Well, here's my end of the bargain – again, thank you all for being so patient with me! I made it extra long, too – all sorts of things are happening now. The ball can't stop rolling, the plunge has been taken! Ahem. Yeah.
Sakura-chan79: Thank you so much for waiting and reviewing so often! You're amazing! Yeah, I really do fell sorry for Achren as well – I really did while reading The High King, and I sort of wanted to explore that. I'm glad you felt it in the story!
CompanionWanderer: Thank you for your reviews – again, my sincere best wishes for your husband during this difficult time – I hope he is much better. It's so great to get in touch with other Prydain fans, and you're the most dedicated one I know.
helen1982: Thank you for reading! I'm sorry I've been away for so long, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading it!
arian: Thanks! I hope you continue to read!
Giggles: I'm so glad you enjoyed it – thank you for your comments! I hope you continue to enjoy it, since I'm finally back!
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.
Black Shadow, Golden Sun
Chapter 8: Farewells and Meetings
Achren awoke early the next morning, early enough to hear the birds twittering in the branches of the forest. Rising regally from her fur, she stood up straight as an arrow and then ducked out of the tent, her eyes full of fire. Outside, the picturesque scene of the campfire and the men huddled around it in the morning chill, surrounded by the majestic trees of the Forest of Idris, was spoiled by the ominous sight of the Cauldron-born warriors standing in silent vigil in the shadows. The scent of death hung in the air like a dismal cloud.
Narrowing her eyes in disgust and anger, Achren stalked past the campfire and into the trees, waving her hand dismissively at one human guard, who had half-began to stand up and follow her. Entering the forest from the small clearing, Achren made sure she was alone before beginning her enchantments. She wanted to bathe, and she was certainly not going to jump into the nearest river. A few minutes walk from the camp, she found herself in a small grove tucked away between the roots of four or five magnificent trees, their healthy summer leaves cloaking the forest floor in darkness.
Achren closed her eyes and drew her thin hands in to clasp each other in front of her, bowing her head as she began to mutter charms underneath her breath, her voice untainted by harshness, mellifluous and warm. A few moments later she felt a small wind curling itself about her as the tree branches rustled and the leaves beneath her feet rushed along the ground. The wind grew steadily louder until it was roaring in her ears and straining her eardrums, although she knew that from a distance the grove would look as peaceful as it had ever been, except to another enchanter or enchantress. Soon it began to subside as Achren brought her hands steadily away from her body, completing a circle with her arms. As her hands reached their apex above her head, the winds abruptly stopped, and she opened her bright eyes to view the results of her magic.
The grove, once leaf-covered and rustic, had been transformed into a beautiful sparkling pool between the tree roots, the water clear and glinting as it rushed from a spring emerging from a crack between the roots of the grandest tree, laughing merrily as it splashed down to the surface. Rich green moss and a small but colorful bank of flowers and herbs had sprung up around the edges of the water – for despite having lived in Annuvin for so long, Achren herself still cherished the delicate beauty she had seen reflected back at her from her most gorgeous jewels or the treasures of man that were hoarded away in Annuvin's cold chambers.
Achren winced subconsciously as she thought of Annuvin, and to quell the rising anger within her she stepped over to the edge of the pool, where stood a shining silver pitcher and a stack of finely-woven linens for drying herself. It was the work of a moment to remove her travel-stained gown and step into the water, which was heated to a comfortable warmth. Achren sighed in relief at the touch of the water, and reached behind herself to release her hair from its restraining band.
It was only when it fell about her shoulders and in front of her face that she remembered the change in it – the silver shone dully to her eyes, and she quickly shook it out of her face so she would not have to look upon it, for she knew no enchantment would return it to its former darkness. As she floated dreamily on the surface of the pool, Achren saw that the sun's rays were breaking through the trees above her and turning the water into a shimmering gold. She closed her eyes and let herself drift, finding a moment of peace where she could stop thinking about Annuvin and cleanse herself in her magic, all her thoughts empty and trivial.
Gwydion awoke in the barn just as the sun was beginning to turn they sky a pale scarlet over the marshes, his eyes snapping open sharply and taking a few moments to adjust to the dim light. Sitting up and suppressing a slight shudder in the chill dawn, Gwydion quickly saw to Melyngar, each of his moments seeming very deliberate and mechanical. Melyngar rose from the pile of hay where she had been resting and took a few steady steps towards him, nuzzling his face as if to comfort him with a small snort as he came to her.
Gwydion grinned joylessly as he felt her warm muzzle against his cheek, then knelt down in the straw to inspect her injured leg. He could tell immediately that not only was she ready to ride, but that she had healed so quickly it almost looked as if she had never been injured at all. Silently thanking Orgoch for being such a good healer – and for not turning Melyngar into a toad in the first place, which is what he had thought she would do – Gwydion quickly saddled and bridled the mare, leading her out onto the marshy hillock outside while he carried his boots and sword.
A few moments later he was ready to leave, just as the sun peeked up over the horizon and shed its first real rays of light on the marshes, revealing blankets of fog which rivaled the mist of a few days previous when Gwydion had first made his way into Morva with the Huntsmen on his trail. Wearily resigning himself to another tension-filled ride, ready to look over his shoulder to watch for enemies at every pace, Gwydion swung the reins over Melyngar's neck and was about to mount when his eye caught a movement in the gaping window of the enchantresses' cottage. He paused, his mind wandering back to the previous day when his world had been changed forever by Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch's solemn decrees. He turned then, and made his way to the door of the cottage leaving Melyngar behind – the dilapidated wood swung open for him as he approached, as if he was expected.
Gwydion stepped into the gloom, immediately picking out the dark forms of the three enchantresses as they scurried about the room, back in their shapeless hag forms. He stared as they rushed back and forth to the cauldron in the center of the floor, pouring and tipping strange ingredients at a fantastic rate. Orddu and Orwen were giggling and singing happily the whole while, as Orgoch hurried grimly and silently along.
"I – " Gwydion began, trying to get their attention. He was instantly cut off, however, as Orddu whirled past with a frantic laugh, her tarnished hair ornaments jangling back and forth.
"No time to talk, my chicken! We're really so awfully busy, we really are – and just imagine, Orwen wants me to be Orgoch again! I simply can't stand it!"
"I have a request," Gwydion continued, his voice stronger, keeping his green eyes on Orddu as she hurried along, her hands full of some kind of herb. Realizing a moment later that he was not going to get them to stop no matter what he said, he sighed quietly and then ducked his head, reaching up with one hand and tugging off the chain upon which dangling his emblem of Don – it caught in his skin slightly as he pulled at it, but he did not flinch at the sudden sting. Tugging it out of his hair, he held it out firmly, neither his arm or hand wavering, and asked strongly, "Will you make sure this reaches Caer Dathyl for me?"
A second later it was whisked out of his hand and disappeared amongst the folds of Orwen's cloak as she dashed past him, and he caught a tiny glimpse of her bright blue eyes shining. "Of course we will, my dear little gosling!" a high-pitched voice sang out of the melee. "It's been so long since I've been in Caer Dathyl! And just think, we'll get to see King Math when we give it to him!"
"Oh, good!" another voice chimed in. "Of course, we wouldn't want the dear king to worry about his son. We'll give it to him, never fear!"
"I never get to go to Caer Dathyl," Orgoch's unmistakable voice grouched. "Orddu is always the one to go."
"All right, all right! We'll all go, you silly thing. Ah, Caer Dathyl in the summer! Have a safe journey, you dear little sparrow, but do watch out for the Huntsmen… oh my! Where did he go?"
The day passed slowly and wearily for Achren, as her human servants spent most of their time quailing before the Cauldron-born, the Cauldron-born spent all their time standing as silent and grim sentinels among the trees, and Achren herself sat in her tent, seething with angry feelings and plots for vengeance against Arawn. She mentally discarded several plans at once – namely, taking Annuvin again by force, as she no longer had the authority over the Huntsmen or the Cauldron-born that she needed, and a human army, she knew, would be useless against the stronghold of Annuvin.
The hours passed wearily in this fashion, as she became more and more frustrated and restless in her tent, already feeling dirty and cold despite her relaxing swim in the morning. The Forest of Idris seemed to be pressing in on her from all sides through the tents walls, although she knew of no place to go outside of the forest other than going back to Annuvin to beg Arawn for forgiveness or traveling to Caer Dathyl to beg for mercy from the Sons of Don, both of which she knew were not real options at all. The only course for her, therefore, was to eke out a deprived and morose existence drifting about Prydain until she could win some powerful lord into her favor, either by physical seduction or the promise of riches beyond anything he could dream or imagine. Not that she thought that would take long, for despite the change in her hair she knew she was still ethereally beautiful – but the mere thought of it was horrifying to someone like her, who had lived her entire life as a queen and mistress of a powerful land.
Towards dark she finally arose from her pile of furs and stepped out of the tent and headed determinedly into the woods, ignoring the hungry stares of some of the more lustful among her human guards, trying to find the same spot where she had cast the spell for the pool earlier that day, wanting to experience again the same tranquility she had felt during the dawn hours. She arrived there in a few moments and stood staring at the spot where the water had been, willing there to be the same beauty again. But when the water did spring forth as she ordered it, it was dull and brackish – half-rotten leaves swirled within it, and the trees on either side of Achren pressed in on her, their branches black and threatening in the cloying heat of the dusk.
Letting out a harsh scream of frustration, Achren brought her hands up sharply as the water disappeared, replaced by a sudden swirl of crimson fires which lapped at the tree roots around it but did not sear them, which let off a fierce heat but did not burn Achren's skin as she stood in the midst of it. Out of the flames, coaxed by Achren's elegant fingers, danced little mad figures and flecks of pure white light, which came flashing up and fell back down, creating a whirling dervish of light and heat. Achren felt the heat and light illuminating her face and smiled half-happily, half-manically as she closed her eyes and reveled in the shriek of the fire, a sound that only she could hear as she stood revolving in the flames, totally oblivious to the world around her and therefore not noticing the hoofbeats which were pounding steadily closer.
Gwydion had managed to find his way out of the marshes and partway into the Forest of Idris without meeting another creature as the sun rose higher and swung its way into the afternoon, his eyes sharp and ever waiting to catch any sign of danger. Melyngar trotted gamely and quietly forward, her hooves making barely a sound even among the dead leaves and braches littering the floor of the forest, as Gwydion considered his options.
It was immediately apparent to him that he could not try to head straight back to Caer Dathyl, for the Huntsmen and all other manner of Arawn's minions would be waiting for him – that was why he had asked the enchantresses of Morva to make sure his father Math received his emblem, as a promise that he was still alive, for it would take him a very long time to get home. Gwydion was taking a risk even approaching Idris because of its proximity to the Dark Gate, but he had reasoned that his enemies would never have believed he would step into the jaws of his captor like that. Now he was trying to figure out a way to make his way west without being captured, reasoning that he could hide among the Folk of the Free Commots, of whom he had heard but to which he had never traveled.
His thoughts were cut of suddenly, however, as a dark figure appeared like a shadow further up the forest path, its hunching attitude and manic growls revealing it instantly to be a Huntsman. Melyngar whinnied in alarm as Gwydion brought her to a plunging halt and Gwydion drew his sword with a loud curse, frantically searching the trees around him to see if there were more. To his horror, two more Huntsmen were closing in on him from his right, uttering animal howls, their swords and daggers gleaming in the light of the dying sun. With a shout, Gwydion wheeled Melyngar around to his right and kicked her hard with his heels, urging her into a frenzied gallop through the trees themselves, feeling their branches cutting at him from all sides. He heard the Huntsmen gleefully following, panting and screeching like the beasts whose skins they wore.
A few minutes later Gwydion glanced back, a small branch cutting his cheek and leaving a thin line of blood, and saw, aghast, that the Huntsmen were barely feet behind them and one was actually reaching out to grasp Melyngar's tail. The mare whinnied in fear as she felt the creature's grasp on her, her hooves plunging ahead still faster, creating a great crashing noise through the undergrowth. Another Huntsman edged ahead of his comrade, his face twisted in a horrible grimace, and managed to slash with his sword at Gwydion's leg, cutting only slightly into Gwydion's leg, but, more dangerously, slicing straight through the strap of Gwydion's saddle.
The prince barely had time to register the pain in his leg before he felt the lurch in his seat and then he was falling off of Melyngar's back in a great shower of fallen leaves and leather, crashing into the trunk of an oak tree as he fell. Melyngar still cantered on, fetching up against the roots of a tall cedar, as Gwydion looked up through a brown haze – he must have hit his head when he fell – and waited for the Huntsman to fall on him, sure that he was about to die.
However, to his utter astonishment, he merely saw that the Huntsman was standing a few feet away but not moving, his sword upraised as he stood trembling slightly. It was a moment before Gwydion's scattered mind realized that, in an extraordinary example of how animal-like the poor creature had become, he was actually smelling the air, sniffing with great gasps, the black eyes rolling back and forth. The prince, seeing that the other Huntsmen were also standing stock still behind their fellow and reasoning that they somehow were not going to kill him, decided to take advantage of the situation. And with that thought, he rose to his feet as quickly as he could and coldly plunged his sword straight into the chest of the Huntsman, whose mouth opened in a silent shriek as he died.
Gwydion gasped with the pain in his head as it swam in circles and the Huntsman dropped to the ground, gritting his teeth through the pain and focusing his eyes towards where the other Huntsmen were supposed to be – but to his astonishment, they had vanished. Melyngar walked delicately up to Gwydion's side as he stood in numbed silence, his blood-stained sword hanging by his side, mirroring the color of the blood running down his leg. A moment later, still unsure of his actions, Gwydion turned and looked into the forest, searching for what in Prydain would make creatures like the Huntsmen turn back, and saw a bright red light glowing through the trees.
He took a few unsteady steps, not bothering to sheathe his sword, drawn to the glowing scarlet as a moth to a flame, as Melyngar followed nervously behind him, champing at her bit. Gwydion fancied in his torpid state that the very air around him suddenly seemed sweet, smelling of beauty itself. Before he knew it, he was standing at the edge of a small hollow and gazing into a pool of shimmering flame where figures where dancing and burning, and in the midst of the flames stood a woman.
He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that she must have been an enchantress to stand in the middle of flames and be unburned, but all thoughts of magic flew from his head as he gazed upon her beauty, taking in the richness of her unusually colored hair and her pale skin, the blue of her robe seeming enhanced rather than overwhelmed by the scarlet surrounding her. Gwydion thought later that he must have said something, for she suddenly turned to him and opened her black eyes, and the fire vanished as suddenly as a dream. And yet even in the darkness of the forest, the rising moon cast down beams of white light down through the trees, glinting off of her hair.
Achren stared at him, taken unawares by the young man's sudden appearance. All her senses stretched, she felt no other presence near her in the forest but him, and so relaxed, assured of her safety, and felt free to appraise him. He was young and strong, and Achren could tell from his strong stance that he was confident in himself, not showing any weakness despite the blood she could see winding down his leg, from a very recent wound. His green eyes were bright as he looked at her, and Achren felt a rising warmth as she came to the conclusion that he was one of the most handsome men she had ever had the opportunity to seduce, which was exactly what she was planning to do.
She smiled as she stepped closer to him, out of the moonlight but still retaining through her magic a strange light of shining beauty. Her voice when she spoke was low and alluring. "Greetings, my lord," she whispered.
Gwydion tried to respond, but for some reason could not find his voice. All thoughts of speaking vanished when she reached out one pale hand and touched his own, sending a thrill through him. She smiled, her teeth white and pure, and he found himself dropping his sword and stepping closer to her despite the intuition jumping through his mind that she was dangerous, and then they were walking together, hand in hand, as the shape of a tent loomed out of the dark. He did not hear Melyngar's frightened call behind him as he stood before her, consumed with the thought and scent of only her.
Achren smiled at the childish simplicity of it as they stood together in her tent, marveling somewhat at how easy it was to tempt the basic instincts of men. And yet his silence was unnerving her somehow, making her realize that she had not taken a man for her own pleasure and not for political manipulations in a very long time. The young man standing before her stared at her with eyes that seemed far too wise for his years, and despite herself she could not quash a feeling of strange tenderness that she would not have thought herself capable of as she leaned forward and kissed the hollow of his throat gently, feeling his large hands come up to grasp her shoulders in a firm but tender grip.
The time following that moment seemed a very short whirlwind to the both of them, and Achren was half-asleep, half-awake in the furs next to him as she saw the grey of dawn creeping in through a gap in the tent's opening. He was awake, leaning on his elbow and looking down at her, one hand on her waist. One of the first things she had done was release his hair from its restraining band, and now it cascaded about his face, hiding it from her view. She felt very warm and tired as he quietly asked, "What is your name?"
If she had been more conscious of her actions, she would have kept her mouth shut and left him to wonder, becoming more her slave each moment, but, her half-open eyes filled with an emotion that others might have thought was love, she murmured, "Achren."
Her eyes closed then, so she did not see how his body instantly stilled and the muscles in his shoulders tensed faster than a flying arrow. A few moments later, already slipping into sleep, she sensed him moving, silently sitting up, and the rustle of clothing, although she did not rouse herself because she never thought that he would leave. A minute later, however, an answering whisper floated into her ears from the flap of the tent, where, inexplicably, a chill wind was suddenly entering.
"My name is Gwydion."
She sat up so fast that she thought she would fly out of the tent, but it was not fast enough. Already she could hear the shouts of the guards outside as a cascade of hooves galloped through their midst and faded into the distance, and she did not hear Gwydion's exclamation of horror as he discovered the presence of the Cauldron-born because she was already shrieking to the guards to take him, to capture him. By the time she emerged from the tent in a thin shift, screaming like some wild thing, he was gone, his mare charging off into the dawn mist. She gave a strident order to the Cauldron-born, something about hunting him down, before she staggered back into her tent and collapsed back onto the furs, her head aching and her body shaking with despairing sobs.
Well, there you have it! Finally! Once again, I can't apologize enough for all this delay. I'm back for good, and you can hold me to that. I hope you guys enjoyed it – I certainly enjoyed writing it!