The Curses of Arianrhod (A Bard Without a Star Book 4) Page 8

“I will,” Garth promised.

  “And would you just ask Thesa to marry you already?”

  “What?” said both older men.

  Llews looked at them both. “Thesa is one of the cooks,” he explained patiently. “Garth has been talking to her in the evenings, and meeting her on his days off. I can’t believe you didn’t know, da.”

  “I’ve been a bit busy with other things,” Gwydion said.

  “Do you really think I should marry her?” Garth asked.

  Llews looked at him with an expression that made him laugh. “Okay,” Garth said, “I’m an old fool that does not know when a woman has fallen in love me. You could have just said it, you know.”

  “I could have,” Llews said, “But she’s been making it clear for a couple of weeks.”

  They got in the coracle and pushed off. Garth watched them clear the breakers, then went back in the caer. Gwydion smiled at the new spring in the old soldier’s step, and ruffled Llews hair. “You’ve given him a great gift, you know.”

  “Everyone deserves love,” Llews said.

  “And to be free of curses,” Gwydion said, turning the bow north. “So let’s see if the mighty Eagle can help us.”

  Chapter 8: The Eagle

  Gwydion and Llews headed north towards Mount Finncarn, avoiding all the caers and duns along the way except for Caer Carnack at the base, where they bought supplies and heavy coats lined with fleece. Gwydion enquired about routes up the mountain, and was met with blank stares. The people of the caer used the mountain as a defense, and never thought much about what was at the top.

  Sitting in a quiet inn, Gwydion had given up finding any help when the old harper in the corner began singing about the Eagle of Finncarn, telling a tale about her hatching in the dawn of the world, how she had become the mother of all eagles, and how she had already worn one mountain into a plain just by sharpening her beak on the rocks.

  When he finished, Gwydion tossed a couple of coins into his case and said, “I would very much like to see the Eagle you sang of.”

  “It’s not a journey for children,” the old man said.

  “I can take care of my son,” Gwydion said.

  “I wasn’t talking about him.”

  Gwydion shrugged. “I think I can take care of myself, too.”

  The old man shook his head. “It’s a long way to the top of this mount, and treacherous all along the way. For a human, anyway.”

  Gwydion thought about it and nodded. “Humans do have some limitations.”

  “But it is said that the great Eagle welcomes all birds, especially her children.”

  Gwydion gave the old man a cynical smile. “It is, is it? And is your name spoken among the human races, or are you too rarely in this form?”

  The old man laughed. “I am not trying to trick you, if that’s what you’re thinking, Gwydion ap Don.”

  “I’m thinking that I do not know if you are friend or something else,” Gwydion replied.

  “What do you suspect?”

  “I think that I was asking for directions to find the Eagle, and everyone looks at me like a madman for trying to find a myth,” Gwydion said. “Then all the sudden you appear and not only sing her history, but also give me instructions about reaching her. You know my name, and your suggestion for going up the mountain is one that few would dream of, but that you seem to think I can do. So I am trying to decide: what do you want from me?

  “Why do I have to want something?”

  “Because there is always a price to pay.”

  “Perhaps there is,” the old man said. “And perhaps it has already been paid.”

  “More riddles,” Gwydion said, and turned away.

  “Wait!” the old man said. “I can show you something to make you understand, I promise!”

  “Where and when?” Gwydion said. “Perhaps in a dark alley, or some other remote place with no witnesses, and several powerful accomplices to make sure I am subdued?”

  “You used to have a more trustful nature,” the harpist said.

  “I have had some discouraging experiences in this country,” Gwydion replied. “Show me or don’t, but I’ll not continue this game.”

  The old man did not answer, just flipped the corner of his cloak to reveal the inside lining, iridescent like mother of pearl. Gwydion nodded slowly. “You are far from your kingdom,” he said. “And I do not know what to call you.”

  The old man grinned. “I haven’t really thought of a name for this persona. It’s not one of my normal disguises.”

  “And how has the price been paid for your help?” Gwydion said.

  “Do you trust me enough now to have this talk more in private?” the harpist asked.

  “I suppose,” Gwydion said.

  The old man pulled the innkeeper aside while Gwydion went back to Llews. “Do you know the harpist?” the boy asked.

  “We have met before,” Gwydion said. “Now we’re going to talk to him, you and I, and see if he can help us.”

  “You seem unhappy about it all,” Llews said.

  Gwydion shrugged. “More wary than unhappy,” he said. “We’ll see what he has to say.”

  They met him in a private dining room cheered by a warm fire, and filled with the smell of mutton and bread. As soon as the innkeeper had poured them tankards of ale and bowed himself out the door, the old man said, “First things first!”

  He rubbed his face all about, and the grey hair turned dark, the wrinkles smoothed, and his clothes went from drab browns to shining with the colors of the sea.

  Llews said, “Wow!”, but Gwydion waved away the theatrics.

  “You have some wisdom to impart, I presume,” he said. “Can we get on with it?”

  The transformed harpist clucked his tongue. “You would think some people would be more respectful to a god.”

  “You’re a god?” Llews said.

  “Mannanan Mac Lir, God of the Sea,” he said with a bow. “Ruler of the waves, maker of fogs and storms, king of the fish—”

  “And someone who has little authority on land,” Gwydion interrupted.

  “Well, yes,” Mannanan admitted, sitting down and helping himself to the food. “But you may find yourself on the sea again, perhaps even someday soon, and I am very powerful there.”

  “We’re not talking about someday,” Gwydion said. “We’re talking about right now.”

  Mannanan leaned towards Llews. “Did you have any idea your father was so disrespectful?”

  Llews laughed. “I’ve known that for a long time.”

  Mannanan rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

  Gwydion said, “But we’re not here to talk about my manners. I want to know why you are willing to help me, and why I should trust you.”

  “Ah yes, the matter of price,” Mannanan said. “Of course, I require no gold or silver, and have enough jewels in my demesne to build several palaces.”

  “So why did you say the price had been paid?”

  Mannanan sat back and crossed his hands behind his head. “Do you remember the second time we met?”

  “Of course,” Gwydion replied. “The hut of Cailleach the Hag had just turned into a palace, and you led me out, and back to the real world.”

  “And a fine job you did putting her to sleep,” Mannanan said. “She gets especially cranky every hundred years or so, and it requires great skill to calm her. The bards have been managing it for the last six hundred years or so, but it is always her choice.”

  “And I was only a student bard,” Gwydion said.

  “What would have happened if he had failed?” Llews asked.

  Mannanan frowned. “Beyond his own death? It’s hard to say.”

  “Nightmares, cold winds, scorched earth, desolate wastelands,” Gwydion said, trying not to remember the hunger in her eyes when she said it. “That’s what she said she was goddess of.”

  “Truth,” Mannanan said. “When Cathbar knew he was near defeat, he used bardic magic to rile her into a frenzy. S
he would have turned Glencairck from green to grey, except for one man.”

  “Amergin,” Gwydion said.

  Mannanan nodded. “That was when he discovered the Chord of Sleep, the last of the Three Chords. He rose to the challenge, and so did you.”

  “And that’s why you want to help us?” Llews asked.

  “Help is actually a rather strong word for what I do,” Mannanan said. “I generally give instruction, advice, and the occasional magical item that has fallen into my possession. And what your father did only covers himself. For yourself, young one, the Eagle of Finncarn has requested that I extend to you the invitation to meet her.”

  “Me?” Llews said. “Why me?”

  “And why did she send you?” Gwydion said.

  Mannanan laughed. “So many questions! To the second one first: she sent me because she rather naively thought that you might believe me, Gwydion. And as to why she wants to meet you, Llews: she said that you are dear to her, and that she would like to be a foster mother to you.”

  “How is that possible?” Llews said. “I’ve never met her, and she’s, well, a bird.”

  Mannanan clucked his tongue. “Such a limited view of the world from the son of the Raven of Glancairck.”

  “But he’s not really a raven,” Llews said. “And I’m not an eagle.”

  “When he shifts his shape, he really is a raven,” Mannanan said. “And you’ve seen him take other forms, haven’t you? But he prefers the raven. It fits his nature, and he becomes one instinctively.”

  “And the Eagle sees an eagle in my son?” Gwydion said, putting his arm around Llews.

  “Eagles have very sharp eyes,” Mannanan said, laying his finger beside his nose. “They see beyond skin and bone to a truer shape within.”

  “But you said that the journey to see her is difficult for humans.”

  “And indeed it is,” Mannanan said. “But it is relatively straightforward for eagles.”

  “But I can’t turn into an eagle,” Llews said.

  “By yourself, no,” Mannanan said. “But with your father’s help, I think you could do so, and very easily.”

  Gwydion frowned. “I’m not sure that he’s ready. Or that I am.”

  Mannanan sighed dramatically. “You would wait until he was old man to introduce him to shapeshifting you know.”

  The tone made Gwydion grin. “At least until he was more middle-aged.”

  “By whose standards?” Mannanan asked. “There have been some rather long-lived members of your family.”

  “Point taken,” Gwydion said. “Still, how do I know that now is the right time?”

  “Would you trust a god?” Mannanan said. “Or perhaps a very ancient and wise bird?”

  Llews looked up at him. “I think I’m ready for this, Da.”

  Gwydion looked from the sea god to his son several times. Mannanan looked suddenly bored, as though he had done his duty and no longer cared about the outcome, but Llews looked like he was about to receive a special mid-winter gift. Finally, he threw up his hands. “Alright, I concede! We will transform you tomorrow, and go see the Eagle of Finncairn.”

  Llews tackled him in a hug, and Mannanan grinned. “Well, now that that is done, what say you to a little harp music?”

  Gwydion untangled himself from his son and began pulling his harp from its case. “You taught Taliesin how to play, didn’t you?”

  “Just help him dust off his skills,” Mannanan said. “He was a couple of hundred years out of practice when I met him.”

  “Hundreds of years?” Llews said. “How old was he?”

  “About 350 years old when I met him,” Mannanan said.

  “And we will be nearly that old by the time we start playing,” Gwydion said. “I want to get some sleep sometime before this journey.”

  Mannanan bowed and said, “Then let us begin. You can listen to my songs with admiration and fawning, and I will criticize every note of yours.”

  In the morning, Gwydion, Llews, and Mannanan followed a trial that seemed to only be visible to the sea god. After they passed through a narrow canyon that had first appeared like a crack in a sheer stone cliff to a tree-choked dell beyond, Llews said “How far are we going to go?”

  “Far enough,” Mannanan said. “There are shepherds up here, and we’re trying to find a place that is good to camp in, but not well-known to those who traipse this mountain.”

  “And you know of such a place?” Gwydion asked.

  “I’m a god,” Mannanan said. “I know tons.”

  “But you’re a sea god,” Llews said. “Not a mountain god.”

  “You are so your father’s son,” Mannanan said. “Still, I have a few tricks I get to use even when not in my realm.”

  “Like finding your way up a mountain?” Gwydion asked.

  “Do you have any idea how much easier it is to find your way around on land?” Mannanan said. “Up and down are always the same, and even as a bird, you’ll be able to see what’s below. In the ocean, you can’t often see the bottom, or even the sky for that matter.” He paused as they climbed up a particularly steep slope. At the top, breathing hard, he said, “Of course, gravity doesn’t plague me quite this much in my realm.”

  “How much further?”

  Mannanan pointed with his chin. “We follow this ridge, and there’s a nice spot with a spring fed pool, and even a few blackberry bushes.”

  “It’s not really berry season,” Gwydion said.

  Mannanan shrugged. “I might be able to change that. Or at least, help them along a bit.” Gwydion just shook his head.

  When they came to the dell, it was just as Mannanan had promised, with tall rowans and alders shading a clear pool the bubbled out into a tiny stream on one end. A bed of dead leaves provided a comfortable place to rest, and all three sat gratefully. Llews took off his shoes and put his feet in the water. “Cold,” he said.

  After resting for a few minutes, Mannanan sat up and said, “Well, there’s no time like now to get started.”

  Gwydion glanced at the sky. “It’s getting a bit late, don’t you think?”

  “For serious flying, sure,” Mannanan answered. “But for serious shape shifting, it’s not late at all.”

  “My uncle used a rowan wand to transform me the first few times,” Gwydion mused, looking at the trees.

  “Rowans are great for wands,” Mannanan said. “They help focus your energy, direct it down to a single point. But I don’t think you’ll need one; you have the look of a man who has shape shifted others before.”

  “I turned a cow into a horse,” Gwydion said. “And back again. I don’t think it’s the same.”

  “You’re right,” Mannanan said. “Your willing human son is going to be much easier. Now, do you need anything from me beyond encouragement and moral fortitude?”

  “Perhaps some quiet?”

  Mannanan harrumphed, and sat back with his arms crossed.

  “What do I need to do, Da?” Llews asked, standing up.

  Gwydion took him by the shoulders, knelt down, and looked into his eyes. “Concentrate on the shape of an eagle,” he said. “And keep looking right into my eyes. Since this is your first time, it might hurt, but the pain passes. I want you to know that.”

  “Think of an eagle, prepare for pain,” Llews said. “Got it.”

  Gwydion gathered in as much magic as he could hold, and put his hands on the boy’s head. He felt like he was about to burst from the power, but he channeled it slowly through his hands and his eyes, willing Llews to change.

  It started under his hands, as Llews hair turned into feathers, and spread down to his face, where his eyes spread out and his nose lengthened and melded with his mouth. He could see the fear in Llews, but sensed exhilaration as well.

  From somewhere very far away he heard Mannanan say, “He can handle more. Speed up the process, or you will make him suffer needlessly.” The tone of authority was so unexpected that he simply did as he was told, and the transformation quic
kly spread downwards. Llews’ hands and arms stretched into powerful wings, and his legs thinned and shrank. In moments, Llews perched on his arm, wings spread as he tried to find his balance.

  Gwydion could hear his bird voice saying, “Da! Da! It’s amazing! I feel incredible!”

  Gwydion winced in pain at the talons digging in, but Mannanan, wearing a thick leather falconer’s glove, coaxed the eagle onto his own arm and soothed him. “Many thanks,” Gwydion said.

  “That’s why I stayed with you,” Mannanan said. “I wanted to make sure everything went well. And now, if you would shift into eagle form, I will follow suit, and we’ll get this wee one properly acclimated to his new shape.”

  It did not take long for Llews to get the hang of his new shape, and he wheeled and glided about the dell with delight. “How high do you think I can go, Da?”

  “Not too high right now,” Gwydion said. “See how the sun is almost touching the horizon? I don’t want you to get a lesson on how eagles react to the dark in the middle of your flight.”

  “Is it something bad?” Llews said.

  “You’re going to get very sleepy,” Gwydion said. “Not normally bad, but it could be catastrophic several hundred feet in the air.”

  Llews looked longingly at the mountain peak. “But tomorrow we’ll fly all the way to the top?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The three eagles landed, and Mannanan shifted back to human form. “I think you two have this well in hand,” he said. “I shall now bid you fond farewell, and remember: the next time you’re near or even on my kingdom, feel free to ignore me completely.”

  “Thank you,” Gwydion said stretching his wings out into an avian bow.

  Llews imitated him, and said, “Thank you, mighty Mannanan. You have given me a gift that I cannot repay.”

  “Which is why I had your father give it to you,” Mannanan replied. “Now, since goodbyes are painful awkward things…” He raised his hand in farewell, and faded into the dusk.

  “Where did he go?” Llews asked.

  “Maybe back to his kingdom,” Gwydion said. “He just took the quick route is all.”

  “Like when we first came to Bangreen?”

  “Much like that,” Gwydion said. He cocked his eye at the sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear. “We have a big day tomorrow, so we should settle down now.”