In the dead of night, Gurgi shook her gently for her turn at watch. Eilonwy sat up, yawning, and shivered in the cold air. He had kept the fire going; she put her back to it, drawing knees to chest and hunching over to trap her own warmth. There was a scuffling of dead leaves as her companion buried himself in the bracken, and then all was silent again, save for the sighing and snapping of the fire. There was no wind.
Eilonwy stared out into the darkness. The moon had already set, allowing the stars, and the streak of pale, mottled light that banded the sky, to glow all the more vividly, illuminating the expanse above until it was cut off by the lacy black fringe of treetops.
"What is that?" she had asked Dallben once, when he had returned from some midnight ritual and caught her sitting, sleepless, upon the front doorstep. "That cloud of light across the sky? It's not stars."
He had been unusually companionable, folding down to sit next to her instead of scolding her to get back into bed. She watched his bare toes, bony protrusions from the hem of his robe, trail over the edge of the slate and brush gently at the earth, as though he could read something in it by the touch. "It is stars," he said, in a low and hushed rumble. "Stars beyond number, too close together and too far away for your eyes to separate them."
She looked at him skeptically, and he chuckled. "When you see a wood from a distance," he said, "do you make out single trees?"
"No," she admitted, "not if it is very distant." She turned her eyes again to the heavens, marveling. "There are that many?"
"That many, and many more, leagues beyond what your eyes can see. Scores past comprehension."
She felt almost indignant. "How do you know that? Is it in the Book of Three?"
"Certain parts," he said, "the rest...you cannot understand."
She hated being told this. "I could try."
His eyes slid sideways at her briefly. "Hm. To do that, you must do that which is difficult for you."
"And that is?"
"Be quiet," he said, "and listen."
She waited. He said nothing else for so long that she finally blurted out, "Well? What is it?"
His deep eyes twinkled, reflecting the stars. "You see?" he said, "too difficult already."
She took his meaning with an unpleasant mental jolt. "But I am listening! You aren't talking!"
"I did not say," he said, "to listen to me."
She scowled, and fell silent, too annoyed to ferret out his meaning. Instinctively, she dug under her nightshift and grasped the silver crescent at her breastbone, comforted by the smooth coolness of the metal against her thumb. Another thought popped into her mind. "What of the moon? Is it like the stars, only closer?"
"No," he said, "it is a body of its own, a sister to the earth."
"Why do I wear one?"
He had looked mildly surprised, which was unusual, for Dallben. "It is the symbol of your House."
"I know," she said, "but why? The sons of Don have a sunburst because of Belin the sun-king. Fflewddur says part of his banner has a flame on it, like his name. But Llyr was of the sea. Why isn't his symbol a...a wave, or something?"
He stroked his beard, gazing at her thoughtfully, and said, "Llyr is the son of Rhiannon, Lady of the moon. Thus the sea obeys her, in the movement of its tides, and the Daughters of Llyr took on her symbol. It was Rhiannon they revered, as much as their founding king, perhaps more." He squinted. "Achren never told you?"
She shook her head, and he grunted. "Strange. Though again, perhaps not. She doubtless had little love for Rhiannon; their very natures would oppose one another, and she would have had no command over whatever part of your magic descends from that line. Useless to her."
"What sort of magic is it?"
"All the water, of course," he said, "but also..." he stopped, rather abruptly, and tugged at his beard before continuing, "Rhiannon is the Mother, and the source of the all women's wisdom. She it is who births life to the land. She is love and comfort, healing and peace, and the magic that flows from her is always goodness."
Her heart warmed at this, and then twisted with sadness. "No wonder Achren couldn't use it. But now I cannot, either."
"Nevertheless, it is within you," he said, "and you follow her lead by instinct, more than you know. More may come to you, in time, if you are meant for it."
"But can't you-," she began, and he shushed her, holding up a withered palm.
"I cannot. I have told you before. Only the Daughters of Llyr could wield both fire and water, using methods known only to them," he said regretfully, "and thus, I cannot teach you as you ought to learn: mother to daughter, from one enchantress to the next, as it was always done. One thing I know: that they kept their powers in careful balance, and without the one side, you will never be able to fully wield the other. But I think some of it may awaken in you, and I will guide you as I can. All in good time." He was silent a moment, no doubt taking in her simmering frustration, then murmured, "It is hard, I know. There is much that was your birthright, taken from you. Mourn it, but do not cling to what is gone. You have much, still, more than enough to serve you. Make of it what you can, and you will do well."
She had sighed, and scowled when he rose and told her to go to bed, but she had obeyed, lying in the loft and mulling it over. She did so many nights, without coming any closer to his meaning. But it was nice to have an explanation, at last, for the way moonlight had always comforted her. The name Rhiannon seemed to pluck at her mind, like fingers on distant harp stings, and she thought perhaps she had heard it before, sometime in that dark and walled-up dream of life before Achren.
Conversations with Dallben were mostly like that: mysterious, tying your thoughts into knots and leaving you with more questions than answers. He probably would have said the questions were the more important of the two, but she chafed at lack of certainty. It wasn't fair, that someone who knew as much as he did should be so cagey about the knowledge.
Now she gazed up again, at that milky splash across the sky, vast and unimaginable. Be quiet and listen. But not, apparently, to him. To what, then? The stars made no noise, even if they sometimes looked as though they should; she had fancied, at times, that they laughed, or wept, or made music, chiming and twinkling frosted notes so high you could barely hear them. But these were mere imaginings, born on whatever she'd been feeling at the time. Try as she might, ears straining, she could hear nothing, and she scoffed quietly to herself. Another of Dallben's eccentricities. She was fond of him, but she would never understand him.
What even were they, stars? Tiny sparks? Holes cut into the sky? She had a vague memory of being told they were gems scattered by a goddess, flung from the ends of her radiant hair, wept as tears from her eyes, caught in the black velvet of night like crystal beads sewn onto her gown. Only a story, of course, but a lovely one. She could not remember where she had heard it. Achren had never told stories.
The fire popped behind her and she glanced at it, and added another branch. Her hands tingled with proximity to flame, as they always did, and she regarded them thoughtfully, her heart thudding. Achren's brand of fire-magic had always felt wrong and unpleasant, and Dallben maintained that her own innate power had been tainted by such machinations. She wondered, sadly, what it would feel like to be able to access her gift without that shadow looming over it. She should, at least, be able to do more than light a fire by now.
But fire was not her only element. She thought, again, of what she had sensed in the river. Water held magic of its own. What could she do, if she could only touch that side of her power?
She thought of the memory that had come to her, in a flash, once, while Fflewddur had been playing for them: slim white hands in graceful motion, twisting in air as beads of water shimmered in her palm. The water moved fluidly, as though of itself, from one shape to another: a shell, a fish, a star, a crown. Sweet laughter, and the sound of gulls crying overhead. White capped waves, rolling toward her, and the shallow, cold froth puckering at her toes. The sea. She had been there, once, and the image of it twisted inside her, always, with an aching emptiness that gnawed at her chest and throat, as though she hadn't eaten in days. Achren had taken her from it, and, she was beginning to believe, had taken even her memories of it, until such fragments were all that were left.
Anger flared within her, unbidden, and the fire behind her snapped and crackled in response, eager to devour. Alarmed, she pushed them down, both anger and flame, quelled by her will until they smoldered beneath surface calm. It was no time to be thinking of such things. Better to concentrate on their plans for tomorrow.
But the embers sizzled and hissed in the darkness, until the sun broke the horizon.
They took up the trail once more, stale now, but still readily apparent. She had overheard one of the men say it was a three-day ride to the gates of Annuvin; best if she stayed trailing the band at least one more, lest Gwydion think it more prudent to send her back any sooner.
She groaned when they came upon another river; the Ystrad, this time, but it was shallower than the Avren, and the crossing was easier. She thought to reach out again, while they forded, trying to find the same threads of magic she had sensed in her previous swim, but nothing came to her. Perhaps you had to be in dire straits, or otherwise gripped with some strong need, to access it. Fire always revealed itself, often accidentally, when she was angry or excited. What would bring water to her call?
Dried and dressed, they continued on, and stopped shortly in confusion. The trail had split.
"Well, now what?" Eilonwy grumbled, turning from left to right in consternation; in the soft soil the hoofprints, tramped-down leaves and swathes of disturbed bracken made it clear: a sizeable portion of the party had broken off and moved west, while the rest continued on to the north.
"Why would they split in half?" she mused out loud. "Wouldn't you want the largest possible party when approaching Annuvin? But there must be a reason." This was what came of losing her temper and driving Taran off before he could actually tell her anything useful. She ought to have been listening, night before last, around the campfires, instead of sulking in her loft – no doubt she could have picked up a general sense of Gwydion's plan. If only Taran hadn't been so-
She sighed. What was the use of blaming him? He'd been a fool but so had she, in her way; nothing had been made better by staying angry, and now here she was without any idea which way he'd gone. Of course it might not matter – whoever had split off surely wasn't doing so in order to abandon the quest, after all, so either way she took, she'd come back to the whole company in the end most likely. Still, she'd rather go where her friends had gone.
Gurgi had dismounted and was on all fours, circling the trampled earth. "No fear!" he called out. "Clever Gurgi will find his friends with sniffings and whiffings, and snufflings and whufflings!" He bent with his nose to the ground, his long arms splayed out with elbows sticking up like spider legs, and she smothered a giggle as he waddled over the area.
In moments he straightened up. "This way! Gurgi has found them – he smells master's horse, and master too. They all went this way with ridings and stridings!" He motioned toward the path to the north as he trotted back to his pony.
"Are you sure?" She shut her eyes, wishing she could sense what he did, but though the buzz of living things sparked at her from all directions, she could distinguish nothing, human or otherwise, from the overall hum. How useful it would be to have such a sensitive nose...but not always pleasant, she thought wryly.
"Yes, yes!" Gurgi was already urging Hapus down the trail. "Gurgi's nose is full of knowledge! You will see."
There was nothing to do but trust him. She clucked to Mefusen, and they turned north.
The terrain became rough and stony, the trees twisted, their bare branches stark against the sky. The hard ground and sparse underbrush made it more difficult to follow the trail, and by midday, Gurgi had to frequently slip from his saddle, sniffing along, until his keen senses picked up the right direction. Within another hour they were climbing up a narrow ledge, with a deep gorge yawning at its edge. It made her stomach turn to look down at it, so she kept her eyes steadily between her horse's ears, fixed upon the road ahead. Gurgi was plagued by no such discomfort. He sat sprightly upon his pony's shaggy back, chatting happily, and keeping his eyes upon all they passed. They went single file, for the width of the path allowed for no more, and she was relieved when they had climbed beyond the gorge and descended over the next wooded ridge.
The sun seemed to sink quickly as they drove deeper into the mountains. Mefusen and Hapus, docile until then, grew skittish, shying at dry leaves, pricking anxious ears in all directions, and blowing fretfully by turns. When the falling darkness at last made the path too difficult, they made camp in a hollow of a low cliff.
Eilonwy built a fire while Gurgi tended to the horses and settled with her back to a boulder, chewing methodically and with no pleasure at a hunk of the food from his wallet. "I wonder where they all are tonight," she mused out loud, when Gurgi settled himself nearby, after turning in his customary three circles. "I thought perhaps we might catch up with them today, but perhaps it's as well we haven't yet. Gwydion might not find it too far to send us back."
Gurgi yawned, showing all his teeth. "Gurgi could go through the trees, tomorrow, perhaps, seeking and peeking ahead. If they are close by he will see them."
"Perhaps." She sucked at her teeth thoughtfully, looking at him. "Gurgi...where did you live before you met Taran?"
He looked up at her mildly, cocking his head; one ragged ear pricked forward. "Gurgi lived anywhere and nowhere. He slept in the trees, under logs, inside burrows, and laid his poor tender head down always alone." He blinked, his furrowed brow taking on a mournful expression. "He ate eggs and frogs and grubs, and followed warriors and great lords for their leavings, when he could find them. And sometimes, when the winds were snowing and blowing, he went with creepings and sneakings into cottages and barns. But most were unkind to unhappy Gurgi. They called him thief, and fiend, and drove him away with hurlings of rocks and beatings of sticks."
Eilonwy winced, and reached out to scratch him behind the ears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you unhappy."
He pricked his ears, his lips curving in a sharp-toothed smile. "Unhappy? Oh no, Gurgi is happy now. He has friends, and crunchings and munchings always, and warm beds by fires, and songs and stories to cheer him even when he is alone. Why should he ever be unhappy?"
She hesitated. "Then it doesn't make you sad...remembering all the times before?"
He looked puzzled. "When Gurgi thinks of them, he thinks only how glad he is that they are gone." He cocked his head again, this time to the other side. "Wise princess thinks he should be sad?"
"No!" she exclaimed quickly. "Not at all. I'm glad you aren't. But do you never think of...well, where you came from?"
"Gurgi doesn't remember," he said, with a shrug, settling with his chin in his own flank, and added simply, "he is happy to be where he is now."
He yawned again and shut his eyes, his breath escaping in a long sigh. Eilonwy wrapped her cloak around herself tighter, envious of his contentment. Of course, she was also happy with her circumstances – marvelously so. Well, maybe not with this specific one at present, she added, mentally, digging a rock out from under her hip – but with her existence at Caer Dallben and her makeshift family there. But it didn't stop her from from wondering about what had come before, and what might have been otherwise.
The next morning she tested her bowstring, and made sure her quiver was accessible. They were near Annuvin now, and who knew what sort of horrid things prowled the mountains near it? She had heard nothing, the night before, but that of itself seemed eerie. There should be some sounds at night, after all - the haunting chuckle of an owl, or the furtive rustles of small creatures through the dead leaves. But this forest was as still as a held breath, a pressured silence, as though it waited for something. She shook the sensation off as nonsense...but kept her bow close to hand.
The horses continued to be recalcitrant. Mefusen walked at a frustratingly slow pace. He attempted numerous times to turn away from the trail, and though he obeyed her nudging heels, she felt his reluctance in his stiffness at the bit. It was unlike him, and she scanned their surroundings with increasing vigilance, wondering what he sensed. Her own insight still detected less activity than was common to the wild woods, but that was all.
In the late afternoon, they came upon a stream, and dismounted to allow the horses to drink while she and Gurgi refilled their own flasks. She had just crouched over the water when an explosion of sounds nearly startled her into tumbling into it: snorts from the horses, splashes, a cry from Gurgi. The reins were yanked violently from her hand as Mefusen reared. He danced backwards, tossing his head away from her attempts to catch his bridle, ignoring her shouts, and whirled around in a jumble of hooves and flying stirrups. In moments he was in full gallop back in the direction they'd come from, Hapus hot on his heels.
"No!" Panicked and disbelieving, Eilonwy pursued them, shouting for them to stop. Gurgi raced ahead, but neither of them had any chance of catching the beasts, and after a few dozen yards, lungs bursting, she stumbled to a halt in despair, gasping. "Gurgi," she called, "it's no good. You'll never catch them."
He loped back to her, wide-eyed with dismay. "Cowardly horses are running fast, with neighings and brayings!" he bawled. "They would not stop for unhappy Gurgi. He and noble princess are left all alone in fearsome forest!" His amber eyes rolled, white-rimmed, and he clutched at her sleeve.
Panting, she stared at the gap in the trees where they had disappeared, and fear welled in her throat, made her dizzy, drove her to her knees in the dirt. What would they do now? How would they ever catch up with the band? How would they escape, if pursued? She crouched over her own knees, her head in her hands, as darkness tried to overwhelm her. You shouldn't have come. Foolish. What made you think you could manage on your own? You couldn't survive outside, without—
A spark of anger kindled in her, burned hot and bright, overwhelmed fear. It was Achren's voice in her head, and Achren lied; she always, always lied. I can, she thought. I will. You cannot stop me anymore.
Gurgi was still whimpering, crouched next to her and plucking anxiously at her hair. She looked up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right," she said, willing the tremble from her voice. "Look, you're still carrying your wallet, so we've got food. It's too late to walk back, so we'll walk on. It'll hardly be any slower than we've gone all morning. And we can't be far from them now." She sucked her teeth, with one final glance toward the trail back. "The horses know their way home. They'll be fine. And if they aren't, they've got only themselves to blame." Like us, she added silently, and rose, shaking the dirt from her leggings. "After all, you're used to living in the woods. It shouldn't bother you."
Gurgi flattened his ears against his head. "Gurgi has never wandered so close to the black gates before. He did not roam this terrible forest. It is full of moanings and groanings."
She frowned. "I don't hear anything."
"Gurgi hears them. His ears are sharp and keen! Fearful horses must have heard them, too."
Puzzled, she cocked her head, and strained to hear, but still, only silence met her. Was it possible for animals to hear things she couldn't? Gurgi wasn't really an animal, of course, not completely, but whatever he was, he often did seem to have keener senses.
"Well," she said, shrugging, "moanings and groanings or not, there's nothing for it but to keep on. Perhaps the band will have an extra horse we can borrow, when we find them."
"Yes, yes," he agreed, "it is better to keep moving! There are watchful eyes in the trees. Gurgi will be happier when he is with the mighty warriors."
She felt a bit miffed by the implication that her presence was less reassuring, but quelled it. After all, it would be safer, in the company of people carrying swords, and Gwydion's protection was nothing to disregard. She'd feel safer there, as well.
They trudged across the stream and continued through the woods. Within an hour she was more appreciative of horses, despite how troublesome they'd been. At least on horseback one avoided the worst of the conditions on the ground. Now, brambles tore at her clothes and left stinging red welts on her hands. Miry patches smeared them in mud. Her ankles turned on loose gravel, and her feet ached. Had the journey to Caer Dathyl been like this? Worse, she thought, remembering the exhausting flight from the cauldron-born; she was stronger now, and better-dressed, and had no room to complain, even in her own head. Eilonwy grit her teeth, and marched on.
The sun sank behind the trees, but she no longer feared catching up to the warriors; indeed, it was now her goal, and she decided to press on through the night, as long as their strength permitted. Gurgi's sharp nose had no trouble following the trail from the ground, and she pulled out her bauble and set it alight, just enough to show her where to plant her feet.
The mountains rose around them, dark shapes she sensed rather than saw. More than once she whirled to look, heart pounding, at some shape that had seemed, from the corner of her vision, to be a figure looming toward her, only to see the light from her bauble reflecting strangely from the twisted bark of surrounding trees, from the surfaces of boulders scattered among them.
The moon rose high, a milky wedge that floated beyond the black web of branches, and she felt her spirits lift a little under that benevolent light.
It must have been well past midnight when Gurgi, scuffling on the trail ahead, suddenly paused and raised his head, sniffing the air eagerly. "The camp is near!" he whispered, his eyes gleaming in the light of her bauble. "Gurgi smells it, very close!"
She hurriedly pocketed the light. "Good. Now, let's creep up quietly. I want to be sure we find Taran and Fflewddur and Coll, not just tramp out in the middle of some strange lot of warriors. Can you sniff them out, do you think?"
"Gurgi can find them! With sniffings and whiffings he will pick out our friends!"
She crept behind him cautiously, alert for guards. Gurgi, a step ahead, failed to duck beneath a low-hanging shrub, and it rustled loudly. She held her breath, froze, but all was silent.
Another step. A fallen branch crackled beneath her foot, and suddenly the brush erupted near her.
Aaaaaaand I am back! At least for a while.
Whew, you all. It's hard for me to believe how long it has been since I've worked on this, and everything that has happened in that time - BUT, I'm coming to this now with so much more to work with, after finishing Daughter of the Sea and having a better handle on Eilonwy's family history and heritage, hints of which you see here and which I plan to continue to develop. Just tells me the muse knew what it was doing when it pushed me in a different direction two years ago.
If you're still reading, welcome back!
~CW
