Hefeydd had gone mad with grief. He refused to see his tiny daughter. He spent hours next to Indeg’s body, holding her cold hand, pleading for her to come back to him.
Finally, they had forced Hefeydd away from Indeg’s lifeless shell, and sent her body back to her mother at Caer Dathyl. But Darun would not see Hefeydd to offer comfort, nor did she take any interest in her granddaughter. Hefeydd returned to Neuadd Gorsedd, for he too had no interest in the newborn baby girl. It fell to Llawen, Hefeydd’s sister, to bring up this unwanted child.
Many years later Rhiannon came to understand that her Aunt Llawen had not been a beautiful woman. She was plain and plump with brown hair and muddy hazel eyes. But to Rhiannon her aunt was beautiful, for Llawen knew how to love. And that love had shone through her in everything she said or did. Llawen’s love for her husband, Dudod, for her son, Elidyr, and for her niece, Rhiannon, permeated their home, making the simple house seem a palace.
Uncle Dudod, the brother of the Master Bard, was a traveling Bard, kind and charming and restless. Her aunt used to say that Dudod could charm the birds from the trees, and Rhiannon believed her.
The times when Dudod was home were the best of all. He would slyly appear from nowhere, simply walking into the house as though he did it every day. His green eyes would dance with joy, and Llawen would always drop what she was doing and throw herself into his outstretched arms. And they would kiss—a kiss that would often go on too long for the patience of Elidyr and Rhiannon. Then Dudod would grab his son, swinging him high in the air. He would pick up Rhiannon ever so gently, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her what a pretty child she was.
And always Rhiannon would ask if her father were coming home. Had her uncle seen him? Had her father asked for her? And always Dudod would say that perhaps Hefeydd would be along momentarily. He would say that Hefeydd was very busy, for being a Bard was hard, hard work. He would say that Hefeydd thought about her all the time and loved her dearly. And when her face fell Llawen would take her into her arms and stroke her dark hair and whisper, “Never mind, cariad. Never mind.”
When Rhiannon was five years old her cousin Elidyr was sent to Neuadd Gorsedd to learn to be a Bard. Elidyr would be trained as heir to his uncle Anieron. One day Elidyr would be the Master Bard.
Rhiannon cried then, for Elidyr had been kind to her. But Llawen promised that they would go to Neuadd Gorsedd to see him one day. Rhiannon dried her tears for she knew that she could trust Llawen. So she waited confidently for the day when they would take their journey.
She thought that perhaps her father would be there. And he would take her into his arms and kiss her and tell her how proud he was to have such a wonderful daughter. She spent a year spinning these dreams out of nothing, until the day that Llawen told her that the time had come for their visit. Rhiannon begged for a new dress to wear. “So my Da will think I’m pretty,” she said, her eyes shining with the memory of her daydreams. “And then he’ll love me.” And Llawen, her eyes sad and wise, agreed that Rhiannon must indeed have a new dress.
At last they began their journey, traveling on horseback with Uncle Dudod. After a few days they came to Coed Aderyn, the wood on the border of Prydyn and Gwytheryn. They stopped to eat at a tiny pool, fed by a gentle waterfall. And Rhiannon, exploring, discovered a cave hidden behind the flowing curtain of water. All three of them marveled at such a perfect little place tucked away in the quiet forest.
When they reached Neuadd Gorsedd, Elidyr himself came running down the steps, wearing his apprentice robe of white. His light brown eyes were filled with happiness as he threw himself into his mother’s arms. And then he picked Rhiannon up and manfully negotiated the huge stone steps that led into the college.
Rhiannon whispered, “Is Da here? I wore a new dress.”
“He’s not here,” Elidyr answered in dismay. “He left yesterday.”
“But—but did he know we were coming?”
Although Elidyr was only eight years old, he knew better than to tell her the truth. “No,” he lied. “I guess someone forgot to tell him.”
And though she tried not to, Rhiannon began to weep, tears trickling down her tiny cheeks. “But I wore a new dress,” she whispered, forlornly.
Elidyr looked around in panic at his father, and Dudod took Rhiannon into his strong arms. “Come, let’s go meet your Uncle Anieron.” And Dudod kissed her tears away and Rhiannon wished passionately, hopelessly, that her father might come to love her one-day. Wished passionately, hopelessly that one day a man would come into her life that would love her.
IN THE COLD winter night, Rhiannon, remembering, knelt down by the still pool. She stared at the water, dark where the moon did not shine, bright where the moon’s path cut through. Light and dark rippled across her eyes. Shadow and brightness, one and the same, she thought. One and the same.