Chapter 16 - Family Tree

By James Attwood

Raymond and Gelert still held out within the old farmhouse. Hours, that seemed like days, must have passed by now. Every so often it would go quiet, the vicious growls and tenacious clawing would subside, only for them to resume as soon as they thought they might finally be alone. Raymond cursed his luck; he was sure even a pack of starving wolves would have abandoned the hunt by now, but these monstrous cats stalked them tirelessly. Perhaps he’d foolishly taken shelter in the middle of their den, perhaps they sought vengeance for their fallen brother who still lay dead inside. It wasn’t as if it mattered, why apply logic to any of this when none of it was natural. Who knew what malicious intent was driving these beasts. Again, they resumed their assault, this time even the wood of the barricade splintered and was knocked flat with a thud from the buckling cupboard.    

            Raymond set to propping the heavy furniture back up, but the fiend had already widened the gap, forcing its mangy head of teeth and scales through the fractured wood. Gelert leapt in front, ready to face it head on. Six eyes stared back at him, practically ogling their hard-earned meal. Yet with a piercing cry its face froze in pain, the glee in its eyes dulling to the numbness of death. The blood-soaked tip of a spear pierced the board below it, and as it retracted the beast slumped from view. Heavy hooves and the battle cries of some unseen combatant erupted outside, the ear-piercing screeches of the cats signalling they were dealing with a far greater threat than Raymond and his dog. A few steely shouts and guttural cries later the chaos outside seemed to have ended, all within seconds. By the time Raymond had managed to push the busted door open all he saw was several of the beasts scattered dead across the yard. Ahead a familiar knight sat atop his black stallion yanked his lance from the corpse of the last he’d slain.

            “Thank goodness you are still alive Sir Ray!” The knight turned to greet him, short of breath, his obsidian armour speckled with viscous blood.

            “Knight of the Sparrowhawk!? Is that...” Raymond stood in disbelief.

            “Alas, I hold only the title of the Knight of the Well these days, thanks to you...” he trotted over and with a steely creak raised his visor to reveal the wizened man beneath, “...but yes, tis I.”

            Raymond giddily chuckled, still somewhat taken aback by his rescuer. “You weren’t kidding, you’re something else on horseback!”

            “Ha! I’ll be honest, it was good to battle with him once more.” He patted his horse’s back as it shook its head, “Those damnable beasts put up quite the fight mind.”

            “What the hell were they?” Raymond gazed down at the closest example of these chimeric nightmares.

            “Cathod Palug I believe, I’ve heard of such creatures yet never seen one in the flesh. King Arthur was meant to have slain all of their kind, why they have returned I couldn’t fathom a guess.” The knight spoke with some disappointment, as if a hero had fallen short of expectation.

            “Add them to the list...” Raymond muttered, dismayed by the growing number of returning threats. His thoughts turned to his wife and daughter, out there alone. “Why are you here? How did you know where to find me?”

            “A maiden and her daughter rode in a panic not far from my village, I set out to offer them assistance and lo and behold it was your lady, Zoe. She is ill as I’m sure you know; she could say little but refused my sanctuary. Your daughter however, she is as strong willed as her mother. She explained she must take her further into the woods, but that you were beset by beasts down the road.” The knight still brimmed with respect for this family.

            “So they’re alive, thank god.” Raymond let out a sigh of relief.

            “They made way for the witch of the woods in hopes she might cure lady Zoe.”

            “Good, that’s good.” Raymond couldn’t stop smiling, he’d given up hope, but it had all come back with the appearance of the knight. “And you, you just came all this way to help me?”

            “I had no choice, your daughter insisted that I come to your aid.” The knight declared as if it were a god given duty, but then slipped into a more jovial tone. “Besides, I knew you would be without a horse with naught but your bare hands to defend yourself, you wouldn’t last a day!”

            Raymond laughed at the well-deserved jab but knelt to ruffle Gelert’s mane. “Lucky I had this guy. I’ll take you up on that horse this time though, if that’s alright.”

            “I haven’t one spare I’m afraid but this one is strong; we’ll take you to your family if you point the way.” The knight held out a gauntlet and pulled Raymond up onto the back of his steed, it was so sturdy it was comfortable even with two grown men atop it. Galloping down the road they made way for Llyn Tegid, Gelert bounding ahead.

*

Encumbered as it was the black stallion still galloped across the countryside with impressive speed, those hooves thundering like the coming of a storm. Even Gelert seemed possessed by some force of energy, hurtling through the fields in anticipation of reuniting with the others. It wasn’t long before the knight pulled at the reigns and brought his steed’s relentless pace to a sudden stop. Before them stood the old crones hut, the peaceful waters of Llyn Tegid behind it. The door swung open as Maeve dashed out to meet her father, cheeks pushed wide by the largest smile Raymond had ever seen grace her face.

            “Dad!” She cried, Gelert stopping her in her tracks before she could reach the horse, circling her with excitement.

            “Maeve, you made it!” Raymond practically leapt from the horse to embrace his daughter, hugging her so tightly he never wished to let her go. “Are you alright? Your mother, is she okay?”

            “We’re fine Dad!” She fussed as she struggled free of him, “Mum’s inside with Ceridwen.”

            Raymond threw his head back in delight, his time apart had been an agonising loop of worrying whether they would make it or not, to have confirmation came with a wave of elation. Hand back on his daughter’s shoulder he said, “I knew you’d get her here honey, good job.”

            Maeve came over rather shy at the kind words and tried to shift the credit to another as she so often would. “Those monsters gave up the chase pretty quickly, I think they were more concerned with you...I was so scared Dad...”

            “But you still sent this guy back for me.” He looked to the knight who seemed awfully wary of where he was, eyes transfixed on the hut.

            “Well, you told me, ‘save who you can and don’t give up on anyone’.” She feigned a gruff impression of her father, stiffening her back with a sense of militaristic pride. She loosened her shoulders and sincerely added, “Turns out you were right.”

            Raymond could barely believe his ears, he wanted to make some comment regarding his daughter finally agreeing with him, but he thought it best to say what was most important for her to hear. “Seriously Maeve, this one was all you, you did good.”

            Their moment together was interrupted as the knight coughed from behind. Raymond turned to thank him, “We’re indebted to you, truly. When all this is over I’ll find a way to return the Sparrow to you.”

            “Thank you for bringing my dad back safely.” Maeve echoed.

            “No need for thanks, I consider us even now Sir Ray. You spared my life where honour would have dictated you take it, you showed me another way when my life had been decreed by such narrow tradition. In short, a life for a life.” He tugged at the reigns, his horse turning away from them. “I hope only that your efforts reap the rewards you once promised, that this realm might be restored to its former glory.”

            “Won’t you stay a while, I’m sure my mum would like to thank you.” Maeve was sad to see this enigmatic figure leave so soon.

            “Alas these haunted grounds are not for me to tread, perhaps the witch treats your ilk favourably, yet I would not dare to put my fate to chance. I have a fiefdom I must return to, people who need me...a wife who will surely scorn me.” He stopped as he remembered one last deed and circled back to hand Raymond the same modest short sword he had chosen in their duel. “I will insist you keep it this time, so that I might not have to find you empty handed in the midst of danger again.”

            “I can’t accept this…” Raymond couldn’t lean on the knight’s charity yet again.

            “You must.” The knight flipped the sword to grip it by the blade, it’s handle tantalizingly dangled in front of the father. “For her.”

            “If you insist, thank you.” He took it and smiled at Maeve with a subtle pride about him.

            “Do not thank me, I thought it an insignificant thing until it graced your bloody hands.” The knight chortled, directing his horse back down the path.

            “Well, safe travels then fair Knight. No guarantees but...” Raymond hesitated to utter such promises, especially in front of Maeve, yet he felt he owed this man as much, “...we’ll do our best to fix this.”

            The knight trotted back down the winding path, a single hand held high to bid farewell. “Even should you fail in your quest, know now that the Knight of the Well will never forget the Elderkin family.”

            “I liked him.” Maeve concluded as the black clad knight disappeared into the tangled forest.

            “Yeah.” Raymond agreed, “Me too.”

            “Did you really mean what you said? That we’re going to fix this?” Maeve had heard loud and clear what her father had said and wouldn’t soon let him forget.

            Raymond smirked, “One thing at a time.”

            They didn’t dwell on farewells, Raymond in fact turned on a heel and made for the old hut, to finally see Zoe again. Inside he found the same old scene, countless effigies wound together and left to dangle at head height, carved idols aplenty cluttered together as if perfection were never achieved, and there, laid amidst it all where her brother Lewis had once rested, was Zoe. Sat by her side was the bard Taliesin, eyes agleam as he recited some old ditty, twanging the odd cord of his lute to emphasise each beat. He appeared remarkably well, with only a bruised brow to remind of his past state, and seemed not to care that Zoe was oblivious, lost in a deep sleep. Bathed in the greenish flare of her bubbling cauldron was the old enchantress Ceridwen, flicking over the pages of some old tome that appeared oversized in her small frail hands.

            “With a robe of flame-red silk about her, and a torque of red gold about the maiden’s ne-” Taliesin’s beatific verse was cut short by his quasi mother.

            “Hush now boy, enough of that nonsense!” She barked; eyes still glued to the contents of her book.

            “Why must you be such a curmudgeon mother, it may help her, after all she isn’t complaining.” To see the bard and witch squabble was an odd sight, they made for a most peculiar family.

            “Because that’s her husband that just walked in you half-wit.”

            “Ah! Raymond, the man of the hour!” Taliesin tossed his lute to the side with little care and stood bolt upright, curtsying with a needlessly flourished bow. “I’ve heard all about you, your daughter there is quite the story teller.”

            “You’re looking awfully better.” Raymond observed flatly, brushing off the flamboyant greeting with a wave of the hand as he saw to his wife.

            “Thanks to you and your family I hear, I was sure that brute would finish the job that night.” Taliesin quivered at the mere memory.

            “And my medicines boy, don’t forget.” Ceridwen snidely interjected.

            “And your medicines, of course.” Taliesin spoke with the usual pomp and flair Maeve had witnessed in that old cabin, his liveliness a little jarring compared to when Raymond had first met him. “How could I forget, especially when you keep reminding me.”

            “Pah!” Ceridwen balked and spat into the cauldron, an eruption of bubbles punctuating her irritation. Maeve silently stepped in with Gelert and huddled by her mother’s side, hoping to go unnoticed amidst the familial dispute.

            “What about her?” Raymond spoke above their jabs, feeling Zoe’s forehead for a fever.

            “She’ll live...enough devotion left from the Sparrow’s brew to see to that, don’t worry.” Ceridwen rested her hand on the page she was reading and lifted her head to look at Raymond eye to eye. “The wound is treated and it’s only a matter of time before the sickness subsides and she’s back to herself...”

            He was dubious as to why the enchantress’s speech listed off, “But?”

            “...Her sight. The Afanc’s venom was most certainly the cause, the damage appears quite irreversible. She may remain without it forever.” For the first time the witch looked as if she were at a dead end, searching through that book for answers that may yet still evade her.

            “You’re certain? There’s nothing you can do? I mean, you’re the Ceridwen, the enchantress, the witch of the woods, there must be something you can do.” Raymond’s thoughts ran rampant with worry.

            “I’ve not given up boy, I’m searching every one of these books for some tonic of relevance, I merely warn you of the likely eventuality.” She could see father and daughter alike were still flustered so she put the book aside and hobbled over, checking her patient knowing she’d discover nothing new. “The Afanc was a terrible monstrosity, ancient and born of hatred. Those quills have fended off dragons in the past, it’s a wonder any of you came out alive. It may not seem as much, but I’d consider this outcome most fortunate.”

            Raymond remembered the stark warning they’d been issued before leaving, that of death. He couldn’t be angry at the crone; she’d done nothing but help even when they ignored her every word. He just wished he could be in Zoe’s place. With remorse he muttered, “I know...thank you.”

            “Where’s Blodeuwedd?” Maeve quietly mused; she was sure her uncle had told her the maiden made of flowers would be waiting here for them.

            “Blodeuwedd, oh the poor girl.” There was a soft melancholy to Ceridwen’s generally shrill voice as she spoke of the ill-fated maiden. “She told your parents where to find you, knowing full well it might be the last thing she’d do as a human. Why you knew of her curse didn’t you child, how Gwydion saw fit to turn her into an owl to be hated by all other birds?”

            “Mhm.” Maeve nodded, in her short time here she’d already nattered about tales aplenty with the crone as she tended to with her grandmother.

            “Well Gwydion promised she would live as a human once more if she saw one of you safely into his hands. And that she did, and oh how she enjoyed her brief time made from flowers once more. But Gwydion, he’s a sly man, a trickster. He’d held her to a specific clause, a set of intricate instructions she must follow or see herself be cursed again. And she knew this.” The old witch sneered with contempt, remembering Blodeuwedd’s last moments in her arms. “In telling your parents how to find you she’d done the very opposite, she’d practically snatched you from Gwydion’s hands herself. And so, the curse took hold again. I begged her to stay but she was so distraught, so ashamed to face others like this after so precious little time being free...she flew into the night, and that was the last I saw of her.”

            An air of quiet befell the cramped interior, husband and wife reunited in a bittersweet circumstance, Maeve again nervously running her fingers through the tangled mane of her dog, unsure of what to say next. As expected, the bard broke the silence.

“It may not feel so joyous now, but your exploits will inspire many a poem to come, trust me. I mean you won the rights of the Sparrow, saved an intrepid bard from the clutches of a deranged immortal...” He looked to Maeve who appeared most sullen and began to recount the events she’d relayed to him earlier, only in far more colourful a manner. “Rode a flock of ceffyl dŵr and survived, outwitted the ravenous hordes of Cil Coed, sought out and conversed with the Salmon of Llyn Llyw and last but not least, battled the nefarious Afanc and survived to tell the tale!”

            The show didn’t cheer up Maeve as he had hoped, as she quietly corrected him. “Not all of us.”

            “Ah but more than you might expect.” Taliesin quipped, dashing a finger through the air as if he were a magician on the verge of revealing his next trick.

            “Gwion...” Ceridwen almost hissed, sure her tone would be enough to warn her son from saying any more.

            “Oh please, we’re beyond the realm of caution now mother. Gwydion threw that to the wind when he abducted a child from another world.” The bard would have none of the enchantress’s omens, never one to be silenced.

            “What are you saying?” Maeve asked, lurching forward with anticipation of what news he might have of her family.

            “What your loose lips say now might change the future for the worse!” Ceridwen and Taliesin rattled on, oblivious to their present company.

            “Don’t come to me with that, as far as I’m concerned this all began when you helped us act against fate in the first place!”

            “He’s seen them.” Raymond answered his daughter, though seeing her confusion he elaborated. “Those two can see the future, kind of.” He stood and held both to account, “You saw them didn’t you, you saw my kids. And who’s us? Hmm?”

            The two of them were ready to take another jab at each other until Raymond’s voice rang out, demanding the attention of this cramped little hovel. They turned, stone faced, both a little wary that they may have divulged too much in the heat of the moment. Neither could muster an explanation before a murmur whispered from behind.

            “Myrddin...” Zoe muttered, awake but vacant almost, her eyes open but clouded a murky white, “...it was Myrddin in that cave wasn’t it, the one we first travelled to. You never asked us about him because you knew, you knew who we’d met first of all in this place.”

            Father and daughter fell to her side and grabbed her hands. Raymond fruitlessly looked into those eyes, trying to get a measure of her health. “Zoe, what are you saying?”

            “The old man, trapped in that cave, he was Myrddin the wizard. The oak tree, he enchanted it. It took us where we thought of, no, where we felt we needed to go. Blodeuwedd thought of the mountain, and it took us there. I was first though, and all I craved in that moment was family. And it took us to him.” A soft smile crept over her face as she heard the worries of her husband and daughter once more, yet she spoke with an almost trance like clarity. As if she’d woken from a dream and recounted it now before it became nothing but a forgotten fantasy.

            Ceridwen gulped at the frog that had settled in her throat and sat back down on her crude little log of a stool. With a deep breath she began, “Perhaps I should start from the beginning…back to the night of Pryderi’s disappearance.

“Eight centuries ago, the kingdom of Dyfed was in turmoil. Pwyll Pen Annwn, Lord of Dyfed, and his wife Rhiannon had welcomed their son into the world, only for him to go missing on the night of his birth. He had been in the care of six of Rhiannon’s ladies-in-waiting at the time, who, in an effort to avoid the wrath of the king, had smeared dog’s blood onto Rhiannon as she slept. They made claims that she had killed the child herself and eaten it, accusations that caused much woe, though this is a tale for another time.” Ceridwen recounted the tale as if it were ancient history, until now, “Few knew this to be the case yet the true thief in the night was Myrddin, the wild wizard who had seen what fate lied ahead for this child. The boy would achieve many a great deed, unite lands and provide prosperous times, only to fall at the hands of Gwydion over the guileless matter of some magical pigs. Such a man ought to be protected, Myrddin deemed, lest he play a larger role in our realm’s fate.”

            Ceridwen’s recount was passionate now, the story brimming with lively detail as if it were playing out before their very eyes. After all, the enchantress would know, she had been there that fateful night.

*

Myrddin hurried through the night, newborn wrapped in his arms, a suspicious eye ever glancing over his shoulder. What am I doing, have I truly gone mad!? He questioned himself at every turn, frantically moving through brush and shadow as countless men searched long into the night for the missing prince. Yet he’d seen the unthinkable. He’d seen what terrible curse might befall this land should he not act, how the Otherworld itself might be torn open, denizens of all worlds left to rot between life and death for eternity. It must be done, I cannot falter. Soon enough he found Taliesin, under a cloak and hat, doing his best to remain unseen. The bard hadn’t doubted his friend for a moment, yet the act astounded him all the same. Keen not to dwell with the most sought-after child in the land beneath his cloak, Myrddin hastened Taliesin onwards, to the abode of their mutual acquaintance.

            The door swung open to the enchantress’s hut as they hurried in before any prying eyes might see them. For its modest exterior the hut itself was steeped in magic and lore. Well organised books lined its walls, arranged meticulously atop decorative shelves. Well preserved tapestries were proudly on display, lending some grandeur to this almost larger than possible interior. Ceridwen herself emerged from the back room, through a cascade of dangling beads and glimmering pearls, draped in the deep red folds of her flowing gown. She had an air of youth, billowing black curls fell past her bare shoulders, her amber skin glowed in the light of the cauldron. Despite this enchanting guise the dirt that gathered under her fingernails and the soles of her bare feet spoke of how she held appearance with less and less reverence as the days went by. After all, she was barely Myrddin’s junior, yet his unkempt greying beard and wizened wrinkles placed him centuries ahead.

            “Quiet now, you’ll stir the woods, and all will know.” Ceridwen shelved the book she’d held and locked the door behind them.

            “Where are the others? Bugger the woods if the rabble are behind that curtain.” Taliesin poked a suspicious eye to every corner of the hut, afraid some spying raven or nosy mole had followed them in.

            “Tegid took Morfran and Creirwy hunting at my behest, they’ll be gone all night.” She saw how guarded her guests remained, “Trust me boy, I’m no amateur. This hut is sealed by the oldest enchantments and most sacred spells, we are quite safe to speak and sew whatever misdeeds you two are planning.”

            “Thank you Ceridwen, we could come to no other, you must understand.” Myrddin spoke with such sage wisdom that even the most trivial sentence could flow like a quote from poets of old.

            “Never mind that, the boy told me of your concerns. I’ve seen them too.” She’d feigned disinterest up to this point, though it was clear this boy, the future Pryderi, was of great importance to her as well.

            “You won’t be so humble when you have to explain another sudden phantom pregnancy Ceridwen.” The bard half joked, fully aware of the anguish he’d caused her in his rebirth.

            “Ah Tegid will fob it off as another tonic gone awry, I suppose one gets used to living with a witch of my disposition.” She shrugged, checking on what she’d been brewing this whole time. “The nine months however, yes, I’ll expect tributes for putting up with that.”

            “Are you sure it will work?” Myrddin gazed into the cauldron, at the bubbling broth that swirled iridescently within.

            “It has done before; a few simple additions will see that it hides the boy’s presence from those who would wish to track him down with magic.” She was sure of her concoction, gesturing to Taliesin as some living proof of her work.

            “And he’ll be the same, the same person I mean?” Myrddin’s questions took Ceridwen aback, as before her was a man with supreme knowledge of all things arcane.

            “As far as one considers a person reborn the very same I suppose. Why Taliesin you’re aware of your time as Gwion are you not?” She saw the wizard’s inquiries as a product of worry now. She found it most curious, regardless she aimed to assuage his fears.

            “In a sense I suppose, his memories are like songs I’ve heard but cannot put a tune to.” Taliesin struggled to articulate his feelings on the matter, after all it had been a most bizarre origin he was still contentious of. “It is a life I can feel but cannot remember. A form of reincarnation I suppose, I wouldn't be who I am today if it had not been Gwion who drank that potion all those years ago.”

            Ceridwen could still see the seeds of doubt planting their woes behind Myrddin’s eyes. “Like the caterpillar and butterfly, both such different and marvellous creatures, but the very same creature as well. One would not be the same without the other.”

            “Besides old friend, there is little room for doubt now. Far too much hinges on what we do today.” Taliesin swept in next to the torn wizard and placed a hand on his shoulder.

            “You are right.” Myrddin snapped his eyes from the cauldron back to present company, it was far too late for second thoughts.

            “You’re certain this is the boy.” Ceridwen went to grab the child from Myrddin’s arms, yet he pulled back, wary of handing the baby about like some treasure.

            “I am certain!” The hut itself seemed to tremble at his voice, the cauldron rattled on its frame as books fell from the walls. Myrddin realised now how he’d let his own anxiety get to him, how he’d become lost in the severity of it all. It was a most concerning sight, to see the trusted advisor of king Arthur lose himself so easily. He saw the faces of those he’d startled and immediately calmed himself, softly elaborating, “This child’s legacy will be key in far distant times, when we have grown old and withered, when heroes like Arthur have passed. It is paramount that we act now, whilst we still can.”

            His audience still reeled from the outburst, awkwardly pondering the matter internally with nary a word said. Even if this hut was sealed the howling gale outside still pervaded their meeting, the thrashing of the trees and piercing wind filling the silence. Shadows cast by the flames flickered sporadically, catching the wild glare of Ceridwen’s eyes as she stood to attention. Alarmed by some unknown news she held a hand to her ear and listened out.

            Suddenly alert she warned, “Someone’s out there, beyond the lake!”

            “What!? How can you tell?” Taliesin prodded; he’d heard nothing beyond the storm outside.

            “There’s traps and trips aplenty out there, something just broke one. Go check boy.”

            “You’re sure, you heard that from-” The bard dubiously protested.

            “Go find out what it was, boy!” She snapped, sending Taliesin rushing out the door in search of whatever she’d sensed.

            “There’s nothing out there is there.” Myrddin deduced, eyelids closed to a razor thin slit.

            “No, there isn’t.” Ceridwen slammed the latch shut as her son ventured into the darkness and turned to Myrddin, “And that’s no boy in your arms either.”

            Myrddin gasped. Woefully inept at keeping his secrets from the witch he gave in, “How could you tell?”

            “I’ve a nose for lies. That babe was born before tonight, that much I can tell. Besides, I’ve never seen you like this before, nervous as a hare in an open field you are.” She sauntered over and gently pulled his cloak aside to gaze upon the newborn child. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? Who is she?”

            “I was hoping that I might explain it away down the line, perhaps blame your concoction for the change...” Myrddin deflated somewhat that the ruse was up cracked a wry smile at the absurdity of his ploy, not that you could tell as much, his lips hidden beneath the long wisps of whiting moustache. “You must understand, I trust you and Taliesin implicitly. I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t, yet I must beg of you, let this remain a secret. Taliesin would hang on my every word as testament, but I’d always fear he’d unknowingly weave a grain of this truth into one of his poems. Alas a grain can be all it takes for secrets to flower into common knowledge.” Myrddin spoke from the heart, no longer as a thief in the night but as a desperate soul longing for hope.

            “Well, the night will soon scare him back to my door, you’d best be out with it.” She squat down on the curved bench by the fireside, a trunk hewn in two and lacquered with patterns both complex and exquisite. She patted the seat next to her and leaned in close, cross legged and chin rested on her hand, ready to hear what had really brought the mighty wizard to her.

            “Very well.” The wizard sat down, longingly staring at the child as he reassured the witch, “The deal is to remain the same, to have this child drink the potion of inspiration, to have you transform her into a single grain of corn and... well...consume her, for her to be reborn and stowed away safely in the other world.”

            “After all we’ve seen of Pryderi’s future? Why this girl instead of him?” Ceridwen stressed the issue. She knew full well she’d follow Myrddin’s request, she’d idolised his magic for some time now and weighed his wisdom as highly as Arthur did, yet she still felt she needed some fragment of a reason as to why. It suddenly dawned on her, “What of Pryderi? If he is not here then where?”

            “Oh, he’s quite safe, left in the stables of Lord Teyrnon. They’ll take care of him and one day realise exactly who he is then return him to his rightful place. All will be as it was; don’t you fret.” This was the Myrddin she knew, appearing callous to the naive but painstakingly aware of the realm’s machinations. If he said it would come to pass, it surely would. He needed no sight or magic for this, merely his keen mind and wit for people. “As for why? A moment of weakness I fear, a mistake perhaps, yet it was the only decision I could muster in the last hours of this long-awaited night. All these weeks of meticulous planning, scouring every avenue of magic to keep a special child safe, why I deemed this one in greater need of them than Pryderi. You see, she’s mine Ceridwen. My daughter.”

            “Yours? Truly?” Ceridwen sat back in disbelief, of course this explained Myrddin’s behaviour, to be so protective of his own flesh and blood. “Why would you wish to cast something so precious to this mysterious world?”

            “If there has ever been a failing of mine Ceridwen, it has been how I’ve treated those I love.” Myrddin held the child close as he let out a meandering sigh, deliberating where he should start. “In my time in Arthur’s court I have been graced with the company of the most beautiful emissaries from Annwn, brilliant disciples whom I’ve taught my most complex magic. As they have become my equals, no, betters, I too have become infatuated with them. One apprentice in particular, Morgan, had me entranced. I’d lived as a scholar, a druid, Myrddin Wyllt they called me. I had never dreamt that I might fall in love like some naive knight or would be prince. But she proved me wrong, proved that after countless years of counselling others it was my own heart that needed nourishment, nourishment that only she could provide. Alas in Arthur’s court there was little time for such intimate matters, another conquest was always around the corner. My love would never be requited.”

            “Yet here you are...” Ceridwen raised an eyebrow, quite aware there was more to the tale.

            “Well, you see, when one interest faded another seemed to raise its head. This time it was Nimue, my most gifted study. You see she approached me, one weary night, and confessed her love. Why I’d forsaken any chance of my finding happiness only to have this lady I’d so often overlooked make herself known. It started most innocently; we shared such interests that it seemed like all I ever ought to have been was with her.” Myrddin presented himself now as he always had, without elegance yet genuine, and the prospect of this untidy mage finding such a trove of suitors amused Ceridwen so much so that she considered he might be jesting. His blushed cheeks whitened as he came to his most dour conclusion, however, as did her own as she listened on.

            “That was at first, yet the feeling subsided over the months. Whether I had broken free of some enchantment or was haplessly lovelorn, I soon fell back to Morgan. Seeing that such a union could exist in our tumultuous circumstance I rode to her once more, this time unwilling to let petty matters of men and monsters distract me. We met on the moonlit shores of some distant lake, far from the maddening woes of any king’s court, and gave in to our passion. What I hold now is the product of mine and Morgan’s bond, and the only part of it that remains intact.” A single tear dashed the child’s cheek as Myrddin reminisced about his lost love.

            “Nimue… she won’t forget this will she.” The name had graced Ceridwen’s circles many a time, a humble fairy who now channelled immeasurable power, a formidable sorceress even to the likes Myrddin. She knew his every spell, his every trick, as he had been the one to teach her.

            “No, she will not forgive my indiscretion. It is only a matter of time before her lust for vengeance comes for myself and this girl, and I haven’t the strength to face her. With Morgan’s reach I was able to talk to those in Annwn who might be able to secure travel to some place safe, to a world beyond even Nimue’s fury. This passage was not granted lightly, and she alone may take it.” Myrddin stumbled over his words, speaking in haste. “I’ll admit to you now that this has been my intention for a long time. Pryderi’s promise hatched the beginnings of this, that is the truth, but in that time I have fallen foul of decency and decided I must be selfish, I must save her. The chaos over the prince’s disappearance, that will stray Nimue from the truth, the truth of who I sent through the oak.”

            “And what of yourself? Defying one’s future like this...we would do so for Pryderi so that he might save those down the line, you do this out of what? Love? Surely it isn’t worth the price this world might exact upon you.” She clung to his hand, afraid that he’d gone mad.

            “Oh, it will exact a price, it already has. Morgan has fled, I told her to do as much. Nimue would strike her down if she were at my side when the moment came. We will never be together again, not as we were that night, of this I am painfully aware.” Remorse lined his every sorrowful word, yet he spoke with finality, having surrendered to the consequences of his actions. Unexpectedly he relaxed, as if a weight had fallen from his shoulders now that he’d admitted his love was forever lost to him. “As for me, she won’t kill me. No, she longs for us to be together, whether bound by rings or shackles. When she has discovered my misdeed, when she has me in her grasp, I will never again leave her sight. What she has planned for me is a far worse fate than death. I have seen as much.”

            “If that is what is to come of this then seek another path, find another way to keep the child safe.” Ceridwen couldn’t bear to see her dear friend submit to such an unceremonious demise. Whether it would come tomorrow or in decades, she couldn’t live with herself knowing Myrddin would one day be snatched away from the realm by some inevitable claw clutching from the dark. “Please Myrddin, I’ll help you find some other way.”

            Myrddin smiled, those tears no longer welling in his eyes. He could barely believe he’d softened the enchantress’s shell so. “Oh Ceridwen, I know you would. But do I not deserve such a fate? I’ve made so many mistakes, walked paths I knew better than any that I should not walk. It’s not about me, it’s about her.” He placed his hand over hers and looked earnestly into those eyes he’d so often sought wisdom from, he knew he needn’t say any more, but the words came forth regardless. “I know I ask too much of you, but do this not for me, but for her. What we’ve seen of Pryderi’s future were but possibilities, potential victories and losses chaotic men such as Gwydion might one day influence. But when I look at my girl’s future do you know what I see?”

            “What?” She uttered, sure now that she would help her dear friend.

            “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Those crystal blue eyes creased as his moustache curled at either end, an enormous smile emerging as he went on. “Just a life, that’s all I see. This new world, it’s not so strange after all. Harmless in fact. But peaceful, oh so peaceful. She’ll live a long, meandering life, meeting all sorts as she witnesses the passage of time more than any of their kind ever could. She’ll grow up with stories of our world, Taliesin will sneak a collection of his prose within her linens when we take her there you see, but these will be fantasies to her, passages of fancy that will capture her imagination and the imaginations of her children’s children. Indeed, she’ll meet a man, fall in love, raise a family. One day she’ll fade, surrounded by those who cherish her, and that will be it. No great tragedy, no destined quest, no foe to be vanquished or land to be saved. Just a life, a beautiful life.”

            They sat a while, misty eyed at the prospect of such a simple existence, until Ceridwen roused herself back to the cauldron. “Then we must act quickly before that son of mine comes banging on that door. Before we begin, I must ask, does she have a name?”

            Myrddin glanced down at his ever-restful daughter, “From the oak she’ll come into that world, my little Derwen.”

*

Ceridwen sat, gazing with wary anticipation at those who’d heard her tale. As she’d expected, disbelief manifested itself through vapid silence and wrinkled frowns, series of inner thoughts she could only guess at. The same could not be said of Taliesin.

            “So that wasn’t Pryderi we sent through at all!? He was truly slain by Gwydion and now we’ve no Pwyll in the land to remind king Arawn of his better days?” He paced back and forth, waving his arms with the delivery of every word until he slumped to his knees dramatically. “We’re doomed, we are actually doomed.”

            “Did you ever truly think that would be the solution boy? Throw some child of the same bloodline his way and all would be forgiven, that daisies would grow on the ground of their reunion and rainbows stretch through the skies. Pah! A desperate man’s ploy if you ask me.” Ceridwen dismissed the idea, offended to hear Gwydion’s delusions from her son’s mouth.

            “Perhaps, but now a poor family who have, by all rights, absolutely nothing to do with our current crisis are stuck right in the middle of it. All because they were made out to be the children of someone they weren’t!” Taliesin took offence on their behalf, gesturing to the family as if they were his victims to defend.

            “Well, it worked didn’t it! Derwen lived out her life in peace, free from Nimue’s pursuit...” Her voice cracked ever so slightly with their mention, old names she hadn’t spoken in years that only reminded her of Myrddin.

            “For a time. It worked for a time. But now Myrddin’s family is right where he wanted them least, back in this mess.” Taliesin slumped back into a collection of old throws and dusty pillows, hanging his head dejectedly. He murmured beneath his breath, “I can’t believe you both lied to me, I’ve gone so long believing...”

            “So it’s true, my grandmother was Myrddin’s daughter?” Maeve finally spoke up, the shock having subsided, unbound curiosity in its place.

            “And you are his great granddaughter, yes.” The enchantress shuffled over to their bedside, finally ready to tell all that she could.

            Maeve bit her lip, overcome by the myth not only being real, but a part of her. “So, grandma was old, like really old? Like you?”

            The witch didn’t quite appreciate the comparison but acknowledged it all the same. “Indeed, we placed her in front of a church in Caerfyrddin near enough eight hundred years ago, with nothing but a ring and poems of Taliesin’s.” She glanced at the bard with a raised eyebrow.

            “Poor child had to have something to remind her of home.” He shrugged.

            “I assume she kept her age a secret over the years if none of you had a clue. I’m sure she had her reasons, after all your world is a different place to ours.” She carried on, happy to finally get Myrddin’s secrets off her chest.

            “So why did she...why did she die?” Maeve hesitated to ask the question, she had no idea what the life expectancy was for her kind, yet Ceridwen and Taliesin still seemed well enough.

            “I’ve no clue dear. Perhaps it was age, perhaps it was some barrier between the magic of our world and yours.”

            Maeve sat in thought for a moment, at which point her mother sat up. Zoe was still giddy, flustered with both her condition and the revelations they’d all heard, but in that haze things began to fall into place. “Is that why I’m seeing things? These...visions.”

            “You have the sight girl?” The crone swooped to her side and stared into those pale eyes, withered hands on her cheeks. “What have you seen?”

            “It’s fuzzy, but I swear it started happening since I came here.” Zoe’s blank stare spoke volumes to Ceridwen, she could see the faint signs of her own magic in those murky eyes. “They’re never clear, not like something I’m seeing, but rather vague ideas that pop into my head. Like flashes of inspiration for moments that are yet to come.” She threw a hand on Raymond’s, “Like those monsters on the farm, I saw that happen the day before, but only fragments of it.”

            “What?” An exasperated question was all her husband could muster.

            “I didn’t realise it at first. I thought I was going crazy, that this place was just playing tricks with my mind but...” She drifted off for a moment then suddenly sparked to life again upon remembering her most recent dream, “I saw them, I saw the kids. They make it here Ray, I swear it was them!”

            “You’re sure!?” He was flabbergasted, run through with a dozen disparate emotions at once.

            “I don’t know when...but I saw them.” She smiled despite the feverish sweat still dripping from her forehead.

            The crone ambled back to her stunted log and deduced that her potion had managed to run through to another generation. “This indeed sounds like the rough beginnings of the sight. It sounds almost as if the magic couldn’t manifest itself in your world, but upon entering ours it bloomed, as if it were there all along, waiting.”

            “If it was passed on shouldn’t Maeve and the others be able to see?” Raymond quizzed, slowly coming to grips with his wife’s abilities.

            “Who knows, this is not a science. Perhaps it will come with age, perhaps it weakens with each generation. Only two have ever sipped from the potion of Awen over the years, Gwi-Taliesin and Derwen.” Though she couldn’t fathom exactly how this potion was passed on, she still admired how potent her second batch had proven. “Fascinating though. Myrddin, being a cambion, could never pass on his sight. But you’ve received it nonetheless.”

            “And you...ate my grandmother? And gave birth to her again?” Maeve’s face contorted into grimaces she didn’t know she could pull as she navigated the bizarre process, “Just like Taliesin?”

            “Indeed. Turned her into a grain of corn and nine months later the beautiful girl returned as she was...not a pretty thing but Myrddin considered it a necessity this time around.” She spoke with her usual bluntness, not the slightest bit shy about what she had done. It simply came across as one of the many uncouth rituals she’d performed during her time. “Being born again in that way, it made her a new person of sorts. If Nimue tried to track her with magic, she’d find nothing, as was the intent for Pryderi. And dare I say it worked precisely as we intended.”

            “So, if you gave birth to her...again. Does that kind of make you my great grandmother?” It wasn’t a thought that had crossed anyone’s mind amidst the slew of other discoveries, and Maeve’s suggestion struck the witch by surprise.

            “Well goodness...” for once the crone seemed at a loss for words, “...I suppose it does.”

            Finally, Taliesin chimed back into the discussion, “Wait, if that’s so what does that make us?”

            “Confused.” Raymond answered.

            “You’re right there, old chap.” The bard smiled, huddling closer to what he now realised was his own family of sorts.

            “Before, you said you saw my family, like mum had?” Maeve wasn’t satisfied with her history just yet, but she was reminded of more pressing matters.

            “I did.” Taliesin picked his words carefully, not wanting to spread unwarranted hope or fear. “You understand I’m not familiar with them all, but I saw them, divided, but-”

            “They’re making their way here girl, one way or another.” Ceridwen finished his thought. “If he told you where and how, then I fear you might set off the help them, to ease their course. But you see this could just as likely change matters for the worse.”

            “That’s why you’re so afraid of acting on these visions isn’t it? Myrddin did so, and he paid the price, trapped in that cave for eternity.” Zoe looked out into the squalid hut, hoping that she might be looking at the enchantress, unaware that she already hung on her every word. “You two were close, he was a good friend. And you feel responsible...you shouldn’t.”

            “One can never know. Changing one event might ripple into another in ways we could never understand. Death is never the end. Avoiding it might cause more harm than good, assuring it may rid others of a life they never tasted…” she rambled on a while but curtailed her philosophies soon enough, “...though yes, Myrddin’s loss has always brought me pain.”

            “You’re acting like he’s dead, isn’t there anything we can do? You must have tried something, anything?” Maeve was remiss to give up on her newfound ancestor so quickly.

            “This is Nimue you talk of girl, if Myrddin couldn’t fight her no one could. He’s been cursed for aeons now, unseen by anyone bar yourselves. I’m sure that sorceress is just waiting for someone to try, that oak tree likely a temptation she placed herself. Cursed, obscured, likely insane...these are not trivial locks to be fiddled with Maeve. Trust me, I have long thought of what I might do for him.” It was hard to imagine this had been a reality for Myrddin for many a lifetime, helpless in a dungeon of his own creation. Hearing even Ceridwen rule out the possibility of escape sunk Maeve’s heart.

            Taliesin couldn’t bear the downtrodden mood that seeped in at the mere mention of his old friend’s predicament, and with a lyrical flourish he shifted conversation to the more immediate. “We can wallow over lost companions all we want when this is done, yet for now I must remind folk of our more pressing issue. Gwydion. Gwydion and the slow but inevitable collapse of life as we know it. Now perhaps we are a diminished few, but I must ask what our next course of action will be. I could plot a course for the mountaintop, see you back to your world before ours comes crashing down. Who knows, that might be enough!”

            “Well, if you say the rest stand a chance of making it back here, then we’re going to be here waiting for them.” Zoe nodded decisively, trying her best not to dash out that door in search of them right now.

            “We may have had a head start but they can’t be far behind. If we’re hanging around...” Raymond deliberated over what course of action they should take. Deep down his paternal instincts told him to run for that mountain, to get his wife and daughter to safety as soon as he could and come back for the rest. But he could see his daughter caressing the dog’s fur still, a nervous twitch he’d recognised, and remembered his promise to the knight. “This one’s on you Maeve. You were saying before, about your plan?”

            She shyly smiled, feeling the proud gaze of her parents as she kept her focus solely on Gelert. He’d drifted away earlier by her feet, practically dead to the world as he slept off the exhaustion of the past few days. The tip of his nose was all that moved, twitching to sniff whatever imaginary aspect came his way. I wonder what he’s dreaming about, she pondered, I know what I’d be dreaming about. With a resolute look on her innocent face, she lifted her head to pose the question, “How do we contact king Arawn?”