May Earth Rise (25 page)

Again Gwen nodded, her blue eyes wide.

“But how much worse still it would be if we ourselves intended to also profane that ceremony by spilling the blood of our enemy.

For that would not Modron turn her face from us forever? For that would we not lose the gifts she has given us? For that would we not lose our souls, as Cathbad has lost his?”

Aergol gently laid one hand on Gwen’s head and stroked her bright hair. “Daughter of Modron, do you now understand how we cannot even think of such a thing? Do you understand how it is that Havgan must walk out of Caer Duir unharmed?”

Gwen nodded solemnly and bowed her head. She then rose and turned to face all the folk gathered there. She looked at each Druid—at Yrth and Aldur, at Madryn and Menw, at Ellywen and Sabrina and Sinend. She looked at Rhiannon and at Gwydion. Lastly she gazed at Arthur. “I humbly beg pardon of each person here. I did not understand, but now I do. I was blinded by my wish for vengeance, and forgot my allegiance to Modron. I ask for the forgiveness of each one of you.”

“You are forgiven, Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon,” Arthur said formally. “Most heartily and readily.” As Gwen again took her seat Arthur turned to Gwydion. “Uncle, have you anything to add to our plan?”

“Only one thing,” Gwydion said. “I would not be so sure, Aergol, that the Mother requires your death in atonement.”

“What do you mean, Dreamer?” Aergol asked in feigned surprise.

But Gwydion was not fooled. He knew what Aergol was secretly planning. And Aergol knew that Gwydion knew. That Arthur was now aware of it was enough for now. “Just keep that thought in mind and do not be too surprised if things turn out differently than you think. For the Mother has a way of surprising us all.” Gwydion smiled. “She is, after all, a woman.”

At Arthur’s gesture of dismissal they all rose, making their way out of the garden room to their own chambers. Gwydion took Rhiannon’s arm and they made their way up the stairs. He did not speak, for he was uncertain how to begin. At last they reached the door of his chamber. Rhiannon released his arm and turned to go, but Gwydion put his hand out and stopped her.

“Would you—would you care for a cup of wine?” he asked.

Her brow rose in surprise, but she nodded. “But just for a few moments,” she said as she followed him into the chamber. “You should rest.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Except that I am not in the least bit tired.” And that was true. He was far too keyed up to be tired.

He poured wine into two golden goblets chased with opals and handed her a cup. She took it and sat at the edge of the hearth. The firelight cast a glow over her smooth features, and her green eyes sparkled in the light of the dancing flames. He took a seat next to her on the hearth. He took a sip of wine, then set the cup down. With a deep breath, he turned to her and began.

“When you heard me Wind-Speak to you, from my captivity, you said you knew I had not escaped,” he said abruptly.

She nodded. “Yes, I knew.”

“You knew that I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“I did indeed.”

“How did you know?” he pressed. For he thought that she would say that she knew him too well to be fooled. And that would be his opening to tell her the truth. But she surprised him.

“Because you called me
cariad,”
she said with a shrug. “You called me beloved throughout your communication with me. That’s how I knew that someone was telling you what to say, that you were still a prisoner. You would never have called me that on your own.”

“Oh,” he said, for he had not expected that answer. “Oh. Well, as to that—” He broke off for he was unsure how to proceed, and so very afraid.

“Don’t be concerned about it, Gwydion,” she said, putting the cup down. “There is nothing to explain. I didn’t misunderstand for a moment.” She rose. “Goodnight.”

She turned to go but Gwydion rose and stopped her. “Rhiannon.
Cariad,”,
he said softly. He reached out and framed her beautiful face with his hands.

Her eyes widened. “What?” she whispered. “What are you—”

“Oh, beloved. Did you not know that I have called you that in my heart for so many, many years?” he asked softly, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Did you never guess?”

“Gwydion,” she whispered.

“Oh, my love,” he said. “I beg you to forgive me. All these years wasted. But I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” she asked.

He guided her back to the hearth and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. He tried to explain to her how it had been with his father and mother. How his mother had done all she could to control his father, making Gwydion’s home a battlefield. How his father had rarely come home because of that, how Gwydion had grown up so lonely. And that horror-filled moment when he had discovered their bodies, knowing that his father had died at his mother’s hands.

“From that moment I vowed never to fall in love, never to let a woman into my heart,” he said. “I vowed that my only love would be my duty as Dreamer. It was the only safe thing to cling to. But then I met you. Remember that first time?”

Rhiannon nodded, but did not speak.

“You and Gwen were living in that cave. And you appeared from behind the waterfall. And, oh, you were so beautiful. My heart—even then I think—knew you. When we searched for Caladfwlch I could barely take my eyes from you. That day on Afalon when Amatheon died and I was so cruel to you still shames me.”

“Gwydion—”

“Please, let me speak. When we went to Corania, how often I wanted to take you in my arms, to tell you the truth. But I couldn’t. Not there, for I knew that you still loved Rhoram, and I was afraid. And then when we came back here, and I knew you would be seeing him again, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t.”

He was almost babbling now in his eagerness to make her understand, in his fear that she would turn away from him if he stopped talking. And all the while he was speaking to her she simply stared at him, her eyes wide and clearly shocked.

“That day by the lake, the day you found the Stone, the day I thought you dead—nothing was worse than that. I wanted to kiss you again so badly, but I couldn’t. I was afraid that I would fail in my duty to Kymru if I—even once—let you know the kind of power you truly had over me. And now—”

“And now?” she prompted when he hesitated for a moment.

“And now I know that my fears are meaningless. Now I know that nothing else matters but that I love you so. When I was wandering in my mind, trapped in the dark, I called for you. I knew that you and you alone could save me. I knew that if I ever saw you again I must tell you this truth. And you would make of it what you would. I beg for you not to tell me that it is too late. But if you do, know that I will still love you. I will love you forever, and if you will allow me to, I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

He paused, looking into her beautiful eyes. Behind her the flames of the fire leapt higher. “The truth I learned at last is that my love for you did not weaken me. It strengthened me. Without you I could not have done my duty at all. Without you I would not have come back from Corania alive. Without you Caladfwlch would not have been found, nor the Treasures. Without you, Arthur would not be High King. Most of all, without you, I will never smile or laugh again. You are all that I want. All that I need. And I love you so.”

He reached out and took her face in his hands. His thumb brushed her lips and he leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips tasted sweet, so sweet that he was dizzy with desire for her. He plunged his hands into her silken hair, delighting in the softness of it. He kissed her with rising passion. At last he released her mouth, murmuring her name, raining kisses on her face and her slender throat until they were both breathless.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling back a little to look into her eyes.

“Convince me,” she said. And behind the challenge in her eyes was the promise of things he had barely dared to dream.

“I have always loved you. I always will love you.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, love me, Gwydion. Love me. As I love you.”

His breath caught in his throat as she said the words he had longed to hear. But he began slowly. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers, one by one. Her fingers curved around his mouth and he look up at her. Her green eyes were smokey with desire. His hand found the laces of her gown and he loosened them, baring her shoulders on which he rained tiny kisses. She shivered. He gently pulled down the front of her gown and kissed her silky skin.

He raised his head to look at her. “Rhiannon?” he questioned.

She understood what he wanted to know. She reached out and unfastened the laces of his tunic, then drew off his undershirt. They undressed each other slowly until they stood naked together in front of the fire. He gazed at her, his eyes hot and glowing. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the red coverlet. He bent over her and kissed her again.

“Rhiannon ur Hefeydd var Indeg,” he whispered. “I love you.” He took her slowly, giving her all of himself, holding nothing back. At the peak of their ecstasy they cried out together and he called out her name.

Then he gathered her in his arms, his heart still beating wildly from his release.
“Cariad,”
he whispered as he stroked her hair. “Beloved. Forever.”

S
IGERRIC STOOD IN
the center of the marketplace in Dinmael. Coranian soldiers ringed the perimeter, their axes and spears at the ready, pinning the people of the city within the crowded market. When a certain measure of quiet was obtained, Sigerric began.

“People of Dinmael, be it known that Havgan the Golden, ruler of all Kymru, calls you to task for your complicity in a crime. For not many days ago Queen Elen was spirited away from Caer Dwfr.”

Even now the Kymri were defiant, for cheers erupted from the crowd at the mention of Elen’s escape.

“It is each one of you who allowed this to happen,” Sigerric called out. “For her rescuers could not have entered and left the city without your knowledge and cooperation. And for this you will be punished.”

He signaled to one of the lieutenants, and the man nodded. The lieutenant lit his torch and raised it over his head. He swung it from side to side, facing the docks to the southeast, once, twice, three times.

“Even now soldiers are destroying your boats,” Sigerric cried.

An angry mutter broke from the people gathered there.

“You have brought this on yourselves,” Sigerric went on. “The docks will be destroyed. And so will the marketplace.”

At his words smoke from the southeast began to rise into the air. And the soldiers around the marketplace began to move in, pushing the people aside, making for the stalls. They began to tear the stalls down, throwing goods onto the streets, trampling and ruining them.

At first Sigerric thought that the Kymri would rise up against the soldiers and he braced himself. Something he felt in the air told him that everything hung in the balance at that moment. But something, he did not know what, and he did not know from where it came, calmed the crowd. Perhaps it was whispered words of patience. Perhaps it was promises that the destruction would be righted. Perhaps it was remembrance that Cadair Idris glowed again with the coming of the High King, and that Arthur would not suffer his people to remain under the Coranian yoke forever. Perhaps it was the knowledge hidden in their hearts that they would win in the end.

Whatever it was, it prevailed that day. The Coranian solders continued their destructive work unhindered by the people of Dinmael. And if the people did not attempt to stop the destruction neither did they appear to mourn it. No one cried out at the loss of goods. No one tried to save anything. They simply stood quietly, murmuring things amongst themselves, as though the destruction around them was meaningless.

They were right, of course, Sigerric thought. But not for the reason they thought. For the destruction of the marketplace and the docks meant nothing to Sigerric, either. That was not why he was here.

Though the Kymri did not know that. And would not know that until it was far, far too late.

The docks southeast of the city were burned and ruined. Boats drifted in the sea, some half burned, some with holes in their sides and slowly sinking, some simply set adrift. Later the people of the city would swim out to some of these boats and bring them back in for repair. Other boats drifted farther out to sea, riding past the waves that attempted to halt them.

As twilight fell over the sea, one boat, far, far away from shore rocked violently. A man’s head appeared from within the boat. The man peered around, making sure he was far from shore. Then he sat up, took the oars from the bottom of the boat, and locked them into place.

The man smoothed back his scanty, gray hair and raised the tiny sail. He then grasped the oars and began to row. He had a long way to go, he knew, to reach the shores of the Coranian Empire. But he could do it, and do it in time. He had assured Lord Havgan that he could, and Torgar knew better than to fail.

He would reach Corania and find the Emperor’s brother and give him Havgan’s message.

And Corania would then be able to defeat the witches of Kymru once and for all.

Cadair Idris, Gwytheryn &
Dinmael, Kingdom of Ederynion, Kymru
Eiddew Mis, 500

Addiendydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—morning

A
s he stepped out of the grim forest and into the golden meadow Gwydion laughed and flung out his hands as he lifted his face to the warming sun.

He danced across the meadow, whirling among the tall, green grasses. Fiery rockrose and lemon-yellow globeflowers, dark blue forget-me-nots and white lily of the valley dotted the emerald plain. The heady aroma of wallflowers and violets scented the clean air. A spring bubbled across the plain, laughing and sparkling, beckoning him. He plunged his hands into the cool, clear water then flung out this arms, spilling droplets onto the grasses where they lay like glittering diamonds.

From far away he heard a hunting horn and he welcomed the sound. He knew whose presence the horn preceeded and he was not afraid.

White hunting dogs with red ears bounded across the plain, baying and gamboling, headed straight for him. Gwydion stood still and let them come. They halted before him and he held out his hand. The lead dog stepped forward and gravely sniffed the offered hand. Then he barked once, twice, three times, and the pack halted, then lay down, panting.

Two horses cantered across the plain. One glistened white as pearl and the other black as onyx. The rider of the white horse sat his mount proudly. Antlers sprung from his forehead. His chest was bare and his breeches were made of deerskin. His leather boots were studded with glittering topaz. His face was quiet, but his topaz owl-eyes glittered and his lips seemed as though they might be ready to curve in a smile.

The rider of the black mount was dressed in a glowing shift of pure white. A silver belt encircled her slim waist. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, held back from her face by a band of amethysts. Her amethyst eyes smiled.

Far overhead an eagle called out fiercely and began to spiral down from the clear, blue sky. The eagle screamed again then swooped down, coming to rest on Gwydion’s outstretched arm.

“I greet you, Arderydd, High Eagle of Kymru,” Gwydion said gravely as he inclined his head to the huge bird. “And I greet you, also, Cerrunnos, Lord of the Wild Hunt, and Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood.”

“Well met, Gwydion ap Awst,” Cerridwen said her voice musical and light, like the ringing of tiny, silver bells. “For the first time I could almost believe you are happy to see us.”

“For the first time he is happy,” Cerrunnos amended, his unblinking owl-like eyes focused on Gwydion.

“You speak truly, Cerrunnos,” Gwydion replied. “For the first time in more years than I can remember, I am happy.”

“Because?” Cerridwen asked, although Gwydion thought she already knew the answer.

“Because I am free at last. Free from the bondage I put myself in for so many years. Free to love she whom I was always meant to love. I saw it truly, finally, when Llwyd Cilcoed captured me and imprisoned both my body and my mind.”

“Yes?” Cerridwen prompted.

“All these years I kept her away from me, saying I did so for my duty. But I was wrong. It was not my duty. I was afraid.”

“And your adherence to your duty now?” Cerrunnos asked pointedly.

“Is as strong as it has ever been. I have faithfully performed the tasks that you asked of me so long ago. I protected Arthur from both the traitors in our midst and from the invaders. I journeyed to the land of the enemy, to spy for Kymru. I have journeyed throughout Kymru with the others and helped to find the four Treasures. I brought Arthur to Cadair Idris, along with the Treasures, and prepared him to undergo the Tynged Mawr. Now Arthur is High King of Kymru. My task is not yet done. I know this, for Kymru is still held by the enemy. But the task is nearing its end. And it is only now that I discover it was never a reason to be alone. Only an excuse.”

“And so, Gwydion ap Awst var Celemon, you have learned the truth. What will you do now?” Cerridwen asked.

“I will lay my heart at the feet of the woman I love. I will beg her to forgive me for taking so very, very long to bring my heart to her. And then I will do all I know how to do to free Kymru. But, before I die, I will love. And not be afraid.”

“Very well met, then, Dreamer,” Cerrunnos said. “Very well met, indeed. Then you are ready to return to the world in which you live. Your body lies in Cadair Idris, under the care of she whom you love. She has nursed you these many days. To her you owe your life, for with less expert care you might have died.”

“To her I owe everything.” Gwydion said simply. “And if she will let me I will spend the rest of my life with her, doing all I can to make her happy.”

“Then you are ready to return. Listen, now, for she senses you are going back. Go to her, Dreamer of Kymru,” Cerridwen said gently. “And know that our good wishes go to you both.”

“And, remember, when we are called next, we will be ready. The Wild Hunt will ride again in defense of Kymru,” Cerrunnos said, “when the one who was meant to call us calls. And when the one who is meant to lead us takes his place at our head.”

“And who is meant to call you to our aid?” Gwydion asked. “And who is to lead you?”

“They will know when the time comes,” Cerrunnos said. He brought the hunting horn to his lips and sounded a note. The challenge rose through the air. The eagle launched itself from Gwydion’s arm with a fierce cry and spiraled up into the sky. The dogs bayed and launched themselves into the sky after the eagle.

The white and black horses leapt up after them.

Gwydion watched until the Hunt was no more than specks high overhead. He lifted his head at the sound of his name called across the wind. She called him, he knew. She called him and he would answer.

H
E OPENED HIS
eyes slowly. Above him her beautiful face hovered, her green eyes glowing in the soft golden light. The bed he lay in was covered with a spread of red edged in onyx. A banner of a raven with opal eyes shimmered on the far wall. Wardrobes of polished oak lined one wall. Next to his bed was a small table, covered now with bottles and a few golden goblets chased with opals. The door to the chamber was golden and the symbol of the Dreamers was outlined there in fiery opals. He blinked again, and knew that he was in the Dreamer’s chambers at Cadair Idris.

“How long?” he whispered.

“Fourteen days in all,” she answered as she wrung fresh water from a soft cloth and laid it gently on his forehead. “Four days here from Sycharth and ten days in Cadair Idris.”

“It was very bad, then.”

“Very bad indeed,” she said. “You were suffering from lead poisoning from the collar. For that I have been giving you a tincture of Penduran’s Rose, which also helped to reopen the pathways in your brain for your gifts. I believe if you take a few moments to check, you will find that your gifts have fully returned.”

He nodded, for he could tell she was right. “And what else?”

“The mistletoe poisoning was the worst. That was what Llywd Cilcoed kept making you drink, to keep you disoriented. I gave you hawthorn to counteract its effects on your heart. And valerian for the convulsions.”

“Very efficient,” he murmured.

“But for a time, nonetheless, we thought we had lost you.” Her lips tightened as her voice wavered slightly and she looked away for a moment, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Rhiannon,” he began.

“But you turned the corner a few days ago,” she continued, wiping his face with the cloth. “And I am doubly glad you woke today, for I predicted you would.”

“Did you now?” he asked, his brows quirked. He smiled and she blinked down at him, startled.

“Gwydion, do you know you just smiled?”

“I do,” he said, and laughed softly.

She frowned for a moment, clearly puzzled. “I have made you a good broth. And you are to drink every drop,” she said and she rose and went to the fire that crackled on the hearth. A small pot hung over the flames on a spit. She swung the spit out over the hearth and ladled the broth into a golden bowl. She brought the bowl back to the bed and sat down again in her chair. She helped him to sit up, propping him up with pillows. Then she spooned the broth into his mouth.

He ate obediently, willing to bide his time and regain at least a measure of his strength. And for all that he had just woken up he did feel almost strong again. The warm, tasty broth made him feel even better.

“I could almost get up,” Gwydion said as he swallowed the last bit. “I feel strong enough.”

“Then you may get up,” Rhiannon said. “But not for long. It won’t take much to tire you.”

“I am sure you are right,” he agreed, and was rewarded with another tiny frown when he did not argue with her. “I am wearing something, aren’t I?”

She laughed. “You are wearing a pair of very comfortable breeches.”

“Ah. And who dressed me in those?”

“I wish I could say I did, but it was Arthur.”

“I wish you could say you did, too,” he replied. He flung back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He rose slowly, but did not feel dizzy. “I feel surprisingly good,” he said as he took a few steps.

Rhiannon shadowed him, ready to put out a hand if he fell. For that he almost felt like falling, just to have her hold on to him. And perhaps he would have, if only Cariadas had not chosen that moment to burst into the chamber.

His daughter flew across the room, laughing to see him on his feet, and threw herself in his arms. But he was not as strong as usual, and he tottered back. Rhiannon grabbed his arm to steady him but missed and he and Cariadas ended up on the floor, their fall cushioned by a soft rug woven in red and black.

“Da!” she cried, clutching him around the neck. “Da, you’re alive!”

“For the moment,” Gwydion croaked, loosening her grip somewhat so he could breathe. He stroked her bright, red-gold hair and tears came to his eyes as she sobbed.

“Oh, Da, we didn’t know if you would be all right. Rhiannon kept insisting that you were too stubborn and too mean to die, but I was so afraid.”

“Did she?” Gwydion asked as he raised his eyes to Rhiannon over Cariadas’ bowed head.

Rhiannon looked back at him steadily. “I certainly did,” she said crisply. “Cariadas, dearest, perhaps you would help your da up.”

“Oh, Da,” Cariadas said, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Gwydion said as she helped him to his feet. “It is so wonderful to see you again, I don’t mind a bit. I missed you, daughter. Very much.”

Cariadas’ brows raised at that. “Da, are you feeling all right? I mean—”

“I know what you mean, my dear,” Gwydion said gently. “And, yes, I feel very fine indeed.” He smiled and Cariadas looked even more shocked.

His daughter turned to Rhiannon, her face anxious. “Are you sure he will be all right? This is all very—”

“Odd,” Rhiannon finished for her. “Yes, it certainly is. And, no, I don’t know how long this will last.”

“For the rest of our lives,” Gwydion said softly. “Believe me.”

Meirwydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early evening

G
WYDION SLEPT MOST
of that night and a good deal of the next day, waking occasionally to eat. With every passing moment he felt stronger. Cariadas stayed with him, saying Rhiannon needed to rest, as she had hardly left his side at all in the last two weeks.

Toward evening he rose and took the bath they had prepared for him. He luxuriated in the warm water, occasionally humming a tune to himself as he trimmed his dark beard. He toweled himself off and dressed in the clothes they had laid out for him—a tunic and trousers of black with opals at the hem and throat. His hair was held at the nape of his neck with a golden clasp chased with opals. His boots were black leather and opals glittered at the turned-down cuffs. He fastened the Dreamer’s torque of gold and opals around his neck then went to the door and opened it.

Rhiannon stood there, her hand out to grasp the door handle. She was dressed in a gown of sea green over a kirtle of white. A girdle of glowing pearls encircled her slim waist. Her dark hair was held back from her face by a band of pearls and her Dewin’s torque of silver and pearl was clasped around her slender neck.

For a moment he simply stared at her, drinking in her beauty. Her green eyes softened slightly as she returned his gaze. He crossed to her side and held out his arm, never taking his eyes from hers. She smiled and laid her hand on the crook of his arm.

“Arthur and the rest are waiting in Brenin Llys to welcome you back to the land of the living,” she said.

“The only welcome I need is yours,” Gwydion said quietly. His quicksilver eyes gazed into her emerald ones. He reached out and gently touched her face, his thumb lightly brushing her lips.

He was about to say—and do—more, much more, but just then Cariadas appeared on the landing. And though he loved his daughter dearly he momentarily wished her leagues away. Cariadas smiled at them both and then took his other arm.

“Arthur is waiting for you,” Cariadas said.

“I am surprised he has not come by to see me,” Gwydion replied.

“Oh, but he has,” Cariadas protested. “He was by your bedside every day until yesterday, when you regained consciousness.”

“Was he now?” Gwydion murmured thoughtfully.

To his surprise even descending five levels of stairs did not tire him. When they reached the bottom level Gwydion saw that the golden doors to Brenin Llys, the High King’s Hall, were flung open. A soft golden glow emanated through the archway, spilling warm light into the corridor.

He stood for a moment in the archway, Cariadas on one side and Rhiannon on the other. Light played across the glittering walls and pillars sheathed in gleaming gold. Jewels winked from the banners that hung within each of the eight shallow alcoves—azure sapphires and verdant emeralds, glowing pearls and fiery opals. Trees shimmered in each alcove—hawthorn and birch, hazel and rowan, ash and alder, oak and aspen.

In the center of the hall a golden fountain bubbled and laughed, spraying tiny droplets of clear water into the golden air. Next to the fountain the Four Treasures gleamed. At the far end of the hall eight steps led up to a raised dais. Each step was covered with jewels—the first step topaz and the next amethyst, followed by emerald, pearl, ruby, onyx, opal, and sapphire. The throne on the dais was shaped like an eagle, with outstretched wings forming the high back of the golden chair. A tree of yew and another of hazel stood behind the throne.