Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (48 page)

“One of Cærwynian nobility wishes to take vows?” said Rhiannon. “Is this true, Hume-child?”

“It is, my Lady,” Connor said meekly as he watched the firelight dance upon her face. She appeared to shimmer behind her veil, the brightness in her eyes holding all the light of the stars in the sky.

“Tell me,” she said, her gaze fixed upon him, “how old are you?”

“I am soon to be in my sixteenth year, Lady.” Connor managed to speak more clearly.

“Have you yet wed?”

Connor shook his head.

“Nor been pledged in marriage to a woman of another noble house?”

He shook his head again.

“Then, in Her name, I claim you for Arlais!” Rhiannon spoke loud enough for all those present to hear the announcement. “Henceforth, you shall serve the Lord and Lady whom I serve and no other, of this world or the next.”

Rhiannon lifted her veil and opened her cloak like the great wings of a sacred bird of old, flying about in the wind.

Connor thought it was the effect of the glow from the fire, but for a moment, he saw the face of his mother. No, it was not his mother. It was that of the Great Mother, She who birthed the world and all its inhabitants, she who gave fertility and all life to this land.

Rhiannon placed her hands on his shoulders, and her robes enveloped him.

As if in a trance, Connor intuitively bowed as her lips met his forehead and the warmth of her body entered into his. When her lips parted from his skin, he looked up once more. He knew forever imprinted in his mind were both her gentle face and her fiercely protective eyes.

“Then you shall dwell among us in the realm of the forest,” she said, her voice echoing all around. “So it shall be.”

His trance broke as Rhiannon pulled away. She passed him to ascend the Brynmor, to stand next to Cairbre. Ceridwen smiled as she also passed him to join them. He took a deep breath of air and proceeded to the foot of the Brynmor, next to Sawyl.

In the distance, the sound of instruments struck a tune. Flutes whistled on the wind and drums accompanied the heartbeat of the forest. The dirge Connor heard upon waking soon joined the music, and he realized it was nearing midnight. The celebration of a new year had begun. It seemed to him time had moved quickly. It was not so long ago that he was praying before the burning bonfire, but now, the fires had died down to a golden glow, only subtly lighting the area. The snowflakes appeared as glistening jewels falling from the sky, and he felt compelled to look up, to catch them upon his tongue.

The senior priests circled the perimeter of the fires in the path of the sun to sprinkle herbs among the embers. The senior priestesses, including Ceridwen, circled in the opposite direction to throw the thick, hardened resin of myrrh upon the coals. Ceridwen alone, however, did not cast anything. She retained the bouquet of herbs which she cradled in her arms.

They stopped simultaneously and remained within a circle while Rhiannon stood as a monolith in the center. Then they spoke, both in their native tongue and that of Humes, but Connor could not see who spoke from the darkness.

“Children of Arlais, why have you come to this sacred Brynmor, this mound which stretches from the earth to the sky?”

“We seek to welcome the year anew and to give peace to those who no longer dwell among us. We seek the blessing of the Lord and Lady from whose union we sprang.”

“Then call upon them.”

“Ddolefa Arglwyddes!” sang the priestesses.

“Ddolefa Naf!” cried the priests in unison.

Upon the utterance of invocation, Connor felt his entire body tremble. The whispered murmurs of those around created yet another layer of sound which filled the area, coupling with the sounds of the soft music in the distance. He was unsure if the music was that of revelers in celebration or whether it was meant to accompany the ritual. Perhaps both.

Thick smoke from the herbs and resin among the coals flowed down the slope of the Brynmor and fell over him. The heady scent made him drowsy, but he had never felt more attuned to that which happened around him.

Sawyl grasped his left hand and a woman grasped his right. The entire crowd seemed to move as one as they swayed and formed a closed circle of linked hands.

“I am the Lady!” Rhiannon spoke with a voice that contained such power it could surely split the world in two.

“I am the Lord,” Cairbre called out to her in response, but Connor could sense none of the same power in his voice.

“Who seeks us?” Their voices entwined.

“Your followers,” one of the priests answered.

“Yes, we seek you!” A woman cried out from the crowd.

As he swayed with the group, he could feel the ground beneath pound with the very heartbeat of Dweömer.

“Daughter, come forth!” Rhiannon said to Ceridwen, her voice permeating the crowd. “Hear this, my children! This year ends and the new one begins like the sun sets and the moon rises; as the dawn comes again, so must night. As life is given, so is death.”

The ground beat harder. Connor felt it undulate under his boots like a serpent coiled around the earth. He closed his eyes and yet remained able to see Rhiannon’s face. It was true. The Goddess did speak through her.

“Nightfall has come,” Rhiannon continued. “No longer shall the voice come through this vessel, but through another.”

Connor opened his eyes. The crowd was visibly shaken by the proclamation. He looked to Ceridwen. Was she to be the high priestess?

Ceridwen spoke out “Bless me with your wisdom so that I may lead your people, so I may speak with the knowledge of many lives.” She stepped forward and held the bouquet upward before throwing it to the fire. “So that I may speak of suns and moons and of light and dark. Dduwies Ddiolcha chi!”

Rhiannon slumped forward into Ceridwen’s arms, but there was a look of fright on the face of the new priestess, as though this was not part of the ritual.

The ground continued to quake beneath them.

A woman screamed in the distance, soon joined by a chorus of others. The group at the Brynmor slowly edged away from the forest and backed toward the mound, uncertain of what was happening, inching ever closer to their Lady for protection from the unknown.

They all watched, not daring to utter even a whisper as the animalistic shrieks of pain and the roars within the forest grew louder. Suddenly, the area was flooded with people as they fled from Arlais and left bloody footprints in their wake to drench the white blanket of snow.

Behind them, beyond the trees, Connor could see the unmistakable flickering movement of torchlight and his body filled with fear. Only then did he realize the pounding beneath his feet had not been part of the ritual, but the marching of the entirety of the Vega Outpost as they descended upon Arlais.

He looked to the top of the Brynmor and heard Ceridwen cry out to Rhiannon as she stroked her cheek. “Mother, please, you must awaken. Our people need you. I know not what must be done.”

Rhiannon rose from Ceridwen’s arms. Her feet barely touched the ground.

A wave of soldiers burst into the clearing, firelight reflected on their swords. The stench of blood and unwashed bodies overpowered the aroma of herbs as they surrounded the Brynmor. Like wolves circling their prey, they came closer and closer to those who stayed while another wave of soldiers pursued those who fled.

Connor felt as though his very legs would crumble beneath him. He could not force himself to look away from the soldiers who drew ever closer. As his heart pounded in his ears, he felt faint. But then he heard Sawyl sobbing next to him, and that snapped him back to reality. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him beneath one arm as he dug his heels into the dirt. Clawing his way with his free hand and propeling himself forward with the tips of his boots, he scrambled to the top of the Brynmor.

A soldier grabbed him by the trim of his cloak, and his foot twisted beneath him as he tumbled to the ground.

Sawyl screamed. His head snapped backward as a soldier clutched his hair and wrenched him from Connor’s grasp.

Connor reached out for the boy, but his arm tangled in his cloak. A stab of pain shot through his palm, and he jerked his hand free. Blood pulsed from the slice across his palm. Without hesitation, he pulled the starmetal sword from his cloak.

“Bastard!” He jumped to his feet, steadying himself on the snowy grass.

The soldier sneered as he drew his blade.

That twisted yellow smile, Connor remembered well from the assault on Castle Cærwyn. But how? He lunged, catching the soldier just beneath the jaw with his sword. Then he slashed, upward through the man’s neck, and cut off his ear. Blood splashed across Connor’s face as he pried the sword loose from the soldier’s neck.

The terrified sounds of the dispersing crowd mixed with the clanging of swords and yelling of soldiers.

Connor pulled Sawyl close, checking him for wounds. His scalp bled from where the soldier had ripped out a fistful of hair, but he did not see any further injuries.

His chest burned like nothing he had ever felt, but he pushed through the pain. He could not tell if the blood covering his tunic came from the soldier or his own wound. He wiped his palm on his cloak and gripped his sword tighter as he looked around, keeping Sawyl close.

“Connor, here!” Ceridwen called from behind him.

He turned and dug his boots into the Brynmor, carrying Sawyl with him. Each breath scorched his lungs. He stumbled to the top of the mound and fell to his knees, throwing Sawyl toward Ceridwen as the remnants of the revelers made their escape into the forest.

“Cynan!” Rhiannon’s voice cracked as she tried to call him back, but, duty bound, he drew his sword.

He lurched forward with a monstrous cry as the first sword slashed through his flesh, sending a shower of blood upon the side of the Brynmor. The next blow came from a soldier’s cudgel as it cracked through his face to shatter his skull. Cynan fell to the ground in a mass of blood and hair.

Connor backed up, barely able to muster the strength to stand, relying on his sword to push himself to his feet. Sawyl buried his face in Connor’s stomach as he wailed. He would have liked to do the same, to hide his face and cling to Ceridwen’s skirts like a child, but he did not move.

Circling overhead, a raven cried.

Cairbre fell behind him, lying sprawled on the ground, dark red blood still gushing from his forehead. Then he blinked. The high priest was yet alive.

Connor tightened his grasp on Sawyl as he manœuvred the boy between himself and Ceridwen. He kept his eyes on the edge of the Brynmor and held his sword in front of him.

Having either chased away or slain the others, the soldiers set their sights upon the five who remained atop the holy mound.

Acceptance of imminent death washed over Connor. As he pushed Sawyl behind him, he reached out and took Ceridwen’s hand. His head pounded as he forced himself to stay on his feet. He stood firm, gripping his sword tighter as the soldiers made their ascent.

“Stop!” Rhiannon’s voice boomed. With her command, the world itself seemed to slow to a halt and fall silent. She rose from the ground and shed her robes. Her being faded away and she took on a beautiful, indescribable form as brilliant as the brightest moonlight.

“You have intruded upon the most holy grove of Arlais.” She spoke in a different voice, and her lips did not move. “You have attacked our high priest and murdered many, but your actions have been in vain.”

Connor gasped as a pure, white light emanated from her body.

“We are as ancient as the very land you have dared to ravage,” she said. “I see all, know all. We shall remain long after your kingdoms have fallen and new ones have risen upon the grounds where they once stood. Dweömer will be born anew just as the sun dawns from the dark of night.”

She then turned her attention to Ceridwen, no longer speaking as the Goddess. “Everything shall come full circle, my daughter. Do not forget that even in the darkest hour of night, when the moon is hidden behind the clouds, you shall always have the light of the stars.”

The aura surrounding Rhiannon grew ever brighter, and they were unable to keep their eyes open. Ceridwen wrapped her arms around Connor and Sawyl, and they lowered to the ground as an enormous pressure bore down upon them.

“Behold!” cried Rhiannon as her light filled the clearing. “I bring down the very heavens that this land may be restored!”

A luminous and fierce beam of light shot upward into the night’s sky.

Connor pressed his face into Sawyl’s shoulder, screaming as the force from above pushed outward.