Night Birds' Reign(158)

In Gwlad Yr Haf, the Land of Summer

Still they live, still they live.

They shall not be killed, they shall not be wounded.

No fire, no sun, no moon shall burn them.

No lake, no water, nor sea shall drown them.

They live in peace and laugh and sing.

The dead are gone, yet still they live.

They stood silently for a time after the song was done, each in their grief, although no one’s—even Angharad’s—was as profound as Gwydion’s. Yet still he could not weep. He thought it would be long and long before he did. He thought that his heart would remain cold and dead forever. There were still those that he loved who still lived. There was Uthyr, his half brother. There was Cariadas, his daughter. There was Myrrdin, his uncle. Only those three still had the power to touch him. Only those three, and nobody else now that Amatheon was gone.

Suddenly it seemed to him as if his father was dying again. The pain was back that he had felt on that awful day that he had discovered his father’s body, when he knew that one who loved him was gone, forever beyond his reach. But then he had had Amatheon to help him bear it. And now Amatheon was gone.

It was enough that there were three others whose loss could hurt him so. There would never be more.

Never.


“GWYDION.”

He would not answer. If he didn’t they would leave him alone. That was all he wanted now, was to be left alone.

“Gwydion.”

The voice—insistent, implacable—would not leave him be.

“Gwydion.”

“What?” he answered at last, only to stop the sound of his name on her lips.

“The sword,” Rhiannon went on. “Remember the sword.”

“What of it?” he asked dully.

“We must find it.”

“We?”

“The verse, Gwydion. Remember the verse:

Until the two were one

In strength and purpose,

And raised up that which they had sought.”

“The Shining Ones will wait a long time until we are one,” he muttered.

“Gwydion—”

“No,” he said harshly. “Leave me be. Haven’t you done enough?”

Rhiannon drew back from him, shocked. “What have I done?”

“You let him come!” Gwydion shouted. “Back at Caer Dathyl, you told him he could come!”

“I didn’t kill him!” she cried. “You did! You sent him away! If he hadn’t been forced to sneak back, if he hadn’t been hiding, he might still be alive!”

“You killed him!” he screamed back at her. “You killed him!”

“Gwydion,” Cai said stepping in front of Rhiannon. “Stop. Stop this now.”

Gwydion turned away but Trystan was there. “Gwydion,” Trystan said quietly. “It wasn’t her fault.”

Again, he turned away, only to face Achren. “She didn’t kill him.”

Again, he turned, and Angharad was there. “And neither did you.”

He halted, staring at her, unable to speak.

Angharad’s face was drawn and her mouth set with grief, the tracks of tears on her cheeks. But her green eyes were steady as she looked at him. “He was killed by the person who has tried to stop us all along from retrieving the sword.”

“Will you let that person win?” Cai asked.

“Will you let the sword remain hidden?” Achren asked.

“Will you fail?” Trystan asked softly.

The silence in the glade was complete as Gwydion stood there, surrounded by his companions. The four Guardians were gone, and it seemed to Gwydion that the five men and women that stood here in this clearing with him were the only living things left in Kymru.

He did not count himself, for much of him had died today.

Duty was all he had left, really. The Shining Ones had given him the duty to find the sword. He would finish what the gods had started. He would finish it. Because duty was all he had, all he had ever had.

Wordlessly he made his way to stand before the well. The dark water was still and silent. He turned his head to look back at Rhiannon. At first she did not move. Her emerald eyes were filled with grief at Amatheon’s death, with rage at Gwydion’s accusation, with the fear that there was truth to it.

“Rhiannon,” Cai said gently when she did not move to stand before the well. “He needs you.”

“He needs no one,” she said bitterly.

“He does, although he does not know it,” Achren said softly.

“I do not care,” Rhiannon said between gritted teeth.

“Think of it not as Gwydion’s need, then,” Trystan said. “Think of it as Kymru’s need. The sword, Rhiannon. We must have the sword.”

“Do not let Amatheon die for nothing,” Angharad said with a catch to her voice. “Do not let it be meaningless.”