Night Birds' Reign(145)

The woman said something to the two men and motioned them back from the spot they were standing. She signaled again, to the shadowy pool of brown-robed Druids. For a moment no one moved. Then Trystan felt a shaking beneath his feet. Men, women, and horses were tumbled about as the shivering plain struggled to give birth.

A crack appeared just at the spot where the two men had stood only a moment before. It yawned wider still, and from the depths of the Earth a huge, black stone rose, breaking through the Earth’s crust, reaching for the sky. When it was as tall was three men, the stone halted and the Earth stilled.

At another gesture from the Druids the stone seemed to shape itself under the hammer of an unseen hand. Tiny whorls and circle appeared, covering the monument. Small figures of warriors sprang into being, brandishing their weapons up and down the side of the stone. Then the stone shimmered and solidified, the final surface glittering like dark glass. As one the warriors turned west, for they knew that this was Macsen’s work, their High King and they bowed in reverence.

Then the scene shifted. The warriors, horses, and Druids were gone. A lone rider crossed the plain. His long auburn hair was bound at the nape of his neck with an opal clasp. Around his neck he wore an ornate torque of opal and gold. He came to a halt at the base of the stone and dismounted, looking long at it, unmoving.

At last his shoulders heaved with a sigh, and he turned to his horse, reaching into his saddlebags. He drew out something wrapped in a dark cloth and held it gently in one hand. With the other he gestured and a tiny fissure appeared in the base of the stone itself. He deftly slipped the slender bundle into the stone. He stepped back and, at his gesture, the stone neatly knit together again.

He turned away from the obelisk and remounted his horse. He sat his horse for a moment then looked over at the place to the side where Trystan stood. The man looked at him for what seemed like a very long time with his silvery, sad eyes. Then the man smiled. And the plain faded away.


WHEN TRYSTAN OPENED his eyes he was laying on the ground. Amatheon supported his head and shoulders while Rhiannon held a cup to his lips. He drank greedily, knowing that the contents would help prevent his head from splitting in two. Eventually.

He sat fully up, still cradling the wooden cup in his hands, his head bent. At last he looked up carefully at the others who clustered around them.

“Where?” Gwydion asked.

“In the base of the stone itself,” Trystan rasped.

“And Bran?”

“Smiled at me. He did not weep this time. But his eyes were sad.”

“He missed Lleu,” Gwydion said softly.

“And always would.”

Gwydion rose and went over to the base of the stone. “Show me exactly where.”

Trystan supported by Amatheon and Cai rose and went to stand next to Gwydion. “There,” he pointed, his voice still shaking and his knees weak from his enforced Walk between the Worlds.

Gwydion bent down, gently placing his hand on the place where Trystan had indicated. A gap appeared in the stone and Gwydion reached in and pulled out something that glittered in the sunlight.

It was in the shape of an arc, as the other two pieces were. It was made of gold and the curved border was rimmed with sapphires. At the top of one straight side ‘eye of’ was written in tiny emeralds. The pointed portion, like the others, shone with pearls outlined with tiny rubies. As with the others, a poem was incised in its golden surface. Gwydion read it aloud:

The sun rises when the morning comes,

The mist rises from the meadows,

The dew rises from the clover,

But, oh, when will my heart arise?

“Poor Bran,” Rhiannon said quietly. “Poor man.”

Gwydion did not answer, only went to his saddlebags and pulled out the other two pieces. He placed the three pieces together, with the piece from Gwynedd on the upper left, the piece from Rheged on the upper right, and the piece from Ederynion on the lower right. The three pieces were clearly forming three-quarters of a circle. The center of the upper portion now read: “Seek the eye of.” But just what the object that the pearl and rubies at the center was forming, they could not be sure.

“One piece left,” Trystan murmured.

“Mine to find,” Achren said. “At Galor Penduran.”

“The battle where Llyr our first Dreamer lost his life, where his wife, Penduran grieved,” Amatheon said. “I do not envy you the sight of that, Achren. Not at all.”


SOME LEAGUES TO the southeast a horse galloped across a plain in Ystlwyft. He ran freely, the wind rushing through his mane, the sun shining above, and the field glistening at his hooves.

Then, all at once, his heart gave a mighty leap and he came to a dead stop, his head cocked. For he had heard a call, a call he did not understand, but could not ignore.