The ship made port in a sheltered cove at dusk, allowing all to disembark for a proper supper and a rest on land. Eilonwy, emerging from her cabin sleep-rumpled, found Rhun waiting to lead her ashore, his mood as light and eager as ever. But once they were on dry ground, he was immediately distracted by the hustle of the crew, and wandered off to give more cheerful, useless orders. She watched him go, bemused, before glancing about with interest.
The cove was a pretty place. White sand drifted in smooth ripples from the waterline up into a gathering of boulders and grass-topped cliffs. To the west, the sun was an egg of fire in a nest of rose and fuchsia clouds, resting upon the rim of the sea. Its reflection glittered upon the water in a path of molten gold; the flash and dance of it mesmerized her gaze, and stole her breath.
The breeze caressed her face and played at the flyaway strands of her hair; gentle now, but ceaseless. Beneath her feet the sand crunched, eliciting a vague sense of familiarity and longing; she kicked off her shoes and dug her bare toes into its warm surface, delighted as it crumbled into cool dampness just beneath. This, she knew, also…how? When…how long ago had she felt it? How did her every sense remember something that her mind could not?
With a mingling of pleasure and frustration, she turned toward the flicker of a campfire a few yards away, studying the figures gathered around it. There were Taran and Gurgi, along with several of the crew, who were busied about a large cook pot. Forgetting her earlier annoyance, Eilonwy ran, and Taran looked up as she plopped to a boulder next to him. Even in the warm glow of the firelight, his face was still a bit green, his expression wan. Gurgi, slumped beside him on a driftwood log, was as limp as a used dishrag.
"Oh, you look like you've felt awful," she exclaimed. "Poor things. I wish you could have rested like I did."
"No, no," Gurgi whimpered. "Kind, noble princess must have her own space for sleepings and snoozings! Weary Gurgi did not mind, even though his poor, tender head was filled with dizzy sloshings and washings."
Taran patted him on the back, grimacing ruefully at her. "It got a bit easier toward evening," he said. "I'm sorry we didn't wait for you, but the sailors promised we'd feel better after getting on land again. They say we'll get used to it after a day or two. I hope they're right. Was it better for you, getting to lie down?"
"Much," she said. "I didn't just lie down—I fell asleep."
"Good," he said, "you must have needed it. I don't suppose you slept much, last night."
An awkward silence descended upon them, broken as Rhun ambled up. "Hullo, hullo, here we are, now!" he said cheerfully. "Your first day of sailing, already done! Master Owain says we made uncommonly good time. Shame about you all getting sick. Feeling well enough for supper?"
Taran made mumbling, ambivalent noises, but Gurgi sat up a bit straighter. "Perhaps if Gurgi's belly is full of crunchings," he said hopefully, "it will not feel so full of worrisome grumblings."
"That's the spirit," Rhun urged him. "I say, it's a fine evening, isn't it! Just wait 'til the crew gets going. There'll be songs, perhaps even dancing if they're in the mood."
"Lovely," Eilonwy remarked, sensing Taran tense. Belin, dancing was the last thing they needed, just the thing to put him in a temper! And what sort of dancing would a lot of men do by themselves, with no girls about for partners? She would not be expected to dance with them, would she? Their behavior on the ship still rankled, and she felt no inclination to join hands with any of them. Though it might, perhaps, be amusing to stare each man in the face, just to watch him squirm.
"Don't worry," she whispered aside to Taran, prodded by some imp of mischief. "I won't join in; you'll have no reason to be cross."
He looked irritated. "Who said I was cross? Dance or not, as you please; what is it to me?"
"Hm," she murmured, content at this protestation. An odd thing, to be glad about an obvious lie, but perhaps no stranger than anything else concerning him, lately.
A kettle over the fire bubbled promisingly; bowls were produced, and steaming clam stew brought to them all, supplemented with hard bread. They ate in the gathering twilight with the sea wind at their backs. The sound of the surf drowned out all but the nearest voices, a hypnotic, low rhythm that somehow gave almost the same impression as silence. When she had finished, Eilonwy rose and left the firelight circle, though pipes were beginning to lilt into the evening. It was merry music, but a stronger, older tune was seeping into her marrow, its steady thrum drawing her down to the waterline. She stood at its edge, watching the pale gleam of each wave ripple toward her.
The sand was cool, hard-packed and damp underfoot, then with a rush and a soft splish, a sheet of liquid glass slid up to her toes. She gasped as cold enveloped her bare feet, pooling around her ankles, where tiny bubbles gathered, foaming and prickling. Goose flesh erupted up her legs, racing the river of sharp, tingling sensation that ran beneath her skin, filling her up as light fills a room, poured through an open window.
She had sometimes felt glimmerings of her affinity to water. In moments of great need, she had unexpectedly harnessed its power. But no wade through a stream, or dive into the clear spring at Caer Dallben, had ever struck her with such buoyant, vivid energy as now seared into her veins and lungs and heartbeat. Her limbs rebelled against their own stillness; impatient and without thought she dropped to a crouch and plunged her hands into the water just as the wavelet began its roll back toward the sea. The pull of it tugged the hem of her gown, the ends of her braids, dangling in the current. It swirled and eddied around her wrists as she dug her palms into the sand, as though the sea wanted to take her hands, greet her like an old friend, pull her further into its embrace.
"Hullo," she whispered. "Do you remember me?"
The crash and thunder of each breaker seemed full of an answering voice, murmuring in a language whose words she did not know but whose essence she understood. Magic filled her lungs and mouth, but not the acrid tang of fire, nor the mellow sweetness of freshwater. It tasted like salt and darkness; it was enormous, deep and cold and ancient, ancient…older than earth, older than stone, unfathomable. Its endless space yawned before her, a chasm she could tumble into, to fall forever through a mystery so vast it could not be qualified in such human terms as terrifying or beautiful or awesome. It existed, a realm unto itself, irresistible and vital as breathing.
The sheet of water drifted back toward the depths and she scrambled to follow it, splashing into the shallows up to her knees, heedless of the cold. The ebb and flow of the current caught at her now, swaying her back and forth in its movement, like a skilled dance partner who knew exactly how to coax her into the right steps. It led her forward, relentlessly deeper, up to her hips, her waist, until with a pull and crash, a breaker smacked her squarely, head-on, drenching her entirely.
She gasped and cried out at the shock, exhilarated rather than frightened, and stumbled about, laughing, to find her footing on the shifting sand below. Bracing as another wave rolled toward her, she watched its rolling crest in the darkness, rising higher and higher. For a breathless instant, defiant water rushed uphill, gathered itself together and…oh, now! On instinct, she kicked, and felt herself lifted upon the roll and heave of the swell as it curled over in a foaming crescent, smashing itself to bits just past the place she had stood, and rushing on to the shore.
Glorious. The water was only up to her chest, in the trough between waves, but for a heart-pounding instant she had been lifted up high, as though the sea would raise her up to touch one of the stars now dangling just overhead, diamond fruit waiting to be plucked. Its lift was effortless, requiring almost no movement she would have considered swimming; the buoyancy of this salty embrace felt more like flying. She laughed again, turning her back to the next wave and tipping into it as one might fall into bed, letting her feet flip up to the surface and over the swell.
Twining her fingers behind her head for support, she floated, serene, and gazed into a sky gone dark, at the stars splashed like spilled milk across its velvet-black expanse. She felt oddly as though she were suspended in the sky, looking down into a vast abyss, instead of the other way around. Was this what it was like to be a star? An infinitesimal pinpoint of light, floating in a vast and eternal darkness? Perhaps every speck in that glimmering array had its counterpoint, drifting here beneath it: a star for each fish, each shell, each strange water-breathing plant, each unnamed, unknown creature hidden in the depths.
For she could feel them. There was life all around, penetrating the surface of her mind like raindrops pattering on a pond. The sea was full…oh, full of life, more even than the woods and fields where she had first discovered she could sense such things. There was no word for this…this abundance, this sense of vitality greater than the sum of all the lives within it, perhaps their very source: a womb from which countless lives were springing up, blooming for their time, and then winking out, in an endless circle. She felt a strange, creeping sense of desperation, a compulsion to find some name for such infinite fecundity, some sense of authority over it before its very fullness burst her from the inside out. Overwhelmed, heart pounding, she kicked and floundered until she stood upright again. Another breaker hit her almost instantly, knocking her toward the shore.
She tumbled within the crumbling foam, tripped into a hidden sunken place and splashed about clumsily, just as she heard her name being shouted by several anxious voices, rising in urgency over the crash of the surf.
Many figures were silhouetted against the firelight upon the beach, milling quickly about or standing at the water's edge. A shaggy shape crouched low, its head near the ground, and then straightened up, waving long arms. The figure nearest it turned, froze for an instant, then raced into the water toward her; in a few moments she recognized the gait and shape of Taran. He came plunging to meet her as she sloshed into the shallows, grabbing her by the arms when he reached her. "Eilonwy," he gasped out, "what on earth are you doing out here?"
She recognized, all at once, that her absence had caused a general alarm, and pulled back, embarrassed, breaking his hold. "Seabathing," she said, as though it should be obvious and unremarkable.
"Seabathing!" Taran threw his hands up, his eyes wide. "Are you out of your mind? Coming out here in the dark and not telling anyone? You could have been swept away; you could have drowned and none of us would have known!"
"But I didn't," she said shortly, face going hot despite the chill seeping through her wet clothing, "so there's no need to go blathering on about it."
"What were you thinking?" he spluttered. "I don't…I can't believe…and now you're soaked! You'll be freezing! Do you even have any spare clothes?"
Weary of his scolding, she pushed past him and splashed toward the beach, her elation deflating by the second. "I'll dry by the fire," she snapped. "Stop nagging. You're worse than Dallben."
"Dallben bade me keep you safe," he protested, stumbling after her. "How could I ever go back if—"
His voice cut off abruptly, and she felt the grief and frustration between them, teetering like a stack of firewood; she could pull one stubborn stick from its base, perhaps, and make it topple, somehow make him say whatever he was holding behind his clenched chin. But then, there it would be, hanging in midair until she decided what to do with it, and fear that she would choose the wrong thing bound her tongue to all but answering anger.
"I'm not a bit of cargo you're ferrying to Mona," she growled, continuing to stalk away without looking at him. "Nor a child who can't look after myself. I had a quick swim, that's all, and I think I can be allowed one thing I want, in the middle of a hundred things I don't." Her voice was wavering, tone rising, teetering on the edge of control; the familiar prickling was filling her fingertips and hot in her throat, seeking an outlet. Belin, not now, not here; she was the center of enough attention already, held in uncomfortable awe; the last thing she wanted was to make more of a scene.
Suddenly there was a shout and many murmurs from the men gathered onshore, and behind her Taran exclaimed wordlessly, then stammered, "What…what is…Eilonwy, look at the water!"
Startled, she stopped stalking, looked down, and exclaimed in her turn. The ripples and splashes where the sea churned around her legs were glowing…glowing a brilliant turquoise, an ethereal light that flashed and brightened at every disturbance, winking out only to flare again when she moved. She turned to look behind her; the light followed her movements, in a swirl of scintillating color.
"What is it?" Taran gasped again. He was standing still, staring down; the glow surrounded him as well, splashing around his thighs at every step.
"I don't know," she murmured, realizing that it was extending farther; where moments ago only dark water splashed, they now stood in the center of a patch of radiant wave-caps, every small shallow breaker topped by a blue-green beacon. These moved like ghosts up to the shallows and shattered into sparks as they crashed, tossing luminescence upon the beach as though the sea were bailing out stars by the pailful.
Entranced, Eilonwy bent and plunged her hands in the water again. Brilliance burst around them in a fluid cloud. She cupped and lifted them full of light and dripping cool green embers, watched it run between her fingers. Taran reached out as if compelled, caught the shimmering droplets as they fell. His hands glowed for an instant in the darkness, bright enough to reflect upon his face. The illumination was caught in his eyes as he looked at her in wonder and consternation.
"Is it magic?" he whispered. "Are you doing this?"
She shook her head. "No. I mean, it may be magic, but I'm not doing it. It feels like…" She huffed a little, the wonder of it almost drawing tears. "It feels like magic. I don't care if it is or not."
He looked around them, awed and anxious, and then back at her. She saw fear in his face. "Come. This…this is…all so strange, and…you must get to shore and dry off before you catch cold."
Feeling somewhat dazed, she permitted him to guide her toward the beach, the ghostly light drifting in their wake. Gurgi bounded up to her delightedly, but the sailors upon the shoreline parted, giving her a wide berth, whispering and muttering among themselves. Several pointed out toward the water, to the glowing wave-tips. She heard the phrase Tân Llyr repeated several times, in hushed tones.
"Hullo, hullo!" The usual cheery greeting was an anxious shout this time. Rhun ran toward them as they emerged from the crowd. "Oh, thank goodness!" the prince panted, his round face wide-eyed. "Everyone's been looking all over for you! We thought you'd wandered off into the cliffs."
"Brave Gurgi found her!" Gurgi bleated proudly. "He follows his nose with wiffings and sniffings, and it has never failed him! But why would wise princess go straight into the water?"
Rhun looked her over in astonishment. "Why, he's right, you're soaked! Did you fall into a tide pool? Come, get by the fire; it's far too chilly to be standing about all wet."
He urged her to the campfire and called for a spare cloak or blanket. Someone tucked one about her shoulders. The sailors all drew back, leaving the space thick with their murmurings. But it was Taran's brooding presence she felt, hovering over her like a shadow until she wanted to snarl at him to sit down. He saved her from it, dropping to the sand nearby and stretching out toward the fire to dry his own wet clothes. With a pang of irritating guilt, she noticed that he had not even removed his shoes before plunging into the water after her.
Gurgi ran to tell the still-scattered searchers of her return. Rhun hustled away to try to find dry clothing for her. She and Taran sat alone, wrapped in silence.
Eilonwy stared at the fire moodily. Perhaps she had been a bit foolish. Certainly impulsive. But there had been no harm done, and it had been lovely, a stolen moment of freedom. If only she could make Taran understand, even a little; she wanted to tell him of it; of the voices that called her in the thunder of surf, the strange sense of fullness in the water, the depth and breadth and endless mystery of sea-magic and starlight; she must tell someone.
"I didn't mean to worry you," she said at last, "or make trouble for the crew. I only wanted to look at the water when I walked down. But everything just seemed to pull at me."
He turned to look at her, his expression confused and anxious, not reassured at all. "And how far would you have followed it? It's not the brook at home, Eilonwy. People can be lost at sea."
"I know that." She looked away from him, watched the embers glisten. "But I know I was safe, out there."
"You thought you were safe in the tree, as well," he retorted. "You're always putting yourself in danger without thinking, and getting angry at anyone who tries to talk sense into you."
She bristled defensively, but could think of no answer, too mindful of all-too-accurate examples of the accusation. Blast him! "It wasn't like that," she protested, twisting her hands into the borrowed cloak. "I know…Taran, I know I can be stubborn. I don't like being told I can't do things, and sometimes I go too far, to prove I can. But that's not what it was, this time. It…it called me and I couldn't help myself. I wish you could understand."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, resting his head wearily in his hands. "Maybe I can't understand it. Maybe I don't want to, if it makes you do such foolish things."
She flinched. How did mere words hurt more than a blow, sometimes? "Fine," she said, hating the tremor in her voice, powerless to stop it. "I thought perhaps you might at least try, but if all you're going to do is sulk, I won't bother trying to tell you."
And then the tears came; of course they did, just the thing to make it all perfect. She buried her face in her arms, despising the tears, furious with herself for not being able to stop them, furious with Taran, possibly, most of all, for ruining something that should have been beautiful, rendering it bitter by his rejection.
She could sense his frustration and dismay, but he said nothing. His very silence was provoking; why did he make no attempt to comfort her, or even to explain himself? Even arguing was better than silence, would mean he hadn't just…just given up, just acquiesced to her dismissal, as though a stalemate was the best that could be hoped for. Stupid Assistant Pig-Keeper! Stupid herself, for that matter; what foolishness to keep hoping he would ever say or do what she wished he would; when had he ever? Wish in one hand, Coll said often, and spit in the other, and see which fills up faster. All the more fool, she, after years of wishing, not even quite knowing what she wished for.
A small commotion from behind them made her lift her head, hastily scraping away her tears; the shipmaster was hurrying toward her, Rhun and Gurgi on his heels, trailed by a handful of crew. Eilonwy gulped, and stood up to meet him. "Master Owain," she stammered, "I'm sorry that I caused so much…"
"Be it true?" The old seaman interrupted, his eyes shining like a child's, his hands spread out eagerly toward her. "You brought out the Tân Llyr?"
Apology halted, she stood in confusion. "I…I don't…"
"The blue fire!" He gestured out toward the water. "Light in the water, the fire of Llyr! The men say they saw you do it—ach, to have missed it! I saw it once, in my youth, by chance near the northern coast… 'twas magic, milady, a thing never to be forgotten. To have it find us here —near my ship, on my watch! 'Tis a thing dreamed of, hoped for, but…"
Master Owain trailed off, rendered apparently speechless with awe and happiness, gazing at her as though she were something more than human. Eilonwy gulped again, going hot with embarrassment. "Oh, I…I'm…glad for you," she blurted out, "but I really…I didn't do anything. I've never even heard of…Tân…Tân Llyr. I went into the water for…just for a while, because…well, anyway, the light just happened, all on its own."
He shook his grizzled head, and bowed slightly, his rich voice low and reverent. "Nay, milady. It's in your honor it came; no doubt. Know you so little of the legends of your people?"
She stood silent, stricken, wanting to hear him, wanting also to turn and run, off into the darkness where she could be alone, or perhaps just crumble here on the sand and weep out all the overwhelming feelings of the past day until she was empty. But on he went, relentless and eager. "Tân Llyr was the wedding gift of Llyr to his bride, his Penarddun who come from the Summerlands, that when she missed the sunlight of her home she could conjure this light in the darkness, a fire made just for her. And ever since, the Daughters of Llyr could call it as they pleased, and it marked them, following whenever they went in the water. The sea knows its own." He laid a hand over his heart. "We men of the sea, we know. We don't forget. We reverence your ancestors, and their Mother, too." His gaze dropped to her pendant, and he gave a quick nod that seemed directed at it, rather than her. "All hope to see that light; a good omen it is, of fair winds and swift passage."
"Oh," she sighed, knowing not what else to say, and shivered.
The shipmaster gave her a keen look, and dipped his head. "Ach, lass, 'tis exhausted you are, and here I keep you, cold and wet and listening to me blab on. Forgive me; I've been too keen about what I didn't see, to see what was before me. It's back to the ship you must be going—all of us, for the night is short, and we'll be on our way at daybreak. I'll leave you to our prince while I gather my crew."
He bowed to her again and strode away, calling to the sailors, issuing orders. Rhun stepped to her side instantly, flush with importance. "It's been quite an evening," he exclaimed. "Astonishing! I've heard of that glowing water, but I thought it was just stories. Sailors have so many of them, you know. I wish I'd seen it, but I don't suppose you're up for doing it again tonight." He offered his arm sympathetically. "Come, I'll help you back, and you can dry off and warm up in your cabin. I'm sorry no one had extra clothes, but I suppose you've got some things there?"
Eilonwy nodded, looking wearily at his offered elbow; she felt Taran standing behind her, his presence a glowering weight in her mind. "Thank you," she said, "but…Rhun, I'd like to walk on my own, if you don't mind. You're very kind; I just…I'd rather not be touched, just now, by anyone. I know where the ship is, and I know how to board it. And I'm sure the sailors would benefit from your command," she added, on impulse.
She thought she heard Taran snort, but Rhun had already stood up straighter, his face, which had been clouding at her rejection, brightening instantly. "You think so? Yes, perhaps you're right —if you're sure you don't mind." He began to turn, and then hesitated. "I don't know…Mother told me I should attend you most carefully. I wonder if…"
"I'm sure your mother is very wise," she interrupted. "So if I tell you that what would make me happiest just now is to take myself to my cabin, surely she would agree that it's your duty to allow it."
He froze, gazing at her in puzzlement as though trying to work out knots, and Taran spoke up from behind her. "I'll make sure she gets there safely."
She bristled at this, turning toward him with a frown, and he shook his head ever so slightly, over an almost imperceptible shrug. "She's right; you're needed here," he added to Rhun, and then, to her, "No one here should be going about alone, in the dark. That's just plain sense; even the sailors stay in groups of two or three, by orders. Gurgi and I will walk you back— from a few feet away, if you like —and make sure you're on board and safe in your cabin. We'll stay down and help the crew with whatever else needs doing."
His logic was sound, annoyingly so, and she shrugged in frustration. "Very well. If that's agreeable to everyone."
Rhun still looked as though he weren't quite sure what had just happened, but he shrugged affably. "All right, then. A good night and pleasant sleep to you, Princess." He bowed to her and hurried off, his head a little cocked to one side, in a manner she had often seen Gurgi hold when faced with a human conundrum.
Taran stood, looking at her, and when she didn't move, raised an eyebrow. "Well? You said you knew the way."
She huffed at him, not knowing why she waited…was she expecting him to say something? To offer his arm like Rhun? She was the one who had said she didn't want that. In frustration she turned on her heel, marched to her discarded shoes and picked them up, and strode down the beach without looking back. She heard him call to Gurgi, and then there was only the crunch and squeak of sand beneath her feet, and the soft murmuring of the two of them talking to one another, several strides behind her.
The ship waited in the dark, waves lapping against its sides; she waded to the wooden plank, hailed the two sailors guarding its entrance and strode up, hoisting herself over the bulwark. From there she looked back down. Gurgi capered on the beach, going from rock to clump of grass, turning over every pebble, but Taran stood at the waterline, watching her.
"Lock your cabin door, if you can," he called up.
Not even a good night. Eilonwy pushed away and stomped across the deck, ducked into the low shed and slammed the door shut behind her. It did have a bolt; she drew it, resenting him for telling her to do it, resenting that, down deep, some nagging sense of uncomfortable caution agreed with him.
She lit her bauble and tossed it onto the mattress, peeled off her wet clothes, wrung them out over a bucket, and hung them from nails in the wall; squeezed the seawater from her hair, leaving it distastefully stiff and sticky. There turned out to be spare linen in a cargo chest; she dried herself off, dressed in her spare shift, and fell into the berth.
Her bauble bounced against her side, making the shadows jump like living things all over the room. She picked it up and turned it in her hands, comforted, as she always was, by the weight and warmth of it, the way things seemed to look a bit clearer in its light.
Conjure this light in the darkness, a fire made just for her. The shipmaster's words drifted back to her, and she smiled a little wistfully to herself. I understand that. Sometimes you just want a bit of light. Only this was far more like sunlight—if it was Summer she'd missed, then what a pity Penarddun hadn't had something like her bauble to hand.
And yet…the blue fire within the water had a beauty of its own, a light that was suited to darkness, to night, blending with it in harmony, existing comfortably within its embrace. A more fitting gift, perhaps, from the sea-king to his bride, than the bright flame of sunlight that would always fight against and obliterate darkness.
She doused the golden glow, and wondered, not for the first time, exactly how she did it. She willed it, and her bauble responded, that was all, but sometimes it flared of its own accord, in sympathy with her moods. Could that flare in the sea do the same? Had it come because of her, and could she will it herself, as the legend suggested? Had she seen it before, and, like so much that was locked away inside her memory, lost the knowledge of it?
We reverence your ancestors, and their Mother, too.
Mother, she thought, and clutched her cool crescent in the dark. But I lost her. I lost her long ago, and there's no one left to teach me.
My husband accused me of making Taran unusually obtuse in this chapter, what with his scolding and obstinate silence. I fully admit he is not at his best, but between the reason behind this journey, his stress over keeping Eilonwy safe, and watching her grow farther away from him even before they even arrive on Mona, I think maybe we can forgive him, poor boy.