The Silver Hand (36 page)

“I am going to find one too,” Iollo announced.

The diving began in earnest then. And I thought they would drown themselves trying to outdo one another in finding another treasure. I thought it unlikely that anything of great value would be found, and indeed, nothing was found at all until—

“Penderwydd!” shouted Iollo. “Here! I've found something—and it is silver!”

He splashed his way to me and I held out my hands. “What is it?” he wanted to know.

“You can see it, at least. Can you not tell?”

He put the object into my hand. My fingers played over the odd shape: small and flat, the metal smooth, although there seemed to be some scratches or an incised design on the surface.

“It looks like a fish,” Gwion volunteered. “But it is flat and there is no tail or fins.”

“There is writing,” added Daned. “Here.” I felt a small hand take my finger and press it down on the shape.

“Do you not know what this is?” I asked. “Have you never seen one?”

“It looks like a leaf,” said Gwion.

“It is a leaf,” I replied.

“Made of silver?” Iollo said. “Then it is very valuable.”

“Yes, and more,” I said. “It is an offering made to the god of this place: a birch leaf made of silver to honor the lord of the grove.”

The discovery of the silver leaf-offering spurred them on with renewed vigor, and it was not long before the young warriors had heard about the find and joined in the hunt. I left them to it and retreated to the shore. I climbed from the lake and lay down on the rocks to let the sun dry me.

“Tegid! There you are at last!”

“Yes, Drustwn, here I am.” I sat up slowly.

“Llew sent me to bring you,” the dusky Raven said.

I heard the stirring of anxiety in his tone and asked, “What has happened?”

“A rider has come from Dun Cruach. Llew asked me to find you. Bran and Calbha are with him.”

“We will go more quickly if you lead me,” I said, already pulling on my clothes. I dressed and took up my staff. Drustwn led me along the lakeside, handed me into a boat and, with a heave of his broad shoulders, pushed the craft away from the shingle. In the same motion, he leapt into the boat and, taking up the oar, began to propel us across the water towards the crannog.

Our floating city had grown, keeping pace with our increasing numbers. The crannog now resembled an island with shrubs and trees among the tight-clustered dwellings; berry thickets lined the earth rampart outside the surrounding timber wall. A gaggle of young girls were fishing from the edge of the landing; I heard the splash as they dangled their feet in the water. Their happy chatter fell on the ear like birdsong.

Drustwn scrambled from the boat as it touched the landing. I felt his hand upon my arm as I rose, and he did not release me until my feet were firmly on the rough planks. We hastened through the open gates into the first of many interconnecting yards, through that to another, and another beyond, to where the hall stood in its raised platform of earth and stone.

I smelled the scent of stale smoke as we passed through the open doors, and heard the soft mumble of voices at the far end of the hall where Llew and the others had gathered.

The rider, whoever he was, smelled of horse and sweat. He gulped at the ale in his cup, guzzling it down as only a very thirsty man can. Llew touched my shoulder with the stump of his right arm as I came to stand beside him—that touch had become his habitual gesture. When there were others in council with him, he wanted me at his side. And he always brushed my shoulder—as if to assure the blind man of his place. But it was more to assure himself, I think.

“Ah, here is Tegid now,” Llew said. “I am sorry to intrude on your teaching, but I thought you would want to hear this.”

“Greetings, Tegid,” said the messenger.

“Greetings, Rhoedd,” I answered, recognizing the voice at once. “You have ridden hard. Your message must hold some urgency.”

“Drain your cup,” Llew told him, “and then you can tell us.”

Rhoedd swallowed the last of the welcome cup and drew a deep breath. “Ah, thank you, Lord Llew. Never have I tasted a better draught, nor needed one more.”

At these words I saw within my mind a rush-fringed pool, still— unnaturally so. It lay glimmering darkly beneath a hazy sun; no breath of wind touched the turgid surface, no bird stirred among the dry rush leaves. Dead water, lifeless and silent. As I gazed upon the vision given me, I saw the rotting skeleton of a sheep sinking into the mire at the water's edge of the dead pool.

“Fill his cup again,” I instructed. “He has had nothing to drink for three days.”

“Is this so?” asked Llew.

“Yes, lord, it is so,” Rhoedd said, and I heard the splash of ale in his offered cup. “I had water enough for two days.”

Rhoedd drank again, gratefully. We waited while he gulped down the sweet, brown liquid. “Again, I thank you,” Rhoedd said when he had drunk his fill. “I am come from Cynan, who sends his greetings.”

“His greetings?” Bran wondered.

“Man, you have ridden the hooves off your horse to bring greeting from Cynan Machae?” Calbha asked bluntly.

“Greetings,” Rhoedd replied stiffly, “and a warning. The warning is this: protect your water.”

Surprised by Rhoedd's words, it was a moment before the others could speak. But I had seen the vision of the dead pool. “Poison,” I said.

“That is the truth of it,” Rhoedd said. “Our water has been poisoned. It is tainted and any who drink it become sick. Some have died.”

“Poisoned water,” Calbha sympathized, his voice grave. “It is a cruel thing.”

“Where else has this happened?” Llew asked.

“In all the Galanae holdings it is the same,” Rhoedd said. “It is not known how far the corruption has spread—that is why I did not stop to drink on my way here.”

“But our water is good,” Drustwn said. “Could you not see that?”

“I will tell you what I have seen,” Rhoedd replied. “I have seen babies writhing as they die; and I have seen their mothers wailing in the night. I have seen strong men lose control of their bowels and collapse in their own filth, and I have seen children made blind with fever. That is what I have seen. The taint has spread far—I did not know how far. I dared not trust the water I found along the way.”

“Well, you may drink your fill without fear,” Bran told him. “There is no taint here.”

“What is to be done?” asked Llew. “What aid can we give to Dun Cruach? Can we take water?”

“King Cynfarch asks no aid,” Rhoedd said. “He only thought to alert you to the danger.”

“All the same,” Llew said, “we will go to him. And we will take with us as much water as we can carry.”

“We cannot carry much,” Bran pointed out.

“We can take enough to allow them to travel here,” said Llew. “We will leave as soon as vats can be prepared.”

Although I counseled otherwise, it was decided that we should carry water to Dun Cruach and bring people to Dinas Dwr. The decision did not sit well with me. I did not begrudge Cynan the water—no, far from it! Nor did I object to Llew's desire to help. But the thought of leaving Dinas Dwr made me uneasy and anxious.

Llew wanted to know why I felt this way. “I do not think it wise for us to leave Dinas Dwr,” was all I could tell him.

The next two days the wagons were prepared which would carry the water, and the vessels filled. The night before we were to set forth from Dinas Dwr, I waited until Llew had quitted the hall and then went to his lodgings. “We must not ride out tomorrow,” I told him as I entered. “It is not safe to leave Druim Vran at this time.”

“Welcome, Tegid. What is on your mind?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you. And I have been expecting you all day.” I heard the soft tread of his feet on the stones as he moved to the table across the room. There he took up a jar, for I heard the light splash of liquid as he poured the cups. He turned to me, and I felt the brushing touch of his stump against my hand. “Here,” he said, “sit down and talk to me.”

He lowered himself to a calfskin on the floor, and I sat down facing him, placing my staff at my feet. Llew took up his cup.
“Sláinte!”
he said.

“Sláinte môr,”
I replied, raising my cup. He touched the rim of his cup to mine and we drank. The ale was warm and stale; it tasted sour in my mouth.

“Now then, what is troubling you?” he asked after a moment. “You have begun your school for bards. You have said that we are safe here; the glen is secure.”

“The glen is secure. No harm can befall us here,” I replied. “That is why we must not leave this place.”

“I do not understand, Tegid. We sailed to Ynys Sci, and even rode into Meldron's stronghold. You said nothing about staying here then. Correct me if I am wrong, but you urged us to action.”

“That was different.”

“How?” he demanded. “How is it different? I want to know.”

I felt my stomach tightening. How could I explain to him that which I could not explain to myself ? I said, “We took Meldron unawares. That will not happen again.”

“That is no reason.”

“Meldron must know we are hidden somewhere in Caledon. He is searching for us even now. If we leave, he will find us and we are not yet strong enough to face him in battle.”

“You surprise me, Tegid. We are only taking water to Dun Cruach, not riding to challenge Meldron face-to-face. Anyway, it is the least we can do for them after all Cynan and his father have done for us.”

“I do not question our debt to Lord Cynfarch and his son. You are right to feel the way you do. But we cannot leave the valley now.”

“But now is when they need the water,” Llew insisted, gently, but with growing agitation. “Now—not next Lugnasadh or whenever.”

“If we leave Dinas Dwr, there will be trouble,” I told him flatly.

“Trouble,” he said slowly. “What sort of trouble?”

“I cannot say,” I admitted. “Disaster.”

“Disaster,” he repeated. “Have you seen this disaster?”

“No,” I confessed. “But I feel it in my bones.”

“It is too hot to argue about this, Tegid,” he said, and my inward eye awakened at the words.

I saw dust billowing in dun-colored clouds from a parched land, borne aloft on wild winds. The sun did not shine, but hung in a brown sky with a dim yellow pallor. And no living thing did I see in the sky or on the ground. The words of the Banfáith's prophecy came to me.
“The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds,”
I intoned softly.
“The essence of Albion is scattered and torn among contending winds.”

Llew was silent for a moment. “Meaning?” he asked at last.

“Meldron's reign is defiled,” I told Llew. “His desecration has begun to corrupt the land itself. His unrighteous kingship is the abomination which walks the land, poisoning it, killing it. And worse is to follow.”

He was silent again. I took up my cup, drank, and then replaced it on the floor.

“
In the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass for a wonder,”
I recited.

“Well? Enlighten me,” he said wearily.

“Root and branch have changed places, you see? In Meldron, king and kingship have changed places.”

“I am sorry, Tegid—it is late; I am tired—I do not understand.”

“The words of the prophecy—”

“I know, I know, the prophecy—yes. What does it mean?”

“Sovereignty, Llew. Meldron has seized the power that only the bards hold. He made himself king and now claims sovereignty. He has reversed the order.”

“And this has poisoned the water?” Llew asked, straining to understand. “Actually poisoned it?”

“So I believe. How long do you think such brazen evil can reign in this worlds-realm without poisoning the very land itself ?” I said. “The land is alive. It draws its life from the people who work it, just as they draw their life from the king. If corruption taints the king, the people suffer—yes, and eventually, the land will suffer as well. That is the way of it.”

“This is Simon's doing,” he said, using Siawn Hy's former name. “All of this has come about through him. It was Simon who told Meldron that kingship could be taken by force. And Albion is dying because of it.”

He did not wait for me to reply. “If I had done what I came here to do, none of this would have happened.”

“It is pointless to talk this way,” I told him. “We do only what we know to do; we do what we can.”

“All the more reason to help Cynan now,” he retorted.

There was no changing his mind. I had said what I came to say, and it had not moved him. “Very well,” I said. “We will go. We will take water to Dun Cruach, and we will brave the consequences.”

“Whatever you say, brother,” Llew agreed amiably. “What about your Mabinogi?”

“Goewyn will look after them.”

“Then it is settled. We leave at dawn.”

We parted and I left him to his rest. I was too angry and overwrought to sleep that night; and the air was too still and warm.

27
T
HE
G
IANT'S
S
TONE

I
held vigil in my grove, sitting naked on my turf mound, feeling the heat of the night on my skin—listening to the unnatural stillness, seeking with my inner sight that which I once might have sought in the Seeing Bowl. I searched the many-shadowed pathways of the future for the source of my foreboding. My inward eye brought forth many images—all of them desolate and disheartening: starving children with wasted limbs and protruding bellies, bloated cattle lying dead in poisoned streams, silent settlements, withered crops, crows holding court upon the gleaming rib cages of the hapless dead . . .