Night Bird's Reign (8 page)

The man who flickered into sight by Gwydion’s fire wore a robe of black, trimmed with bands of red. Fiery opals fastened his cloak of raven feather to his shoulders. He had dark hair and eyes of piercing gray—almost silver in the glowing light. And Gwydion knew him. It was Bran, Lleu’s Dreamer; the man who had found Lleu’s body on the shores of Llyn Mwyngil; the man who had engineered the downfall of Lleu’s faithless wife and her lover, sentencing them to a kind of half-death that still had the power to make Gwydion shiver. This was the man who had hidden away Caladfwlch, the High King’s sword, who had closed the High King’s mountain hall so that none could enter there.

Gwydion could tell from the lack of reaction that the people around him did not see the glowing figures. Until his eyes cut to Amatheon and he saw his brother blink in astonishment. He saw, too, that his Uncle Cynan, also Dewin, was staring at these figures with wide eyes.

“Remember.”
Bran’s Mind-Speech hammered into Gwydion’s brain.
“Remember those who jumped the fires this night.
”

“Why are you here?”
Gwydion silently asked.

But Bran did not answer him. Or, perhaps, he did give an answer, after a fashion.
“Remember the four who leapt the flames. They shall do their part, when the time comes, to ensure the High King’s safety.
”

With that the four figures around the fires of earth, water, air, and fire flickered and disappeared. Gwydion’s eyes traveled to Greid, to Susanna, to Duach and to Cai, for these were the four who had jumped the fires.

He would remember.

Calan Llachar—dawn

G
WYDION FELT A
cool breeze on his face and wondered where he was. He slowly realized that his arms were stretched across the shoulders of two men, one on either side of him. Both men carried torches and the flickering light hurt Gwydion’s eyes. Looking down, he focused on the road beneath his feet, noting with surprise that he appeared to be walking. This didn’t strike him as a good idea, and he came to a sudden stop.

“Keep going, brother. Not too far now,” Uthyr’s voice said.

“We’ll never get him back without having him throw up in the middle of the road. I just know it,” Amatheon said. They tugged at him and he continued walking.

Gwydion was surprised to discover that he was talking rapidly. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “And then I saw Cerridwen and Cerrunnos. I gave them the eagle. But that was wrong because the eagle trusted me. But it was wrong not to give him up. So what do you do? What do you do when all the choices are wrong?”

When they made him no answer, he stopped again, digging in his heels. He grabbed Uthyr’s tunic by the shoulders and drew his brother to him until their faces were inches apart. “What do you do?” Gwydion shouted into Uthyr’s face. “What do you do when there is no right thing to do?”

A pained expression crossed Uthyr’s face as Gwydion’s breath hit him full force. “Take it easy, Gwydion. You’re drunk. Just come with us, all right?”

“Drunk?” Gwydion replied in astonishment. “I’m drunk? Impossible. I never get drunk. You know,” he continued in a confidential manner, “I tried to get drunk all afternoon, but it never happened. Did you know that?”

“I heard,” Uthyr said shortly. “Come along, little brother.”

“Where are you taking me? And what do I do when I get there? I’ve got to know the right thing to do. Then I’ve got to do it. Got to do the right thing. If you do that, then everything will be all right. But you always have to do the right thing. Can’t let anything stop you from that, you know.”

“Yes, Gwydion, I know, I know,” Amatheon said soothingly. “Everything will be all right. Just come with us.”

“Someone’s coming,” Uthyr said, “from Caer Gwynt.” They heard the sound of running feet rushing down the road toward them. Duach burst into the torchlight. As he saw Uthyr, he grinned. “The Queen,” he panted. “The Queen’s in labor. She’s on her way now to the grove. She’s right behind me.”

Uthyr stood stock-still, staring at Duach, a panicked look on his face. “In labor. The baby? Now?”

“Ygraine is right behind me. She’s asking for you. And for Amatheon and Cynan, too. She needs the Dewin, she said.”

Uthyr dropped Gwydion’s arm and took off up the road at a dead run. And stopped almost immediately to avoid running into his wife.

“I told you she was right behind me,” Duach said plaintively.

Uthyr slowly reached out to his wife. Ygraine stood still, Uthyr’s tense expression at odds with the calm, detached look on her face. Even though her body was swollen and misshapen, she was still beautiful. She was fair-skinned, with rich auburn tresses that cascaded down her back, woven lightly now with a red ribbon. She wore a loose, white robe, fastened in the front with pearls. Her look was haughty, as always. Her eyes were dark, glittering coolly in the torchlight. Midnight eyes, Gwydion had always thought. She seemed to feel no pain at the moment. She probably doesn’t allow pain, thought Gwydion. It would be undignified, almost human.

Her dark eyes rested on Uthyr for a moment as he took her hand. She smiled at him—the only time she ever smiled was when she looked upon her husband. He touched her smooth face with a gentle hand. “All is well with you,
cariad?”
he asked.

“It is well with me,” she answered, her voice cool. She glanced at Gwydion, supported now by Amatheon and Duach. “How interesting to see you, Gwydion. Perhaps you would care to go back to Caer Gwynt and sleep it off.” It was not a question.

Suddenly, shockingly, Gwydion was stone cold sober, as if a pail of freezing water had been dashed in his face. Ygraine always seemed to have that effect on him. Slowly he drew himself up, standing unaided. “Thank you, Ygraine. But I think I’ll stay awake for this.”

“As you wish,” she said, indifferently. She turned to Amatheon. “Brother of my husband,” she said formally. “You will attend?”

“Of course. I would be honored.” He left Gwydion’s side and moved toward Ygraine, making her a deep bow as he took her arm.

She nodded toward Gwydion. “Much as I would love to stay and chat with you, Dreamer, I must go to the grove. I hope you can make it back to the fortress unaided.”

Gwydion was not deceived. She hoped that he would break his neck, that’s what she hoped. She calmly moved on down the road, supported on one side by Uthyr and on the other by Amatheon. Gwydion waited until she was out of earshot. “That woman hates me,” Gwydion said absently. “They both do.”

“Both?” Duach asked.

“Ygraine and her sister, Queen Olwen of Ederynion.”

“But why?”

“Oh, just a little misunderstanding I had with Olwen, once. A long time ago.”

“A little misunderstanding?” Duach asked curiously. “About what?”

“Um, it was regarding a personal matter.”

Duach’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t! With Queen Olwen?”

“She wasn’t Queen, then.”

“And you didn’t freeze your—”

“Never mind,” Gwydion said hastily.

Duach grinned. “My lips are sealed. But you are a brave man, Gwydion ap Awst. I’ll say that for you. I would not have thought anyone to ever trifle with Queen Olwen.”

“I didn’t trifle with her,” Gwydion said irritably. “How was I to know that she would expect more than I had to give?”

“Ah, Gwydion, they all do. Didn’t you know that? Now, let’s go back to Caer Gwynt and put you to bed.”

“No, I must go to the grove. For the birth.”

“Gwydion, you’re drunk.”

“Not any more,” he said absently, looking down the road that headed back to the grove. As the two men started back down the road, Gwydion grabbed Duach’s arm. “Do you hear that?”

Duach cocked his head, listening intently. “I don’t hear anything. Just the wind.”

Just the wind, Duach had said. But Gwydion had heard more than that. It seemed to him that far away, rushing on the wind, he heard the sound of horns—the horns of the Hunt, calling across the sky.

Calan Llachar—early afternoon

G
WYDION STOOD BY
the Calan Llachar tree waiting for the runners to come into sight. The marketplace was filled with people talking, eating, drinking, and singing. Occasionally some craned their necks to the west road, looking for signs of the men competing in the race to the tree. The bright colors of the fine, spring morning stung Gwydion’s eyes, and it was hard to separate the pounding in his head from the noise of the crowd that surrounded him.

Several hours had passed since Ygraine’s labor had begun. Gwydion had followed Uthyr and the rest to the grove, but Ygraine had sent everyone away except for Uthyr, Amatheon, and Cynan. Gwydion had tried to remind Ygraine that since he was the Dreamer, and as Dreamer’s had all the gifts he was as fine a doctor as Cynan and Amatheon. But Ygraine was adamant that Gwydion not be present. Uthyr had quickly asked Gwydion to take his place and judge the race to the tree.

Uthyr had meant that as a kindness, but Gwydion could have strangled him. The day was far, far too bright. Gwydion gingerly turned his aching head to Susanna and Griffi, who were standing next to him.

“It’s taking a ridiculously long time. Does it always take this long?”

“The runners have practically just left.” Susanna answered, surprised.

“I don’t mean that. I mean the birth.”

“Oh. It’s not taking long. First babies can take up to eighteen hours or more.”

“I don’t think I could stand waiting that long,” muttered Gwydion.

“Just think how Ygraine feels,” Griffi grinned.

Across the square a group of young men and women had started an impromptu dance. People were buying food and drink from the gaily colored booths that lined the square. Some booths sold drink such as ale and cider; others sold skewers of highly seasoned meats, along with cheeses and freshly baked bread. This time of year there was no fresh fruit to be had, but people polished off their meals with nuts and pastries.

Watching all those people eat made Gwydion feel a little queasy. Susanna noticed it, of course. “Not feeling too well are we?” she asked loudly.

Gwydion winced. “There’s no need to shout.”

Susanna grinned. “Perhaps I should fetch Arday. She might want to do something about the hangover of yours.”

“If you so much as think about it, Susanna, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she challenged.

“Now, now, children. No fighting.” Griffi said in a paternal tone. “I think I hear the runners now.”

A shout went up from the crowd. People rushed to clear a space for the runners. Twelve men sprinted across the square, legs pumping, sweat pouring down their faces.

Griffi and Susanna took up their positions next to the tree, a purple ribbon stretched between them, held tightly in their hands. Gwydion saw that Cai and Madoc were in the lead. He wondered what had possessed Madoc to enter the race. He had always thought the man far too indolent to do such a thing.

Neck and neck the two men raced to the finish line. At the last moment, Cai, in what seemed to be a superhuman burst of speed, pulled ahead and broke through the purple ribbon a fraction of a second before Madoc did.

The crowd cheered wildly, for Cai was a favorite with the people of Tegeingl. Gwydion grabbed Cai’s arm and raised it high in the air, shouting, “I declare Cai ap Cynyr, the PenGwernan of Gwynedd, winner and king of Calan Llachar!”

Chest heaving, his face wreathed in smiles, Cai staggered back as his wife burst through the crowd, throwing herself into his arms. He swung her around, laughing, and planted a quick, hearty kiss on her lips. Then somebody yelled, “You can do better than that, boyo.” Cai grinned and gave Nest a long, leisurely kiss, which the crowd cheered even more wildly.

“Hmm, who do you think Cai will chose for his festival queen?” Griffi asked.

“Looks like Arday has been disappointed again,” Susanna said, nodding to the sight of Arday wiping Madoc’s perspiring face.

Gwydion’s jaw dropped open. “Arday and Madoc?”

“You just weren’t fast enough, Gwydion. With some women you’ve got to be pretty quick,” Griffi replied.

“That woman’s got no taste at all,” Gwydion said sourly.

“Why do you think she went for you first?” Susanna asked. “Oh, look, Cai’s starting his climb.”

With a mighty leap, Cai grabbed hold of one of the lowest branches on the huge tree and began to climb amid catcalls from the exuberant crowd. As he neared the top, he reached for the crown woven of rowan flowers and marigold. The delicate white of the rowan and the hardy orange of the marigolds seemed to flash in the sun as he reached for them. Perhaps that was why he lost his balance and slipped from the branch he was standing on. The crowd gasped, but Cai caught himself just in time, grabbed the branch and hauled himself up again. He waved at the crowd and carefully picked up the crown.

Cai descended, the crown clutched tightly in one hand. Proudly he made his way up to Nest and, placing the crown on her shining brown hair, knelt at her feet.

Voice trembling with tenderness, Nest spoke the ritual words, “I call to the King of the Hunt, the Lord of the Wild. To the woman be man. To the Queen, be King.”

“I seek no kingdom. But as Protector, I answer. Hunt with me and I will be man to your woman. And King to your Queen.” Cai replied steadily. Nest held out her hand to her husband and Cai rose, the ritual complete.

“Great king of Calan Llachar, what are your orders?” Gwydion called out.

“To dance!” Cai shouted gleefully. At his signal, dozens of men and women formed two rings around the tree. Those in the inner ring, Cai and Nest among them, grasped the orange and purple ribbons hanging from the lower branches. The others placed themselves within the outer ring. As Susanna grabbed her harp and struck up a tune the dancers in the inner ring began to circle the tree, twining the ribbons around the trunk as they danced. The dancers in the outer ring circled in the opposite direction, while those not dancing began to clap their hands in time to the music.

After a moment Susanna began to sing and others picked up the chant.

Fair season, welcome noble Spring.

Flowers cover the world.