Chapter 16: A Very Good Question

Despite a vast store of knowledge, most of it profound and much of it arcane, Herrwn had no idea what poo-poo was made of. It was not a question that had ever been addressed in the ancient sagas, and he’d never thought to ask Olyrrwd himself. Instead of making something up, he took the now drowsy little boy over to a chair by the hearth, lifted him up onto his lap, and began telling a story that had been his own favorite when he was six.

“Long ago, in the time before the feud began between men and animals and we could all still talk to each other …”

Exhausted from his tantrum, Caelym fell asleep while Herrwn was reciting, “there was a herd of wonderful wild horses that lived in a lush green valley …” and Herrwn left speaking to gaze down at the little Druid-to-be they’d been waiting for since the day of his birth.

Believing as he did in the dogma that children conceived at the Sacred Summer Solstice Ceremony had no mortal father, he’d expected that Caelym would be a boyish version of Caelendra. Instead, curled up in Herrwn’s lap, his head resting on his toy horse and damp ringlets of raven-black hair framing his almost impossibly beautiful little face, he was simply Rhedwyn born over again.

It was as though their chief priestess had been no more than a vessel—bringing forth a boy child without imparting anything of herself into him.

As he thought about what they had lost with Caelym’s birth, Herrwn felt a wave of grief as overwhelming as the moment he’d realized that Caelendra was dead. With his next breath, he felt a sense of resignation and, with the next, acceptance that Caelym was the parting gift that Caelendra had given her people and she must have known what she was doing.

When Olyrrwd returned to the classroom, his robes were splattered with blood and he was grumbling, “Young idiots! Shouldn’t be trusted with toy swords, much less real arrows!”

His expression softened, turning almost motherly, at the sight of Caelym asleep on Herrwn’s lap.

“We’ll share him, shall we? You make him a bard and I’ll make him a healer, and together we’ll turn him into the envy of all the gods and goddesses that ever were or ever will be!”

Seeing Olyrrwd’s sudden shift to a tranquil mood as an opportunity to smooth over the rift between his cousins, Herrwn started, “And Ossiam will—”

“And Ossiam will never lay a hand on that boy again, or I’ll—”

Just what threat Olyrrwd was about to utter was cut off by a muted tap on the door.

It was Benyon, the chief servant for the priests’ chambers, carrying an armload of Caelym’s belongings from the nursery.

As Benyon bustled about in the side chamber that was the apprentices’ sleeping quarters, Caelym started to stir.

Murmuring, “I’m hungry, Nonna,” he rubbed his eyes and looked up at Herrwn. “You’re not Nonna!” He sat up, took hold of a fold of Herrwn’s robe, and looked around the room. “Where’s Nonna?”

As Herrwn was about to repeat his welcome-to-your-new-life-of-learning speech, Olyrrwd answered, “Nonna’s gone back to the nursery to take care of the little babies who aren’t big enough to go to the lake and hunt for frogs.”

“I’m six! I’m big enough!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Let’s go now!” Releasing his grip on Herrwn’s robe, Caelym leaped down and reached for Olyrrwd’s hand.

“First Benyon will get you something to eat, and then we’ll go.”

After a moment or two, during which Caelym seemed to be weighing the possibilities of his new situation, he opened his eyes wide and said in the sincerest of all possible tones, “Nonna always gives me cakes for breakfast and dinner and supper and never makes me eat anything else.”

“It’s your birthday, so Benyon will bring you some cakes and some apples and some cheese so you can be strong and fast for catching frogs—won’t you, Benyon?” Olyrrwd glanced over at the servant.

“Of course, Good Master!” Newly promoted and anxious to please, Benyon was already bowing and backing out of the door.

Caelym, who’d kept a grip on his toy horse when he scrambled off Herrwn’s lap, tucked it under his arm and regarded Olyrrwd, still with a deliberative look on his face.

“You’re Olyrrwd.”

“I am.”

“You heal things.”

“I do.”

Caelym pointed at Herrwn. “He’s Herrwn.”

“He is.”

“He tells stories.”

“He does.”

“Who was the mean one?”

Before Herrwn could intervene to say that Ossiam had not intended to be harsh but that sometimes even grown-ups got upset and acted in ways they regret later, Olyrrwd answered, “Ossiam.”

“What does he do?”

Speaking quickly, before Olyrrwd could say anything disparaging about a fellow elder, Herrwn answered, “He is an oracle. He sees the future.”

“Did he know I was going to kick him?”

Here Olyrrwd was faster than Herrwn. “That is a very good question! Maybe we should ask him.”

To Herrwn’s relief, Benyon came through the door carrying a tray laden with cakes, apples, cheese, and a pitcher of steaming goat’s milk, diverting Caelym’s attention from Olyrrwd’s highly improper suggestion—and after the little boy finished his snack, he was so eager to go to the lake it was all Olyrrwd could do to hold him back long enough to change out of his nightshirt and into his new robes.