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Night Birds' Reign(14)

By:Holly Taylor


Another horse, black as midnight, stepped into the clearing, and Gwydion gaped at the woman on the mare’s back. Slender and lithe, her skin was tanned and smooth. Her midnight hair cascaded down her back. Her shift was a glowing white, the length of the skirt barely reaching her calves. A silver belt sparkling with amethysts circled her slim waist. Her boots were leather, studded with amethysts, and her amethyst eyes studied Gwydion, cool and serene.

“Goddesses greet you too, Dreamer. I am Cerridwen.”

Again, Gwydion bowed. “Mighty Cerridwen. Queen of the Wood. Protectress of Kymru. Your beauty stops my heart and stills my tongue.”

Cerridwen laughed. “Strong words from a man who has vowed never to care for a woman!” She shrugged, as Gwydion looked up quickly, stricken. “It matters not to me, Dreamer. But we will trouble you for that eagle. He is ours.”

Gwydion took a deep breath. “I cannot oblige you, Lady. I have sworn to protect him from the Hunt.”

“No one can be protected from the Hunt,” Cerrunnos said bluntly, his owl eyes as bright as topaz. “The Hunt comes for all.”

Gwydion took another deep breath. “He trusted me, you see. And so I cannot give him to you.”

“If you do not, Dreamer, do you know what happens to your world? Without a High King you are all doomed.”

Gwydion glanced down at the eagle he still cradled in his arms. Lightly he stroked the bird. And then he raised his head, looking at the god and goddess squarely. “He does not want to be High King. He wishes to be free.”

“All men wish to be free. But in this world, it cannot be. The High King has his duty. It is not for you to help him to shirk it,” Cerrunnos replied.

“If he is High King, will he be happy?”

“It is not for him to be happy, Dreamer,” said Cerrunnos. “And neither is it for you. He must be who he was born to be.”

“Listen, Dreamer, and listen well,” Cerridwen said. “For this is the first of your tasks. You must protect him, hide him, see to it that he suffers no harm.”

“There are traitors among the Kymru,” Cerrunnos said. “Understand this. Hide him well. And remember that those you can trust are few.”

“Who? Who can I trust?” Gwydion asked.

“That is for you to discover,” Cerrunnos said sternly.

“Can’t you—”

“Next,” Cerridwen interrupted, “your task will be to find Caladfwlch, the sword of the High Kings, hidden by Bran long ago. But you may not begin this task without the aid of those who will be revealed to you.”

“When?” Gwydion asked.

“In good time,” Cerrunnos said. “Now, give the eagle to us. He is ours. It is not for him to be free. It is for him to be what he was born to be, until his turn on the Wheel is done.”

Cerridwen’s voice rang like silver bells through the clearing. “Men do not ask for pain, for grief, for sorrow. But it is their lot to bear it. Men ask for happiness and perhaps it comes to them, in some measure. This young eagle that tries to escape us runs only from himself. We are the Wild Hunt. We are the Protectors of Kymru. And we will see to it that this eagle does his duty. It is for this that he is born.”

Her voice lowered, and it seemed to Gwydion that there was some pity in it. “And for you, Dreamer, a different lesson. You know only duty. You depend on no one, and in this way you protect yourself. I tell you that someone will come to whom you will open your heart. You will fight it, but in the end, you will win by losing the battle. It will happen after many years of pain, and toil, and hardship. They will be long years. There will ultimately be a measure of happiness, however, even for you, who seems to care so little for it. But who longs for it deep within.”

The glade was silent. “Now,” said Cerridwen, “give him to us. The Hunt will train him, and protect him through you, our tool in the waking world. We will see to it that, when the time comes, he will lead Kymru in her time of need, as he must.”

Gwydion slowly raised the bird and placed him in Cerridwen’s outstretched hands. She snapped gold and silver jesses to the eagle’s talons. The bird shivered, then was still. Cerridwen gazed deeply into the eagle’s eyes. “You belong to Kymru, to the Hunt. Remember.”

“Farewell, Dreamer,” said Cerrunnos. “You have done what you must do. No man can keep another from the pain of his destiny. Dream well and true, for the storm is coming.” And with that, they were gone.





Chapter Three


Tegeingl Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Gwernan Mis, 482



Calan Llachar Eve

Gwydion stood in Nemed Gwernan as night began to fall. The huge grove of alder trees was filled with the exultant, expectant people of Tegeingl—over a thousand men, women, and children waiting for the Calan Llachar Eve ceremony to begin. Warriors lined the perimeter, each one holding a torch, bathing the clearing in fire. The light flickered off the smooth bark of the trees, and the shining dark green leaves turned black as night deepened its grip.