Chapter 78: The Smith’s Tale

Herrwn was changing into his formal robes—wishing he’d had more time to rehearse and wondering what was keeping Caelym—when the evening horn sounded. He murmured the narrator’s last and most crucial lines to himself, took up his staff, both his own and Caelym’s harp, and was starting for the door, when, to his relief, Caelym came bounding through, his hair rumpled and his robes obviously pulled on in haste.

“Forgive my being late, but—” While Caelym’s words were duly apologetic, his tone as well as the gleam in his eye suggested smugness rather than contrition as he continued, “I have done my best to ensure that Feywn is in an agreeable mood this evening.”

Under other circumstances, Herrwn’s response “That comes as a great relief to me!” might have been sardonic, but in this case he was entirely sincere, knowing how much hinged on their chief priestess’s mood that night. Since the meal would not start before Feywn arrived, Herrwn set his staff and the harps aside and straightened Caelym’s robes. “Your hair,” he said, and waited while Caelym retreated to the dressing room to comb his locks into place. Using the time to adjust his own harp’s tuning, he felt calmer and ready to start when Caelym emerged, groomed and grinning.

Herrwn led the way to the main hall, stopping outside of the high-arched entry. He could hear the hum of restive conversation coming through the heavy curtains.

“Now, Master?” Caelym’s hand was already on the edge of the curtain, and, with Herrwn’s nod, he pulled it aside and they stepped through together.

The shutters to the chamber windows were closed and the hearth was glowing. The priests and priestesses were in their seats and waiting—now silent as Herrwn walked solemnly across the room and took the narrator’s place just to the right of the hearth. Caelym moved to the left to stand in the shadows, half-hidden, waiting until it was time for him to step out into the light and say his lines.

“With your leave,” Herrwn began, and, receiving Feywn’s nod, went on, “tonight I, along with my worthy disciple, will tell a tale from the saga of the Great Flood.

Leaning forward and casting a sweeping glance from one end of the high table to the other, he said in a low, confiding tone, “As commonly told, this tale—the story of how the great King Dwrddwain sent his wisest wizard, along with his mightiest warrior, to find a way to force back the sea after the ill-fated wizard’s apprentice had brought forth a deluge that threatened to cover the earth—is well-known to all. But the story we will tell tonight is not the usual tale but one told only on rare occasions, and then only to those in the inner circle of Druid priests and priestesses.”

Turning slightly to gaze into the flickering flames of the hearth, he assumed the voice of someone looking into the distant past.

The story, as you know, is from an ancient time, a time when all humankind still lived together in a single kingdom, and that kingdom was ruled over by the first dynasty of kings, of whom King Dwrddwain was the twenty-first. Only a few ever knew—and few of those remembered later—that the actual cause of this calamity lay six generations earlier, when King Dwrddwain’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, King Dwrfwyn, reneged on his promise to give the Sea-Goddess a crown of gold as tribute for granting his ships safe passage through a channel roiling with monsters.

Disregarding the dire warnings of his Druid counselors, Dwrfwyn ordered his craftsmen to make the crown out of lead instead of gold, gilding the base metal so it glittered. It was a grievous deception and a foolish one, as it was quickly unmasked when the salt water washed away the paint. The outraged Sea-Goddess exacted a swift revenge, but revenge does not heal, and while above the shoreline the kingdom prospered under Dwrfwyn’s wiser descendants, underneath the ocean’s restless surface the goddess continued to brood, both over the affront and over the crown, which had appeared wonderful and turned out to be a sham. So while the ill-fated wizard’s apprentice should never have cast his imprudent spell, the result would not have been so calamitous had it not served to break open that festering wound, releasing the Sea-Goddess’s pent-up rage and setting forth the immense wave of water that swept up over the land, driving humans and animals alike to take refuge on the top of the highest mountain.”

With the background set, Herrwn stepped back into place and assumed the traditional narrator’s stance.

A mountain, did I just call it? A mountain was what it had been the day before, but now it was a shrinking island, its edges being eaten away by the terrifying waves that surged ever higher, its trees lashed by terrible winds!

Wolves and sheep, eagles and song sparrows, the king’s royal family and ordinary villagers huddled together, the divisions between them forgotten in their shared dread of the sea.

Standing apart, on a boulder at the peak of that last remaining outcrop of earth, King Dwrddwain looked out over what was left of his once vast kingdom.

A very different ruler from his great-great-great-great-grandfather, King Dwrddwain’s concern was not what was left to him but who. Surveying his surviving subjects, he was relieved to see that along with his greatest wizard, Alhwradd, and his great warrior, Haedrwn, his royal smith, Sidwal, had somehow managed to outrun the flood and climb up the side of the mountain in spite of being weighed down with his heavy pack of tools.

At the mention of the word “smith,” Rhonnon lowered her eyebrows and fixed Herrwn with an intense stare. He was expecting no less and went on without the slightest hesitation.

Calling the smith’s name and pointing to the swaying trees, the king commanded, “Sidwal, build me a boat strong enough to withstand the storming seas!”

When the boat was built and its sail hung in place, the king called out, “Who will go forth to subdue the sea and win back the land?”

Haedrwn, the king’s chief warrior, raised his sword and declared, “I will go and, with my strength and my courage, win victory over the sea itself!”

Hearing that, Alhwradd, the king’s chief wizard, raised his staff and declared, “No warrior, however brave and strong, can defeat the sea! I will go and, with my wisdom and my powers of persuasion, I will make peace with the sea and convince it to go back to its proper shores!”

While the two of them argued with each other, the smith went about his work loading the boat and raising the sail.

As the winds swirled, catching the sail and blowing it full, the king made his decision, declaring, “You will both go, for our only hope is in the combined power of our warrior’s strength and our Druid’s wisdom!”

Momentarily turning to look directly at his audience and shifting back to a confiding tone of voice, Herrwn shared the king’s inner thoughts, saying, “And even as he spoke those words, the king realized that while the wizard was thinking and the warrior was doing battle, someone would need to sail the boat, but none of his sailors were among the surviving subjects and so—reasoning that Sidwal, having built it, would be the best one to sail it—he commanded the smith to go along.

He reverted to his formal narrator stance and voice and continued.

So, picking up his sack of tools, the smith followed the wizard and the warrior on board, and, as all the tribes of humans and animals watched, the boat set forth into the raging seas.

On the first day of the storm-tossed journey, the angry winds tore at the sail and snapped the mast in two, and they would have been lost had not Sidwal splinted the shaft together and put it back up so they could sail on.

On the second day of their fearful venture, a sea dragon rose out of the raging waters, and when Haedrwn raised up his sword to fight it, the dragon stuck out its head with the speed of a striking snake, took the sword in its mouth, bit it in half, and spat the pieces down at the warrior’s feet. As the dreadful serpent drew back, preparing to strike again, Sidwal swiftly grabbed the broken weapon, forged it back together with three strokes of his hammer, and threw it back to Haedrwn, who slew the dragon and mounted its head as a trophy on the boat’s prow.

On the third day of their perilous quest, they came to the edge of a giant whirlpool and would have been sucked in had not the smith pulled an anchor out of his pack, the wizard imbued it with a magical spell, and the warrior cast it off behind them so that it held them in place at the edge of the swirling maelstrom.

While Haedrwn was fighting the sea dragon and Sidwal was repairing the ship’s mast and the warrior’s sword, Alhwradd had been thinking and pondering and doing deep and exhaustive divinations, and he had come to the conclusion that peace with the sea could only be earned by righting the ancient wrong.

Calling the smith to him, he explained what he needed. Following his instructions, Sidwal—with the aid of the wizard’s complex magic spells—made a shining crown of gold inlaid with sparkling diamonds and sapphires, along with matching earrings and bracelets and a gold necklace studded with emeralds and rubies, as well as a golden harp that Alhwradd enchanted so that it both played and sang songs of peace and forgiveness.

Having divined that the whirlpool was the entrance to the Sea-Goddess’s underwater palace, the wizard took the crown, jewelry, and harp and, with a final, impassioned invocation, cast them into the whirlpool, where they circled three times before sinking out of sight.

The three men stood, gripping the railing of the heaving boat, and waited.

Suddenly, all went still. The whirlpool vanished. The waves subsided. The wind died.

Their mission was accomplished, but they were stranded—becalmed in the center of the now motionless, windless sea.

Haedrwn turned to Alhwradd, asking with his eyes what he would not deign to put into words.

Alhwradd understood and answered, “I have used up my magic powers and do not have enough left to swim or fly back to shore, and even if I did I would not leave you—and so, knowing we have done what the king has commanded, we will face our end together as the receding seas carry us ever farther away from land.”

Haedrwn raised his sword in a salute to the wizard, and Alhwradd raised his staff in return.

They turned back to face the western horizon, where the sun was emerging from the last of the dissipating clouds. Standing together, resigned to their fate, neither of them noticed at first that the boat was beginning to sway and move. When they finally did, they turned as a single man to see that Sidwal had pulled his bellows out of his pack and was using them to fill the sails and start their voyage home.

It was a slow journey, and the seas had already returned to their proper shores when they reached home—welcomed by the king, his royal family, and all his jubilant subjects.

Docking the boat, Sidwal dropped the sails and put his bellows away while Alhwradd and Haedrwn disembarked shoulder to shoulder. He followed, sack of tools in hand, as they strode through the cheering throng to kneel before the king.

Alhwradd told the tale of their adventures—how Haedrwn had battled the sea dragons and how he had placated the rage of the Sea-Goddess, as well as how Sidwal had mended the mast, made the sword, crafted the tribute, and pumped the bellows to bring them safely home.

Dwrddwain’s response, “You have saved the earth and you must be rewarded!” was greeted by a resounding cheer from the gathered crowd, but all three men demurred, insisting that they wished nothing but to serve their beloved king.

“But you must have something to show for the deeds you have done!” Dwrddwain insisted, and he turned to his daughters, all three of whom were wise as well as beautiful, and he asked them what gift he should give the three heroes.

The youngest spoke first, saying that for his courage in battling the sea dragon, Haedrwn should be given a golden helmet bearing the crest of a wild boar. The king agreed and told Sidwal to make the helmet, which he presented to the warrior.

The middle one spoke next, saying that for his wisdom in placating the rage of the Sea-Goddess, Alhwradd should be given an oaken staff engraved with symbols of his order. The king agreed and told Sidwal to carve the staff, which he presented to the wizard.

The eldest remained quiet while her younger sisters were speaking. When she did finally speak, it was to say that without the sword the smith had forged, the warrior would have been eaten by the sea dragon, and without the crown and jewelry and harp the smith had crafted, the wizard would have had no tribute to give the Sea-Goddess. Then she asked a question that she spoke so softly, she must have been asking it of herself—“But what can you give to a man who can make anything?”

While she was speaking, the princess was—idly, it seemed—weaving a bracelet out of a cluster of flowers she’d picked on her way down the mountain. Finishing it, she took it over to Sidwal, who was gazing at her with worship in his eyes, and she held it out to him, saying, “I will give him my flowers, and, if he wishes, I will take him as my consort.”

The king was shocked, but he had said that his daughter could name the smith’s reward, so he declared that Sidwal would have the flowers and would be the princess’s consort in a tone of voice that let the smith know that he couldn’t say no to this reward even if he wanted to—which, of course, he did not.

“And that,” Herrwn concluded, “was how the anger of the Sea-Goddess was finally assuaged and earth and sea were restored to their proper boundaries. And forever after, our greatest warriors have worn a helmet bearing the crest of a wild boar and each of our chief priests has carried an oaken staff engraved with symbols of his order.”

Abandoning his narrator’s stance, Herrwn stepped forward to stand before Feywn where she sat at the center of the high table. Normally, Caelym, who’d done his part speaking for the varied minor characters, would also have come forward, but tonight, as agreed, he remained in the shadows.

The voice that Herrwn used as a narrator was different from the one he used as the head of the High Council, putting a question to the chief priestess. It was his High Council voice he used as he delivered his last and most important lines.

“Now we have told you the tale of how a wizard, a warrior, and a smith acted together to save the earth from being drowned by the sea, and how each was rewarded in turn by the king’s wise daughters—and yet, as I said at the beginning, the part that Sidwal, who is ancestor to all smiths everywhere, played in these heroic deeds has been all but forgotten. So it is my thought—if, in your boundless wisdom, you agree—that we should ask the eldest of our young priestesses what reward we should give to our own smith, not just for the many things he has made for us but as the son of a father who died fighting at the side of our greatest hero.”

On cue, Caelym drew back the kitchen curtain and Darbin stepped out. With Caelym at his side, he crossed the room to kneel facing the high table. Glowing like a goddess from an ancient tale, Feywn stood up and nodded toward Gwenydd, who rose in turn and, producing the circlet of summer flowers she’d tucked into the folds of her skirt, said clearly, “I will give him my flowers, and, if he wishes, I will take him as my consort.”

Gazing up at her, Darbin whispered, “I wish.”

When the smith made no sign of rising on his own, Caelym put a hand under his arm and pulled him to his feet. Herrwn took hold of Darbin’s other arm, and together they guided him out through the curtain of the main entryway.