Cry of Sorrow (48 page)

“No. For what must be.”

Llundydd, Disglair Wythnos—afternoon

E
ight days out of Haford Bryn, in the city of Maen, Gwen’s nerve broke.

She knew with every fiber in her shaking body that she could not do this thing they asked of her. She could not go into Ogaf Greu, to the caves where she had stayed with her father’s people. She could not go back. She could not go beneath the earth. Not again.

And Ogaf Greu is where they said she must go. It was in the song, they said:

Down the cavern’s twilight road

In the [and of wine
.

The maze of blood awaits
.

   In Ogaf Greu—the caves of blood—had long been rumored a path, Cyfnos Heol, the Twilight Road. It was said that those who took that path beneath the earth never returned to the light of day.

It did not matter how often she reminded herself that there had been no one within memory who had found that path. No one she had ever known had disappeared in Ogaf Greu during those days she and her father’s Cerddorian had lived there. It did not matter that the path itself was unknown, only rumor of it was whispered. Because she knew it did exist. And she knew that she was expected to find and take that road. And she knew that she could not do it.

She could not. For, if she did, she would never return.

The others could say what they liked—that the Song of the Caers spoke of the White One who took the Twilight Road. And they could point out that her name, Gwenhwyfar, meant White One. They could say that she had been named by the Wild Hunt as the one to take Cyfnos Heol. They could say that none but she could retrieve Modron’s Cauldron from the depths of the earth and take it up into the bright world.

They could say all these things, but it made no difference. Because she could not do it. She could not.

“D
ONE, THEN,”
G
WYDION
said to the man in the stall. “Two pots to you for the bread, the cheese, and the ale. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“And with you, boyo,” the older man said with a grin. “Always a pleasure to help a fellow countryman.”

At Gwydion’s signal, Arthur unloaded the pots from his pack and handed them over to the man.

“Have much trouble with the local soldiers?” Gwydion asked casually.

“Oh, there are checkpoints whichever way you take to leave town. On market days, like today, they make everyone go through the same checkpoint and they are extra careful. Though what they think they will find here in Maen, I don’t know,” the man replied. “It’s usually pretty quiet here.”

“Is it?” Gwydion asked, his brows raised. “That’s not what I have heard.”

“Well,” the merchant said with a smile, “by Kymric standards it is pretty quiet. Of course, sometimes things do happen to the Coranians here.”

“A shame, that,” Gwydion said with a grin.

“So it is,” the man agreed, handing Arthur the supplies. “Take good care, though, at the checkpoint today. Seems one of those wyrce-jaga is here. And things seem to get out of hand when they are around.”

“Thanks for the information, friend,” Gwydion said, his face serious. “And we will be careful. Come, boyo, let’s be on our way.”

Arthur, his hands full, hurried to catch up to Gwydion. “What’s so awful about a wyrce-jaga being here?” he asked, taking in Gwydion’s frown.

“Don’t ask foolish questions, boy,” Gwydion replied in a distracted tone as they neared the center of the marketplace. A wyrce-jaga here in Maen! That was all they needed, he thought. Things were going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

“At last!” Rhiannon called out in a shrewish tone as she saw them coming. She folded her arms and scowled. “I thought you’d never be done fussing over your trading. Every place we stop you absolutely have to take forever. Once a merchant, always a merchant. I remember my da used to say that you were so cheap—”

“It’s important to get the best deal possible, I always say,” Gwydion replied absently, his thoughts still focused on the wyrce-jaga. He laid a hand on Rhiannon’s arm and said, in a low tone, “There is a wyrce-jaga here, at the checkpoint.”

Rhiannon sucked in her breath sharply.

“But what makes you think we couldn’t pass right through?” Arthur asked again. “We look all right. We act right. Just a merchant family down on their luck. This wyrce-jaga has no way of telling that we are anything other than that.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Rhiannon said darkly.

“I think you two are losing your nerve, letting a thing like this bother you,” Arthur went on. “Besides, we don’t even have the Treasures with us. That’s why we left them with the wagon in the north wood.”

Gwydion and Rhiannon exchanged a look. “What, then, you foolish boy, do you think a wyrce-jaga is doing here?” Gwydion asked in a honeyed tone. “Picking wildflowers, perhaps?”

Arthur scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but Gwydion hushed him with a sharp gesture. Ignoring Arthur, Gwydion spoke to Rhiannon. “What do you think?”

“No choice, really,” she said. “We must go on.”

“So we must. Where’s Gwen?”

“Where’s Gwen?” Rhiannon repeated blankly. “Didn’t you see her?”

“No.”

“She said she was going to catch up to you,” Rhiannon said, her face stricken.

“We never saw her,” Gwydion said, frowning. “Now where—”

“She’s run away,” Arthur said abruptly. “Gone back to her father.”

“How can you know that?” Gwydion demanded.

“Oh, for the gods’ sakes,” Arthur said sharply, “didn’t you understand how frightened she’s been of going to the caves? Didn’t you two know that?”

“She never said—” Rhiannon began.

“She didn’t have to,” Arthur interrupted. “At least, not to me.”

“Rhiannon,” Gwydion said quietly, “find her. Now.”

Rhiannon immediately lowered her eyes to the ground. With Arthur and Gwydion surreptitiously holding her arms to keep her on her feet, her spirit rose above Maen and she began to Wind-Ride.

After a moment she stiffened in their arms and shuddered. She moaned and her knees buckled. She would have fallen if Gwydion and Arthur had not been holding her.

“You know better than to come back so fast and hard,” Gwydion said calmly. “You’ll have a headache for that. What did you see that frightened you so?”

She raised her head and her green eyes, dilated with fear, stared at Gwydion. “Gwen,” Rhiannon whispered. “At the gate. They were taking her to the wyrce-jaga.”

“She has a pretty good chance of talking herself out of any problem,” Arthur said. “Her description has not been published, not like you two.”

“Arthur’s right,” Gwydion said, his tone soothing. “Why are you—”

“Because the wyrce-jaga has a testing device,” she said fiercely.

“He will know. He is testing them all. Gwen will show as a Druid, and then she is lost. And so are we.”

Gwydion dropped Rhiannon’s arm and grabbed the reins of his horse, his hand digging into his saddlebag. He found the item he was looking for and deftly tucked it up his sleeve.

“What was that?” Arthur asked. “What are you doing?”

“Saving Gwen,” Gwydion answered simply. “Let’s go.”

G
WEN HAD LEFT
R
HIANNON
in the center of the marketplace, telling her mother that she wished to follow Gwydion and Arthur.

“They can gather supplies without your help,” Rhiannon had said sharply.

“I just want to look at the stalls,” Gwen had said impatiently. “Just for a few moments. Then I’ll find them and come right back.” She had walked away quickly, not waiting for her mother’s reply.

This was her chance, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her. She would leave Maen today, and make her way back to her father in Haford Bryn. Let them find another to take the Twilight Road in the Cave of Blood.

She lost herself in the market-day crowd, surreptitiously making her way to the checkpoint. She had taken a few coins from Gwydion’s hoard that morning. It should be enough to pay the toll to the soldiers and get her out of town.

As she neared the gate, she saw there was a small crowd of people waiting to get out. Why was it taking so long, she wondered? As she joined them she craned her neck to see past them to what was happening at the gate.

By the time she saw what was happening, it was far too late to run. For there was a wyrce-jaga at the gate holding a testing device in his thin, bony fingers. To Gwen he seemed like a night crow with his obsidian eyes and clawed hands. Soldiers who held their weapons at the ready surrounded the people who were waiting.

An old woman, her scanty hair bound with a black kerchief, stepped forward and proudly held out her hand.

The silvery material of the box in the wyrce-jaga’s hands glittered in the sun. The top of the box was decorated with jewels. In the very center was a group of onyx stones, for Annwyn, the Lord of Chaos, arranged in a figure-eight pattern around the bloodstone for Aertan, Weaver of Fate. Grouped around the onyx were four large stones: pearl for Nantsovelta of the Waters, opal for Mabon of the Sun, sapphire for Taran of the Winds, emerald for Modron the Mother. More stones rested in each corner. One held an amethyst for Cerridwen and another a topaz for Cerrunnos, the Protectors. Diamond for Sirona of the Stars, alongside garnet for Grannos the Healer. A ruby, for Camulos and Agrona, the Warrior twins, nestled in the last corner.

“Put your finger in the hole here,” the wyrce-jaga said, pointing to the opening of the device.

“I know how to do it,” the woman said with a sniff. “I was tested when I was a little girl. Wasn’t Y Dawnus then, and I’m not now. But I wish I was. I’d know what to do with the likes of you.”

“Just do it, old woman,” the wyrce-jaga said, coldly. “And be grateful that you are not any of those things—if, indeed, that is the truth. For if you were, you would be dead.”

“Brave words from such a little boy,” the woman sneered as she inserted her finger into the opening. The amethyst and the topaz began to glow. As the woman removed her finger, the glow faded.

“So, you are Kymri, nothing more,” the wyrce-jaga said.

“And nothing less,” the woman said proudly.

The crowd was grinning now as the wyrce-jaga waved the woman on her way.

“Next,” the wyrce-jaga called.

She checked around, meaning to return to the marketplace and find another way out of the city. If she should be tested, the emerald on the device would glow and they would know her for a Druid. She would be collared with one of the hateful enaid-dals and taken to the isle of Afalon. And, once there, she would die.

But her movement to leave had been too abrupt, and the guards were too quick.

“What have we here?” one of the guards asked. “Not anxious to be tested? Now, I wonder why.”

“Leave me be,” Gwen said in a breathless tone. “I—I forgot something. I must go back for it.”

“Forgot something!” the guard laughed. “Forgot that you must not be tested? Here, wyrce-jaga,” the guard called out, “this one needs to be next!” Two guards grabbed her by the arms and fairly dragged her past the waiting townsfolk, depositing her in front of the wyrce-jaga.

Just at that moment, Gwen saw Gwydion, Rhiannon, and Arthur making their way through the crowd, leading their horses. As they neared, people let them pass, melting away before them.

“Gwenhwyfar,” Gwydion said sternly as he came to stand before her. “I told you to wait for us.”

“I—I’m sorry, Da,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought to go on ahead and wait for you all outside. Then I changed my mind, but they wouldn’t let me go.”

“I should hope you changed your mind,” Rhiannon said sharply. “We’ve been all over looking for you.”

“Females,” Gwydion said to the wyrce-jaga in a confidential tone, “always have a mind of their own. Always.”

“Just who do you think you are?” the wyrce-jaga demanded.

“Ah, a merchant, good sir. And who are you?”

“I am Hild of Winburnan,” the wyrce-jaga said. “And you are impertinent.”

“No, just a traveling merchant. But at one time, I was one of the richest men in all of Kymru.”

“Were you,” the wyrce-jaga said flatly.

“Indeed, I was. But the war,” Gwydion shook his head, “changed things.”

“Don’t listen to him, sir,” Rhiannon called out as she came to stand by Gwydion, leaving Arthur to hold their horses. “He was never the richest man—never even close. Why, many was the time I had to take in a little sewing to make ends meet the best I could.”

“And who are you?”

“I have the misfortune to be his wife,” Rhiannon said. “And a very hard lot that is, too.”

“Thank you, my dear, for your support,” Gwydion said, baring his teeth in a smile. “But I believe that I can dispense with it.”

“My father always said—”

“Yes, I know what your father always said about me. How could I forget, the way you remind me every day?”

“He said you would never amount to anything. He said—”

“Enough, woman!” Gwydion exclaimed.

The wyrce-jaga watched them both, his head swiveling from one to the other, Gwen momentarily forgotten. Gwydion walked directly up to the wyrce-jaga, flailing his arms.

“I tell you, wyrce-jaga, this woman is too much! Here I am, just trying to make a decent living, but does she ever shut up? No! Day in, day out—” As he gestured, somewhat dramatically, his hand hit the wyrce-jaga’s arm and the testing device went flying, landing in the dust. With a gasp, Gwydion leapt to it, picking it up and trying to dust it off with his sleeve. “Good sir, my apologies,” he stuttered.

The wyrce-jaga, his face red with rage, snatched the device back. “You fool!” he shouted. “If you have harmed it—”

“Oh, no one can harm one of those. They are indestructible. Didn’t you know that?” Gwydion asked in surprise.

“You—”

“I am ready to take your test,” Gwydion said bowing. “And then I can assure you we will be on our way.”

“Good,” the wyrce-jaga said briefly. “You are lucky that I don’t have one of those soldiers run you through.”