‘Friends of yours?’ said Fergal.
Conor felt a sudden flood of relief course through him. ‘How?’ was all he managed to say.
Fergal smiled. ‘Ask Rhiannon. It was all her doing—one of her spells, I think.’
‘The charm…,’ breathed Conor, remembering … You have only to whisper my name, she had promised. The implications of that vow broke upon him then, and that, combined with the loss of blood from his wounds, staggered him. He rocked back on his heels and pressed a hand to his head.
‘I can’t be always saving you,’ Fergal told him, taking Conor’s elbow to steady him. ‘One of these days you must learn to fight. You might find it a useful occupation.’
‘I’m heartily sick of fighting, brother. I am thinking of becoming a druid.’
Fergal laughed and shook his head. ‘They won’t be having you. Ach, now, a shepherd, maybe.’ Indicating the ship where Rhiannon stood waiting, he said, ‘Come on, let’s get you safe aboard and bind up that arm. Then we can discuss your future prospects.’
Fergal helped Conor up the boarding plank and onto the deck, and delivered him to Rhiannon’s care. Gwydion and his men followed them on board and quickly made ready to sail. By the time Balor Berugderc and his men reached the cove, the faéry ship was gliding into deep water and on its way to the Land of the Everliving.
Donal
Some things I remember, many things I don’t. I remember we were in the Scálda ráth with the faéry women—Rhiannon and her maid, Tanwen. A bard might be able to put words to the way I felt when I saw the two of them standing in that dirty hut—so miserable, so afraid, so helpless, and so very beautiful. It did fair cleave the heart of me in half to see them that way, so it did.
There was no question in my mind but that we must rescue them. Though I had to gnaw through the chains with my teeth, I would have done it. Rhiannon said she could do no magic because of the iron, so we had to find a way to break the chains and set them free. That is what we did—and none too soon, for the Scálda were prowling all round us in that foul place. Two of the devils even came into the hut, but by that time we were clinging to the good lady’s robe for the charm she used to hide us. And, Badb take me, the dog-eaters never saw us.
We got ourselves out of there sharp, and it was all smooth and fine until the charm started to go thin. We got our horses and made for the gate. I was unlucky last, and took a Scálda blade in the back up under the ribs on my side. At first I didn’t know what happened. I felt something slam into me sure enough, and the Lady Tanwen sucked in her breath and gripped me so tight I could hardly breathe. But she never let on, said not a word.
I got us down from the ráth and then the pain hit and I thought someone had set fire to my siarc. Water came to my eyes and I almost bit off my tongue it hurt so bad. I looked around and saw the end of the spear still sticking out of Tanwen’s back. Poor Tanwen. The Scálda blade went through her and into me. It cut me bad, but not so bad I couldn’t ride, so we flew off toward the coast, and Conor went the other way to draw off the pursuit. And it worked. At least, none of the Scálda followed us.
We rode until we couldn’t ride anymore. The pain hurt so bad until it didn’t hurt anymore, either. It just got very cold—first a spot on my side and then more and more, spreading out, spreading all through me like ice forming on a lough. The next thing I knew we were just standing still in the moonlight. Everything was quiet, peaceful even, so it was. I remember looking up at the moon and thinking it was almost so close I could reach out and touch it.
But it wasn’t the moon—or maybe it was at first—because I was on the ground looking up and Conor was there and he was calling to me. He gave me something to drink and it tasted foul, but I drank it and the next thing was that I smelled sour smoke. I looked around and saw that I was in the cave down on the beach. I could hear the waves outside, and Mádoc was there, and Lady Rhiannon, and they were giving me that foul stuff to drink and all I wanted to do was sleep.
When I woke up again, I was high up in the roof of the cave. I don’t know how I got up there, but I looked down and saw some sad fella lying on the floor and covered with a cloak. Lady Rhiannon was beside him, holding his hand, and old Mádoc asleep and snoring, and little Huw, the Cymry boy, nearby. The strange thing was, I didn’t hurt anymore. I felt good, but the wretch on the ground below me didn’t look fit for much. At first, I thought he was dead, but Rhiannon raised up his head and gave him some water to drink, and he opened his eyes. I almost swallowed my tongue—for that poor broken fella was me!
As soon as I saw that, I wasn’t up in the roof anymore, but right down there under that cloak, and it was Rhiannon holding my head and talking to me. I don’t know what she said—for the faéry folk speech is stranger than strange—but just the sound of it made me feel warm and easy in my mind. The pain in my back was hurting again, but I didn’t care anymore. I just drifted along on the sound of her voice—sometimes awake, sometimes not. I don’t remember much about being on the ship except once when I opened my eyes and looked around I found that I was way up on top of the mast with the sail bellied out big and full.
The sea spread out wide all around and down below and I saw Conor and Fergal on the deck and Huw with the horses. And they were sailing the ship. Warriors! Sailing a ship! This made me laugh—until I realised they were afraid. I could sense their fear—almost like the smell, like rotten eggs, so it was. I looked around and saw the red sails of Scálda ships in chase, and then I knew why my brothers were so terrible uneasy and I felt bad for them.
And then Rhiannon put her hands on me and I was somewhere dark and she was beside me. I think Mádoc was there, or maybe not. She spoke soft faéry words to me and I went farther into the dark place and it was very dark indeed. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt as if I were moving, walking maybe, and then far ahead, I saw a light—blue like the sky it was, and I walked toward it and then I was in the light, like when you move out from under the shade of a big tree and into the bright sun. But it wasn’t the sun, it was a person—a lady. Or maybe the light hid the lady and that was the way of it. She spoke to me and in the gentlest voice I ever heard said, ‘Welcome, Donal. Would you like to stay here with me?’
‘Where am I?’ I asked, because all I could see was the light shining everywhere.
‘Look around and tell me what you see.’
As soon as she said this, the bright light faded and I saw that I stood at the edge of a great meadow—bigger and more fair than any in all Eirlandia, even Mag Brega. We walked out onto the greenest field I ever saw, greener even than Tara’s hill, and full of white and yellow flowers. The air was soft and smelled of sweet grass and roses; there were birds with feathers so bright it hurt my eyes to look at them, and everything sparkled like gems. Three rivers divided the plain and I came to one of them and stood on the high bank above the deep-flowing water. I looked down and saw that the river was full of fat silver-speckled salmon, and otters played in the shallows, and swans and ducks paddled among the reeds. A tall oak tree grew in the centre of the plain—so big it could shelter a hundred head of cattle under its boughs—and other trees lined the borders of the plain. And sweet-sounding music filled the air, so it did—the music of harps and pipes and bodhran drums and singing. Everything breathed an air of peace and calm like early morning before the troubles of the day begin.
‘Lady, what is this place?’
‘Do you not know it?’
‘If I had seen it before, I would know it. How could anyone forget a place like this?’
She smiled and my heart soared. ‘Think and the answer will come to you,’ she said, and her voice was like a kiss to my ears.
‘Is it Mag Mell?’ I said.
‘So it is,’ she said, and laughed—and I could have lived on that sound alone. ‘The old tales have not been wasted on you, I see.’
I gazed at her in awe, and saw before me a woman of such beauty as to cause the sky to blush and the stars to hide their faces and burn with
bitter envy. She was clothed in a gleaming blue gown with a cloak and girdle of golden light—like cloth made from the rays of afternoon light, perhaps—and her hair hung in thick braids and was white as virgin snow, though she was not old in years. I stared at her in a daze of wonder and said, ‘Fair lady, forgive an ignorant warrior’s asking, but who are you?’
‘I have so many names,’ she said. ‘But if you look to your heart, I think you will see you already know the answer.’
‘And are you Queen Danu?’ The name came to me as I spoke it out, and I knew her. Indeed, it seemed that I had always known her.
She smiled the smile of love and my heart filled to bursting with longing for her. I went down on my knees before her and said, ‘Tell me what I must do to stay here always and serve you. Speak the word and whatever task you place before me—that I will do.’
‘That is easily said, and just as easily done.’ Lifting a hand to the wonderful plain, she said, ‘Do you see that river? All you need do is cross it. At the water’s edge you will find a boat down amongst the rushes and if you row to the other side, you will stay here in this place and live in my hall forever.’
I would have leapt to my feet and run to find that boat, but something prevented me—I don’t know what, but something heavy for I did so want to stay. Queen Danu nodded and looked at me with eyes the colour of the sea after the rain. She seemed to see into my heart and said, ‘You are not ready yet, I see.’
‘I am ready,’ I insisted. ‘I have never been more ready for anything in all my life.’
‘No.’ She shook her head gently. ‘It is not your time. You must go back.’
‘My lady, please!’ I cried, and tears came to my eyes at the thought of leaving that glorious place. ‘Please, show mercy.’
‘It is for mercy that I send you away now,‘she replied. ‘You have work to finish, and you must return to take up your life again. But, never fear, one day you will come and join me and when you do there will be no going back.’
All at once, the light faded and darkness took me. I felt hands on me—many hands, different hands, some gentle, some not so much—pinching and probing, doing things I know not what. Ach, I was wrapped and unwrapped, draped and swathed in coverings hot and cold, wet and dry, and given strange cups to drink, bitter and burning, some of them—one I spat out, I know, for it was foul—but others sweet on the tongue. All the while, I continued walking on that unseen path, not knowing where I was going, but putting one foot in front of the other, after a time I felt the world grow lighter around me. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a bed of goose feathers in a room I had never seen before—it was big with a high roof and candles all around and Fergal was there, sitting in a chair beside me.
‘What is this?’ he cried, leaping to his feet. ‘Donal! Are you awake?’
‘Fergal, is it you, brother?’ I looked around the room and it was very grand. ‘Where are we?’
‘They’ve done it!’ he said, and seized my hand and squeezed until the bones ground together. ‘They’ve saved you!’
This made no sense to me. ‘Who has saved me?’
‘Gwydion’s physicians—they have healed you.’
‘Are you insane now, brother, that you speak only in riddles? I cannot understand a word you say.’
He sat down again and told me all that had happened and how we had come to be there in that room together. ‘Where are we?’ I asked again.
‘We are with the Tylwyth Teg in Tír nan Óg.’
‘And Conor?’ I asked, looking around the room as if I might find him. ‘Where is Conor?’
‘Conor has stayed in Eirlandia,’ he said, and I remembered how we had searched for proof of Lord Brecan’s wicked scheme to make himself high king. And I knew then why I had been sent back from the Land of Promise—it was to help Conor. I threw aside the soft covering and made to get up, but my legs were weak and my head swam, the room tilted away from me, and I fell back into bed instead. ‘Ach, now, I may need a little more time yet.’
We talked some more and then Rhiannon came with two of her ladies and when she saw me awake, she kissed me and made much of me so that my face grew hot to hear it. Then she said that glad as she was to see me awake, she had come to find Fergal. ‘Conor is in need,’ she told him. ‘He has summoned me. A boat is being prepared even now. I must leave at once.’
‘I’m going, too,’ said Fergal.
‘And I as well,’ I said.
But both of them looked at me and shook their heads. ‘Soon, perhaps. But not this time,’ Rhiannon said. ‘You stay and gather your strength. I will have one of my ladies attend you.’
They left a short time later, and two days after that I was strong enough to get up and walk around a little. Alwen, the maiden Rhiannon sent, was a young woman—but, then they all looked young to me—slim as a willow wand with hair pale as flax and great dark eyes. She brought a razor and a bowl of warm water and, using the charm of tongues, offered to shave me. Many of the men among them have beards, from the little I had seen, while others shaved or trimmed their hair. Ach, now, I am not accustomed to having any hand other than my own come near my throat with a knife or razor, so I thanked her and asked for a mirror instead.
One look in that polished silver disk and I almost dropped the razor in the bowl, for the face gazing back at me was not one I recognised. The eyes were dull, red-rimmed, and sunk deep in their sockets; the flesh was pale and waxy; and the hair was limp and matted. And the poor fella was terrible thin, with hollow cheeks, cracked lips, and a nasty beard. I saw that wasted stranger and a tear came to my eye for the shock of it.
Alwen, who was holding the disk, saw my undoing and gently took the razor from my trembling hand, sat me down, and then proceeded to wash my hair and shave me. I cannot say which troubled me more—that I was so much diminished in my own eyes, or that I was being shaved by a woman, and a faéry woman at that!
I endured the trial with as much manful dignity as I could scrape together, and emerged feeling the better for the ordeal. At her command, one of the lads brought me some clean clothes—I had been given such at some time I don’t remember, for the clothes I was wearing were not my own. But the new ones were more befitting a fella to be seen among decent folk—a new siarc of fine wool combed soft and woven in checks of red and green, and long breecs of the same stuff, but dyed blue, and high-topped brócs that laced to the knee. There was no cloak, but I needed none, for the weather there was fine.
In this way, I walked out into a fair sunlit day for my first look at the place they called Tír nan Óg. I saw much that would have amazed me in a former time—but, mind now, I had greeted Queen Danu in the true Region of the Summer Stars—a realm that lies both above and through our own—a place of such wonder that it made even the faéry isle seem a little drab. All that day, I found myself returning to the Plain of Promise and my talk with the goddess queen. The wonder of it was renewed and I remembered all that had happened there and all that she had said to me.
The next day, thanks to the care of my good physicians, I was stronger still. I walked down to the harbour and was standing on the stone wharf when the ship came gliding into the bay. Conor was there and he gave out a loud shout when he saw me—but then collapsed, and I saw that he was wounded. Because of his injuries, he had to be carried from the boat—but there were many to help him for he had brought with him more than half a score of faéry folk—and, Badb take me, didn’t he have that horse of his, Búrach, as well? Aye, so he did.
They brought him to where I stood and I embraced him, and he squeezed my arm. ‘It is good to see you standing up for a change, Donal,’ he said, his voice a dull croak. ‘I wish I could say the same for myself here.’
‘Worry for nothing, brother, the healers here will soon have you back on your feet and dancing,’ I told him.
‘Ach, I’ll be fighting fit in no time,’ he boasted. But his voice was a whisper and his face was grey as death.
‘Aye, see that you are, brother,
for we have a chore of work to do.’
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD is the internationally renowned author of the bestselling Pendragon Cycle, which received critical acclaim for its creative retelling of the Arthur legend and its historical credibility. In addition to that series, he is the author of more than twenty-eight novels and numerous children’s books of fantasy and imaginative fiction, including the award-winning Song of Albion trilogy. Lawhead makes his home in Oxford, England, with his wife, Alice.
Visit him online at www.stephenlawhead.com, or sign up for email updates here.
www.facebook.com/StephenRLawhead
Twitter: @StephenLawhead
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Conor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Rónán
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Ardan
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Aoife
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Rónán