“I am the Guardian. I am Drwys Idris.”
“I mean,” Arthur explained, flushing in embarrassment, “who were you?”
“Ah,” the Doors sighed. “I was Bloudewedd ur Sawyl var Eurolwyn, High Queen to Lleu Lawrient, many, many years ago.” Bloudewedd’s voice softened. “In this mountain we lived and ruled together.” Her voice faltered. “A very long time ago.”
“But—but you’re still alive.”
The voice laughed a wild sound that pierced like a knife through the soul. “I am neither alive nor dead. My spirit is bound to this mountain, cursed to guard the Doors until the High King returns. I cannot return to Gwlad Yr Haf to be reborn for another turn of the Wheel. This is what Bran did to me.”
“But why?”
“For revenge. Because I plotted the death of Lleu Silver-Hand. And I succeeded.”
“You killed him?” Arthur gasped.
“My lover and I did. And we were punished. My spirit was bound to the mountain. And Gorwys, my lover, was set to guard the shores. His task is to rise and warn the Kymri should invaders set foot on this land. And mine is to guard the Hall of the High King, until the next High King comes to claim the throne.”
“And she cannot be released, Arthur, by any but the Dreamer, and then only at the High King’s command. If released, another traitor must replace her. It is their punishment,” Gwydion said solemnly. “Tell me, Bloudewedd, why did you do it? Why did you murder your own husband?”
“Lleu and I cared for each other. But Gorwys—” The sound of that dead name seemed to warm the cold voice, as embers are warmed by the memory of fire. “Ah, when I met him I forgot everything. Honor, duty, they were nothing to me. There was only desire. It meant nothing to me that he was my own sister’s husband. Gorwys wanted me. I could deny him nothing, he held my heart in the palm of his hand.”
“And now? Have you repented of your crime?” Gwydion demanded. “Or would you do the same again?”
The Doors were silent for some time. A mournful wind whipped across the plain, carving patterns in the wildflowers. A hawk, wheeling overhead, gave a lonely cry.
At last the Doors spoke. “I have no answer to that. Except to say that we are what we are. And that, Dreamer, is what the silence has taught me. We are what we are.”
Meirgdydd, Tywyllu Wythnos—afternoon
TWO WEEKS LATER, having attended the graduation of the Druids at Caer Duir and the Bards at Neuadd Gorsedd, they arrived at Y Ty Dewin.
The huge, three-story, five-sided building of white stone glowed in the light of the afternoon sun. The banner of the Dewin, a silver dragon on a field of sea green, fluttered from the watchtower at the top of the keep.
As they neared the main entrance, young novices in silver-gray robes came up to take their horses. As they dismounted, a woman descended the front steps. She had long, light brown hair, tightly braided and wound around her head like a coronet. She wore a rich gown of sea green trimmed in silver. Around her neck was a silver torque with one large pearl. Her blue eyes held a smile as she greeted the party.
She bowed slightly to Arthur. “Greetings, son of Uthyr ap Rathtyen, King of Gwynedd. I am Elstar ur Anieron var Ethyllt, the Ardewin’s heir. I welcome you to Y Ty Dewin in the name of Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters.”
Arthur, who had been well schooled in his reply by Susanna, bowed to the woman. “I greet the children of Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, Queen of the Moon, in the name of my father, Uthyr PenHebog, the King of Gwynedd. May we enter here?”
“Enter and be welcome to the house of Nantsovelta,” Elstar replied formally. Then she smiled. “You did very well, Arthur ap Uthyr.”
Slowly Arthur smiled back. “Thank you,” he said simply. Fair as always, he went on, “Susanna taught me.”
“And did an excellent job,” she said, smiling at Susanna and giving her hand in greeting to Cai. She turned to Gwydion. “Your presence here lights my life and gives wings to my soul, oh great Dreamer. The fire of your eyes pierces my heart, and the power of your towering spirit warms my innermost being.”
“Very nice, Elstar. You wouldn’t be making fun of me would you?”
“I? Never. I adore you now and always,” Elstar said, batting her lashes at him.
“Well, just don’t tell Elidyr,” Gwydion said, naming Elstar’s husband. “He’d chop me in two.”
“Nonsense. He’d have someone else do it for him. A Bard has to be careful of his hands. You must all be weary. Come, I’ll show you to your rooms. By the way, Gwydion, Myrrdin wants to see you right away.”