The Paradise War (54 page)

Tegid had a third stone ready, while the air still reverberated with the strains. I heaved it over the walltop and it struck the ground, splitting into fragments. Each fragment gave forth a shimmering, silvery note of astounding beauty that echoed in the mountain peaks round about.

Those standing with us on the wall heard the sound and were transfixed. From out of the king’s hall, kinsmen poured into the yard. They stood in the snow, gazing up at the mountains now reverberating with strange and exquisite music.

I bent down, gathered an armful of stones, and pressed these into the hands of the nearest stupefied warriors. Tegid did the same, and, at my signal, we all threw our enchanted stones down upon the Coranyid. The unleashed sound burst forth in a thunderous peal of chorused exultation.

The demons shrank from the sound, withering before it like flesh before red-hot iron. They squirmed and writhed, howling, shrieking, dancing in their torment, falling over one another in their haste to escape the assault of the singing stones.

The people in the yard heard the marvelous sound and rushed to the wall and climbed to the rampart to see the terrible Coranyid retreating, shrinking away in agony, their hateful presence dissolving like a filthy stain before the cleansing water.

Just as the demon throng seemed on the point of full retreat, a tumult arose among them, and from out of their teeming midst appeared an enormous dark-garbed figure, astride a huge aurochs black as a raven’s wing. This chieftain wore a black cloak and carried a black shield; in his right hand he carried a long, curved tusklike sword, black as polished jet—the Wyrm’s fang. At his throat he wore a coiled serpent, a living torc with a shiny black skin and yellow eyes burning like live coals. I could not see his face, hidden as it was beneath a war helm of black. But I did not need to see his face to know that this was Nudd, Prince of Uffern and Annwn, dread lord of the Nether Realms, who rode on his strange beast to join battle with us. He had come to stem the rout of his demon war host.

The swart figure of Nudd advanced slowly toward the wall. The Coranyid, halted by the sudden appearance of their lord, scuttled after him, their wails of agony turned to ghastly peals of demented delight. They drew closer in a repulsive, gyrating mass.

Quickly, Tegid and I passed Song-laden stones along the walltop hand to hand—men, women, and even the children—until all who had joined us on the wall possessed a stone.

Nudd raised the Wyrm’s fang. The black blade circled in the air. At his command, storm clouds gathered. The wind shrieked to gale force, ripping at the stones in our hands, blasting and buffeting all who stood on the wall. The wind howl drowned out everything else. Snow and ice stung our eyes. Some collapsed under the frigid assault of ice and wind; their places were taken by others. The line remained unbroken.

Nudd advanced. The dread form loomed larger with every step, growing as he neared. I could not see the face hidden beneath the helm, but the dark lord’s malice stung me like the prick of a knife. My heart thumped savagely against my ribs.

The enemy was formidable beyond reckoning, powerful beyond imagining. We could not escape his wrath. He would crush us to dust beneath his feet. Already, he was drawing the life from our hands. My fingers were growing numb and slack. I could no longer feel the stone in my hands.

Lord Nudd leveled the black blade, and his eager minions leapt to the attack, tearing at the wall, scaling the vertical heights of the stronghold. I knew that my kinsmen were waiting for me to give the command to throw the stones. They were watching me, waiting for me to lead them. But I could not. Who was I to think I could outwit such a powerful enemy?

I turned away from their expectant faces. I turned away and closed my eyes.

And then I felt the touch of a strong hand on mine. I opened my eyes to meet Meldryn Mawr’s clear, confident gaze. I do not know when he had appeared, or from where. Weak with hunger and thirst, gaunt and swaying unsteadily on his feet—yet he was there, standing beside me, steadying my trembling hand. The king did not speak; he would not, but his courage emboldened me, bracing my faltering bravery as his hand strengthened mine.

I turned to see Lord Nudd’s head and shoulders cresting the level of the walltop. He was immense in his vast, swelling hatred. In a moment he would overwhelm us. I looked to the king; he inclined his head, allowing me to give the order.

“Now!” I cried. And raising the enchanted stone high above my head, I hurled it into the dark lord’s face. With all my might I threw it.

36
T
HE
S
ONG

A
ll along the wall, stones sailed out into the gale. Spinning, tumbling, careening, smashing, scattering in a thousand sparkling pieces; striking down through the tempest to fall upon the seething enemy masses. And from each splinter and fragment there arose a strain of that matchless melody.

The individual strains twined and melded, swelling full and fair, and striking deep into the ranks of the enemy. Lord Nudd raged to hear it; he raised the black Wyrm’s fang, and the wind-wail became a deafening roar. The wind obliterated the wonderful melody, drowning it beneath its horrific scream. Surely we were undone; nothing, not even the Song of Albion could survive the hate-blast of the Lord of Darkness, Death, and Destruction.

The wind swirled, seizing the sound and lifting it high, as if to drive it away. But the sound was not extinguished in the tempest. It rose and intensified, spreading on the wings of the storm, filling the wind-scoured heights with shimmering melody as the gale gave it strength. And suddenly the sound began forming itself into words. The life-giving words of the Song of Albion:

Glory of sun! Star-blaze in jeweled heavens!
Light of light, a High and Holy land, Shining bright and blessed of the Many-Gifted; A gift forever to the Race of Albion!

Rich with many waters! Blue-welled the deep,
White-waved the strand, hallowed the firmament, Mighty in the power of One, Gentle in the peace of great blessing; A wealth of wonders for the Kinsmen of Albion!

Dazzling the matchless purity of green!
Fine as the emerald’s excellent fire, Glowing in deep-clefted glens, Gleaming on smooth-tilled fields; A Gemstone of great value for the Sons of Albion!

The Coranyid could not stand against the power of the Song. The sound struck them and they fell, choking, retching, gagging, and gasping for breath. As the Song coiled around them, the demon war band began to melt away, seeping back into the ground, dissolving like mud before the driving rain. The hateful hell spawn sank down foot, knee, and thigh, liquefying, dissipating, dwindling, retreating into the cracks opening in the earth to receive them. The hard brilliance of the Song drove them down, raining its glad refrain upon them like a fall of bright-barbed arrows. They fled before it, hastening back to the dismal galleries of their underworld home.

Abounding in white-crowned peaks, vast beyond measure,
The fastness of bold mountains! Exalted heights—dark wooded and Red with running deer— Proclaim afar the high-vaunted splendor of Albion!

Swift horses in wide meadows! Graceful herds
on the gold-flowered water-meads, Strong hooves drumming, a thunder of praise to the Goodly-Wise, A boon of joy in the heart of Albion!

Higher and higher, the Song rose in sweeping arcs into the clouds, piercing the hard Sollen sky. Sunlight bright and dazzling shone forth, scouring the hidden places where the shadows had grown thick, banishing the darkness. Fair golden light touched the Host of the Pit, and they screamed in pain as they ran—hopping like lizards, scrabbling like beetles, slithering like vipers—fleeing for the refuge of their dank, noisome dens.

Meanwhile, the soaring Song echoed in the air. All Albion trembled with the sound, echoing the Song from mountaintop to mountaintop, filling the glens and valleys. Like the waters of a mighty flood bursting through the seawall and inundating the land; like fountains of sweet golden mead bursting forth from a bottomless vat; like a shining river charged from infinite springs, swelling, spreading, overflowing its banks, cascading over the land, sweeping all before it in a deluge, in torrents of sparkling water. And we cupped our hands and drank as much as we could contain, but the waters—the Song—rushed on undiminished.

We caught but the smallest fragment of the whole, yet that little was life to us. The life-giving words burned themselves into our hearts and into our souls. We wept with joy to hear them.

Golden the grain-hoards of the Great Giver,
Generous the bounty of fair fields: Redgold of bright apples, Sweetness of shining honeycomb, A miracle of plenty for the tribes of Albion!

Silver the net-tribute, teeming the treasure
of happy waters; Dappled brown the hillsides, Sleek herds serving the Lord of the Feast; A marvel of abundance for the tables of Albion!

Nudd, standing alone amidst the floodtide of his retreating forces, raised his spear and uttered a great shout of defiance. But the Song, ringing all around him, drowned out his shout. Instead of the hateful voice of Nudd, we heard the Song.

Wise men, Bards of Truth, boldly declaring from
Hearts aflame with the Living Word; Keen of knowledge, Clear of vision, A glory of verity for the True Men of Albion!

Bright-kindled from heavenly flames, framed
of Love’s all-consuming fire, Ignited of purest passion, Burning in the Creator King’s heart, A splendor of bliss to illuminate Albion!

The Foul Lord could no longer stand against the exalted majesty of the Song. Deserted by his legion of the damned, weakened by the Song’s magnificent and merciless onslaught, the Prince of the Pit, Lord of Corruption, Nudd shrank into himself. He bellowed his frustrated rage to the mountaintops, but the Song covered all, permeated all, saturated all.

Noble lords kneeling in rightwise worship,
Undying vows pledged to everlasting, Embrace the breast of mercy, Eternal homage to the Chief of chiefs; Life beyond death granted the Children of Albion!

Kingship wrought of Infinite Virtue,
Quick-forged by the Swift Sure Hand; Bold in Righteousness, Valiant in Justice, A sword of honor to defend the Clans of Albion!

Formed of the Nine Sacred Elements,
Framed by the Lord of Love and Light; Grace of Grace, Truth of Truth, Summoned in the Day of Strife, An Aird Righ to reign forever in Albion!

Defeated, Lord Nudd followed his demon Coranyid down into the netherworld depths. We watched as his black form grew pale and wispy, dispersing like a dirty mist before the blazing radiance of the sun. The wicked enemy simply disappeared before our eyes, fading back into the abyss from which he had been released. Nudd himself was the last to go, and he took the Cauldron of Rebirth with him. For, when he had gone, it was nowhere to be seen.

I looked out on the rocky plateau below: not a single enemy remained. All had vanished. Sunlight shone golden all around us; blue sky, dazzling and radiant, glowed through the gaping rents in the broken clouds. The siege was ended and the battle was over. We were saved.

We stood gazing at one another, and for a moment the world quivered with the afterecho as the Song of Albion sped on and on. And then the stillness was shattered by a tremendous shout. I whirled toward the sound, to see Tegid leap onto the wall to dance there, arms upraised, his cloak flying around him. An instant later, everyone was crying and shouting—tears of gladness, shouts of joy. Others leapt onto the battlements and joined in the dance. Such delight could not be contained and the whole caer rang with the happy sound.

Above the ecstatic tumult, I heard Tegid’s voice, strong and clear, lifted in song. And the song he was singing was the Song of Albion. The words poured forth from his heart, igniting the hearts around him like sparks from a kindling torch. And soon the Song was echoing from the mountaintops round about.

“Listen!” I cried, turning to the king beside me. “The Song of Albion is restored!”

But the king did not answer. His head was bent and his eyes were closed; tears ran down his cheeks, and his shoulders heaved with the sobs breaking soundlessly from his throat. Amidst the great jubilation of victory, King Meldryn Mawr stood and wept.

37
T
HE
K
ING’S
C
HAMPION

T
he gates of Findargad were thrown open wide, and everyone— men and warriors, women and children, dancing in their joy and rapture— streamed out to prove beyond all doubt that Lord Nudd and the Demon Host of the Coranyid were gone. The enemy had indeed been driven back into the nether realms of the underworld, leaving only the filthy snow behind—and that was rapidly melting under the bright-kindled sun. Gone, too, was the oppressive stink and stench, banished by Gyd’s fresh winds. The Llwyddi rushed here and there beneath the wall, and the scattered fragments of the song-laden stones were gathered by hundreds of eager, happy hands.