Chapter 14: The Highest Tower

Several days later, Herrwn was still trying to think of something—anything—other than the coming summer solstice, when Annwr would be lost to him forever. He was so caught up in his inner turmoil at breakfast that he twice admonished his cousins to keep peace with each other when they weren’t arguing.

“—as I’m sure Herrwn agrees,” Ossiam’s strident voice broke through his distracted ruminations. “In any case, it’s time we go!”

Brought back to the present, he could see that Olyrrwd’s shoulders were bunched up—a sure sign he was thinking of some retort to something Ossiam had just said. Herrwn, however, had no idea what they’d been talking about.

Feeling like he was one of his own students who’d fallen asleep during a lesson and had to guess the answer without admitting that he hadn’t heard the question, he repeated, “As you say, it’s time to go,” as he looked around for some clue to remind him what they were supposed to do that morning.

Both Ossiam and Olyrrwd were dressed in their regular robes, so it wasn’t a meeting of the High Council—Olyrrwd’s, however, was clean and without noticeable blood stains, suggesting it was an occasion of some importance. But not a major or even a minor rite. Herrwn was sure of that. It wasn’t the full, half, quarter, or new moon. They’d honored the spirits of the east winds last week and those of the spring rains the week before, and the Sacred Summer Solstice Ceremony (as he was all too keenly aware) was still a week off.

It was not any of their regular duties then, but some other commitment that they had to fulfill together.

But what?

Herrwn remained seated, nodding at Ossiam, in hopes of spurring some additional and more edifying pronouncement. When Ossiam only stirred restively, he asked, “So what do you propose we do?”

“We will go through the motions.” Ossiam gave Herrwn a meaningful look.

“Of course.” Herrwn nodded with a sage expression he hoped would cover his confusion.

“There is no point in putting it off any longer.” Ossiam made ready to rise from his chair.

“No point at all.” Herrwn tucked his feet under him and placed his hands flat on the table, ready to rise as well.

“And no point in wasting further effort on a fool.” Ossiam pushed his chair back and stood up.

Olyrrwd stood up too, knocking his chair over backward in the process. Jutting his chin out, he declared, “He’s not a fool!” in a bellicose voice before adding in a lower tone, hardly more than a mumble, “He’s just not a Druid.”

Ossiam’s retort came in the dismissive tone of voice he used whenever Olyrrwd contradicted him. “There are fools and there are Druids. You are one or the other!”

It was an argument that his cousins had carried on ever since the two had been sent to stay overnight in the servants’ quarters as a rebuke for their constant bickering—a boyhood experience that had left Ossiam embittered while Olyrrwd had made friends with the servants’ children and had gone back to play with them as often as he could sneak away.

It was also the answer to Herrwn’s unspoken question.

Today was Labhruinn’s twenty-first birthday—the day that Herrwn, Ossiam, and Olyrrwd would hold their final council to determine whether he would be admitted to the last stage of his training. Already granted two extra years in basic studies out of consideration for his elite birth and family connections, there could be no further allowances. He must either be chosen by one of them as a disciple or his hopes of entering the priesthood were finished.

How strange that this should have slipped Herrwn’s mind, especially as he’d spent his waking hours for the past week consumed by the misery of losing Annwr to Labhruinn. If none of them accepted Labhruinn as a disciple, he could not be a priest even of the lowest order, much less the consort to the sister of their chief priestess and Goddess incarnate or the surrogate Sun-God in the Sacred Summer Solstice Ceremony.

Outwardly calm, Herrwn rose from the table and led the way to the shrine’s highest tower, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they passed through the antechamber where Labhruinn sat on a stone bench, gripping its edge with both hands.

As he ascended the steep, curving stairs, Herrwn weighed the chances that either of the others would admit Labhruinn to their order.

Ossiam was no more likely to claim Labhruinn than to turn himself into a crow and eat carrion.

But Olyrrwd …

Despite his admission that Labhruinn wasn’t a Druid, Olyrrwd might take him on—if only out of a perverse need to irritate Ossiam.

Still, Herrwn could hope.

Ossiam spoke out almost before the three men sat down at the polished oak council table. Blending sarcasm with the irrefutable authority of a prophet, he declared it his highest duty to protect the shrine from the doom and devastation that would come of Labhruinn’s inability to read the simplest omen in a rat’s entrails.

Ossiam turned to Olyrrwd.

Herrwn held his breath.

Olyrrwd sighed. “He tries hard and he means well, but …” Sighing again, he gave an regrettably vivid description of the night Labhruinn inadvertently dosed a chamber full of patients with a cathartic rather than a sleeping potion. He shook his head and turned to Herrwn.

Herrwn hesitated, considering how to phrase his answer with the right balance of firmness and regret. While they waited for his answer, Olyrrwd and Ossiam went back to bickering. Despite his own unwillingness to take Labhruinn on, Olyrrwd argued that Herrwn should, muttering, “A misquoted line of poetry won’t change the future, and forgetting a hero’s name won’t kill anyone.”

Before Herrwn could speak up to defend his vocation, Ossiam snapped back, “A misquoted line will change that poem forever, and forgetting a hero’s name brings a second death for that hero.”

Affecting a grave but resolute expression, Herrwn nodded at Ossiam, who nodded back in smug accord.

Olyrrwd gave the resigned shrug he usually saved for occasions when he’d tried against all hope to revive the dead. Rising together, they left the room in the reverse order that they had entered it—Olyrrwd first, Ossiam next, and Herrwn last.

As he descended the dark stairway, Herrwn drew in a deep breath.

It was done, and done without his having to say anything at all.

No one—not even Labhruinn himself—could accuse Herrwn of wrongdoing.

For he had done no wrong.

Not really.

Labhruinn was not worthy to be a Druid priest any more than he was worthy to dance with Annwr at the Sacred Summer Solstice Ceremony.

It was only right that they refuse him admission to their ranks.

Even if his jealousy played a part in that decision, he was the shrine’s chief priest and he had only himself to answer to.

They reached the bottom of the stairway. Ossiam and Olyrrwd stepped aside and let him pass since, as the chief priest, it was his duty to deliver their verdict.

Labhruinn looked up at him from the stone bench, eager and hopeful—like an unwanted puppy, pleading to be picked up.

Herrwn stiffened his back, gathered his resolve, and sadly but firmly put his hand out to touch Labhruinn on the forehead—the time-honored sign of a master Druid’s acceptance of a new disciple—because, in the end, he had to answer to himself.

Beaming with joy, Labhruinn dropped to his knees, kissed the hem of Herrwn’s robe, and stammered an incoherent mix of oaths and promises to prove himself.

Taking a tight grip on his staff, Herrwn sighed and began, “To be a bard requires more than mere memorization and recitation. It requires the understanding of moral choices, and that is a grave undertaking not to be entered into lightly.”

Olyrrwd and Ossiam, who had heard this speech before, went off to their own responsibilities, one smiling and the other shaking his head, as Herrwn, feeling oddly as if he were talking to himself, led his new apprentice through the hallway and back to his classroom.

Two weeks later, Herrwn stood at the side of the altar in the Sacred Grove and watched Labhruinn, dressed in golden robes, come out of the woods to meet Annwr as she stepped out of the gap between the great stone pillars wearing the green silk gown of the Earth-Goddess.

No, he told himself, not Labhruinn but only his outward shape, serving as a vessel for the spirit of the Sun-God!

He strove to keep that thought firmly in mind throughout the ritual, paying as little attention as he could to the pain of seeing the two of them dance off into the darkness.

It was only as the months passed, with summer surrendering to fall and fall fading into winter, that he found real solace in seeing Annwr blissfully happy, cradling her growing belly as though she were already holding the baby she so passionately wanted. Her joy, along with the knowledge that he had done the morally right thing, was his consolation for his heartache—and for the realization that by taking on Labhruinn he had inadvertently given up his first claim to Caelendra’s son.