It would be Annwyn and Aertan that would allow the souls of the dead High Kings to return for a brief time tonight. If, of course, he could persuade them.
He had already laid out before him a on clean cloth a piece of bread, a small, wooden cup full of wine, a tiny mound of salt, and a piece of honeycomb he had been lucky enough to get from a nearby hive earlier in the afternoon.
He stood now; knowing the time had come. He raised his hands and called Druid’s Fire. Fire instantly filled the shallow pit, licking at the pieces of yew and hazel.
“I, Gwydion ap Awst, the Twelfth Dreamer of Kymru, call on Annwyn, Lord of Chaos and on Aertan, Weaver of Fate. I beg a boon.”
He fell silent, listening. A very slight breeze stirred the grasses surrounding the stones.
“I ask that the souls of the High King’s of Kymru—Idris, Macsen, and Lleu Silver-Hand be released from the Summer Land and allowed to come to me tonight. They have a message for me that I must hear for the good of Kymru.”
Again, Gwydion paused. A cold wind whipped around him, seeming to come from the ground itself. The yew and hazel trees nodded slightly in the sudden breeze.
“I invite the dead to feast with me. I give them grain, for the element of fire.” He picked up the piece of bread and flung it into his Druid’s Fire. The fire flared orange. “I give you wine, for the element of water.” He flung the contents of the tiny cup onto the fire and it flickered with a blue sheen. “I give you salt, for the element of earth.” He flung the salt into the flames, and it flickered with a green cast. “And I give you honeycomb, for the element of air.” He cast the piece of honeycomb into the fire, and it glowed whitely.
Gwydion now stood quietly before the darkened entrance and waited. He had done everything he could do. He only hoped that it was enough.
The darkness that pooled to the tomb’s entrance stirred. A figure stepped forth, glowing slightly in the night, followed by two others. The three shadowy ghosts came to a halt before Gwydion on the other side of the fire pit.
He recognized each one from his dreams. Dark-haired and silver-eyed Idris, the first High King. Bluff honey-blond Macsen, the second High King. And finally, golden Lleu with his hand of silver, the last High King of Kymru.
“You have called us,” Idris spoke in a hollow voice, “and we have come.”
“We have come as Bran had known we would,” Macsen sighed.
“We have come to give you that which will help you find what you seek,” Lleu said.
“Listen well, Dreamer, for this is what you want,” Idris said. “It is called the Battle of the Trees, and it was written by Taliesin for you.”
The three of them recited as one:
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.
Gwydion bowed formally. “I thank you, High Kings, for your message. May I ask a few questions of you?”
Idris nodded. “Though we may not be able to answer fully, we will tell you what we can.”
“The Captains of the Rulers of the four kingdoms are the ones referred to in this poem. For one of their titles is that of the tree for that kingdom. Thus the alder tree is for Cai, the Captain of Gwynedd. And the aspen is for Angharad, the Captain of Ederynion. The hawthorn is for Trystan, the Captain of Rheged, and the hazel is for Achren, the Captain of Prydyn.”
“That is so, Dreamer,” Macsen said. “These are some of those who are required to join you in the search for the sword.”
“And the Y Dawnus spoken of? Who besides myself must accompany us?”
“The one you seek.”
“Rhiannon?” Gwydion asked. “She must go with us?”
Lleu nodded. “She holds another piece of the puzzle, as you have dreamed. But she has a larger part to play.”
Gwydion nodded his head, although everything within him protested this.
“You shall be joined by one other, who we cannot name,” Idris went on. “He shall come to you, although he will not know why.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Gwydion asked thoughtfully. “Who is the one who shall die?”