May Earth Rise (45 page)

Suddenly, the wheel stopped spinning. Silence descended.

“What do you want here, Arthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine?” a voice asked. The voice seemed to be made of bloodstains and grief, of twisting shadows and the coppery taste of fear.

“Annwyn, Lord of Chaos, I do not know.”

“Not a promising beginning, High King,” another voice said. This voice sounded like the twists of pitiless fate, of unexpected mercy, of long, beautiful summer days and sudden, wrenching loss.

“Aertan, Weaver of Fate, you know why I am here, even if I do not.”

By the quality of the silence he knew that if they had chosen to show themselves he would have seen a sparkle in Aertan’s bloodstone eyes, he would have seen a glow in the onyx darkness of Annwyn’s.

Uthyr, who up to now had been silent, at last chose to speak. “Guardians of Gwlad Yr Haf, I beg you to listen to my son. I beg that you will give him the aid that he asks.”

“If he knows what to ask for he shall receive it,” Annywn said.

“Yes,” said Aertan. “If he knows.”

And though Aertan and Annwyn still chose not to show themselves, Arthur saw that crowds of people were coming up to stand beside the wheel. He had never met many of them, yet he knew them. He saw Anieron Master Bard and Cynan Ardewin. He saw Queen Olwen of Ederynion and her husband, Kilwch. He saw King Urien and Queen Ellirri of Rheged. With a gasp he recognized the four Great Ones of Lleu Silver-Hand. He even recognized Lleu himself, who stood with Macsen and Idris, the other High Kings of Kymru.

And then he saw them. And he knew, even as he did, that they were the ones he had come for. And he wondered why it had taken him so long to understand, why it had taken all of them so long to see.

“I ask for the release of two souls,” Arthur said.

And then the wheel began to spin again.

Gwytheryn, Kymru
Gwernan Mis, 500

Calan Llachar—morning

The false twilight descended silently over the two armies as the sky slowly darkened. The landscape turned to gray as the moon’s approaching shadow leached the colors from the terrain and from the two armies that confronted each other.

Arthur stood with Caladfwlch in his hand, the point of his sword just touching the earth of Kymru, silently drawing power from the land itself as he waited. His silvery cloak streamed out behind him in the freshening breeze and his tunic and trousers were black. He wore a helmet of silver and gold fashioned like an eagle’s head and the massive High King’s torque lay around his throat. The huge emerald, pearl, opal, and sapphire glittered in the uncertain light, while the onyx in the center remained opaque, gleaming darkly, as though guarding a mystery.

Cariadas, the new Dreamer of Kymru, stood on Arthur’s right, with a cloak of black raven’s feathers around her slim shoulders. The opal Dreamer’s torque encircled her neck like a ring of golden fire and her silvery eyes flickered as she surveyed the opposing army.

Gwen stood next to Cariadas. On her head she wore the wolf’s helmet of Prydyn, and she held a short spear. Though she would use her druidic gifts today against the enemy, she had claimed a place next to Arthur rather than with the rest of the Y Dawnus. Her blue eyes were fierce and cold as she eyed the enemy, daring them to approach.

Gwydion and Rhiannon stood to Arthur’s left. Gwydion wore a plain, black robe trimmed in red and he held a spear. Rhiannon wore her Dewin’s robe of green and silver, and carried a bow and arrow. They stood close together, their shoulders just touching, hands clasped. Their eyes—silver and emerald—glittered in the uncertain light, but their faces were carefully still.

Arthur’s mother, Ygraine, stood behind her son, flanked by Rhufon, Steward of Cadair Idris, and Rhufon’s son, Tybion. Ygraine’s eyes were cool as the sky continued to darken, and her face betrayed nothing of her fears.

Behind them the Y Dawnus—the Bards, Druids, and Dewin of Kymru—gathered. Elidyr Master Bard was dressed in blue and white, a cloak of songbird feathers around his shoulders, sapphires glittering around his neck. His youngest son, Cynfar, stood with him, as did his father, Dudod. Most of the Bards, however, were scattered throughout Arthur’s army, for ease of issuing his commands to the army’s leaders.

The Dewin, led by Elstar, stood next to the Bards. Pearls glowed at Elstar’s throat and a cloak of swan’s feathers streamed out behind her in the breeze. Elstar’s oldest son, Llywelyn, stood next to her, his eyes fastened on Cariadas. Among the Dewin gathered with them were Myrrdin and Talorcan. Both Neuad and Regan were stationed with the army, for their medical skills would be needed, as would the skills they possessed to enable Arthur to see every inch of the entire battlefield.

The Druids massed behind their leader, Aergol. He wore a cloak of bull’s hide fastened to his shoulders and glowing emeralds around his strong neck. Aergol’s daughter and son, Sinend and Menw, stood to the right of their father, while Ellywen and Sabrina stood to his left. Behind them streamed hundreds of Druids in brown robes. They stood silently, husbanding their strength, for they knew that Arthur’s demands on them would be heavy, and they were determined to do all that they could, determined to use this moment to erase the shame of once siding with Kymru’s enemy.

Cynedyr the Wild, son of Hetwin Silver-Brow of Rheged, and his warriors ringed the Y Dawnus, their task to protect them from attack. Cynedyr’s golden hair streamed out behind him as he and his warriors ringed the perimeter of the Y Dawnus.

The forces of Gwynedd stood on the far right flank of the Kymric army. Morrigan, with Cai on her right and Bedwyr on her left, sat her horse quietly. Around her head was the helm of Gwynedd, shaped like a hawk with sapphire eyes. Her Bard, Susanna, sat her horse behind her, ready to relay Arthur’s orders. Morrigan’s three thousand mounted warriors in blue and brown were armed and ready.

Next to them massed the army of Prydyn. King Rhoram, with Achren on his right and Aidan on his left sat his black horse proudly. He wore a golden helmet fashioned like a wolf’s head. The wolf’s emerald eyes surveyed the battlefield, flashing in the flickering light as though eager to engage the enemy. Rhoram’s son, Geriant, sat his horse next to Cian, Rhoram’s Bard. Behind them three thousand warriors in black and green waited for the signal to begin this last, desperate battle.

On the far left flank the army of Ederynion waited. Queen Elen wore a helmet of silver, shaped like the upswept wings of a swan. Angharad was on her right, while Prince Rhiwallon and Prince Lludd were on her left. Her Bard, Talhearn, sat his horse patiently, his dark eyes alight in his seamed, weathered face. Behind them streamed Ederynion’s warriors in sea green and white, sitting rock steady on their horses.

To their right the forces of Rheged were gathered. Owein, wearing a horse-shaped helmet with glowing eyes of opal, sat unmoving on his golden horse. Flanked by Trystan and Sanon on his left and Teleri and Gwarae on his right, he silently surveyed the Coranian army. Esyllt, his Bard, was behind him. Three thousand warriors waited behind them, dressed in the red and white of Rheged, their weapons ready.

Ravens ringed the trees of Calan Llachar to the north, while wolves waited in the shadows of the wood for the word from the High King—for today even the animals of Kymru would fight for freedom.

Cadair Idris rose at the back of the Kymric army. The mountain glowed in the false twilight, like a pinnacle of hope rising from a dark wave of despair. The golden doors gleamed, the jewels impossibly bright in the fading, silvery light.

It was time.

C
ALADFWLCH FELT WARM
in Arthur’s hand. The gold and silver sword seemed to glow slightly as the moon’s shadow approached. He thought of the moment this morning, when his mother had clasped the sword’s scabbard around his waist.

“Thus do I arm my son, for his great battle,” she had said, intoning the formal words. But he had heard the pride, and the grief, beneath those words, and he had gently laid his hand on his mother’s arm. She had looked up at him then, her dark eyes unreadable.

“They tell me that I have the look of my father,” he had said. “And I could not tell if that was true, for his face was blurred in my mind’s eye. Yet now I know that this is indeed true. For I have seen him.”

Her breath had caught in her throat at his words. Her dark eyes had lit with an inner fire and she demanded, somewhat fiercely, “How?”

“In Gwlad Yr Haf. He was my guide there.”

She had dropped her head and looked away. He had guessed that her eyes had been filled with tears she hadn’t wanted him to see. So he answered the question she hadn’t asked. “He spoke of you.”

Her head had risen at that, but she still had not turned around to face him.

“He said that the life he had in Kymru with you was more than he had ever hoped for. He said that you made everything worthwhile. He said that he knew without asking that you were keeping your promise to him. What was that promise?”

She had turned back to him then, her eyes sparkling with tears she had been too proud to let fall. “I promised to live beyond his death. I promised to take care of our daughter. And to do what I could to ensure that my son ruled Kymru.”

Arthur had nodded. “A promise you kept.”

“So I have, my son.”

A voice jarred him, bringing him back to the present.

“… too many.”

“What?” Arthur asked Gwen. She had whispered the words to Cariadas, but he had heard them, nonetheless.

Gwen, caught, squared her shoulders and turned to face Arthur. “I said, they are too many. Twenty thousand to our twelve. It’s hopeless and you know it. Even the Y Dawnus cannot tip those scales.”

Cabal, the hound that had followed him back from Afalon, raised his head to look up at his master. Arthur laid his hand on the dog’s head. “They don’t need to,” he said.

O
PPOSITE THE KYMRIC
army the Coranian army massed, black Eiodel at their back. Sigerric and Penda stood at the forefront of the army, flanking Havgan, while Prince Aesc stood behind him.

Havgan was resplendent in red and gold. His golden cloak whipped about him in the wind, his bright hair streaming behind him. His amber eyes glowed as he took in the opposing army, a half smile on his handsome face.

Arianrod and Aelfwyn stood on the battlements of Eiodel. Arch-Byshop Eadwig stood with them while hundreds of preosts of Lytir filled the dark fortress. Havgan had recalled all of them from Y Ty Dewin for he had wanted all his people gathered to watch this battle. He had also recalled the remaining wyrce-jaga from Neuadd Gorsedd. They stood in a tight knot before the gates of Eiodel, their black robes contrasting with their pale faces. They knew that the Kymri had killed every wyrce-jaga in the four kingdoms, and they could expect no quarter.

Havgan knew, of course, that both the preosts and the wyrce-jaga would be shocked at what he meant to do today. But he cared nothing for that.

Behind Havgan twenty thousand Coranian warriors waited. Unlike the Kymri, they were not mounted. They wore metal byrnies that reached down to mid-thigh and carried shields and axes. Their faces were fierce and the light of battle was in their eyes.

“I can see Talorcan,” Sigerric said, squinting into the mass of Y Dawnus.

Havgan did not bother to look, for he had seen Talorcan the moment he had neared the Kymric army.

“He looks happy,” Penda said, envy in his voice.

“He looks free,” Sigerric replied.

“If either of you wish to join the Kymri, you are welcome to do it,” Havgan said serenely. For he had known these two men a long time. And he knew exactly what they would and would not do. Today they would fight with everything they had to ensure a Coranian victory. Tomorrow would be another matter.

His day had come. His whole life had been leading up to this moment. Everything that had ever happened to him, every move that he had ever made had brought him here, facing Arthur ap Uthyr, with Eiodel at his back and Cadair Idris before him.

Today was the day he would be made High King of Kymru. Today was the day that Drwys Idris would acknowledge him, and allow him to enter. For that was how it had been meant to be from the beginning. He knew that now.

He looked behind him, to the battlements of Eiodel. His eyes passed over his wife, Aelfwyn, and Eadwig, his Arch-Byshop, going directly to the love of his heart, Arianrod. Her tawny hair was muted in the fading light, but he knew that her amber eyes were bright, fixed on him. She raised her hand to him as a sudden gust of wind blew her gown tightly to her body, illuminating her pregnancy. She carried a son beneath her heart. His son. He would win the world for that child, and hand it to him.

Absently he fingered the prayer beads he held in his hand. In Corania they called it the
kranzlein,
the little wreath. The beads of white, red, and orange, of yellow, green, blue, and violet, flashed beneath his restless fingers. The
kranzlein
had been in his hands the night that his father had died. And the night the former Bana had been consumed by fire. The
kranzlein
had helped him to focus his prayers. He had always thought that it had been Lytir who had heard them and chosen to answer.

But now he knew better.

It was time. He could feel it singing in his bones. Now.

I
T WAS TIME,
Arthur thought. He could feel it singing in his blood. Now.

He turned to Rhiannon. “Call them,” he said quietly.

Rhiannon lifted her hands to the darkening sky. Her voice suddenly huge and powerful, she cried out. “Cerridwen and Cerrunnos, Protectors of Kymru, come to me! Hounds of Annwyn, come to me! Wild Hunt of Kymru, I call you in this the hour of our need!”

Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of horns. The sound echoed across the darkening sky. The horizon to the west glowed brighter and brighter as something approached. Then the Hunt burst into their sight, bringing a silvery light with them. The white Hounds of Annwyn with blood-red eyes bayed as they gamboled overhead, mingling with the mounted warriors of the Hunt.

Cerrunnos and Cerridwen, the Protectors of Kymri, led the Hunt. Cerrunnos rode a horse as white and shining as the moon, while Cerridwen rode a steed as dark as a night shadow. Cerrunnos’ owl eyes and antlered forehead gleamed and Cerridwen’s amythest eyes surveyed the battlefield below without pity.

Just behind them rode three figures that made the Kymric army gasp. Each figure wore a shadowy torque around his neck, a replica of the torque Arthur wore. They each carried a ghostly sword, exactly like the one Arthur held. And each one wore a flickering helmet of gold and silver, fashioned like that of an eagle, on his proud head. The Kymri below recognized these legendary figures as the former High Kings of Kymru—Idris, Macsen, and Lleu Silver-Hand.

The warriors of the host streamed out behind them, waiting silently, spread out across the darkening sky, their faces stern, their eyes bright and pitiless as diamonds, and mounted on horses of moonlight and midnight, of starlight and shadow. Silvery spears and shining swords were clasped in their hands as they confronted the Coranian army below.

The sight of the Wild Hunt heartened the Kymri. Today, against all odds, they would stand and face the enemy, and those that died that day would find a welcome from those above them.

The Hunt had come from Gwlad Yr Haf, to fight for Kymru.

T
HE CORANIANS CRIED
out when the Wild Hunt filled the sky. The yellow-robed preosts began to chant prayers to Lytir. The black-robed wyrce-jaga joined in. Sigerric, Penda, and Aesc gripped their weapons tighter, all three of them emitting a ragged gasp of shock. But Havgan had not moved. For he had known of this, he had dreamt it, and he was not afraid.

He drew the
kranzlein
through his restless fingers, never taking his eyes off the eastern horizon. Once he would have prayed to Lytir when he held the beads, but now he knew better. He would not call on Lytir, the supposed One God. For that God was powerless. He would call on the one who had brought him here. The one who had guided his life from the beginning, just as the wyrd-galdra cards had told him years ago. He had not listened then. But things had changed. He was listening now.