Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (21 page)

Of the third family, the Jötnar, Ceridwen knew the least. They were giants, towering above the trees, but they had no descendants. Peculiarly, they left no artifacts or cultural bequeathals to modern-day Dweömer. Their only legacy was the large lake in Cythroghl named Jötnar’s Footprint by the Meïnir.

“I did not think the Vættir were still in this land.”

“The others left Dweömer and traveled to the Summer Lands long, long ago.”

“And yet, you did not travel with them?”

“I did not feel the calling of the Summer Land as the others did, so I chose to stay. I wished to see more of the world, experience things I had not had a chance before‌—”

“But you hear it call you now? Is that which makes you weary?”

“I hear it whispering to me in the night. I see it in my visions. It fills my mind in every present time. Even now, I can feel its beckon. But do not worry so, child.”

“I cannot help but‌—” Ceridwen felt an overwhelming sadness come over her.

“There are other things to which you must attend.”

Ceridwen would have preferred to stay and speak with Rhiannon, fascinated to discover her true nature, and perplexed as to why she had not recognized it sooner. But she knew better than to goad questions from the Lady. “Other matters, Mother?”

“There is someone that you must meet with. She returned this past season, but I thought it best not to send word as the arrangements had already been made for your return at this time.”

For a moment, Ceridwen did not know of whom she spoke. It then flooded into her mind that there could be only one person.

“Where is she?”

“She spends her days at the Brynmor. I believe Aife is attending to her now. You should go to her.”

The storm moved on into the distance and left only a light rain in its wake as Ceridwen walked through the garden. To reach the Brynmor, she took the path that wove around the outside of the wall and led north. She could feel herself dare to hope as the trees parted and she stood in the clearing that surrounded the sacred mound.

Ceridwen felt her eyes water as her stomach twisted into knots. “Eithne!”

Her sister sat with Aife, a senior priestess and mistress of the herbal teachings, near the spring at the foot of the Brynmor. As Ceridwen neared, her pace slowed. Something was wrong. There was no response from her sister, despite having called out to her.

Ceridwen looked closely: her eyes were dull‌—‌empty.

“She is‌—” Ceridwen could not utter the word.

“One of the Atynedig, yes.” Aife nodded. “And yet she managed to find her way back to Arlais.”

Ceridwen knelt in front of her sister. She looked at Ceridwen, but she could not see her. Instead, she looked through her, unaware. Her hands felt icy cold.

“Can you hear me?” Ceridwen said, tears in her eyes.

“Can you hear me?” her sister repeated.

“That is all she does,” Aife whispered. “If she acknowledges you at all, she only repeats what you say.”

Ceridwen squeezed her sister’s hands and shook them gently. “Can you not see me?”

There was no response to Ceridwen’s question.

“Eithne, answer me!” she shouted, unwilling, unable to believe her sister was lost to her.

“My Lady, it is of no use, she no longer resides in our world.”

“She does not yet reside in the next either. There still may be some way of pulling her back into her body.” Ceridwen stood. She now realized her assumptions of the events that occurred had been incorrect, and her memories bubbled to the surface.

Ceridwen had ridden to the house of Rodric Gweliwch upon receiving a messenger from her sister, telling her of the son she had birthed. Ceridwen had every intention of reprimanding her for disobeying the tenets of Arlais. It was not until she arrived that she knew the awful truth of what had occurred.

Eithne worked as a servant in his house. Ceridwen now presumed it was to experience life outside of Arlais, as she had been sent away. Eithne’s time in Gweliwch was not a pleasant one, however. She was treated as an underling and forced to work as a scullery maid. This did not stop the young duke from becoming infatuated with her.

Ceridwen grimaced as she thought of Rodric, still looking at her sister’s face.

As she told it, Eithne described waking to find he had crept into her room in the night and forced himself upon her. She cried out for help only once, but Rodric held a knife to her throat to silence her. Unable to leave Gweliwch, as she still believed she was doing the work the Lady assigned to her, she stayed in Rodric’s house.

Although she attempted to hide her condition, it was futile. Rodric quickly realized Eithne was with child. Having no children, he ordered Eithne to be locked in her room as he hoped for a son, which he was granted.

When Ceridwen arrived in Gweliwch, despite her tale, Eithne seemed genuinely happy. Rodric allowed her to care for the boy, and she took great pleasure in motherhood. Ceridwen remained suspicious of Rodric, however, having seen the mutilation he performed on his son’s Meïnir markings. He did seem thrilled to have his son though, and he appeared to care deeply for the boy. It was only at her sister’s insistence that she return to Arlais that Ceridwen left Gweliwch. Eithne felt that she and Rodric could be a family with their son, despite his actions, as she declared he was truly remorseful. Eithne had no intentions of returning to Arlais until the boy was older.

When Ceridwen left Gweliwch, it was the last she saw of her sister. She assumed that Rodric had murdered her, or ordered her execution, as word traveled to Arlais of his marriage to the Lady Gwynedd. With his new wife, Rodric could not have the liability of a bastard son in his house, so Ceridwen assumed the boy dead as well. It would appear the time she spent grieving for them both had not been necessary. Although, what her sister suffered‌—‌it was a living death.

When she first saw Gawain, as he was now called, that night at Castle Cærwyn, she instantly knew who he was. There was no way for her to know how much of his father’s teachings he followed, so she did not dare reveal how they knew one another. It was not until he came to visit Connor that she knew him to have a kind spirit. If she had the chance, she would have told him everything, but it would seem even she was not fully aware of the situation.

“Do you have any insight on how this happened, Lady?” Aife questioned Ceridwen.

“What I once knew to be true is now false. I can only assume the trauma of being separated from her son‌—”

“She has a son?” Aife looked at her wide-eyed.

Ceridwen had forgotten Eithne swore her to secrecy. She did not want the other priestesses to gossip. More importantly, she feared that Rhiannon would cast her from Arlais, or that the Goddess Herself would strike her down should she return to desecrate Arlais, as she was no longer untouched.

“Yes, a son.”

“She dared to‌—”

“No. The duke in whose house she served raped her.”

Aife looked to Eithne with widened eyes. “That in itself could contribute immensely to her condition.”

“Indeed.” Ceridwen pried herself away from her sister’s dead gaze and stood. “What has the Lady to say on the matter?”

“Only that it is a blessing from the Goddess Eithne was able to find her way here in her state.”

“That it was.”

“She does not eat, she does not drink. She simply spends all her time here, no matter the weather.” Aife looked down to Eithne. “Rhiannon says that Eithne is able to feel the very life energy of the mound. I feel it must give her comfort, and it may be what helps sustain her.”

Ceridwen knew the Atynedig dwelled in the veil between worlds, so it was not outside the realm of possibility Eithne could feel, or perhaps see and hear things that were invisible to others. The trauma it took to turn one to Atynedig happened so infrequently, very little in the arcanum spoke of the matter or its conditions. The arcanum also cited the Vættir having all left this world, and yet Rhiannon was a living contradiction.

“She wandered Dweömer for over two decades,” Aife said aloud, not to Ceridwen in particular. “I wonder what she may have seen.”

“I do not know.”

“Come, my Lady, they shall soon serve food.”

“I am not hungry.” Ceridwen looked to her sister.

“Your journey has been long, come.” Aife took her arm and gently guided her down the path away from the Brynmor.