Night Bird's Reign (22 page)

She shivered again, and told herself that these thoughts were ridiculous. She was going into a panic over nothing at all. Nevertheless, she didn’t feel like sitting still. Rising, she wrapped herself into her white woolen cloak and left the cave.

The cold night air was like a slap in the face. A few droplets from the waterfall splashed her as she went by and made her way down the rocks to stand by the pool. The full moon shone down brightly, turning the droplets in her hair to glittering diamonds, and turning the pool into molten silver.

Her doeskin boots made a crackling sound against the hard-packed snow. She stopped halfway around the pool, facing the waterfall. She gazed into the pool, her eyes tracing the path of the moon as it ran across the surface of the water.

Rhiannon stood silently by the pond. She remembered how she had first come to find this place, the year before she had been forced to go on with her life alone, with no one’s love to sustain her. For after her aunt had died, she had always been alone.

R
HIANNON’S MOTHER,
I
NDEG UR
D
REMAS
, was a woman of the House of Llyr, daughter of the tenth Dreamer of Kymru. Indeg was Dewin, and she had passed the gift of clairvoyance to her daughter.

Rhiannon’s father, Hefeydd ap Con, was a Bard of humble background. He passed the gift of telepathy to his daughter. It was the only thing he had ever given her.

Rhiannon was born in the town of Geneur, in Prydyn, her father’s home. Indeg had refused to give birth to her daughter at Caer Dathyl, for her family had not been kind to Hefeydd, and she had loved him. After hours of labor, Indeg had finally brought forth a girl. And in that moment her life’s blood had gushed out of her in a flood, and she died.

Hefeydd had gone mad with grief. He refused to see his tiny daughter. He spent hours next to Indeg’s body, holding her cold hand, pleading for her to come back to him.

Finally, they had forced Hefeydd away from Indeg’s lifeless shell, and sent her body back to her mother at Caer Dathyl. But Darun would not see Hefeydd to offer comfort, nor did she take any interest in her granddaughter. Hefeydd returned to Neuadd Gorsedd, for he too had no interest in the newborn baby girl. It fell to Llawen, Hefeydd’s sister, to bring up this unwanted child.

Many years later Rhiannon came to understand that her Aunt Llawen had not been a beautiful woman. She was plain and plump with brown hair and muddy hazel eyes. But to Rhiannon her aunt was beautiful, for Llawen knew how to love. And that love had shone through her in everything she said or did. Llawen’s love for her husband, Dudod, for her son, Elidyr, and for her niece, Rhiannon, permeated their home, making the simple house seem a palace.

Uncle Dudod, the brother of the Master Bard, was a traveling Bard, kind and charming and restless. Her aunt used to say that Dudod could charm the birds from the trees, and Rhiannon believed her.

The times when Dudod was home were the best of all. He would slyly appear from nowhere, simply walking into the house as though he did it every day. His green eyes would dance with joy, and Llawen would always drop what she was doing and throw herself into his outstretched arms. And they would kiss—a kiss that would often go on too long for the patience of Elidyr and Rhiannon. Then Dudod would grab his son, swinging him high in the air. He would pick up Rhiannon ever so gently, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her what a pretty child she was.

And always Rhiannon would ask if her father were coming home. Had her uncle seen him? Had her father asked for her? And always Dudod would say that perhaps Hefeydd would be along momentarily. He would say that Hefeydd was very busy, for being a Bard was hard, hard work. He would say that Hefeydd thought about her all the time and loved her dearly. And when her face fell Llawen would take her into her arms and stroke her dark hair and whisper, “Never mind,
cariad.
Never mind.”

When Rhiannon was five years old her cousin Elidyr was sent to Neuadd Gorsedd to learn to be a Bard. Elidyr would be trained as heir to his uncle Anieron. One day Elidyr would be the Master Bard.

Rhiannon cried then, for Elidyr had been kind to her. But Llawen promised that they would go to Neuadd Gorsedd to see him one day. Rhiannon dried her tears for she knew that she could trust Llawen. So she waited confidently for the day when they would take their journey.

She thought that perhaps her father would be there. And he would take her into his arms and kiss her and tell her how proud he was to have such a wonderful daughter. She spent a year spinning these dreams out of nothing, until the day that Llawen told her that the time had come for their visit. Rhiannon begged for a new dress to wear. “So my Da will think I’m pretty,” she said, her eyes shining with the memory of her daydreams. “And then he’ll love me.” And Llawen, her eyes sad and wise, agreed that Rhiannon must indeed have a new dress.

At last they began their journey, traveling on horseback with Uncle Dudod. After a few days they came to Coed Aderyn, the wood on the border of Prydyn and Gwytheryn. They stopped to eat at a tiny pool, fed by a gentle waterfall. And Rhiannon, exploring, discovered a cave hidden behind the flowing curtain of water. All three of them marveled at such a perfect little place tucked away in the quiet forest.

When they reached Neuadd Gorsedd, Elidyr himself came running down the steps, wearing his apprentice robe of white. His light brown eyes were filled with happiness as he threw himself into his mother’s arms. And then he picked Rhiannon up and manfully negotiated the huge stone steps that led into the college.

Rhiannon whispered, “Is Da here? I wore a new dress.”

“He’s not here,” Elidyr answered in dismay. “He left yesterday.”

“But—but did he know we were coming?”

Although Elidyr was only eight years old, he knew better than to tell her the truth. “No,” he lied. “I guess someone forgot to tell him.”

And though she tried not to, Rhiannon began to weep, tears trickling down her tiny cheeks. “But I wore a new dress,” she whispered, forlornly.

Elidyr looked around in panic at his father, and Dudod took Rhiannon into his strong arms. “Come, let’s go meet your Uncle Anieron.” And Dudod kissed her tears away and Rhiannon wished passionately, hopelessly, that her father might come to love her one-day. Wished passionately, hopelessly that one day a man would come into her life that would love her.

I
N THE COLD
winter night, Rhiannon, remembering, knelt down by the still pool. She stared at the water, dark where the moon did not shine, bright where the moon’s path cut through. Light and dark rippled across her eyes. Shadow and brightness, one and the same, she thought. One and the same.

Slowly, with a trembling hand she reached out, her palm hovering over the shimmering water. And, oh gods, oh gods, she thought that the fear would kill her, slay her in the snow and leave her lifeless body by the pool. And slowly, slowly she dipped her hand into the dark, into the light, and the cold made her hand tingle in shock as she remembered the day when she had begun to fear the water. The last occasion she had witnessed the living face of the only mother she had ever known.

The day that her life changed forever began just like any other day. Llawen and Rhiannon were eating breakfast when Dudod walked in from a month-long absence, as casually as though he had never left. Llawen shrieked and flung her arms around him. It was then, that Rhiannon noticed the stranger. He stood uncertainly in the doorway. He tried to smile, but the expression seemed ill suited to his sober face. He was not old, but there were sharp furrows on either side of his mouth and deep lines above his brows. He was thin and his scanty hair was dark. His eyes were the brown of freshly turned earth—earth that had been cut and scarred by the blade of the uncaring plow.

Llawen, at last releasing Dudod, caught sight of the man in the doorway. “Hefeydd,” she breathed. “Oh, Hefeydd,” and she went to him and held him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. Slowly, awkwardly, the man put his arms around Llawen. And Rhiannon knew that her Da had come to her at last. Dudod picked Rhiannon up and kissed her, but she had eyes only for her father.

Dudod carried her to the man. “This is Rhiannon,” he said. “And this,” Dudod went on as he looked down at her, “is Hefeydd ap Con, your father.”

Rhiannon launched herself at him, grasping his neck in a stranglehold. “Da,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. But after just a few moments Hefeydd set her down on her feet, grabbing her thin arms, pulling them firmly away from his neck.

“Rhiannon,” he said, and stared at her as though memorizing her face to carry away with him. “Daughter.” He was silent for a long time and his silence seemed to freeze everyone in place. “Your eyes are your mother’s,” he said at last, his voice strained. “I must, I must—” he broke off, looking around in confusion.

“See to the horses,” Dudod finished for him.

“Yes,” Hefeydd said in a grateful voice. “I must see to the horses. Excuse me.”

Rhiannon stood where he had left her, paralyzed with bewilderment. “He doesn’t like me,” she said in astonishment.

“Oh, but he does,” Dudod said heartily. “Why, he came all the way here from Neuadd Gorsedd just to see you.”

But Rhiannon turned to Llawen for the truth. And sadly, Llawen shook her head. “Give him time to know you, child. He doesn’t know you well enough to love you.”

This struck Rhiannon as perfectly sensible, so she took heart and vowed to be very, very good so that he would come to love her.

Hefeydd returned and the four of them sat down for a late breakfast. Dudod spoke almost continuously, saying that he had bullied the Bards to letting Hefeydd come to visit. “He’s very, very busy, you see,” Dudod said confidently to Rhiannon. “Very busy indeed. But I made them let him come, because he wanted to see you so much.”

Meanwhile, Hefeydd said scarcely a word. His movements were slow and careful. Llawen, too, said very little, merely pressing her brother to eat more. And Hefeydd and Rhiannon stole quick glances at one another when each thought the other wasn’t looking. It was Dudod who suggested that they go to the lake to catch fish for supper. They walked to the small lake at the edge of the forest, not far from the house. The day was clear and warm with a slight, gentle breeze, and the lake rippled as the wind danced across its shining surface.

Dudod helped Rhiannon bait her hook, while Llawen and Hefeydd began to cast expertly as they stood on the rocky shore. Dudod warned Rhiannon to step carefully among the rocks, for they were wet and slippery. Then Llawen caught a fish, and Hefeydd caught another. Dudod, his strong hands placed over Rhiannon’s tiny ones, helped Rhiannon reel in a fish, too. Llawen exclaimed over the fine catch as she helped Rhiannon to bait her hook again.

“A fine supper we shall have,” Dudod said cheerfully.

“Indeed we will—after you clean the fish,” Llawen shot back.

“Me?” he said innocently.

“Yes, indeed you. And I’ll fry them up with dill weed and we’ll have a fine feast. But I’m short on the dill.” Her eyes cut to Hefeydd. “Why don’t you two men go pick some dill weed for me?”

“But I want to fish,” Dudod protested.

But Hefeydd, grateful for a reprieve, smiled shyly at his sister. “Come on, Dudod. Let’s do as she says. You know how she is when she gets an idea in her head. Especially one that will make us work.”

“But why do I have to go,” whined Dudod, in a parody of a spoiled child.

“Because Hefeydd doesn’t know where dill grows around here,” Llawen said. “Bards,” she continued as she turned to Rhiannon, “can be so slow. You have to explain everything to them.” Rhiannon stifled a giggle at the mock outrage on Dudod’s face.

Dudod laughed and kissed his wife. The two men picked their way carefully across the rocks, and disappeared into the woods.

Llawen and Rhiannon fished in silence for some time. The afternoon was hot, and the tension and excitement of the morning were catching up to Rhiannon, making her lids droop. When she almost dropped the pole into the water during a jaw-breaking yawn, Llawen said gently, “You’re all worn out. Why don’t you go lie down under that nice tree over there? And I’ll wake you in a little while. Get along with you now.” Llawen kissed her on the forehead, and told her to mind her way over the rocks.

Picking her way carefully, Rhiannon finally reached the green grass at the edge of the wood and lay down under a tree. Bright blue cornflowers dotted the grass and a white butterfly fluttered past. Lemon yellow globeflowers bent their heads slightly in the breeze. She picked some globe-flowers and lazily wove them into a garland. Then, her lids so heavy that they felt as though they were made of stone, she fell fast asleep.

They never knew what had happened—not exactly. Perhaps Llawen had slipped on a rock while pulling in a fish. Or perhaps she had thrown a cast too far, too fast. However it happened, she had fallen and hit her head on a rock, knocking herself unconscious and sending herself tumbling into the water. Unable to help herself, she had drowned.

Rhiannon, waking up somewhat later, sat up sleepily. But her aunt was not in sight. Thinking that Llawen had somehow left her behind, she ran to the rocks and saw her aunt’s lifeless body floating in the lake.

Terrified, Rhiannon crawled over the rocks, slipping and sliding in her panicked haste. She neared the water’s edge. “Wake up, Aunt Llawen, please wake up,” she screamed. She reached out, but the body bobbed away. She screamed again, screamed for help, screamed for someone to find them, screamed for her aunt to wake up. She knew she should wade in after the body, but she couldn’t swim and the lake was deep. And she was very afraid. In her panic she saw the water as an animal, waiting patiently for prey. Waiting for a little girl to wade in and then it would close in around her, drag her down to die away from the light. She sobbed again in terror as the sun beat down pitilessly on the bright shining surface of the water.

And then she heard them, scrambling over the rocks, Dudod shouting his wife’s name in despair. He plunged into the water, towing his wife to shore, and Hefeydd grabbed her and they carried her to the grass, laying her down gently. Dudod turned her on her stomach and began to push just below her ribcage. He pushed and pushed but nothing happened. They turned her over again and Dudod put his mouth over hers and tried to breathe life into her dead lungs. The water glowed like a gemstone in the sun, as the two men tried to bring her back to life. But it was too late.