Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (11 page)

Connor heard the sound of Ceridwen’s voice, far off in the distance, but he saw no sign of her. He could not see anything around him, it was cold and dark. He stretched out his arm, but felt nothing. It was then that he realized that, though he was standing, he could not feel the ground beneath his feet. He floated in darkness. And then there, far ahead of him, a dim light grew in its intensity as he moved toward it.

Suddenly, he felt soft blades of cool grass beneath his bare feet. He smelled the thick scent of damp trees around him as his eyes adjusted to the light. Willow trees lined the pathway, their long branches swaying in the gentle breeze. A lone lantern that hung from the bough of a tree was the only light around. As he inspected the lantern, he realized its light came from neither candle nor oil, but a single firefly. It flickered and fluttered about within a glass prison that had no air holes. Connor felt an immense sadness wash over him as he watched the firefly. It would die so that he might see. It pained him to think how the miniscule being must suffer.

A gnarled tree branch leaned against the base of the tree from which the lantern hung. Connor wrapped his fingers around the wood, carefully avoiding the thorns. Once accustomed to the weight of the branch, he hoisted it up to the lantern and tried desperately to unhook it from the tree. Success! He slid the tip of the branch under the handle of the lantern and proceeded to lower it to the ground. He gasped in horror when the lantern slipped from the branch and plummeted to the ground.

The glass shattered, and shards flew in all directions. But the shards were no longer glass, they were fireflies unto themselves. Thousands flew into the air, lighting the entire area with their glow.

“Connor?” He did not recognize the woman’s voice, but he walked toward it.

Fireflies clung to ever leaf and limb and bathed the pathway in brilliant, golden light. The trees at the end of the path parted. A large mound came into view, towering above the trees. Atop the mound, a large oak tree stretched its branches outward and into the sky, swallowing the light of the moon and stars. It was only then that he noticed a figure kneeling before the tree. It was a woman, dressed in the robes of a priestess. It was Rhiannon.

“My Lady?”

She turned to him, but she did not look the same as the other Meïnir. She shared the features of both the Meïnir as well as the Féinmhuinín. Yet, she looked like neither race. She was visibly older than the others were as well. While Cairbre was easily several hundred years old, Rhiannon appeared even older. He could not give name to the difference he saw when he looked upon Lady Rhiannon. Ceridwen taught Connor about her race when he was younger, so he knew the Meïnir aged at almost a quarter the rate of Humes, but something was still particularly different about Rhiannon. He did not dare ask.

The early years of the Meïnir were quite similar to that of Humes, with one important exception: they matured far faster mentally. Because of this attribute, young Meïnir were often mistaken to be older than they were, despite their young, physical appearance. They aged at a fairly rapid pace for many winters, nearly forty. Once they reached such an age, however, their aging slowed significantly. There was a span of nearly two centuries when they did not appear to age much at all past adulthood. It was during this two hundred year span that child bearing was practiced. The later part of their life saw a resurgence of the aging process. In their three hundredth year, they once again began to age.

Their average lifespan, said Ceridwen, was five centuries. Some lived longer. Once, when he asked her what the cause of Meïnir death was, she simply replied, “Boredom.” He was still unsure if it had been an answer in jest, but did not question her more. In truth, he did not wish to think of a time that Ceridwen would leave this world. Although, it was far more likely that she would still look relatively the same when he was a wizened, old man.

“And this boy?” said Rhiannon, eyeing Connor. “He is one of your charges, is he not?”

“Yes, Mother.” Ceridwen stood behind him, at the edge of the clearing. “He is the younger nephew of the high king,Connor.”

Rhiannon smiled at Connor. “Ah, yes. Your parents were most noble friends of Arlais. They are missed.”

“Th‌—‌thank you, Lady.” It was beyond his wildest dreams to be in the presence of the Lady of Arlais, let alone able to speak with her.

“Connor?”

His vision grew hazy. The trees were swallowed by darkness. He knelt forward and touched the cool grass on the mound, but could not grasp it. The forest faded away, and he recognized his bedroom in Castle Cærwyn. As his vision cleared, he tried to move, but a sharp pain caught him.

“Thanks be to Her,” Ceridwen whispered. She sat next to him with tears in her red eyes.

“Ceridwen…” Connor let out a hoarse cough.

“Hush now, do not speak.” She poured water into a copper cup and lifted his head so he could drink.

He greedily guzzled the water and did not bother to stop for breath until he quenched his thirst. “What has happened? Why am I here?”

“Tell me, do you remember anything?” Ceridwen offered him more water.

“The tourney‌—‌my chest hurt and I returned to my quarters.”

“And what of matters after?”

Connor coughed and took another sip of water. “I think…‌I think the Lady Rhiannon was there.”

“Rhiannon?”

“And trees. There was a forest. I remember the scent of dew and the sound of willow trees swaying in the wind.”

“Trees? And you say the Lady Rhiannon was there?”

“She was in front of a large tree, and you were behind me and then…‌nothing.” He took another sip of water before collapsing back onto the pillow.

“Connor, there are matters which I must discuss with you.”

He looked to her, but could not muster the energy to speak.

“Something has happened‌—‌something terrible. Dark times have fallen upon us and…” She cleared her throat to stifle her tears.

“My uncle?” Connor tried to sit up, but could not manage in his weakened state. “What has happened?”

Ceridwen shook her head. “Your uncle fares well. Connor, your condition is worsening.”

“What?”

“You know it was no ordinary arrow.” Ceridwen cleared her throat once more. She looked away from Connor and took a deep breath.

“I do not feel as though I am cursed.” Connor noticed how parched his mouth had grown. “Could you be wrong?”

“I am so sorry. I am not mistaken.” Ceridwen held back tears as she rubbed his cheek. “The poison from the arrow already courses through your veins.”

“Then…‌I will…‌I mean, I must…”

His denial quickly crumbled, and hot tears ran down his face. He clung to Ceridwen as she embraced him. He wept loudly and openly and felt fire rip to the core of his wound.

As he cried, Ceridwen softly sang. It was a song from his childhood‌—‌a prayer from Arlais. It was the only Arlais prayer she ever uttered in his presence. When he was a child, he had woken in the night in a fit of uncontrollable tears. Ceridwen came into his room, swept him up in her arms and proceeded to sing the prayer to him.

…shower down upon him
The rich blessings of your abundance;
Lady of all, I beseech you,
Be always within these halls.

Preserve him in your mantle;
Shield him securely from wickedness,
From unclean spirits and from unfriendly stars.

Grant to him, Mother of all…

As she proclaimed the prayer, he listened to her words, and he felt protected in the cocoon of her song, just as he did those many years ago. Unable to hold his eyes open, he started to fall asleep.

Alric burst into the room. “He has woken? Ceridwen, tell me!”

A jolt shot through Connor’s body from the volume of his uncle’s booming voice. Content with going to sleep, he kept his eyes closed, but could not help listen.

“He was conscious for a time, yes,” Ceridwen answered.

“Does he know of his condition?”

“Yes, your highness, I thought it only fair to inform him. I also sought to spare you the pain of informing him.” Ceridwen looked back to Connor and brushed the sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead.

“How does he fare?”

“The wound appears less inflamed, and he no longer bleeds. Though, I suspect it shall weep for some time as his body attempts to push the poison from him.”

A voice Connor did not recognize spoke. “Is there nothing more we can do?”

He opened his eyes a slit, careful not to draw attention to his woken state. Bronwen stood close by Alric’s side. Conner could sense the girl’s trepidation as she spoke. Through the doorway beyond, King Braith Denorheim lurked just outside the room in the hall.

Alric looked to Ceridwen.

“If there is a cure, my Lady, I know not. All I can now do is attempt to keep him as comfortable as possible and pray he lives.”

Bronwen looked down at Connor and stepped back. “Perhaps it is unwise to be so close to him.”

“You cannot contract the curse from him.” Connor recognized the tone of condescension in Ceridwen’s voice. She often spoke as such when questioned on any matter by someone other than himself.

“Even so…”

“Do not worry,” his uncle interrupted, “Ceridwen is most knowledgeable in the medicinal ways of Arlais. She is my nephew’s best hope. He is in safe hands while she resides in my halls.”

“Your highness, I must leave Cærwyn, in accordance with the Lady Rhiannon’s orders. I cannot disobey her.”

“When must you leave?”

“A party rides now to escort me. It is likely they will arrive before nightfall this day. I will leave on the morrow.”

“So soon?”

“It is far likely Lady Rhiannon could sense his condition before I could.”

Alric’s face reddened. “And what of Connor? With you gone, who can care for him?”

“Rest assured that enough time has passed, and the healing process has already begun. Connor is strong. It says much that he has lived throughout the ordeal.”

“I shall pray to the Maker for him.” Bronwen began to bow her head.

“I am afraid your prayers would be for naught.” Ceridwen looked to the floor, and Connor immediately realized she should have held her tongue.

“I think I shall take my leave. There are parts of the castle with which I am yet unacquainted, and I would like to wander throughout the halls. You should spend time with your nephew.” Bronwen bowed her head to him, but made no acknowledgment of Ceridwen’s presence as she left the room.