Chapter 12: Annwr’s Wish

The winter that Feywn gave birth was mild and gave way early to a bountiful spring. The crops that year seemed to burst out of the ground, the sheep and goats gave birth to twins and triplets, and the ducks and geese hatched broods twice as large as normal—all as if the earth herself was rejoicing with renewed fertility.

Inside the shrine, the infant predestined to be their next Goddess incarnate was fawned over and doted on, along with her three girl cousins and Caelendra’s now five-year-old son, and two more servants were added to the nursery to be sure none of the children suffered from lack of attention.

Being one of the nursemaids to these highest born of the valley’s children was a position of honor and distinction among the shrine’s servants, second only to being a handmaiden to the chief priestess. Any word of theirs was attended to with as much regard as a priest’s pronouncement, so when one of them was overheard whispering to another about needing yet another crib come the next spring equinox—and both looked toward the shrine’s garden, where Feywn’s younger sister was gathering medicinal herbs—the rumor that Priestess-in-Training Annwr was going to play the part of the Earth-Goddess in the summer solstice rites spread through the servants’ ranks, setting off a buzz of speculation about which of the priests she was going to choose to stand in for the Sun-God.

That matters pertaining to the most sacred of their highest rites should be a source of coarse gossip among their servants never occurred to Herrwn until Olyrrwd drew him aside and told him what he’d heard while he’d been in the shrine’s kitchen tending to the cook’s gouty toe.

Dismissing his protestations that it was unworthy for men in their position to pay attention to idle talk, Olyrrwd pushed Herrwn down onto a bench, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke in the tone he usually reserved for telling a recalcitrant patient to swallow his potion or take the consequences.

“Well, you can be sure that Ossiam and every other eligible priest in the shrine is going to pay attention, and if you want to be in the running, you’d better pay attention too!”

With that, he released the grip he’d had on Herrwn’s shoulders and went back to his work in the healing chamber, leaving Herrwn to wonder, not for the first time, how Olyrrwd was able to see the thoughts that others kept hidden even from themselves.

It had been thirteen years since Lothwen died. While the unbearable grief Herrwn had felt at first had gradually subsided to a dull ache, the recollection of how good it was to share a woman’s bed at night remained remarkably clear. And now, stirred by the warm spring breezes sweeping through the valley, that memory was growing stronger with each new day—in particular, with each sunrise ritual, where Herrwn’s place at the head of the priests’ line meant that for much of that ceremony he stood in close proximity to Annwr. It was a position of honor and trust, and he never would have abused it by shifting even a finger’s width closer to her or allowing the sleeve of his robe to brush against hers. Still, had anyone had asked him later how often she had taken a breath during the morning’s incantations, he could have answered with complete accuracy.

How Olyrrwd had divined Herrwn’s growing passion before he realized it himself was puzzling. Thinking about it later, however, Herrwn decided that Olyrrwd must have overheard him murmuring something in his sleep that gave away his dreams.

And Herrwn’s dreams had changed. There was no question about that.

In the years since Lothwen’s death, he’d often dreamed of her doing things she’d done in life—teasing him for being so serious, sitting on the edge of their bed and combing her soft, silky auburn hair, even using his sacred staff, the emblem of his high office, to chase a bat out of their chambers.

But one night not long before Olyrrwd cornered him in the shrine’s courtyard and warned him about what the servants were saying, he dreamed that he and Lothwen were walking together through the shrine’s herb garden, and he had a sense that she seemed different than he remembered her. He must have looked quizzical, because she laughed the way she always had when she changed her hairstyle and teased him for not noticing. That was when he realized what should have been obvious—that instead of being tall and voluptuous she was short and slender and had much lighter hair.

The full impact of this dream only became clear to him after he’d pondered Olyrrwd’s advice.

Annwr was shorter and more slightly built than Lothwen had been but was, in her own way, just as beautiful. At twenty, she was almost the same age as Lothwen had been when she and Herrwn had come to love each other. Herrwn, of course, was now two decades older than he’d been then, but his father had been that much older than his mother, and there had never been a happier or more harmonious union than theirs.

Taking Olyrrwd’s admonition to heart, Herrwn began to choose the more romantic of their sagas (particularly those with wise and learned heroes and young and beautiful heroines) for his nightly recitations and took to dismissing Labhruinn earlier and earlier in order to give himself more time to refine his delivery. And his efforts seemed to bear fruit, as one day he returned to his classroom after the noon meal to find Annwr there, seemingly preoccupied with a small ritual vessel engraved with dancing deer. She was wearing a silk gown that fell in such alluring folds that his heart leaped into an irregular gallop, and he had to pause for it to resume its regular pace before he could say anything at all.

Recovering himself, Herrwn assumed the dignity he considered appropriate for a priest of his standing to use when addressing the sister of their chief priestess as he welcomed her, asking if there was any way he could be of service to her. Realizing the double meaning of what he had just said, he hastily rephrased his inquiry to whether she had some question regarding philosophy, or perhaps some point of contention from the last council meeting that he might answer for her.

Annwr, too, appeared to lose her composure for a moment, but then, blushing and stammering, she asked if he would recite a story for her.

Striving—successfully, he thought—to keep his voice steady, he assured her he would be most willing to recite anything she wished.

His heart went fluttery again when she whispered, “The Story of the River-Goddess and the Fire-God.”

The Story of the River-Goddess and the Fire-God was among the most passionate and explicit of their tales, and for a priestess to ask a priest for a private telling was one small step short of an invitation to her bed.

Keeping his voice calm and steady—even solemn—Herrwn agreed, offered her his hand, and led the way out into the courtyard, where the bench under the single oak tree was just wide enough for two to sit side by side without breaching decorum. Once settled there, he began the tale of legendary love with Annwr so close he was almost overwhelmed by the intoxicating smell of her hair and skin.

She returned the next day and the next day, and every day after that for the next two weeks.

Just as the saga was coming to its climax and conclusion, Herrwn gathered his resolve and asked—cautiously and, he hoped, without appearing too eager—what she most wanted and wished for.

Twenty years later, Herrwn could see Annwr in that moment as clearly as if she were still alive and sitting next to him now. Her face glowed as she clasped her hands together, pressed them over her heart, and exclaimed, “A baby!”

This revelation came in a sudden burst of youthful enthusiasm as she went on to describe how she’d obtained Rhonnon’s consent to conceive in the summer solstice rites and could name …

Here she looked directly into his eyes before blushing and looking away.