Chapter 59: Ossiam’s Ordeal

After Olyrrwd left the classroom, Herrwn began rehearsing his evening’s recitation only to be interrupted by a sudden rapping on the door. Before he could give his permission to enter, Benyon burst in, crying, “Master Herrwn, Master Ossiam lies prostrate in his chamber, refusing food and mumbling strange chants. Should I send for Master Olyrrwd?”

Frustrated that the intrusion came just as he felt himself on the verge of a new and insightful rendering of the hero’s opening declamation, Herrwn was unintentionally abrupt in replying, “Master Ossiam is always left fatigued following a difficult divination. His chants are no doubt a part of his self-healing, and—” Here he caught himself before saying anything that might give away the hostility between his cousins. Clearing his throat, he finished, “—I do not think sending for Master Olyrrwd’s attendance will be necessary.” Later he would regret his terseness, but at the time he was simply glad to have Benyon bow his way out of the room.

Herrwn had not recited Gwalmwn and the Wolf King in several years. Besides needing to practice it, he also had to decide on which of two alternate endings to choose. With equally sound arguments for the happier, more romantic conclusion on one side and the sadder, more realistic one on the other, Herrwn didn’t think any more of Ossiam’s condition until he made his entrance into the great hall that evening and saw that the oracle’s place at the high table remained empty.

Was his lack of concern over his cousin’s welfare due in some measure to his own feelings of dismay—even anger—for the part Ossiam had played in Caelym’s undertaking so perilous a quest at so young an age? Herrwn was ashamed to admit that this might be so and determined to go to the oracle’s tower when he finished his oration.

As soon as he had taken his final bow, Herrwn hurried off and climbed the stairs to the oracle’s tower. Finding the door to the oracle’s chamber ajar, he pushed it open. Ossiam was lying against his pillows while Iddwran fanned him with a cluster of eagle feathers and Ogdwen knelt by his bedside, holding a silver bowl of broth in one hand and putting a spoon to his lips with the other.

Weakly raising his head, Ossiam whispered, “Herrwn, you have come before it is too late! I feared that all but my faithful Iddwran and Ogdwen had forsaken me!”

“Ossiam, do not strain yourself! I will get Olyrrwd.”

Herrwn would have turned and rushed down the stairs then, but Ossiam cried out in a stronger voice than seemed possible in his wasted, pitiful state, “No!” and then, in a weaker, barely audible tone, murmured, “There is nothing he can do! This is the price I pay for attempting to defy her.”

“Her? The Goddess?”

“Her! Her! She who speaks through me!” Ossiam struggled up onto his elbows and looked around wildly, as if expecting his inner spirit to be lurking in the surrounding shadows.

“Iddwran, quick—another swallow of the draught that she will sleep, and I may speak while I yet have the strength.”

Iddwran, who was still kneeling at Ossiam’s side, poured a spoonful of dark violet liquid from a small silver vial and dribbled it between the oracle’s trembling lips.

Ossiam closed his eyes and breathed a shuddering breath, then opened them again and said in a rasping whisper, “When I saw that dreadful message in those cursed entrails, I knew this task was too perilous for a sixteen-year-old boy, even one born to our once chief priestess and embodiment of the Great Mother Goddess, and I determined that I would not speak it—instead I would declare that I saw nothing and that Caelym’s quest must wait until his eighteenth birthday. But she commanded me that I must. I won’t! I resisted her demand, clenching my teeth. You will! Her voice filled my very being, but still I fought against her until—after what I know now was moments but then seemed like hours—all went black, and I knew nothing more until I woke up here and my faithful Iddwran and Ogdwen told me what happened—that she had overpowered my resistance and spoke through me, making that fatal decree.”

Ossiam slumped back. Staring at the ceiling, he moaned, “I should have withstood her. Even at the cost of my life, I should have held out. Now it is too late, and I must bear the weight of my failure forever more!”

“You must not be so harsh with yourself!” Glad that he could lift the terrible burden of guilt from his despondent cousin, Herrwn rushed on to give Ossiam the reassurance he himself had received from Olyrrwd—that Caelym had everything he needed for his wilderness trek, that he knew how to find shelter along his way and survive in any weather.

“So you see, the task is not impossible at all, because, as Olyrrwd has reminded me, though the animal tribes vowed never to speak in human language, that is not to say humans cannot learn to speak the language of animals, and with Caelym’s memory and facility for recitation, I believe—as Olyrrwd does—that he will accomplish all his quest requires of him.”

The color returned to Ossiam’s cheeks, and his voice, while still tentative, was no longer weak and shaky as he asked, “So, then, Olyrrwd does not blame me or hold me accountable for what the spirit which speaks through me has said today?”

“I’m sure he does not! I will go get him now, shall I?”

“No! That won’t be necessary.” Ossiam’s voice was quite recovered now, and he sounded like himself again as he went on, “The news you have brought me has been more salutary than any potion, even one brewed by our master physician. I think now I simply need to sleep.”

After bidding Ossiam, along with Iddwran and Ogdwen, a good night and good dreams, Herrwn returned to his own quarters, changed into his night robes, got into bed, and blew out the candle. The shutters of the classroom windows were no longer rattling, and the sleeping chamber was quiet except for Olyrrwd’s rumbling snores and his soft wheeze—which sounded to Herrwn’s ear like the purring of a contented cat.