they came to a frozen stream and walked across, one at a time, before entering a forest. They walked on, through black conifers and naked white oaks, until they approached a clearing. Within the clearing was a tall mound covered in snow. At the base, Sorsha could make out a stone archway. Arian dipped her head under the arch and disappeared inside. The light from the torch flickered within the mound as Serenn and Eluned followed.

  Sorsha swallowed. It’s like my nightmares. She stepped towards the cairn. But there is no passageway. It’s not the same. Ducking under the archway, she stepped inside the cairn and could hear chanting. The corbelled stone roof was inches from her head. There were two stone walls on either side of a middle path, creating four distinct areas within the chamber and, inside each, a stone basin had been carved into the ground. Skulls and bones rested on the basins inside the first two quadrants on opposite sides of the path.

  She continued along the path between the walls and passed into the third and fourth quarters of the chamber. Serenn held the clay pot of ashes above her head and called to the Mother Goddess. She lowered the pot to the stone basin and stood up as Eluned and Arian stopped chanting. Silence descended over the cairn, broken only by the crackle of Arian’s torch.

  “Did you know the king was sick again?” Sorsha asked.

  Serenn stiffened. The fire caught in the breeze that blew into the chamber, and shadows leapt across Serenn’s faintly lined face. “Yes, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you call for me? I could have saved him again.”

  The corners of Serenn’s mouth cracked into a smile. “Individuals perish, but the Ancient People survive.”

  “You killed him, didn’t you?” Sorsha glanced at Arian, who was holding the torch above her head, tears trickling down her pale cheeks. Sorsha stepped towards Serenn. “You were poisoning him this entire time, weren’t you?”

  “He thought the potions were helping him,” Serenn said and smirked.

  “But why didn’t Elfinn try to find me?”

  Serenn shrugged. “I told him you had gone away again… But enough of that. What’s done is done. Taran wants you to go see the Eldar Druwydd.”

  “Why do you care what Taran wants?”

  “We want the same thing. We are united in purpose.”

  “No.” Sorsha shook her head. “That’s impossible. Taran would never do that.”

  “Oh, Sorsha.” Serenn smiled. “Taran has felt slighted since he was fourteen, when he was overlooked for the throne of Caledon. He was tinder waiting for a stray spark. All the Eldar Druwydd had to do was whisper in Taran’s ear, and the fire burned on the fuel of his own ambition.”

  Sorsha’s heart pounded. “I don’t believe you. It was all you.”

  “Taran was just as complicit in the poisoning as I was. We worked together. His hardest task was keeping you away from Gartnait. You kept healing him, and your powers lingered in his veins for weeks.”

  “Taran kept me away? How?”

  “Why do you think he was so happy to take you to the south?”

  Sorsha’s eyes prickled. “But I ran away from him.”

  “Yes…that was unexpected, and he was furious with me for that. But the Eldar Druwydd and the Healers in Caertarwos assured him you would return. And you did, didn’t you? You couldn’t help yourself. You even went a step further and delivered him his mother, the final key to securing what he wants most.”

  “But…” Sorsha’s voice shook and a hot tear slid from her eye.

  “But then you came back too early, didn’t you? Your power was just starting to wear off from Gartn
ait. He was almost dead when the kings met here to agree on the invasion. And then you returned and immediately healed him. So, we had to keep you out of the tower then.”

  “How did you do that? I stayed away because of Anwen.” Sorsha glanced at Arian, whose face was contorted with tears. “No!” Sorsha screamed.

  Serenn laughed huskily. “Who knows better the fragile state of Anwen’s mind than me, the one who prepares her nightly sleeping potions? I gave her a potion but left out the sleep-inducing valerian roots and mistletoe. All Taran had to do was hint you were not like us, that you were a monster who had returned to take her back to the Roman soldiers. She would have been in such a frenzy. I don’t think she knew what she was doing.” Serenn smirked. “And again, you were a good little lamb, weren’t you? You stayed away. I have heard that Healers prefer to sleep under the trees anyway, so I convinced Taran it would not harm you.”

  Tears clung to Sorsha’s cheeks. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. You and the Eldar Druwydd are vile. Manipulating us like puppets. Taran would never have done this if you hadn’t exploited him. Neither of you will reach Tirscath!”

  Serenn laughed again. “Taran’s ambition is the work of the Gods. He has as much free will as you do. If the Gods did not want this, they wouldn’t have sent us such an obliging little wolf pup, would they?”

  The blood in Sorsha’s veins pulsed hot, and her cheeks flushed. She glared at Serenn and turned to leave.

  “Go to Caertarwos to see the other Healers, Sorsha. They will take you to the Eldar Druwydd,” Serenn croaked. “But I don’t know why I’m saying this you won’t be able to help yourself, will you? Even now I bet there is a compulsion rising inside you, luring you to the north.”

  Sorsha spun around and raced at Serenn, grasping her by the neck. The amber beads affixed to Serenn’s blue braids clicked together. Sorsha squeezed her fingers into Serenn’s throat. “The minute you fall out of favour with the Gods, I will be here. I will be here waiting, and I will take the life from your eyes.”