Chapter 9 - The Sparrowhawk

By James Attwood

Zoe closed her eyes, the thunderous wave encroaching behind piercing the ears like a merciless headache. Dark skies and a deathly chill had descended as if night had fallen early. She could hear leaves ripping apart, wood splintering. Still she tugged at the bowl; fingers glued to it as if it were some object she admired against her will. Idris and Aria’s hands were locked to the marble slab, facing the other way. Whatever they could see turned their faces white. She’d rarely seen Aria this frightened; her older sister was always prepared for anything life might throw her way, every situation a problem to which she could be the solution. A carabiner and rope to see her down this cliff, a compact hammock in case a walk went on too long, a map for when even she didn’t know the way. She didn’t produce any such device now, no tool for just the occasion, just a look of utter despair.

            The storm’s chaotic orchestra was so oppressive that Zoe had little idea when it was already upon them. Something whistled past her ear. A crystalline shard, six inches long, shattered across the slab in front. They all locked eyes for a moment in shared terror before darting to the next sound of an impact. One planted itself halfway into a tree, then another cut through the grass by their feet like a scythe. More and more ice fell around them until finally their luck ran out. Raymond winced as a shard of hail nicked the side of his leg, cutting through his jeans as if they were paper. It just made him hug Zoe tighter, but the second ice cold dagger tested his resolve further. He felt a stabbing pain just below his left shoulder blade, stuck as they were all he could do was let out a groan through gritted teeth.

            “Ray? Ray you okay?” Zoe checked on her husband turning her head as much as she could.

            “I’m-I’m fine.” He did his best to hide the pain, but his voice betrayed him. “Come on, we have to try and get out of here. Pull harder guys!”

            Raymond’s recommendation was painfully obvious, they’d done nothing but attempt to overpower this trap’s hold. Zoe tried as she might but found herself thinking of her children, fearing she might never see them again. She wished that wherever Maeve might be, that she could find comfort in the company of Hope, Fred, and Orson. That’s all she could do now.

Aria put all her strength into lifting the slab one more time but was startled by the jagged chunk of ice that blew apart in front of her. Unharmed, she suddenly noticed Idris’s hand, fingers splayed for support, exposed atop the marble mantle. Judging by her brother’s disgruntled expression he was painfully aware of it.

            “C’mon Idris, we can do this. Lift!” Together they heaved, but the marble was unmoving. Another shard split on its surface between them.

            Blodeuwedd planted a branch beneath the plinth and attempted to lever it. Still, it remained, not having budged an inch.

            “Blod get behind some-” Idris’s words were cut short by his agonizing wail. The latest spike that slammed into the marble caused him insufferable pain as it found his hand first. It happened so quickly, a flash of blood and ice, after which his ring finger now rolled lopsided, detached from his hand.

            A streak of her brother’s blood cut across Zoe’s face, yanking her from any meditative state she’d found solace in. She subconsciously pulled her hand back to wipe the drops from her cheek and to her surprise it came free. It took a moment to sink in that her hand didn’t come with a silver bowl and chain attached.

            “We’re loose...we’re loose!” She pulled at Idris’s shoulders, though he already found himself standing upright in a dazed shock.

            Realisation the seal had broken came a fraction too late. Another shard glanced the side of Aria’s temple. Perhaps its edge was dull, perhaps the trajectory was off, either way the damage seemed to be fortunately superficial. It spurred them on no less, however. They all ran for cover as the hail of knives intensified.

            Hunched behind moss covered trees they weathered the storm. With each passing second the hail intensified, battering the forest like a volley of arrows sent from the heavens themselves. The barks of their trees were chipped, cut, and finally worn away. Exposed wood remained as if crudely carved by a blind, manic woodsman. Eventually the onslaught became subdued, the ear-splitting thrashes dying down to an intermittent pitter patter. Then finally a beam of radiant light shone through the black clouds as they broke apart, dispersing as if the storm had never been. Not a single leaf remained on any tree near them, their branches broken and bare. Shards of ice still dug into their surroundings; the forest floor spiked as if it were the back of a bitter hedgehog. Now in the light of day though these frozen blades shrunk, weeping steady tears for the ravaged forest to reclaim.

            Nobody wanted to leave the safety of the shade. Zoe worried over the exposed end of ice that now melted into Raymond’s back. How deep the blade had cut she couldn’t tell, but his thick knit jacket seemed to have been a boon. Aria bound her brother’s hand in a length of bandage, ignoring the blood that trickled down past her ear, a deep red streak amongst her highlights indicating the blow had perhaps been worse than she thought.

            “You alright? Your head, it’s bleeding.” Idris spoke briefly between shallow breathes, nostrils flaring as he tensed his injured right hand.

            She cut the bandage and held the remaining roll to her head, glancing at what it had soaked up. “It’s worse than it looks, don’t worry-.”

            Aria became distracted by the sudden chirping of birds. The chaotic tweeting of songbirds soon found its melody, each voice aligning, tuning into what was the fairest chorus they had ever heard. They looked up to see those naked branches now adorned with new leaves of every colour, each one a different bird calling out in perfect harmony with its neighbours. Chaffinches, robins, nightingales, blackbirds, all manner of species came together in song. Whether their intention was to signal safety was unclear, but the danger of the storm felt like a distant memory in their presence. Blodeuwedd was enamoured with every one, her eyes shining with childlike wonder. These were the birds who would have hated her, fled from her, but not in this form. In this form they sang to her as if she were a friend, allowed her to admire their beauty up close. They stood there, audience to the birds, hurt but at peace, until a loud voice beckoned them.

            “Oh, knights, what brings you five to this well? What have I done to you that you would so wish to inflict this icy dirge upon my land? Men and women wounded, livestock dead in their fields. I ask you why?” The metallic voice bellowed through the woods, startling the birds to flock to the skies in unison.

            Two horses approached. The frontmost black stallion plodded, burdened with the heavily armoured knight sat atop it, followed by a white mare that trotted forth with ease, bearing a fair maiden in nothing but a gown and fur shawl. What struck them the most however was the proud sparrowhawk perched on her arm. Though the riders appeared weary the hawk was resplendent, keen eyes striking each person that caught its attention. Its breast bore the mottled colours of autumn, not a feather out of place. It had to be the Sparrowhawk.

            “What say you? Have you no words before I strike you down?” The knight’s tinny voice rang out from beneath his visor, his face concealed entirely. His armour showed its age, immaculate but worn, each dent and scratch likely from a battle he had survived, and his opponent had not. The lady was silent behind him, a dutiful witness to his challenges.

            “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to create this uh, this storm, mister-um to whom do I speak?” Zoe stepped forward to address their medieval company, the only one who seemed to have her head on straight in the moment.

            “I have many a title, but the Knight of the Sparrowhawk will suffice! No need for further introductions, our encounter will be brief.” This darkly clad warrior now readied himself, brandishing an eight-foot lance beneath his right arm. His intentions were clear.

            “Wait a moment, didn’t you want to know why we’re here? Why we called you?” Zoe held up her hands in surrender, the gesture had some clear effect on this man. His very presence oozed nobility, realising this Zoe played upon it. “We’re on a quest, an important one.”

            The knight reigned his horse back and lowered his weapon, Zoe couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt them staring right at her, the shadow of his visor’s slit echoing his short response, “Speak.”

            “You know this land is in turmoil. Lost souls must have haunted your lands at night, on your travels here you would have seen the devastation wrought by a plague. You’re one of the few living souls we’ve seen.” Zoe made her case, weaved her tale. The Knight remained motionless. “You told us the hail struck your people, but I think I’d be right to say not much of your kingdom remains to be struck.”

            “How dare she-” The lady spoke out finally but was suppressed by the outstretched gauntlet of the knight.

            Zoe had caught her tongue, but their unerring silence told her to continue. “I meant no disrespect; I’m just speaking of circumstances that everyone seems to be suffering from. What if I told you we were hoping to end these circumstances, that we called you to help us do this. You can probably tell we’re new to these lands, we didn’t realise that we would be summoning you through such...blunt means. Look at us, do we look like people who knew they’d be subject to a cloud of daggers?”

            The knight sat still for a period, quiet. He was curious, this strange woman’s speculation had been unnervingly accurate. In fact, his constituents, man and animal alike, had gone unharmed entirely as they were all sheltered in destitute hovels. Starving and desperate, struggling in an ailing land for which their noble knight had no cure. “And what would you require of me?”

            Zoe took a deep breath, she figured what she was about to ask for would be no mere trinket. “...the Sparrowhawk.”

            “Out of the question.” The knight did not have to deliberate over this response.

            “Why not...it’s very important to us.”

            “I’ve no doubt it is, it is important to many. Yet the Sparrowhawk cannot be given, it must be won.”

            “Won how?” Zoe knew the answer, but she hoped she was mistaken.

            “Single combat between champions.” The knight spoke plainly. “Listen, you have shown us candour. Most have run or fought at my very appearance, few have survived. Yet you stood your ground, a lady no less, and laid your intentions at my feet. A noble quest it is indeed, if your words are true-”

            “They are, trust-”

            “Regardless.” The knight continued his thought. “This does not change the tradition behind the hawk, I staked my life to win it, so must any other would-be bearer. I offer you two ways to proceed. Leave now and I will offer you mercy, I will not hunt you down. This I will not guarantee should you seek the well once more. Or should you be willing to fight for the Sparrowhawk I will gladly battle your chosen, not as a bandit, but as a knight. A champion must fight on the behalf of the one they love most; the victor will win the Sparrowhawk for their lady and maintain...or pass on...the mantle of the Knight of the Sparrowhawk. Retreat or duel, the choice is yours.”

            The choice was clear, they’d come for one thing, and it sat not twenty feet from them. But who could do it? Who had a loved one to fight for? There were no chinks in the knight’s armour and on his horse’s back half a dozen or more weapons were stacked on top of one another, he waited like a Swiss army knife of death. Aria pulled the shotgun from her backpack, wondering whether it was the right hammer for this plate covered nail.

            “Now you’re pro-gun? How hard did you hit your head?” Idris spoke in hushed tones from the side of his mouth.

            “Any of us face this guy fair and square he’s going to destroy us...” It was clear the idea of violence still didn’t sit well with Aria, but she wasn’t blind to their potential foe’s superiority.

            “You’re joking right? You couldn’t shoot that thing straight in your condition.”

            “And what? You planning on defending Blodeuwedd’s honour with your bloody stump?” Their argument was no longer subtle, neither of them took the jabs well.

            Aria’s competence wasn’t something to be questioned no matter how humble she could appear, and Idris was all too eager to prove himself even in his sorry state. Raymond’s voice rose above the petty squabble.

            “Alright, let’s do this.” Raymond stepped forwards, removing his coat. Zoe grabbed at his arm, but his mind was made up. He quietly whispered over his shoulder, “Just back me up honey, I’ve got a plan.”

            “You will be my opponent? You will do battle for the right to the Sparrowhawk?” The knight was surprised to see a challenger emerge so quickly, hands empty and no mount in sight.

            Raymond folded his coat and calmly handed it to Zoe, “Sure.” He was mortified, practically gambling with his own life. But he wouldn’t let on, and not just for Zoe’s sake, he couldn’t show his hand.

            The knight was clearly taken aback by the brazen approach. “And for who’s honour does one fight?”

            “My wife, Zoe.” He gestured to her behind him.

            “Ah, a wise maiden...” the knight beamed with enthusiasm for his opponents now, though his own lady frowned enviously at his words, “...and a brave champion to match. Where is your steed, pray tell?”

            Raymond was stumped, turning to his wife with an eyebrow raised inquisitively. She chimed in immediately, “Why it was spooked by deathly howls in the mist, no matter my husband’s talent for handling stallions it could not be found.”

            This group were a curious group indeed, but the knight didn’t see what he might gain from questioning the matter further. “And what of your weapon good sir?”

            Again, Zoe spoke for him. “Broken in the jaws of a terrible...” she paused, perhaps she’d leapt at this one too quickly, “...monstrous cat.”

            Raymond’s eyebrow rose to newfound heights. He murmured under his breath, “A cat!?”

            “I don’t know, it just came to me!” She explained.

            The knight found the reasoning most strange, then again they lived in strange times. His bucketed head turned to his companion, his steely facade no less blank than his expression beneath. She offered no inspiration. “So how, good knight, shall we proceed? Might I offer you my good lady’s horse, to even the field?” The suggestion did the maiden’s unamused expression no favours.

            “No, no. No need. I’ve always worked better on foot, good knight.” Raymond imitated the noble etiquette as best he could now.

            “Ah, very well.” He shuffled off his horse, armour clattering like an upturned kitchen as his feet hit the floor. “Unmounted combat then, a refreshing change of pace. I won’t fight a man who cannot defend himself, however. If you would not take my horse, do please take up one of my arms at least.”

            “That I will good sir, you are too kind.”

            “Lance, longsword, hammer?” He rifled through those implements of war on his horse’s back, each one more brutal than the last. His hands skipped past a modest short sword, but its scabbard caught Raymond’s fancy.

            “That will do, the small sword.”

            Once more the knight was bemused by his opponent. “Are you certain? It is a short blade, meant for a weaker hand. For practice you see.”

            “Thank you...” Raymond took the blade and swung it a few times, its reach barely that of his arm’s length again, “...it’s perfect.”

            The knight was unimpressed but was pleased that their duel would be on fairer grounds. “I dare say we are almost even, yet your clothes good knight. How much protection could such simple garb afford you? Shall I, too, fight in only cloth and linen?”

            “You will do nothing of the sort!” The maiden blurted out; her husband’s nobility was becoming farcical.

            “It’s fine, I work better...unencumbered. We practice different methods of engagement in my land.” Raymond emphasised he was ready as he were, the knight was unsure but wrote it off to his opponent’s foreign nature. “Fight how you are comfortable; you’ve gifted me enough already.”

            The knight was satisfied and returned to his horse to retrieve his weapon of choice. From its back he drew a phenomenal broadsword, its flat surface gleaming with brilliance. In someone else's hands this hefty blade might have been unwieldy, yet he arced it through the air as if it were weightless. The other’s looked on as he stopped ten paces from Raymond, sword held upright at the ready.

            “It would be my honour to defend the title of Knight of the Sparrowhawk in these hallowed woods.” The declaration echoed throughout the barren woodland. His tone dropped back to having a sense of amity now that traditions had been upheld, “Shall we?”

            “Trust me.” Raymond asked once more of Zoe before brandishing the sword as if he knew how to handle one. He smirked at the outlandish situation he’d found himself in, what would the kids say. “Maybe have the shotgun to hand just in case though.”

            A simple nod from Raymond was all it took for the duel to commence. The knight moved with surprising alacrity, that broadsword sweeping horizontally in a crescent. Luckily Raymond hadn’t approached him, rather he’d back pedalled immediately. Still the leaves at his feet were uplifted by this storm of metal and vigour, so close was the strike. The second blow came faster than Raymond had been expecting, all four feet of this blade descending upon the flat of his short sword to deliver a hammer blow. Clashing together the short sword was dwarfed, yet it held strong, clearly of the same quality craftsmanship as the other. Raymond however was not so steadfast, the weight of the strike knocking him to his back. The knight turned to his maiden, nodding a knowing gesture before he would vanquish his foe, yet as he brought his sword down once more Raymond was already on his way.

            Practically on all fours he made a mad dash for the trees that surrounded them. Just get to the trees you idiot, this will still work. He tripped over himself and tumbled to the side of an old pine, the crook of his back still throbbing with pain from the hail, yet his clumsy momentum found him paces ahead of the knight who slowly trudged behind in pursuit. Raymond righted himself on the knotted trunk of the tree and struck a fighting stance, though his pained posture undercut the confident boast.

            “Come good Knight, it is all part of the game!”

            “This is no game, do not sully your honourable introduction with cowardice!” The timbre of his voice was now strained, any feigned nobility overcome by the gritty rebuke of an old soldier in the heat of battle. The knight broke into as best a sprint as he could, bounding up towards him as if he were underwater, a slave to the gravity his cumbersome shell came with. Despite this he was still upon Raymond far quicker than he would have liked, cleaving a deep gash in the pine where he’d once stood.

            As Raymond backed into the midst of the trees the pieces fell into place. The voice had creaked with age ever so slightly during discussions, his current grunts even more so. He’s an older guy, still fit to fight but quicker to tire. His armour was a rigid shell of metal, impenetrable and perfect for mounted combat, but carrying its weight on his own two feet was another matter. This uneven ground, roots tripping you with every step, in that armour, with that visibility, it’s only a matter of time. Each broad swing the knight now swung between the confines of these trees was hindered, clipping with a branch above, grazing the trunks that flanked him. That sword would have ended this duel in seconds if it were an open field, but in these woods he’ll never have a clear shot.

            Even though the puzzle of how to win against such a well-equipped champion had been theoretically solved, the practical solution still eluded him. The knight should have been tiring, the terrain was against him in every feasible way, yet he still came at him like a raging bull. At this rate Raymond would be the first to give in. Just go down already, he thought, panicking as he tried his best to stay one step ahead of his imminent death. Odds alone weren’t going to win this for him, he would have to improvise. Suddenly he tumbled backwards over something, an overblown roll sending him head over heels and back onto his knees.

            “Ha!” The knight exclaimed at the sight of victory being thrown into his hands.

            Sword held low, ready to thrust so as to not catch any low hanging branches, he stepped forwards. He lifted his foot high to step over whatever had tripped his opponent, clearly a hurdle but one that was out of sight of his visor’s narrow slit. Yet he felt no root or rock or any obstacle of the sort below. Expecting a step that wasn’t there his right foot fell fast, sending him lunging forwards unexpectedly. His left foot might have saved him, yet it now hit the exposed root he’d anticipated but a pace before, the root Raymond had feigned to fall over too soon.

Careering forwards and completely off balance, it took little for Raymond to topple this tower of steel being held up by nothing more than the waning, old man within. He sprung from his knees and charged at the knight’s body, ploughing into him with his shoulder. It was like tackling a brick wall, but it was enough to throw the knight flat onto his back. Before he could lift his head the familiar tip of his training sword slipped through his visor, it’s point inches from his eyes. He slumped on the forest floor, flabbergasted at his defeat.

            “Finish it then.” The knight sighed, his sombre request devoid of any fanfare.

            “It’s over, just give up the Sparrowhawk.” Raymond spoke frankly, breathless from the brief encounter, “No need for anyone to die.”

            “So, your sense of honour was a lie, like the rest of your story I’m certain. I was a fool to expect a fair fight.” The knight remained dejected to be facing an eventuality he’d long expected, though not today. The others caught up to the tussle, the maiden letting out an audible gasp as she saw her sweet champion’s defeat. “Through trickery and deceit, you best me, and even then you deny me a warrior’s death.”

            “Don’t be so stubborn.” Raymond flicked the visor open to reveal the knight’s weathered face, he was even older than he’d anticipated. “The world you live in isn’t fair, that’s true, but I’d like to think I’m a fair guy at least. I’m not about to kill you for some bird.”

            “So how, fair knight...” he was reluctant to speak, more unsure of Raymond than ever, “...shall we proceed?”

            “You’ve shown me nothing but respect, I can only imagine how much your people respect you in turn. Maybe you’ve lost this battle, but you haven’t lost the war. Those problems plaguing your land aren’t going to go away overnight, who knows if we’ll even manage to fix them. I may need that bird, but your people don’t. Your people need you.” Raymond plunged his sword into the ground next to the knight and offered him his hand. “Hand over the Sparrowhawk and live another day. As far as I can tell this realm needs all the men like you it can get.”

            The knight nodded subtly, quivers of belief in this sentiment. He thrust his gauntlet bound hand into Raymond’s with resolve, “Yes...yes I could do that.”

*

The morning hours without the others had been long and arduous for Lewis. Gelert was disconcerted each time he clenched onto his fur tightly, but he remained by his side throughout. Ceridwen toiled away at Taliesin’s side, dabbing his sweating forehead dutifully. Lewis was groggy, struggling to keep his eyes open even, but he could have sworn he saw Ceridwen lower her ear to Taliesin’s mouth. As if he spoke to her. He couldn’t make out the murmurs however, no matter how much he focused. They were both startled when the door slammed open, Zoe stepping in with the Sparrowhawk proudly sat atop her forearm and the others at her back.

            “We got it.” She beamed, holding their reward out for all to see, though her joy slipped when she saw the fevered Lewis.

            “That...for me?” He managed a few words and a smile.

            “Not yet my dear boy.” Ceridwen staggered to her feet and shuffled with whatever haste her old bones could bear. She observed the hawk up close, ruffling its feathers and staring into its golden eyes. “Indeed, this is the one! Well done.”

            “Well, it wasn’t easy-” Raymond began to explain but Ceridwen didn’t seem interested.

            “Yes, yes. I’m sure it was a great tale, but your man is in dire need, and I see you’ve brought me fresh wounds to tend to. I’ll see to everything in due course.” Her wild eyes darted to Raymond, then Idris’s missing finger, then Aria’s bloody head, struggling to keep up with the tally of disasters. Her focus returned to the Sparrowhawk, awaiting some response from the bewildered Zoe. “Well?”

            “Oh, sorry!” Zoe gestured openly to the hawk, offering it up.

            “I’m not going to fight you for it!” She blurted out; the crone’s voice ran slightly shrill with her lack of patience. “You have to relinquish it to me, say the words out loud.”

            “Oh! I um.” Zoe tried to find the words and adopted her most regal impression. “I Zoe, keeper of the Sparrowhawk, relinquish it to you, Ceridwen.”

            Ceridwen’s unaffected frown rid the moment of any grandeur, but the hawk hopped down to her wrinkled hand, seemingly free of its short-lived masters. She waddled over to the cauldron, its murky moss green contents still bubbling away, now an unappetizing soup of a dissolved ingredients. She thumbed the bird’s crown, humming a sweet but lackadaisical tune to it.

            “So how does this work? Do we sit it on Lew-” Idris’s query was quickly answered as the crone suddenly upturned her arm, dunking the Sparrowhawk headfirst into the brew.

            Wings thrashed as the concoction splurged everywhere, but Ceridwen held the creature down with a long wooden spoon, unsympathetic to its struggle. It didn’t take long for it to succumb, sinking to the depths of the broth as she went about stirring it into the potion.

            “What did you do to Jack!?” Raymond didn’t know what to say having just witnessed their hard work tossed away.

            “Jack? You named it?”

            “Of course I did!”

            “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was a symbol of devotion, of your devotion to Zoe, Raymond. Your devotion to saving her brother. It’s a tangible power, one that will fight off Lewis’s lesion, but he must ingest it.” She churned away, none too impressed with their judgemental faces. “Besides had I told you I’d be cooking it you would have hesitated and complained with your petty morals...we haven’t the time.”

            Her brash attitude choked their chatter for now, but Raymond insisted they’d talk about it later. It wasn’t long before the potion simmered down, no sign of any material hawk whatsoever. Ceridwen cupped a ladle full and asked the others to prop Lewis up. She blew a plume of steam from the gooey substance and offered it to his mouth. Had he been able to see it clearly he might have gagged, but in his haze he gulped the mixture down without question. It slithered down his gullet like a revolting eel, though once the taste had passed he felt a warmth swell through his veins. The tips of his fingers and toes tingled, his head cleared with a sudden sobering wave and finally the gash across his shoulder stiffened and dried. No magical force imbued him with life, but the wound was no longer raw with endless blood loss. Whatever force ate away at him released its grip and left him to recover as normal.

            “How do you feel man?” Idris picked up on how quickly the colour had come back to his brother’s cheeks, as if he’d overcome some chronic illness right before his eyes.

            Lewis felt as if he’d woken from a slumber, “Better…much better.”

            “Mind yourself, it’s still fresh, even if it is no longer out to kill you.” Ceridwen peeled back some of the bandages, the ground medicinal paste clinging to its underside now brown with blood. “Even my poultices can’t work miracles.”

            The methods may have been dubious, but the results were unquestionable. Without the searing pain of the blade still embedded in his flesh, the wound was as it should be, a memory. Ceridwen had never doubted the application of her arcane knowledge, but to see it in action did reaffirm her beliefs. Even the most desperate traveller would give her home a wide birth, fearful of what the witch of the woods might do to them, but the Elderkins had come to her for help, and she was glad they had. Even if her short tempered nattering told otherwise, she just wished there weren’t so damned many of them.

            The old crone dipped the tip of her finger into the cauldron again, the length of her frail hook like digit seemingly immune to the molten mixture that oozed down it. She beckoned Idris down to her level and smeared a dollop across his cheek, across the nick he’d been dabbing with a handkerchief ever since Efnysien’s blade had glanced him.

            “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed, just a touch should do.” She dabbed at the wound, expressing her omnipotence as a parent would to their child. In fact, this brief interaction reminded Idris of his mother in the queerest way, as if he were a child with a playground graze needing treatment once more.

            They rested a while after as Ceridwen saw to them one by one. With the briefest of inspections, she’d deduced that their injuries were far less serious than they appeared. The ice had been savage, yet each cut had been clean and fortunately superficial. Even Idris’s missing finger was easily bound, something Blodeuwedd insisted she’d tend to. He found this time with her to be some recompense for the fact that she had so brusquely dismissed the notion of reattaching it.

            “I’ve seen great men make do with less.” Ceridwen grumbled, “One finger won’t save your nieces and nephews, but the time taken to mend your hand might.”

            Ceridwen kept the severed finger however, of course she’d keep it. It sat in a bespoke little jar amidst other macabre curiosities, taunting him. Perhaps he’d come back for it some day before she fed it to that insatiable cauldron of hers.

            Words were had between her and Raymond regarding the Sparrowhawk’s fate, he’d come at the subject aggravated yet come away enlightened. The bird was dead, that much she admitted to, yet the magic would return in the guise of some other hawk. He had some difficulty wrapping his head around the concept, why she had to off the hawk so unceremoniously to stop that essence from escaping to another, but was appeased that Lewis’s health had not come at the cost of a timeless tradition. The knight had garnered his utmost respect, and knowing the Sparrowhawk could one day return to him was a comfort. After all, Ceridwen assured him legends would never die here, especially these days.

*

Before they knew it an hour had passed, and the day was stretching on. They were well and able but had no lead on where their children might be. Ceridwen’s last gift to them was a horse each, beckoned from the woods with the snap of a twig and a far-reaching whistle. The mottled colours of the mares blended into the treeline, yet as they neared her hut they revealed themselves as beautiful beasts unbridled by gear and reigns.

            “I cannot offer you cordovan leather saddles, nonetheless I’m sure you’ll find the ride comfortable enough.” The horses bowed their heads next to the group, even Gelert didn’t seem to alarm them. “Don’t be afraid, they’re quite tame.”

            “Thank you, this is...” Aria was enamoured with the steeds and their timidness, but like the others she was somewhat at a loss as to what they should do next. “But besides farm boy Ray I’m not sure how we’ll handle them, and we still have no idea where to find the kids...”

            “Geez, I haven’t been on the back of a horse since...” Raymond was wary the others would be looking to him for pointers, he hadn’t touched a horse since he’d left his parents’ farm.

            “You’ll find them most amenable.” Ceridwen hushed the horse nearest her, stroking its tangled mane. “They are good friends of mine, and therefore good friends of yours. They’ll see that your travels are safe and made with haste.”

            “Speaking of which, Ceridwen, isn’t there any trace you could find for us? Just the smallest clue to go on, please.” Zoe knew she was pressing the boundary the crone had so plainly laid out when they first met, but she had to have some sliver of a direction before they set off.

            “As I said before my girl, my hands are tied.” The enchantress shrugged and shuffled back to her door, raising a hand to bid them farewell. “I wish you the best of luck, I truly do.”

            “What did Taliesin tell you?” Lewis asked frankly before she could close the door.

            Ceridwen’s slow retreat halted, yet she didn’t turn to look at him. “That? Just the ramblings of an ill man, nothing to fret over.”

            “You were listening pretty intently...” Lewis pressed her, he felt guilty interrogating the lady who’d saved his life, yet his gut told him that something more had been exchanged between the two.

            She turned now, none too enthused. “I have done everything I can for you, and for bringing me my son I will be forever grateful. But I told you, if it is a matter of prophecy. Of foretold fate. I cannot interfere.”

            “If you know where my children are Ceridwen…” Zoe was almost overcome with paternal instinct.

            “We are done here! My hands are-”

            “They’re out there all alone and you’re just going to-”

            “I heard him!” Blodeuwedd’s high pitched declaration echoed above the rabble, though she fell shy as soon as she realised all eyes had fallen on her. “I heard what Taliesin said.”

            Cerdiwen glared at her wildly, nostrils flaring as she jerked her body towards the petalled lady. Perhaps the owl wasn’t as timid as she had believed, “And how, might I ask, could you have possibly heard what he uttered? Have you been cursed once more, this time with the hearing of a prying coranwr?”

            Blodeuwedd was struck with fear, to defy the enchantress was to defy the will of the wilds. At least she felt as much. She nervously explained herself, “I’ve spent most of my life an owl. Cursed of course, but it came with a blessed sense of hearing. I dare say I’ve retained some of it.”

            “Bah!” She untwisted her wrinkled grimace, feeling too old to hold such fervours for long. “Tell them what you will, I will not loosen my tongue on this matter. I’ve seen the cost of abusing prophecy, of denying fate its course. I will not see that befall another. I would not see it befall any of you.”

            These foreboding words seemed to have fallen over Blodeuwedd like a wave of grief, the vigorous colours of her flowered body dulling as if she’d ever so subtly shifted into a later season. She clearly struggled with the decision internally, biting her pale lips as she pondered the enchantress’s words. Idris came closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

            “Don’t feel you owe us anything.” He spoke softly, glancing at Zoe knowingly, as if to say they couldn’t force anyone here. “If what he said is going to have any kind of backlash for you, it’s okay, we won’t-”

            “Cantre’r Gwaelod.” She shot out the words quickly, fearful of what might happen when they left her mouth. “That is where the children will be. Maeve, Hope, Fred, Orson. Everyone Gwydion...everyone I took from you.”

            “Cantre’r Gwaelod? I’ve heard of that place...” Zoe had to involve herself in the moment.

            “The drowned lowland hundred, south of here in the bay of Ceredigion. It will take you best part of the day to reach it, but in the shallow tide you might see its towers.” Her voice was glum now, her mood sunk as if she had crossed some irreversible line.

            “And what else might they expect there, little Owl?” Ceridwen spoke as if her point had been proven, as if her warnings would be realised. “Hm? What else did my boy whisper to me?”

            Blodeuwedd could barely look the family in the eye, “Death.” She murmured, “The children will be in Cantre’r Gwaelod...but so will death.”

            “Precisely, it was an omen my boy spoke of. A vision he’d been dealt, not necessarily a gift. Nothing good will come of it.” The enchantress, surrendered to the fact that the words her boy had spoken could not be unheard, retired to her abode. “Do not forget I warned you.”

            What had been an unexpected haven for them would be left with an unceremonious farewell. They began to climb their horses with quiet unease. The sinister promise of death had undercut what should have been a joyous discovery, not that it would have stopped them from riding for this sunken city. Perhaps it was ignorance, perhaps they simply didn’t place stock in these vague predictions, it was all the same.

            “Who knows if any of that nonsense is real, I say we just go for it. If we stick together we can get the kids out of here before any glorified horoscopes come calling.” Aria dismissed the credibility of the magic at work here, much preferring to deal with the oddities she could at least see.

            “But if we find them there, won’t that confirm the omen?” Zoe mulled over the specifics of it all.

            “I don’t care. It’s the best we’ve got.” Lewis hefted Gelert up to Zoe’s mare, paws crossed atop the beast of burden. The cut pulled tight, but he was intent on making himself useful. He looked at Blodeuwedd before mounting his own horse, “I’m sorry if we’ve soured anything between you and Ceridwen. I truly am.”

            Blodeuwedd remained silent but nodded. They slowly made for the road, the horses responsive and compliant to their otherwise clumsy directions. Idris stayed back a moment, reluctant to mount and ride off so soon.

            “Give us a moment, we’ll catch you up.” He said as they tailed off.

            “We’ll?” Blodeuwedd queried, her utterances still a shadow of her lively tale telling self from this morning.

            “You’re still welcome to come with us...” Idris held her hands together with his, though he stuttered over his words now that they were alone, “...with...with me.”

            Blodeuwedd knew Idris could never understand the forces that pulled at her heart, unseen to his eye but all too prevalent. She would have told him had she not feared pulling him from his family when they needed him most. “To death?”

            Idris smirked; he wasn’t used to this. “Not the dreamiest destination I know. Trust me though, I would never let anything hurt you, not after all you’ve done for us.” He paused a moment, hoping to choose the right words. “Listen I know what it’s like to feel alone, to feel isolated. There’s no reason you should have to feel like that anymore, not with us.”

            “I know...” This was all Blodeuwedd could utter.

            She felt strange, sick with worry but for reasons she was joyed to have. She felt a connection, a desire that was mutual. A sensation she hadn’t felt for centuries, a sensation she was unsure she had ever felt before. But with that desire also came a responsibility. She had spoken out because of it, because she felt she owed Idris for his kindness, that she owed the Elderkins for what she had taken from them. An act whose consequences the naive Idris would have been clueless to. She felt the petals of her skin wilt, her auburn hair flaying at its tips. Perhaps she’d allow herself to find comfort in this man’s arms, just once, whilst she still had the time.

They gently embraced, Idris holding the cursed maiden he knew he had to stand by. Blodeuwedd allowing herself to feel acceptance, if only for a second. Their lips touched. She held his cheeks. No sooner had she opened her eyes did she notice a disturbingly familiar sight lining her right hand. She pulled the arm back in a panic and hid it behind her back.

            “Are you okay?” Idris reached for her, but she stepped back again, afraid of any contact.

            “I... I cannot go with you.” Seeing her face now there were tears running down her cheeks, telling of the fact that this had been a bittersweet goodbye.

            “Listen if somethings wrong...don’t feel...” Idris was lost, what had gone so well now spiralled out from under him.

            “No...it isn’t...” She now sobbed through her goodbyes, hiding her face from him as she fled back to the hut. “Find the children Idris, they’re the ones who matter.”

            “You don’t have to run, not from me.” He followed like an abandoned dog, unaware of how to stand without her.

            “Dris!” Her baleful cry reverberated throughout his body, but quiet, pitiable sobs came after. “If you feel anything for me, you will not follow...”

            “Blod please-” But two words of pitiable affection slipped from Idris’s quivering lips before the door slammed shut, Blodeuwedd disappearing into the crone’s den.

            Dejected, he stood by the waters of Llyn Tegid. Having fallen to such depths, he pondered how the lost souls carried on at night without purpose. With Blodeuwedd behind closed doors and his family off on the road he felt crushingly alone, it was a state with which he was miserably familiar. Lewis circled back to him, worried at the sound of the commotion.

            “What happened?” He reached out but his brother stared vacantly onto the waters. “You alright brother?”

            Idris sniffled and leapt up onto his horse, “I don’t know...she told me not to follow her.”

            “She might just need some time man; I’ve got no idea what was going on between her and Ceridwen.” He patted his back in solidarity. The lack of resistance worried him; Idris appeared limp, devoid of any heart. “We should be coming back this way, maybe we can patch things up then.”

            “I just wish one person’s happiness didn’t have to come at the cost of another’s, you know?” Idris tried to articulate his thoughts.

            “You and me both.” Lewis couldn’t agree more. Orson was missing because of another man’s plight, every ounce of his sorrow the outcome of another’s failure. He kept back with Idris, slowly ambling behind, catching up at their own pace.

*

Inside Ceridwen’s hut the distraught Blodeuwedd curled beside the aged hag, crying profusely into her stale robes. The flames beneath the cauldron still flickered, inside it a tonic useless for her plight.

            “You shouldn’t have said a word, foolish Owl. You’ve led them straight to the children, straight to the girl you swore you’d bring to Gwydion.” Ceridwen chastised her yet she remained despondent. She threw an arm around her, now feeling nothing but pity over the poor creature. “Come here dear, don’t be so sad. You must have known a curse such as yours had its conditions, Gwydion wouldn’t have lifted it so lightly.”

            “I knew...” She murmured, the fire licking at her clawed feet, illuminating the feathered hand she wiped her cheek with.

            “Then you are braver than most Owl. Perhaps you are cursed, but know this, where some are deserving of such fates, you are most decidedly not.” Ceridwen wasn’t one for grand speeches or profound words. She’d always spoken shortly, without flair in case she wasted her precious breath. Looking down on the malformed Blodeuwedd however, she felt the need to say something. She’d detached herself from so many tragedies through the years, but now she felt she was the only witness to this girl’s passing. To the moment that Blodeuwedd lost herself to this curse once more, after so fleeting a time being free of it. Her heart sank, it was undoubtedly a death of sorts. One the maiden of flowers had lived through once already. She wouldn’t let her pass without hope for the future, not this time. “I feel you did the right thing girl, you showed courage where I could not. Those you’ve guided are important folk indeed.”

            Blodeuwedd looked up, enormous piercing eyes staring longingly at her. “Truly...you truly know who they are?”

            Ceridwen sighed. She thought of her old friend who’d sought to undermine the will of his prophecies, her old friend who now lay trapped deep beneath the earth, alone in the dark. She stirred back to the here and now, “I do girl. I know them all too well.”