‘But you won’t. You can run farther and faster than just about anyone I know. And I’ve seen you wield a pick axe and a lump hammer.’
‘I do have to stay out of the sun. A summer’s day can make me blister, though there are some pretty good sunblocks out there now. It must have been difficult in years gone by. Imagine what it would have been like all those centuries ago.’
‘You think the woman in the boat had the same condition as you?’
‘Whoever I saw when I put on the bracelet—the torc—she showed every indication of having albinism.’
‘It must have been hard. I mean, nobody would have understood. She would have been singled out for being so different, surely.’
‘It’s odd, but that would have been less problematic than it is now. It’s a modern reaction, stigmatizing people who don’t fit the general idea of what we should all look like. There’s evidence that through the ages people who stood out were often thought of as being of special importance. Something more rather than something less.’ She pauses to consider this for a moment and then goes on. ‘If Seren Arianaidd was like me, and if your uncle’s right and she was the local shaman, she would have been revered and respected. No, for her the hardest part of having this condition would have been protecting herself from the sun. She may have had problems with her eyesight too, but not all of us do.’
‘You don’t need your lenses anymore. Your eyes have got better, since you moved here.’
‘Yes. They have.’ She snuggles closer to him. ‘You have no idea how wonderful it feels not to be hiding behind them anymore.’
A thought occurs to Dylan. ‘Uncle Illtyd says the torc was made for a child. If it has all those witchy symbols on it, and it has such an amazing effect on you when you wear it, it makes sense to think it belonged to the woman you saw, if she was a shaman and possibly a witch. So…’
‘So she must have had a child. So, did either of them survive the attack on the crannog?’
He kisses Tilda’s brow, her face, her throat. ‘Because if they did,’ he whispers, ‘then maybe, just maybe, Seren also had grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.’ He kisses her collarbone, slipping off her shoulder straps, moving lower, ‘and so on, down, down, down through the ages, generation after generation, until we get to…’ He looks up at her, smiling.
Tilda smiles back. ‘Me. Until we get to me.’
SEREN
Tanwen plays happily with the flowers outside our little home. There is such joy to be found in watching an inquisitive young mind snatching at everything life offers. Her fascination with the petals of a buttercup, her wonder at the wings of a butterfly, her fury at the sting of a nettle—with each new experience she grows. Already I can see the light of magic in her eyes. She was blessed by the Afanc and she is my daughter, but more than this, she has the gift in her own soul. I will nurture it as I cherish her, and one day she will be my worthy successor.
She hears, no, senses someone approach. I follow the turn of her head and soon spy Nesta tramping into view. I am quick to attribute my child’s sharpness to her singular blood, but in truth, a cloth-eared drunkard at the bottom of a barrel could hear the princess’s maid stumbling along the path. She is carrying a wicker basket holding something heavy within. The day is falling into dusk, but still I can make out an uncharacteristic smile upon her plump face.
‘Good day to you, Seren Arianaidd,’ she calls. ‘And to you, little one. How pretty she is grown.’
I raise my brows. This attempt at cordial behavior toward me—toward us—is as easy to see through as a glassful of lake water. When I do not return her greeting, however, she does not let slip her mask of friendliness. ‘Forgive me for not calling upon you these long months past, Prophet. My mistress likes me ever at her side.’
‘And she did not wish to visit?’ The mockery in my question is a challenge, but one she is clearly prepared for.’
‘On this occasion,’ she says, lowering her voice a little, ‘I act of my own accord. My mistress knows not of my wish to speak with you. I have slipped away unnoticed.’
This I find hard to believe, but I will play the game and see what it is she wants of me. For Nesta does nothing that does not forward the cause of Nesta, however indirectly.
‘Won’t you sit?’ I gesture at the blanket upon the ground. It is too warm for a fire yet, but there are cushions and it is a pleasant spot to rest. With some huffing and puffing, she lowers herself onto the red and green wool. She smiles at Tanwen, who stares back for a moment, decides the woman is of no interest and goes back to her flowers.