AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
Yet again, I must grovel with all the power of my feeble cringing. Geez, I call myself a writer? Augh. Anyways, I'm back to assure people that I have in no way forgotten this story; in fact, Prydain seems to be more and more often on my mind. So, I'm finally back with another chapter! And I'd really like to thank everyone who's been reviewing and emailing me with all their comments - you guys are awesome!
Oh, and I'm going to be back for a while. Since school has ended (final exams, midnight movies, concerts, untimely obsessions - there's my section of excuses), I literally have nothing else to do except regale you with more chapters of my increasingly out-of-control stories.
"GET ON WITH IT!" yells the audience. The author cheerfully (and fearfully) obliges. Hope you like it! The Morva Trio is back!
Sakura-chan79: Yes, burning schoolwork would be an EXCELLENT idea. Dammit, I left it too late... school's already over. Shoot. Thanks for always reading!
CompanionWanderer: Yeah, you're probably right about Arawn shapeshifting - but at the time, I guess I thought that he was 'revealing' himself to the public, so to speak, and that people would want to know how slimy he was. Or...something. You know, I can't believe I wrote it like that now - lol! Hope you like the Os! Sorry I've been away so long!
helen1982: Thank you so much! Here's some more (finally)!
IceQueen66: Welcome to the story - I'm so glad you like it!
FanFictionFantom: lol! I'm definitely not afraid of slash, I'm more afraid of what other Prydain fans would do to me if I wrote it - but that's such an awesome idea, really! No, I haven't stopped, I was just on a very long, unplanned hiatus. I'm glad you like it!
Gemma: Hi there stranger! I'm soooooo sorry I didn't reply to your email, but unfortunately I have the reputation of being a notoriously lazy email reply-er (my poor friends and family can attest to that fact). Gwydion and Achren would TOTALLY look awesome together - hee! I hope you get this message, and I'm really glad you like the story!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Dammit.
Black Shadow, Golden Sun
Chapter 6: An Odd Encounter
Westward Gwydion rode, through the rising heat. Soon Melyngar was sweating, her breath coming in short gasps even as her hooves spurred her to a greater speed. The air around the travelers was humid, a haze seeming to form in all directions as they followed the banks of the Avren. Further towards the ocean, the waters seemed to rush faster and faster as they poured into the narrow banks.
Before long, the woods to the north receded, the trees becoming sparser until they gave way to grassy fields. Gwydion steered Melyngar onto the grasses to muffle her hoofbeats, aware at all times that danger lurked behind them - by this time, certainly, Arawn's hunters were on their trail. Gwydion swallowed inadvertently and dug his heels once more into Melyngar's flanks. Although he had of course heard tales of Annuvin's Cauldron-born warriors, he had never had the misfortune to cross their path before - and now, he realized with a shock, he was probably being tracked by the Huntsmen of Annuvin as well.
He was shaken abruptly out of his thoughts as Melyngar suddenly plunged to a halt with a panicked whinny and the prince was nearly vaulted over her neck. Melyngar pranced backwards from where she had stopped, chomping nervously at her bridle. With a sudden exclamation, Gwydion saw that Melyngar's right foreleg was covered up to her knee in thick mud - the mare had almost fallen into a pit of moss and muddy grasses which lay before them.
Sliding off Melyngar's back, Gwydion quickly checked her leg for injury. Even though there was obviously nothing broken, he was greeted by the sight of inflamed skin around Melyngar's ankle - a weaker horse would have been lamed. Gritting his teeth in frustration and shared pain for Melyngar, the prince scooped up more of the cool mud lying before him and packed it liberally around Melyngar's leg in an attempt to lessen the swelling. Melyngar tossed her head and snorted as he did so, finally calming down until she stood docilely, favoring her other three legs, her head bowed down in exhaustion.
Collapsing down into the grass with a sigh, Gwydion was surprised to find that he and Melyngar were now in very strange, gloomy surroundings. Fog seemed to billowing everywhere, cooling the air into a chill. More pools of the same kind Melyngar had almost fallen into were everywhere, filled with mud which seemed to slowly ooze in ever-expanding tendrils. Only slender pathways of weeds and dead grasses wound through the mist around the pools, forming dangerous walkways which disappeared into the distance. Gwydion knew in an instant that they had reached the Marshes of Morva.
"I can take shelter here?" he murmured to himself as Melyngar nuzzled his arm, wondering incredulously why Dallben had directed him to this desolate place. Still, Gwydion thought in resignation, he would probably be safe from Huntsmen in the shadows of the bog.
All thoughts of safety flew from the prince's mind as he suddenly heard a rustling in the grass behind him. Whipping his head sharply in that direction, Gwydion was in time to catch a glimpse of a manically grinning face hiding itself in the underbrush, the pursuer's face distorted with a horrific brand seared into his forehead - the mark of Arawn.
Instantly Gwydion jumped up and began leading the limping Melyngar into the bog by the reins, drawing his dagger from its sheath with a sharp snick. Allowing Melyngar to go first into the marshes - her animal instincts about where to step would surely be stronger than his - Gwydion followed closely behind her as his sharp eyes kept watch on the field behind them, scanning for any movement. Melyngar broke into a stumbling trot at Gwydion's urging, her eyes wide with panic as she sensed the tension in his usually calm voice.
A gust of fog blew across Gwydion's vision, obscuring the field from view for a moment as Melyngar limped gamely down the wet pathways, slime oozing up from her hooves. He craned his head in all directions, dagger in hand, trying to guard against any sudden attack. The prince knew full well that the Huntsmen of Annuvin were feared for their silent attacks, and their stealth, known throughout Prydain as the stealth of animals.
Without any warning, a man suddenly flung himself onto Gwydion out of the fog, and the prince gave out a yell as he was thrown to the ground. Melyngar squealed in panic as another dark shape, wearing the skin of a wolf, flung itself onto her back. Gwydion struggled with his opponent, who made horrible growling noises from under his skin, this one the skin of an elk. Gwydion could feel the mud of the bog giving way under his head and shoulders as he brought up his dagger and struck upwards, the blade finding its mark in the Huntsman's belly. The creature screeched, a sound definitely sounding more animal than human, and then collapsed onto the prince, who gasped at the unexpected weight.
Pushing the body off of him, Gwydion scrambled to his feet and started towards Melyngar, who was bucking and twirling as best she could on her wounded leg. The Huntsman on her back was scrabbling at her neck, trying to hold on, with obvious strength far above the man Gwydion had just killed - the curse laid upon the Huntsmen had already taken effect. With a great leap, Gwydion landed on the back of the Huntsman and dragged the both of them off Melyngar's back, narrowly avoiding falling into the bog. With a snarl, the Huntsman flung Gwydion away from him, but he was up again in an instant and drew his sword, flinging his muddy hair out of his eyes.
The Huntsman grinned wolfishly as it drew a dagger, a sharp implement with a curiously misshapen hilt and a blade which curved and twisted, its edges lined with rust. In another moment he threw himself at Gwydion, who twisted out of the way of the swinging blade and lashed out with his own sword as the Huntsman's momentum carried him past the prince. The Huntsman screamed as Gwydion's sword struck down his back, but he turned back again just as quickly and caught the prince by surprise. Gwydion cried out as the dagger caught his sleeve and ripped open his arm.
Ignoring the pain, Gwydion lunged forward and was just able to push the Huntsman off balance with his shoulder. With a sudden shriek, the Huntsmen flailed his arms, dropping his dagger, and then slowly toppled backwards into the bog. Within seconds, his head disappeared under the flowing mud, and an eerie silence returned to the marsh.
Panting from his exertion, Gwydion hurried towards Melyngar, sheathing his sword as he went. Melyngar stamped her hoof, waiting for Gwydion to mount her. As much as he knew it would aggravate her injury, he knew that he had to get as far into the marshes as possible, and that riding Melyngar was the fastest way to get there. Gritting his teeth against the pain from his wound - blood had now trickled down to his wrist from the slash on his upper right arm - he climbed up into the saddle and urged Melyngar as fast as he dared along the boggy paths, letting Melyngar have her head so that she could chose any route she wanted.
As Melyngar trotted forward, it seemed to Gwydion that the fog was beginning to play tricks on his mind. He began to hear voices and the sounds of men on his trail, even though he could see nothing whenever he craned his head to look the way they had come. The fog had become thicker, so that he could only see about five feet in any direction. For quite a time Melyngar picked her way through the quagmire, until Gwydion felt a welcome breeze blowing from the north. Soon the fog was dispersing, and pale beams of light began to break through the mist, showing it to be still some hours until sunset.
Another gust of wind, stronger than those before it, suddenly swept away the remnants of fog in one fell swoop, and Gwydion saw with a flash of horror that six Huntsmen were within a hundred paces of him and Melyngar, having tracked them since they set foot in the marshes. In one movement, the Huntsmen lunged forward with animal yells. Gwydion dug his heels into Melyngar's flanks, and the mare broke into a gallop, disregarding her wounded leg as she darted amongst the deadly mud traps.
In the distance, Gwydion's eye caught on a strange sight - not far away, the marshes rose into a small mound on which sat an old ruined cottage, flanked by a lean-to chicken coop and a barn which seemed to be sinking down into the bog itself. Although it was clear no one inhabited the strange group of buildings, he turned Melyngar towards them, reasoning in his desperation that he could at least make a stand against the Huntsmen there. Melyngar pounded closer to the cottage, the Huntsmen drawing nearer behind her. The pursuers were now ranged all in a straight line, advancing forward with purpose as they leapt over smaller pools of mud.
Suddenly, as the cottage came within a few hundred paces of Melyngar's hooves, Gwydion noticed that just before the ground firmed into that of the hill where the cottage stood, there was a huge pool of the bog, larger than any he had yet seen. Its edges were ringed by tall marsh grasses, so tall that Gwydion was sure the Huntsmen, without the advantage of being mounted, had not seen the pit beyond them. With resolution, he spurred Melyngar to a greater speed and headed straight for the edge of the pit, hoping fervently that the mare would not be injured further when she landed on the other side.
Looking behind him, Gwydion saw with satisfaction that the Huntsmen, fleet of foot, were mere paces behind Melyngar's back flanks. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward as the edge of the bog neared and then, as they came to the grasses at the edge of the bog, signaled with his legs for Melyngar to jump. The mare did with a huge heave, legs stretching out with great effort as she sailed towards the far edge and the safety of firm ground. Melyngar landed on her injured front leg with tremendous force and Gwydion's heart clenched in fear as she gave out a loud squeal of pain and the rest of her body tumbled onto the grass of the hill with a crash - Gwydion was barely able to leap off of her back in time, almost rolling back down into the bog.
Scrambling back up, the prince looked back towards the marshes, and saw that his plan had worked - the Huntsmen screamed as they leapt over the grasses, only to find that they were falling straight down into the mud. They tried to scramble out, some of them pushing their comrades further down in their haste. It was almost frightening how quickly they sank - Gwydion turned his head away as their struggles became weaker, feeling almost sick for what he had done. He stood up shakily and made his way over to Melyngar, clutching his wounded arm. Melyngar lay quietly in the grass, her breath coming in great gasps. Too exhausted to do anything more, Gwydion fell to his knees beside her and leaned against her belly, screwing up his eyes in pain.
He knew not how long he lay there, but gradually he felt Melyngar's breathing starting to even out, and a certain measure of strength returned to his limbs. He was just about to lift his head when he froze - he heard footsteps coming towards him. But before he could move, a bubbly voice suddenly said:
"Oh dear, you poor little duckling! You really shouldn't go around playing with sharp swords, you know!"
Raising his head in alarm, Gwydion found himself confronted by three women - well, old women, he thought. All three wore tattered robes of black, and their bare feet, poking out from the robes, were exceptionally large. But there the similarities ended. The women standing closest to Gwydion and leaning over him slightly wore old beads and tarnished ornaments in her bird's nest hair, yellow teeth poking out from her wide smile. The second looked much alike, but instead of the hair ornaments wore a strand of white stones wrapped around her neck. Gwydion could not see the face of the third woman, for her face was hidden from view by her thick dark cloak. He lay frozen, eyes flicking between the three, trying to decide if they were a threat to him.
"Ooh, he's a tasty-looking one," the cloaked one murmured raspily. "We must make him a toad. He'd be a lovely toad."
"You and your toads, Orgoch!" the first one chirped, exasperation creeping into her voice. "Orwen and I are quite sick to death of toads. I, for one, think he would in fact make a wonderful gosling."
"Or a sparrow," the woman with the necklace of white put in, her eyes shining. "Just think, a little sparrow! He could sing to us!"
"I like toads," the cloaked one, Orgoch, said grouchily. "You're no fun, Orddu. Birdsong! Humph."
"That's just because you're Orgoch today," said Orwen. "I declare, my sweet, I don't see how you can stand being Orgoch - I had to be Orgoch for an entire week, and today I only got to be Orwen! You've been selfish recently, Orddu - you really should give us a turn!"
"Not on your life," Orddu sniffed. "Besides, being Orddu isn't all it seems most of the time, my dear. I mean, look at this hair…!"
Gwydion lay absolutely still, wondering whether he was awake or dreaming some sort of bizarre nightmare. Because he had met Dallben and because of the Don blood flowing in his veins, he had never been afraid of enchantment - but turning him into a toad? Swallowing nervously, he inched his hand down to his side and quietly drew his still bloody dagger from its sheath.
Before he could raise it however, he felt something suddenly slither in his hand. With a yell, he discovered that instead of his dagger, he now held a small brown snake, rearing its head to strike. He threw it from him, and it fell to the ground, suddenly a bloody dagger again.
"Now now," Orddu said gently, "What did we say about playing with sharp things, you poor tadpole?" Her bright eyes were fixed on Gwydion's shocked face, but then she caught sight of the emblem on Don hanging haphazardly from his neck. She clapped her hands, gave a little giggle, and said delightedly, "Oh, look, Orwen! Our little chicken is a very important visitor!"
"Oh, no. I wanted to turn him into a toad," Orgoch grumbled from underneath her hood.
"What are you?" Gwydion finally burst out, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "Dallben never said that - "
"Dallben?" Orwen cried out gleefully. "Dear little Dallben! Did you come from Dallben? Oh, my!"
Without another word, the astounded Gwydion found himself pulled to his feet and ushered towards the cottage, towering over the short little women who pushed him along towards the door. Now that he came closer, Gwydion could see that the cottage was far from empty - in fact, it was full to bursting with all sorts of odd objects. Swords, harps, and dusty old tomes lay in disarray around a huge cauldron which bubbled over a brightly burning fire on the floor.
Gwydion turned back in consternation. "Wait - Melyngar - "
"Don't worry about her, my little goose," one of the two cheerful ones said lightly. "Orgoch will take good care of her, won't you Orgoch?"
Somehow, that did not make Gwydion feel any better. With no other choice, it seemed, he allowed himself to be led into the cottage and was deposited onto an old cot which creaked so loudly as he sat down upon it that his ears rang. With a disapproving cluck, Orwen drew his sleeve up his wounded arm until she reached the still-bleeding gash, and then rummaged around on a dusty shelf until she found a small bottle the contents of which she promptly poured over the wound. Gwydion gasped as it stung the cut, but could already feel some of the pain lifting.
Orgoch was nowhere to be seen, but presently Orddu came bustling into the cottage holding a large wooden bucket of water. Singing a cheerful little ditty to herself - "the toads are hopping down the path, stomp on them and hear them splat" - she marched straight over to Gwydion and proceeded to pour the entire bucket over his head despite his protests. In another moment, the prince found himself lying back on the cot and covered by a moldy old blanket as the two giggling hag tiptoed out the door.
"Sleep well, my chicken!" Orddu said gaily as she waved goodbye.
"Don't be a naughty gosling, now!" Orwen added.
With that, the door closed and Gwydion found himself left alone in the cottage. Marveling at the strange situation - he decided it must have been a hallucination - Gwydion nevertheless felt sleep tugging at him, his exhausted body aching for rest. Just as he fell into a deep sleep, he heard the soft sound of Melyngar's breath, calm and peaceful, coming from outside the cottage; and with that reassurance that she was safe, he surrendered himself to sleep completely.
Gwydion was not sure what made him awaken late that night, but he opened his eyes to a scene even stranger than before. It seemed to him that three beautiful women were suddenly in the cottage, although his mind, clouded with dreams, just recognized Orddu's hair ornaments and Orgoch's cloak through the darkness.
The three enchantresses rushed around the cottage on light feet, the silvery sound of their laughter something beautiful to hear.
"It's starting, it's starting - oh, how exciting!" Orddu giggled. Laughing in delight, she and Orwen clustered around a huge loom standing in one corner - Gwydion wondered why he hadn't seen it before - as the veiled form of Orgoch peered over their shoulders.
With inhuman speed, Orwen's shapely fingers flew over the loom, in a matter of a minute producing a detailed little scene. Through the haze of sleep, Gwydion thought he saw the small forms of a man and a woman, wearing the simple clothes of farmers. In the woman's arms there lay a tiny baby.
"Now there will be a great toad," Orgoch murmured.
"Oh, Orgoch…" Orwen sighed.
His mind overflowing with exhaustion and puzzlement, Gwydion remembered no more.
YAY! This chapter was SO much fun to write. Action and the sisters…sigh. Hope you guys aren't so mad at me that you won't review! Thanx!