Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (27 page)

Ceridwen woke before dawn, as her duties commanded. As the attendant to the Lady Rhiannon, her day was the first to start. She noticed a chill in the air, and she was glad to be in the shelter of the forest. The Brynlands would not be so guarded from the winds which swept down from the north. She quietly dressed in her heavier, woolen robes which kept her quite warm.

Ceridwen immediately recalled her training and walked across the floor in complete silence while the other priestesses still slept. It was this time of the morning, no matter how cold it may be, which she enjoyed the most; this time when it was quiet, before everyone was awake and going about the daily chores.

“Good morning, Lady Ceridwen.”

“A good morning to you as well, Rhys.”

Ceridwen knew if Rhys had woken, it meant she would soon hear the songs of the morning prayers from the proselytes.

She made her way to Rhiannon’s garden. Cynan had woken as well and stood place outside the Lady’s door. He could not enter until Rhiannon beckoned. Ceridwen nodded to him pleasantly before she swiftly walked to the fountain in the north wall. She picked up the simple, ceramic jug which sat next to its base and held it beneath the flowing cool water. As the jug filled, she thought of her sister, sitting near the spring whose water fed this well.

Once filled, she carried the jug to Rhiannon’s door. Cynan stepped aside and bowed his head to her.

Ceridwen opened the door slowly. “Mother, have you woken? It is nearly dawn.”

“Yes, child, I woke some time ago.”

Ceridwen was startled by the direction of her voice. It did not come from the bed, where she expected, but from the chair in front of the fire.

“I have brought the water.” Ceridwen sat the jug on the table and closed the door.

More blankets had been placed on the bed for Rhiannon, either by Cynan or Cairbre. Several more tied bunches of herbs hung from the rafters above the table in the center of the room. In the small brazier, which sat upon the table, the remnants of coals were dying in the cool morning air. But smoke still rose from the sweet grass which had been placed upon them.

“You have forgotten none of your duties, I see.” Rhiannon left the chair and stood before Ceridwen as she filled a basin with water.

“It would seem so, Mother.” She placed a cloth in the bowl, and then said a blessing over the water before she disrobed Rhiannon.

Rhiannon sat upon the stool and sighed as Ceridwen ran the cool cloth over her back.

“It is too cold?” Ceridwen asked.

“Not at all.” Rhiannon stood suddenly.

“Mother?”

“Come.” Rhiannon pulled her robe around herself and walked out the door, motioning her to follow.

Ceridwen obeyed.

“Help me kneel.”

Ceridwen held Rhiannon’s arm as the two women lowered to the ground. She then watched in amazement as Rhiannon submerged her head beneath the falling water. This was most unlike her. It was protocol for Ceridwen to wash the Lady before dressing her.

“I think I had forgotten the feeling of running water,” Rhiannon said as she slicked her hair back from her face.

Ceridwen was unsure of how to reply and took several moments before she spoke. “How long has it been since you have left your dwelling, Mother?”

“It has been some time.” Rhiannon heightened her voice and gave her a faint smile in a failed attempt to allay Ceridwen’s concerns.

“But why have you not?”

“I believe I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Ceridwen was shocked by the statement. It never occurred to her Rhiannon should be frightened of any matter.

“I feel the call so immensely.” Rhiannon stood and took Ceridwen’s hands in her own. “Come, we shall speak inside.”

Ceridwen followed Rhiannon back into the warmth of the dwelling. Rhiannon sat on the bed and leaned back, against the pillows. Ceridwen took the stool from the table and sat it beside the bed before taking a seat.

“I am so fearful, child.” Rhiannon sighed, closing her eyes.

“What ails you?”

“You asked why I had not left my house,” Rhiannon explained with a strained look upon her face. “I hear the whispers, they beckon so strongly. Even now, I hear them. I feared going outside for so long. I felt that I would be carried away in the wind, and I was not ready.”

“But…‌you are no longer afraid?”

“No.”

“That is good.” Ceridwen struggled to smile, but her heart sank hearing the tone of Rhiannon’s voice display the high priestess’ meaning with more clarity than her words.

Rhiannon opened her eyes and Ceridwen could see a warmth in them as she spoke. “I no longer fear the future. She has spoken to me. I know now what lies ahead.”

“And what‌—”

“You cannot ask me, child. No answer I would give could make you understand, nor would it give you solace.” Rhiannon held Ceridwen’s hand in an effort to comfort her.

Ceridwen felt the dryness of her mouth, and she was unable to speak.

“Do not look so.” Rhiannon brushed a soft wisp of hair away from Ceridwen’s temple.

“So your mind is made up?”

“You know as well as I, the fate which She provides us cannot be changed, whether we truly understand it or not. It is with kindness I look upon the gift She has given me through my visions. I am to leave these lands, child. Thus, I stay here and contemplate what shall occur.”

Ceridwen felt the rawness of her own emotions. She wanted to know what would occur, but Rhiannon made it clear she would not answer her. She felt so many emotions at once: sadness, frustration, helplessness. What was to become of Arlais?

“We were unable to speak of this matter earlier.” Ceridwen regained some of her composure, spreading her hands across her dress, wiping away some of the folds. “In Connor’s poisoning, the King of Annwyd has found his excuse to convince Alric to war against the Féinmhuinín. I fear Arlais is Braith’s true target, however. Were we not to exist, our people would have no place to turn.”

“I know of what you speak. I have seen it. I also believe you to be correct in your assertions. Annwyd cares naught for the Féinmhuinín, their sights are set upon Arlais.”

“But, what are we to do? You cannot simply leave these lands, and Arlais, for the wolves to ravage.”

Rhiannon did not answer. “You should attend your sister.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ceridwen had not the strength, nor the right, to argue Rhiannon’s command.

“Take heart, child,” Rhiannon called after her. “Before the end of my journey, all shall be made clear.”

Ceridwen could not muster a response and simply left Rhiannon’s house. As she walked across the garden, her eyes met with the High Priest, Cairbre.

“Lady Ceridwen, are you well?” He looked on her with surprising concern.

“Yes, my Lord.” Ceridwen broke from his gaze and continued from Rhiannon’s garden.

As she walked the path toward the Brynmor, she could not shake the emotions from her mind, despite her effort to do so. She felt her world crumbling around her, and could do nothing. There was no one she could turn to here. Arlais offered no comfort with the knowledge Rhiannon would leave it.

Ceridwen felt her heart skip a beat when she approached the Brynmor. Eithne was not at the foot of it, nor anywhere in sight. Then, she looked up and saw her sister standing on the very top of the Brynmor.

“But I thought…”

She proceeded to climb the large mound. She recalled it being far easier a task when she was younger. The rains had made the grass slippery, which caused her to lean forward, using both her hands and her feet to reach the top. The smell of wet grass filled her nostrils as her fingers clung to the ground.

“Eithne?” she called.

Eithne’s back was turned, and she gave no response.

Ceridwen walked to her sister’s side and followed her gaze to the landscape.

The Brynmor was near the northern edge of the forest and from atop it, she could see the Brynlands beyond. The Brynlands were still natural, still unknown to the claws of Annwydians. How long would the land remain as such with open war all but upon them?

She saw fire sweeping across the hills. Trees turned to kindling, to ash. She turned away, unable to bear the vision before her.

To the west, there were many villages which followed Arlais, but she was unable to see them through the trees. However, it was comforting to know they were not alone. There were many who still supported the Old Ways. Many who would rise up to protect Arlais from the ravages of war. But she feared a handful of villages would be of little use against the war machine of Annwyd.

“They speak.” Eithne’s hollow voice startled Ceridwen.

“Eithne‌—?”

“Can you not hear them?” she said. “They whisper.”

Ceridwen walked in front of her sister and looked into her eyes. Could she hear the calls of the Álfar that plagued Rhiannon?

“Eithne, do you know me?”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “They speak.”

Ceridwen heard nothing.

* * *

Rhiannon still sat in her bed when Cynan opened the door for Cairbre. She wished she could have spoken more with Ceridwen, but she knew it would have been unwise.

“My Lady.” Cairbre bowed his head slightly.

“Please, Cairbre, sit here.” Rhiannon motioned to the stool next to the bed. “We have much to discuss.”

Cairbre took his seat and immediately noticed the changes which had occurred to Rhiannon’s face. She looked so thin. It would not be long now then.

“You hear them even now, do you not?” Cairbre asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you at peace with your decision?”

“I am.” Rhiannon closed her eyes and let out a long breath through pursed lips.

“Arlais has not known a time when you were not the Lady, save the early days of the High Priestess Blodueyn. You are as much a part of Arlais as the Goddess Herself.”

“No,” Rhiannon was quick to clarify his statement. “I am merely Her servant and no more.”

“As am I,” Cairbre agreed.

When he was young, and first came to visit Arlais, it was with his parents. They had taken him to the Ddirym Festival. It was then that the Lady Rhiannon had chosen him to come to Arlais. He was completely enamored with the idea of becoming a bard, at which he soon excelled. Never had he imagined being the High Priest, and yet, here he sat, the second most powerful Arlaïn voice next to Rhiannon.

“Of what we spoke before‌—”

“My decision has remained unchanged.”

“And there is no other?”

“Who would you suggest?” Rhiannon looked at him, and Cairbre could sense she was mildly insulted.

“Are you certain Ceridwen will even agree?”

“Do you remember when we found her?”

“Yes, one of my first duties as High Priest was to travel with you to Amdiffynei. She was on the brink, she already showed signs of being an Atynedig, but you were able to save her.”

“And you never questioned how I was capable of performing such a feat?” Rhiannon asked. “A feat which is said to be impossible?”

“In truth?”

“Of course.”

“I simply attributed it to your greatness as the Lady.”

His flattery amused, and touched, by her. It suddenly occurred to her he was the last left of his generation of Meïnir. He possessed more Álfar blood within his veins than any she had ever met, but he remained unaware of his lineage, which was one of the reasons she called upon him this day. If Arlais was to survive, he must find his inner strength.

Cairbre was most gifted, but humble. He would soon have to learn to trust in himself though, and not rely on her reassurance. He had been a boy when he took his vows, but he was quite old now, several hundred years the elder of the rest of the Meïnir. Attributed, of course, to his Álfar blood. As such, Rhiannon had a much longer time to befriend him. She now looked upon him as one of her only confidants, save the one she looked upon as a daughter, Ceridwen.

“To save her that day,” Rhiannon continued, “I sacrificed a part of myself to tie her to this world.”

“I do not understand.”

“I acted out of pure instinct,” Rhiannon explained. “I sacrificed a part of myself to save her because I could see something in her. To this day, I cannot explain why I chose to do so.”

“But…‌to sacrifice part of one’s self. Would that not have turned you into one of the Atynedig?”

Rhiannon was quiet for a moment as she chose her words. “Were I a Meïnir, my actions would have.”

It would seem his suspicions had been correct. From the first moment he met Rhiannon, he felt something‌—‌a connection. He could not explain it at the time, but after all these centuries, he assumed she was not like the others. Although, never would he have thought to broach the subject.

“Then you are…‌you are one of the Álfar. I thought as much.”

“Your instincts are correct. I am the last.”

“I knew you to be different from the others, but I was unsure why. Does anyone else know?”

“The more astute have guessed, I am sure, but the only other whom I have told is Ceridwen.”

It was as though Cairbre felt an immediate change in his body as he took in the information. He now knew why he felt such a connection to her upon meeting.

“I have‌—”