Night Birds' Reign(155)

Without a word Tybion mounted his horse and left the Dreamer and his companions at the water’s edge.

For what would be, would be.


THE BOAT TOUCHED the coast of Afalon with a gentle bump. Cai and Trystan jumped from the boat and easily hauled it up onto the shore. Gwydion gestured for Rhiannon, Achren, and Angharad to exit the craft first.

He rose and set his feet on the shore of Afalon. That was when he knew, beyond all doubt, that this was the place. Power seemed to emanate from the very soil. He could feel it throbbing beneath the soles of his feet. Even the others seemed to feel it. Rhiannon was somewhat pale and the hands of his other companions hovered near their weapons.

Although his brother had left them only yesterday, Gwydion already missed Amatheon more than he had thought possible. He missed Amatheon’s cheerfulness, his bright eyes, his ready smile, and his laugh. Sometimes Gwydion thought that Amatheon had been given all those things that life had denied Gwydion—love, laughter, companionship. And even as he thought this he realized that life had not denied him those things—rather Gwydion had denied himself.

But what was done was done, and it was far too late to change. In any case, now was not the time to be thinking of those things. Although he had—ever since that night that Rhiannon and he had spoken together by the dying campfire. For that night Gwydion had almost forgotten his duty to Kymru. He had almost forgotten his obligation to find the sword, to keep Arthur safe against the day that he would be High King. He had almost forgotten all of it in Rhiannon’s emerald eyes. But he had stopped himself before it was too late, for to give into the lure of a woman was to abandon duty. His mother had taught him that.

“Are you sure we can do it?” Rhiannon asked sharply.

“What?” Gwydion said, for he had not heard the first part of Rhiannon’s question.

“I said, are you sure that without Amatheon we can still do what we are supposed to do?”

“We must,” Gwydion said simply.

“And where is the eye of Nantsovelta?” Cai asked, gesturing to the thick grove of apple trees that covered the island. Wind played through the trees, and the rustling of leaves made it seem as though the trees were whispering, gleefully holding a secret in their depths.

Gwydion looked at Rhiannon, for he had an idea that she would be the one who would lead them to it. For Rhiannon was Dewin, and Nantsovelta was the goddess they most revered. “Rhiannon?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “It pulls at me. As I think you knew it would.”

“Then lead on,” he said. “And we will follow.

She led them, without hesitation, through the trees. Overhead the sky was gray and overcast. The wind was cold and tugged at their cloaks, moaning in their ears. The apple trees grew thickly and the underbrush was dense. Although Gwydion was sure there were a number of animals on this island they neither saw nor heard them as they made their way forward.

As they walked, Gwydion called to mind every word of the Battle of the Trees.

On winter’s first day

Shall the trees

Face the Guardians.

On winter’s first day

Shall the trees

Do battle.

The alder tree, loyal and patient,

Formed the van.

The aspen-wood, quickly moving,

Was valiant against the enemy.

The hawthorn, with pain at its hand,

Fought on the flanks.

Hazel-tree did not go aside a foot

It would fight with the center.

And when it was over

The trees covered the beloved dead,

And transformed the Y Dawnus,

From their faded state,

Until the two were one,

In strength and purpose,

And raised up that which they had sought.

On winter’s first day,

The one who is loved shall die.

And tears will overwhelm

The lonely heart.

Today was Calan Gaef, the first day of winter, and the first day of the New Year. In other parts of Kymru right now people were beginning to gather for the festival that would honor Annwyn, Lord of Chaos and his mate Aertan, the Weaver. These two ruled Gwlad Yr Haf, the Land of Summer, the place where the dead went to await rebirth. The festival celebrated the time of year when Annwyn and Aertan walked the Summer Land, touching those chosen to return to Earth with a branch of yew wood. Tonight the Kymri would gather and call out the names of the beloved dead, in hopes that the two Shining Ones would choose those spirits to return.

According to the song, the Captains would face the Guardians. And they would do battle. In that battle someone who was loved would die. Now that Amatheon was gone, Gwydion faced that prospect with a less mournful heart. He would not wish death on any of his companions; but clearly, one of them would die today. Gwydion might be the one to take the journey to the Summer Land. He hoped not, for if he did he would feel his duty undone. But if it must be, it would be. As long as Amatheon was safe, that was all that mattered.