Night Bird's Reign (21 page)

“Oh, no,” Gwen replied earnestly. “You see, I thought I heard a noise just a moment ago, and I stepped back there just a very few feet to see if I could find anything.”

“Ah, of course. And did you?”

“No. I can’t imagine what it was.”

“All right, Gwen,” Rhiannon said wearily. “Let’s go over this again. What part of ‘stay out of the caves’ is confusing to you?”

“Oh, Mam, please. I want to. Please let me,” Gwen pleaded. “The caves aren’t really dangerous. You worry too much. If you’re not worrying that I’m lost in the caves you’re worrying that I’ve drowned in the pool. If you’re so afraid of water, why are we living with a waterfall on our doorstep?”

“I’m not afraid of water,” Rhiannon said quickly. “And don’t change the subject. You stay out of those caves, understand?”

Gwen nodded sullenly, her blue eyes filling with tears. She sat dejectedly at the table, her golden head bowed as she pretended to nonchalantly pick at her fingernails. But her hands were trembling slightly.

Rhiannon gazed at her daughter, and her heart softened. She struggled to be reasonable, for Gwen was her daughter and she loved her. But because she loved Gwen she was terribly afraid. She tried to clamp down on her apprehensions.

“All right, Gwen,” she said quietly. “Let’s make a pact here and now.”

Gwen raised her head, her blue eyes still swimming with tears. “What’s the pact?”

Rhiannon held up her hand, ticking down points on her fingers. “One: you may explore the caves.”

Gwen leapt up, her face shining.

“Wait,” Rhiannon said sharply. “There’s a great deal more.”

Apprehensively, Gwen sat down again.

“Two: you may explore, providing you Wind-Ride to me every few hours, showing me exactly where you are and what you are doing. Three: you must be proficient in Wind-Riding before you go into the caves again, and that means practice.”

Gwen made a face, for she hated to practice. Practicing required stillness and concentration—neither of which appealed to her.

“Four—in exchange for the privilege of exploring the caves you will stay out of the pool unless I am with you. Now, is all that clear?”

Gwen nodded and rushed over to her mother to clasp her around the neck with her slender arms. “Yes, Mam. Let’s practice now.” Her blue eyes were alight with anticipation. Never had she been so eager.

“All right. Get the things, please.” Gwen scurried over to the trunk and rummaged through the chest, returning with her hands full, and dumping the contents on the table. Rhiannon picked up her Dewin’s torque. A single pearl dangled from a silver-encrusted pentagon, and she clasped the torque around her neck. Next, she picked up her plain silver band and slipped it on her finger.

Gwen lifted up the crystal, etched with the triskale—three wavy lines radiating from the center and cutting the round, milky white crystal into three equal parts. The crystal spun in the air from its silver chain as Gwen held it out to catch the light.

“Sit,” Rhiannon said, holding out her hand for the triskale.

Obedient, for once, Gwen handed the crystal over and sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up expectantly.

“Now. Tell me of the gifts.”

“Those with the gifts are called Y Dawnus, the gifted. There are four kinds of gifts—clairvoyance, telepathy, psychokinesis, and prophecy,” she rendered in a singsong voice. “The Dewin are clairvoyants. They can Wind-Ride, sending their awareness to see things far away. They can Life-Read to learn the nature of another’s illness. Dewin are the physicians of Kymru. They know herb lore, and treatments for the diseases of both men and animals.”

“Good. Go on. What of the Bards?”

“The Bards are telepaths. They can Wind-Speak, communicating with other Bards. Bards can Far-Sense, which is to communicate with animals, in a limited way. The Bards are the musicians of Kymru. They track genealogies and therefore declare matters of inheritance when in dispute. They are the repositories of the law,” Gwen quoted.

“Yes. Go on. The Druids.”

“The Druids are psychokinetic. They can Shape-Move, which is to move objects around at will. They can Fire-Weave, which is to start fires. With the help of the High King a group of Druids can control the weather. This is called Storm-Bringing. The Druids lead our religious rituals. They are our philosophers and astronomers.”

“Go on.”

“Lastly, there is the Dreamer. The Dreamer has all the gifts of the Y Dawnus as well as the gift of Dream-Speaking, which is prophecy. The Dreamer can also Time-Walk, which is to look into the past. The Dreamer is the Walker-between-the-Worlds.”

“Excellent. Now, tell me of the combination of gifts.”

Gwen took another deep breath and concentrated. “Sometimes a person, if he is of the House of Llyr, can have two gifts. Of these two gifts, one is always clairvoyance. Therefore, they are always Dewin. But they must be trained in using their other gift that could be either telepathy or psychokinesis. Only the Dreamer has all four gifts. No one ever has three.”

“Excellent. Now, we will Wind-Ride. Are you ready?”

Gwen nodded her eyes wide with anticipation.

“We begin with the Body of Light. Close your eyes. Focus all your awareness to the soles of your feet. Imagine that they are filled with light.” After a moment, she went on, “Now, imagine that the tops of your feet are light.” Following Rhiannon’s steady voice, Gwen continued to imagine her body of light.

Rhiannon then picked up the chain of the triskale and dangled it in front of Gwen’s closed eyelids. “Open your eyes,” she said, “Focus on the triskale. Breathe deeply.”

Gwen, in her trance-like state, opened her eyes and gazed hazily at the dangling crystal. “Visualize your energy in the triskale,” Rhiannon continued. “It begins to glow with your inner-light. The lines are radiating outward to all that is around you.” Suddenly, the crystal began to glow, pulsing with white brilliance.

“Now, Gwen. Wind-Ride.” Rhiannon turned her back to Gwen and waited. Then slowly, hazy at first, a picture began to form in her mind’s eye of a young girl with golden hair, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a cave.

“Very, very good, Gwen,” she said, turning back to her daughter. “Now, draw back your energy from the crystal. See that it dims as you bring the radiance back into yourself. Close your eyes. Your energy is returning to you. You are filled with strength, with the radiance of Nantsovelta. Thank the goddess, then open your eyes.”

“I thank Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, for my gift,” Gwen said dreamily then opened her eyes. “It worked!” she shouted.

“Indeed it did,” Rhiannon smiled.

“But I’ve been trying to do this for so long and it never worked before!”

“You never had such a good reason to make it work before,” Rhiannon said dryly.

Gwen frowned. “But I’ve seen you use the gift, and it never takes this long. You don’t even use the triskale—you just do it. Why can’t I do it like that?”

“You can. It’s only a matter of practice. With clairvoyance or telepathy the person must be in a relaxed state. Visualizing the Body of Light and using the triskale are means of relaxing you. With practice you can relax your mind in seconds, without the use of anything else. The important thing is to learn control. A highly emotional state, like rage or fear or even joy can release the gifts, but the person has no control.”

“Psychokinetics use a different way, don’t they?”

“Yes. The Druid must be in a state of intense concentration—not relaxation.”

“And that’s why you can’t teach me how to use it.”

“Yes, that’s why. I don’t know anything about how that is achieved.”

“Then how will I learn if you don’t know?”

How indeed, Rhiannon thought. The knowledge that she had made a prison for her daughter came crashing in on her. So she spoke more sharply than she intended, “We’ll talk about it at another time.”

Rhiannon abruptly got up from the table and moved to the entrance, pushing aside the curtain and gazing through the gentle waterfall into the night. Beyond the waterfall she could see the full, silver moon rising over the forest. Seen through the curtain of water the moon wavered and rippled across her eyes. Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, goddess of the Moon, don’t judge me too harshly, she begged. I’ll put it right. Just give me time.

Taking a careful breath, she turned back to face Gwen who stood forlornly by the table, fingering the snowdrops that were scattered there. “It’s time to celebrate Calan Morynion,” Rhiannon said.

Gwen fixed a spray of snowdrops behind her ear. “Brush your hair first,” Rhiannon said. Sighing, Gwen plucked the sprig out and went to get the comb. Rhiannon unbound her black hair from its tight braid. “Let me use the comb when you’re done,” she called, as she picked up the large golden bowl from the shelf and set it on the table. She placed three candles in the middle of the bowl, fixing them to the prongs set at the bottom. She set eight candles around the outer rim and filled the bowl to the brim with water, scattering the delicate, white snowdrops. The tiny white flowers, the first flowers of spring, floated gently on the surface of the water.

Gwen handed her the comb, then went to the hearth. As Rhiannon combed her hair Gwen scraped the burning coals off to one side, then laid the branches of an ash tree into the fire pit. They both fixed sprays of snowdrops in their hair and stood by the table, looking down into the golden bowl.

“This is the Wheel of the Year before us,” Rhiannon chanted. “One candle for each of the eight festivals in which we honor the Shining Ones.” As Gwen lit each candle, Rhiannon named them. “Alban Awyr, Calan Llachar, Alban Haf, Calan Olau, Alban Nerth, Calan Gaef, Alban Nos, and Calan Morynion, which we celebrate tonight.”

When the eight outer candles were lit, Gwen lit one of the three inner candles. “Great Goddess of the Moon, Lady of the Waters, we honor you,” Rhiannon said.

As Gwen lit the second candle, Rhiannon went on, “Nantsovelta of the Pearls, Lady of the Swans, we honor you.” As the third candle was lit, she said, “Silver Queen of the Night, the Bride of Day, we honor you.

“Let the Shining Ones be honored as they gather for the wedding of the Sun and the Moon. Mabon, King of Fire, Bridegroom to the Moon. Taran, King of the Winds and Modron, Great Mother of All. Annwyn, Lord of Chaos and Aertan, Weaver of Fate. The Protectors, Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood and Cerrunnos, Master of the Hunt. Y Rhyfelwr, Agrona and Camulos, the Warrior Twins. Sirona, Lady of the Stars and Grannos, Star of the North and Healer.”

“We honor you,” Gwen said in a solemn tone.

“With water are we refreshed and cleansed. With fire are we purified. Blessings on the marriage of fire and water,” Rhiannon said, gesturing to the candles floating in the bowl. Then they chanted together,

O silver flame of the night,

Enlighten the whole land.

Chief of maidens,

Chief of finest women.

Dark the bitter winter,

Cutting in its sharpness.

But Nantsovelta’s mantle

Brings spring to Kymru.”

Then they each picked up a candle from the bowl and went to the pile of unlit ash wood in the fire pit. “Now let the Bridegroom, Mabon of the Fires, come to claim his Bride.” They lit the fire with the candles and the wood began to blaze, bathing the room in its cheerful glow.

They stood for a moment, watching the fire. If there had been others here, it would now be a time for music and dancing around a huge bonfire in the sacred grove. But many years ago Rhiannon had condemned them both to solitude, and so they celebrated alone.

“Oh, Mam,” Gwen said excitedly, “I have a present for you.”

“A present?”

“It’s your name day.”

“Oh. You remembered,” Rhiannon said flatly. Gwen’s face fell and Rhiannon was instantly repentant. She went on gently, “Thank you, Gwen. That’s very thoughtful.”

Gwen smiled tentatively, as Rhiannon put her arms around her daughter and hugged her. “Wait right here,” Gwen said as she scurried off into the storeroom.

Gwen ran back in, holding something behind her back. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” she said.

Rhiannon did as she was told, and Gwen gently placed something in her hands. It was a bracelet, intricately woven with thin strips of leather. From the band a tiny, wooden heart dangled. It was made of ash wood, and polished to dazzling whiteness. Gwen pointed to the heart, “So you always have my love with you, wherever you are.”

Rhiannon’s eyes filled with tears and her throat was tight. “I’ll wear it always. Help me put it on.”

Gwen tied the strip of leather around her mother’s slender wrist. “It’s not too bad. It took me four tries to get it right.”

“It’s perfect,” Rhiannon laughed and hugged Gwen again, holding her daughter close to her heart. And she thought in despair that the time was coming soon when she would have to send Gwen away from Coed Aderyn, back into the world beyond the wood, alone. That fact, now squarely faced, set her heart to beating wildly with the loss and sorrow and pain that she knew would come. And set her to pleading hopelessly and silently that she would be given be more time—just one more year, she begged—before she would have to endure a broken heart, again.

L
ATER, AFTER THEY
had eaten, Rhiannon sent Gwen to bed. Gwen protested, but only halfheartedly and more out of habit, for her eyelids drooped noticeably.

“No arguments, Gwenhwyfar. It’s been a big day. And you must be well-rested for more practicing tomorrow.”

Sighing, Gwen kissed Rhiannon’s cheek. “Night, Mam,” she said, her words slurred with exhaustion.

Rhiannon helped Gwen to undress then settled her into the pallet, tenderly covering her daughter with a woolen blanket. Rhiannon kissed Gwen’s forehead, then made her way back to the bench before the fire. Even before she sat down she could tell by Gwen’s breathing that the child was fast asleep.

Rhiannon tried to settle down in front of the fire but she was too restless. She felt it again—that feeling that someone was thinking of her. Thinking very hard. Perhaps actually beginning to look for her. She sensed an indomitable will. She shivered, for that will felt carved of ice, or stone—implacable, commanding, pitiless. He, or she, would never give up, never stop looking, and never leave her be.