She stepped carefully, for the entrance was always slightly wet from the spray of water. Her eyes, dazzled by the snow, took a moment to adjust to the dim interior. She made her way to the small table in the middle of the chamber and placed her burdens down on the rough wooden surface. The fire crackled merrily, and Gwen had lit the candles. She returned to the entrance and drew the heavy woolen curtain across it so that nobody would be able to see the glow of the fire.
As she looked around the chamber, the rough walls, covered with rock crystal, glittered in the light of the fire. Rushes covered the floor. The firelight played off the walls and the wooden shelves that she had built. One shelf, to the left of the entrance, contained a few books. A telyn, the small harp that had belonged to her father, stood silently next to the books. The tiny harp was covered with dust, for Rhiannon had not touched it in years. When her father died he had left her that harp, and her first instinct had been to smash it to pieces. But the beauty of the instrument always stopped her. So it sat mute, year after year, but still in one piece.
To the immediate right of the entrance were two stacked sleeping pallets. Next to these was another wooden shelf, which held a large golden bowl, an ivory-backed hand mirror, and a silver comb, the only gifts from Rhoram she had taken with her that long-ago night. In the middle of the rough wall, a small, intricately carved trunk squatted, its dark, satiny surface reflecting the fire’s cheerful glow.
All was as it should have been, except for one thing. Her daughter was nowhere in sight. Rhiannon sighed in exasperation. She knew where Gwen was—exploring the caves. Over and over she had explained to Gwen how dangerous that was. Gwen could get lost, or the caves could collapse. But Gwen obviously felt that her mother was exaggerating these dangers, for she never paid the slightest bit of attention.
Rhiannon heard the sound of running feet, and Gwen burst into the chamber through the opening in the far wall of the cave. She had a single candle tightly clutched in her tiny hands—at eleven years old she was small for her age. Her long blond hair was uncombed, and her delicate features were smudged with dirt. Her large blue eyes held her usual look of unfettered innocence. She wore an old blue gown, and doeskin boots covered her little feet.
“You misjudged the time, I take it,” Rhiannon said dryly, covering her relief that Gwen was unharmed.
Gwen’s blue eyes widened in hurt surprise as she tried to hold off the inevitable scolding. “What do you mean?” she asked in her high, piping voice.
“You know what I mean, Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram. You were exploring the caves again.”
“Oh, no,” Gwen replied earnestly. “You see, I thought I heard a noise just a moment ago, and I stepped back there just a very few feet to see if I could find anything.”
“Ah, of course. And did you?”
“No. I can’t imagine what it was.”
“All right, Gwen,” Rhiannon said wearily. “Let’s go over this again. What part of ‘stay out of the caves’ is confusing to you?”
“Oh, Mam, please. I want to. Please let me,” Gwen pleaded. “The caves aren’t really dangerous. You worry too much. If you’re not worrying that I’m lost in the caves you’re worrying that I’ve drowned in the pool. If you’re so afraid of water, why are we living with a waterfall on our doorstep?”
“I’m not afraid of water,” Rhiannon said quickly. “And don’t change the subject. You stay out of those caves, understand?”
Gwen nodded sullenly, her blue eyes filling with tears. She sat dejectedly at the table, her golden head bowed as she pretended to nonchalantly pick at her fingernails. But her hands were trembling slightly.
Rhiannon gazed at her daughter, and her heart softened. She struggled to be reasonable, for Gwen was her daughter and she loved her. But because she loved Gwen she was terribly afraid. She tried to clamp down on her apprehensions.
“All right, Gwen,” she said quietly. “Let’s make a pact here and now.”
Gwen raised her head, her blue eyes still swimming with tears. “What’s the pact?”
Rhiannon held up her hand, ticking down points on her fingers. “One: you may explore the caves.”
Gwen leapt up, her face shining.
“Wait,” Rhiannon said sharply. “There’s a great deal more.”
Apprehensively, Gwen sat down again.
“Two: you may explore, providing you Wind-Ride to me every few hours, showing me exactly where you are and what you are doing. Three: you must be proficient in Wind-Riding before you go into the caves again, and that means practice.”
Gwen made a face, for she hated to practice. Practicing required stillness and concentration—neither of which appealed to her.