Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (20 page)

Ceridwen inhaled the familiar scent of the forest as they entered the perimeter of the Hwerydh, relieved to be within the safety of the trees. She dismounted from her horse and handed the reins to one of her attendants.

She looked around and saw little had changed from the time she left. Constructed of several natural clearings within the forest, Arlais expanded out from the center like spokes on a wheel.

In the center clearing was the largest cluster of buildings. The meetinghouse, where the communal meals were served, stood to the north, connected to the two drying houses, one for herbs and one for meat. On the left side of the central clearing, the library took precedence above even the meetinghouse, housing the arcanum of Arlais.

Connected by foot worn paths, the buildings allotted for the priests’ initiates stood to the east and the priestesses’ to the west. They were simple, practical, and identical. Furnished with only the amount of beds needed, they were cozy nonetheless with a hearth in the center of each. With no need for personal effects, there was little storage except for chests to contain bed linens and their daily robes.

Ceridwen watched two girls in undyed linen robes, both Humes, travel the path to the housing for proselytes‌—‌those who had come to Arlais, but had not yet taken vows.

“Lady Ceridwen.” Rhys motioned her forward. A senior priestess, Rhys ranked just below Ceridwen. “The Lady awaits.”

She followed Rhys through the meetinghouse. It was a great room with three large, oaken tables and several braziers along each side of the room. Two doors were in the back of the room on either side of a raised platform where the Lady Rhiannon and Cairbre, as well as the senior priests and priestesses, sat during meals.

In the summer months, it would be filled with flowers, but now it seemed quite bare. She expected the autumnal garlands would soon be hung, and it would bring the enchanting quality to the large room she remembered from her childhood.

Rhys exited through one of the doors in the back of the room, and Ceridwen followed. The pathway through yet another garden brought back many memories of those first days at Arlais, which seemed so long ago now. Rhys held aside the skins that covered the door of the senior priestesses’ dwelling. Ceridwen understood now why she had been so confused by the layout of Arlais when she first arrived. It was all interwoven pathways and gardens, and it would confuse any newcomer.

As though she had never left, Ceridwen once again took upon herself the formalities of a priestess and said a small blessing as she crossed the stone threshold of the door, a most sacred space. It was the boundary between the home and the outside world. Although Arlais, in its very existence, was a sacred place.

Ceridwen looked around the room. No one was there, although there were four beds. The dwelling for those of higher rank was more accommodating than the other buildings, but nonetheless modest. Since they were fewer in number, it allowed for larger beds with mattresses stuffed with heather, sweet grass, and lavender throughout the hay. Dried lavender hung from the rafters as well, allowing for a blissful sleeping quarters. As was customary, the garlands that hung on the walls from summer had been replaced with wreaths of woven willow branches from the trees in Rhiannon’s courtyard, gifted to Arlais by Connor’s father.

“I have already prepared a bed for you, Lady Ceridwen.”

“Thank you, Rhys.” Ceridwen sat her belongings next to the bed, thankful to be rid of the weight. “I shall be off to visit with the Lady Rhiannon now, but I would enjoy being able to speak with you afterward.”

“I would enjoy that as well. You have been gone for so long, Ceridwen,” She lowered her voice and came closer. “It will bring the Lady much happiness to see her favorite daughter back in the fold of Arlais.”

“Rhys, the Lady cares for all her daughters.” Ceridwen knew Rhys spoke the truth. It was no secret Rhiannon favored her over all of the other women in Arlais, a most mortal trait in the woman meant to be the voice of the Divine.

“It will still do her well. She has not been herself as of late.”

“Is she unwell?” Ceridwen asked, as she felt a stone form in the pit of her stomach.

“No, it is nothing such as that. She no longer eats with us, nor roams through the gardens. She spends most of her days in her quarters.”

“Thank you, Rhys.” Ceridwen turned on her heel and walked outside.

She could feel the first drops of rain from the storm hanging over the forest. She took a deep breath and followed the path that led to Rhiannon’s garden. The two guards stationed at the gate bowed as she passed them. She took note that one of them was Meïnir and the other Hume.

Rhiannon remained sequestered away from the others in her own private quarters surrounded by a high, stone wall. Within the wall was a garden containing several of Rhiannon’s favorite herbs, mostly aromatics such as the lavender she cared so dearly for, as well as two willow trees, one on either side of the courtyard. In the north wall, a notch was carved, allowing water from the spring at the base of the Hwerydh Brynmor, the holy mound just to the north of Arlais, to flow into a small well.

In the far northern corner of the courtyard, Rhiannon’s dwelling sat diagonally, facing the entire area. Constructed mostly of stone with a wooden door and high, thatched roof, it almost looked out of place compared to the other buildings of Arlais. The stone walls and house, however, were for Rhiannon’s protection.

Ceridwen walked slowly toward the door. She was nervous to see Rhiannon, but overjoyed to meet with her as well. In her decade-long absence, she could feel the forest’s call almost constantly, but knew she had important work to do in Cærwyn.

Cynan, Rhiannon’s bodyguard and only male servant, startled her by opening the door for her.

“Come in, child,” Rhiannon’s voice emerged from the house before Ceridwen had the time to knock.

She walked into the room to see Rhiannon sitting by the fire with Cairbre, who stood as Ceridwen entered.

“It does Arlais well to see you return, Ceridwen.” He smiled as he passed her and proceeded to leave the building.

“Cynan, you may wait outside,” Rhiannon said softly.

“Yes, my Lady.”

Rhiannon motioned to the chair across from her and Ceridwen sat, hearing the door close behind her.

After a few moments of silence, with only the crackle of the fire in the room, Rhiannon finally spoke. “It is so good that you have returned. She is pleased that you are once again in the protection of Her mantle.”

“Thank you, Mother. I am pleased as well.”

“Was your time away that unpleasant?”

“No, not at all,” Ceridwen clarified. “It is comforting to be in the forest once again, to be able to breathe the fresh air, to feel the moist ground under my bare feet.”

“And your charges?”

Ceridwen could not suppress how distraught she felt. “I have grown quite close to them.”

“Yes, I understand you and the younger, Connor, I believe, are close.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“That is good.” The corners of her lips managed a smile. “When I sent you from Arlais, I was worried for you. That you would not find any place in the world.”

“My place is here at Arlais.”

“It pleases me greatly to hear that.” Rhiannon smiled once again, and Ceridwen felt at ease.

There was a long silence in the room. Ceridwen knew what she wished to say, but she could not bring the words to her mouth. As she felt herself tremble slightly, she inhaled deeply.

Finally able to muster the courage to speak, Ceridwen looked into Rhiannon’s eyes. “Mother, in all the years I have been here, I have been Her faithful servant‌—‌and your unquestioning attendant. I raised no objections when you sent me from the forest, despite my ignorance to why I was being punished. Never, not once, in the many years that I resided here in Arlais have I asked anything of you. Now, I must ask something of you‌—”

“You feel I sent you away as some form of punishment?” Rhiannon looked distressed. “My dear child, I sent you away because you knew nothing of the world other than Arlais. You came to us at such a young age, you had no knowledge of Humes, or anything else for that matter. I too went on such a journey, many years ago.”

Ceridwen was dumbfounded. Ever since she had been sent away, she assumed it was some form of punishment for an unknown crime. Never had she suspected it was such a gift, nor had she expected Rhiannon to have left Arlais as well. Ceridwen knew Rhiannon had a predecessor, Blodeuyn, who was the founder of Arlais, but Rhiannon was an elder long before that and took Boldeuyn’s place at some early point in Arlais’ history. Ceridwen was not clear on the details.

“But I know what it is you wish of me,” Rhiannon spoke.

Ceridwen should have known better. Of course Rhiannon would have known about Connor’s condition.

“I cannot cure him, Ceridwen,” she said.

“Mother, I know that you can. You are the most prolific healer that exists, and I can think of no other to go to for such a task.”

“I may have the ability to cure him…‌but I cannot.”

“Why?” Ceridwen could not control the angered sadness that washed over her. “When I have never asked anything of you‌—‌why can you not do this one task when it is easily within your power?”

“Can you not sense it when you merely look at me?”

Now that Rhiannon had brought it to her attention, Ceridwen did notice something different about her. She had never looked like the other Meïnir, but now, something was significantly different. Rhiannon looked thinner, as though she could blow away in the wind.

“Rhys mentioned that you have not been leaving your room,” Ceridwen said, dreading her response.

Rhiannon stood and walked over to the window to look out at her gardens. She barely managed to raise her strained voice to a whisper. “I grow so weary, child,”

“Mother‌—”

“I grow weary, and I grow lonely.” Rhiannon closed her eyes.

“Lonely?”

“I fear I may be the last of my kind, and it frightens me.”

“The…‌last?”

“You are an intelligent girl, Ceridwen. Have you not in all your long years with me realized what I am?”

Ceridwen was bemused that Rhiannon referred to her as a girl, as it had been a long time since anyone called her such. It was true that Ceridwen often wondered about Rhiannon when she first met her. But it had been such a long time since, she simply no longer noticed her differences from the others, save the aura of power that surrounded her.

Rhiannon faced her. Delicate wisps of her raven hair fluttered about in the breeze, and Ceridwen noticed, for the first time since entering the room, the gray skin of her brow line spreading downward to her eyes.

“I am one who belongs to the ancient race, the Vættir.”

Ceridwen gasped.

Originating to the north, in Cythroghl, the Vættir were the immortal beings and creatures of pure magick, which three of the great races of Dweömer sprung from: the Duamor, the Féinmhuinín and the Meïnir. Once transcribed and housed in the great library of Glyndwr, the truths of the Vættir have passed into legend. Few were left who remembered their history was once fact, in times where ages were unnamed and before even the very concept of time was fabricated, let alone important.

Ceridwen knew of them only from the arcanum of Arlais. Though she herself thought the legends were simply stories, she had no doubt in her mind that Rhiannon spoke truthfully.

From what she could recall, the Vættir race was composed of three distinct groups, or families, but there was little to no apparent association between the three.

The Álfar, ancestors of the Féinmhuinín and the Meïnir, were commonly associated with trees, said to have grown from a large oak in the east and migrated to Cythroghl on the wind currents like pollen. They were small in stature, ranging from roughly one span high, the size from the tip of a man’s thumb to his smallest finger, to just under a meter.

In the arcanum, Ceridwen remembered debate on whether the Álfar was one family or comprised many. They were so varied and so unique, as Rhiannon was quite tall, it was possible that they were not a race at all and simply beings in and of themselves.

What they were in actuality had been moot, for they regarded one another as equals and kinfolk with no apparent thought of a hierarchical way of politics or life. That was not to say they were purely benevolent beings. They had emotions just as other creatures. What set them apart from others was the Álfar possessed the capabilities to affect the world around them with their emotions.

In the common tongue, the Álfar comprised many variations of the fair folk, faeries. As such, through folklore they were well-remembered, as even Hume legend spoke of them. However, what was remembered was far from the truth, Ceridwen surmised.

She knew even less of the Dvergar, ancestors to the Duamor. She did understand them to have lived much as their contemporaries. Master craftsmen and stone artisans, they created the great stone circles of the north and mined the mountain halls of old. But they were physically much smaller than the Duamor, exploring the small tunnel structures which formed the mountain halls of northern Cythroghl, almost all of which were much too small for a Duamor man.