I found Curyll after sunset in the watchtower. He had made himself scarce about the fortress since he’d left my side before noon. When he skipped supper, I knew I had to find him. Curyll never missed a meal and always consumed more meat and bread than any of his foster brothers. Sometimes he even ate some of mine, if I was incautious enough to let my mind wander and forget to eat as fast as the others.
I’d asked questions all afternoon and learned no more than what Ector had said about Curyll’s birth. Druid secrets, guarded by my father, shrouded his past.
For years, Curyll and his foster brothers had tormented the younger children in the caer with tales of Druid punishments for those who trespassed on secrets. I didn’t want to be murdered and dismembered, bits and pieces of my body scattered far and wide, because I learned too much too soon. So I ceased my questions and concentrated on an idea.
My friend leaned on the parapet with his face turned into the wind and sleet. This wind was chased by warmth from lands far to the South; so far away, experienced sea men only guessed at their existence. The Awyr hinted at exotic flavors and new life.
“T-this is the l-last storm of the season, Wren,” he said without turning to see who disturbed his solitary vigil. “Y-you and M-Merlin will leave soon. Your Da is the only man alive who knows my heritage. If he leaves without telling me, he takes my future with him.” His shaggy hair fell to his shoulders. He hadn’t cut it to fit under a Roman helm. I wondered what it would look like decorated with warrior beads.
Then I remembered that men must die for him to earn beads. I couldn’t dwell on that depressing thought. Saxon deaths shouldn’t touch me. They killed innocents as well as warriors.
Death is death, a voice whispered into the back of my mind.
“Perhaps Da and I will stay here in the North this spring. Da will do much to protect you.”
“No. Merlin has other work m-more imp-p-portant than me.”
We both knew that Da met with many lords and kings on his rounds each summer. He gathered news and gossip, he observed the health of the land and its people. At least once a year he sang at court and reported to the Ardh Rhi in private. I wondered how many of the king’s retainers understood that Da was more than just another bard with a quick wit and tongue. Da was a Druid, able to work magic and hold the pattern of the future in his mind while guiding the present toward it. The gift of prophecy gave him the authority of the chief Druid in all of Britain. Uther Pendragon, Ardh Rhi of Britain, trusted him, listened to his advice above all others, and called him friend.
I remained silent, not certain how to ease Curyll’s mind or loosen his tongue from the tangles of its own weaving.
For the first time, I heard pain in his voice. Usually I detected only embarrassment or frustration.
“You speak fine now.” I couldn’t understand why Curyll feared the taint of bastardy, so I dismissed it. The Goddess honored all children regardless of their parents.
I didn’t know how the Christians viewed bastards.
“With you as my only audience I do not fear words. You don’t laugh at me. There is a stillness about you that gives me confidence. I need more time and practice if I must speak to claim my inheritance. Whatever it may be.”
Even if Lord Ector wouldn’t let him cut the meat, since his birthday celebration at the Solstice he was considered old enough to go to war, claim land, and take a bride. The last thought chilled me. Lord Ector’s oldest sons, Garoth and Fallon, would wed before the end of summer. Both young men boasted they had already fathered children by serving wenches — bastards proudly acknowledged. Another puzzle I didn’t understand. Ector also sought brides for Curyll and Boar. Stinger and Ceffyl had parents who would select wives for them.
The wealth, breeding, and alliances of each bride needed careful scrutiny. I wanted Ector to choose me for Curyll more than I wanted to work magic. I claimed only the alliance of my father. We owned nothing but what we could carry.
Only another Druid would value me enough to offer marriage, a plain brown wren, not beautiful enough to be considered valuable for myself alone.
And I was too young. I had celebrated my ninth birthday at Imbolc, the lactation of the ewes, nearly two months before. I had to wait at least two years after I became a woman to wed. Any day now I’d begin the cycle into maturity.
“I will have to fight for my claim,” Curyll said. “Weapons alone won’t bring me warriors. I’ll need to earn the trust of men with land to earn a place to call my own and tenants. I will have to have words as well. Men don’t trust leaders who can’t prove that their ancestors were warriors or landowners.”
“Why do people care so much about your unnamed parents? People should judge you for yourself.”
“I am bastard born. I have no name, no list of heroic ancestors for bards to sing at victory banquets. No one will follow me. The Christians grow powerful. They sanctify marriage and abhor children born outside that union.”
“You might not be a bastard.”
“An orphan who has been hidden all his life?” He tried raising one eyebrow like Da and failed. “I will have to seek out the truth myself and then prove myself by feats of arms and feats of words as well.”
“Most landowners know only war. Law and justice belong to the strongest,” I reminded him. Few lords had Ector’s foresight in providing an education for sons and fosterlings. Philosophy and history had little use when fighting for one’s life and one’s family against ruthless Saxon axes and spears.
“I want more than that, Wren. Law and justice should belong to every man. Honor and loyalty should come from trust, not fear. I want to make a difference in our world. There is change in the wind, change for the better, change I must guide. I sense it. Something big and wonderful and important waits for me; more than just a caer I steal from someone less powerful than I and a warband of desperate men no other lord wants. I sense it in the wind. I know it in my heart.”
His words stirred something in my breast. I had seen in a bowl of water what he could become. Perhaps I had been granted that vision in order to guide my friend toward his true destiny.
Law and Justice for all.
“Da says you have a destiny that will live through the ages.” As I said the words, a vacancy grew in the back of my neck. I wanted to laugh long and uncontrolled. Dizziness assailed me, just as if I was about to have a vision. I knew that I spoke the truth.
“A destiny I can’t claim without a name and stirring words.” He bowed his head in resignation.
The dizziness spread, and I knew that only I could lead him to his destiny.
Was it time yet?
o0o
The next night Da woke me at midnight and led me outside without a word. I followed without question. Our years on the road, when raiders and outlaws lurked and demons prowled at odd hours, had taught me wariness and instant obedience to my father’s wishes.
“Sit beside me, Wren.” Da invited me to join him on the ground in the sheltered ell between the Hall and the bath. He fingered his torc, deep in thought. A small fire glowed within a ring of stones before him. He still wouldn’t let me light any fires with my mind. I did it when he wasn’t looking just to keep in practice.
That kind of magic, like speaking with animals, came easy to me. But true magic, the kind that required a ritual spell frightened me because of the exhaustion I knew must follow.
I crossed my legs and sank down to the damp earth. My bones sighed with relief as I made contact with the Goddess. All winter we’d hidden within walls of stone piled into unnatural barriers. We’d eaten stale food, breathed stale air, and drunk from a well dug into the earth rather than a free spring. How could we be a part of Dana with walls and staleness separating us from the Goddess?
Above us, the last remnants of clouds scudded across the sky. A few stars peeked out at us, tentative, waiting for the last storm to flee.
“Tonight I will show you a different way of looking into Tanio, Wren,” Da said quietly.
“I’ve been looking into fires for nigh on a week.” A week of contemplating flames while the household bustled with preparations for the men to go to war and Curyll avoided me. I could tell he really wanted to go with the men, wanted to be one of them.
The Saxons would wait for spring to attack our shores, but Britons couldn’t wait. We had to be ready to beat the invaders back at first landing.
But the men couldn’t leave until the timing was right. I wouldn’t let them. Somehow I had to stall their departure a few more days.
“There is more to Tanio than flames and heat. Tanio is an element Belenos would have kept to himself, but the Goddess gave it to her people. ’Tis a blessing when captured within a fire ring, an enemy when let loose in a thatched roof or dry forest.” Da sang the words as if he composed a new teaching song.
The rhythm of his words swung into harmony with the flying clouds and twinkling stars. I opened my eyes and my heart and stared at the flames.
“Tanio, an element,” Da chanted. “One of four. One with four. Pridd supporting us. Awyr sustaining us. Dwfr nourishing us. Tanio heating, blending, binding....”
Hot red, orange, and yellow, leaping high, consuming wood flickering in the dance of life, reaching ever higher. Blue and white anchoring, containing, searing, hotter than the rest.
My spirit fell into the flames.
I saw strange sights, frightful sights.... I saw more fire upon the earth. Uncontrolled fire and smoke. Gwaed, the god of blood, walked the Pridd, tall and proud. Cernunnos, god of the Underworld, came out of the shadows. I choked on smoke reeking of funeral pyres. My eyes watered. My skin grew oversensitive from the heat. The flames spread outward, thinning briefly.
Into their midst strode Curyll. My friend grown older, taller, stronger. Blood stained his tunic and mail. His helm was dented and his shield missing. He still carried a massive battle sword in his strong left hand — not the long weapon glowing with Power I had seen him wield in another vision. Around him, men fought and cried out. Briton and Saxon clashed together in a life struggle for possession of the land. Land that belonged only to the Goddess.
Curyll bent over, his face hidden in the wreckage of dead and dying. My heart cried out, fearing him wounded or dead. He stood again, a long pole in his right hand. At the end of the shaft of wood fluttered a tattered piece of cloth.
Before my, eyes, Curyll raised the battle standard of the Ardh Rhi, Uther Pendragon. A red dragon rampant upon a field of white. Up and up, reaching as high as the flames, Curyll lifted the royal symbol.
“To me!” he called. “Rally to me!” No hesitation. No stutter. Around his head flew a halo of many-colored sparks of Life. A great army responded to his cry, gathering around him, following his lead. The army stretched across the field of battle and beyond. Their numbers grew so great the Saxons fell back into the sea; there was no more room for them in Britain.
Men raised new banners to the Pendragon — Ardh Rhi Uther. Women shouted and sang to Uther’s champion. My heart swelled with pride for Curyll. My eyes cried because I was not among the throng that surged forward to sing his praises. I, who loved him best in all the world, would not share in his victory.
Sadness sent me plunging back into my body, Once more I sat beside Da on the cold ground in front of a simple stone fire ring. I barely had the strength to sit upright. My head drooped nearly to my knees.
My vision faded with the certainty that Curyll had won — would win — that battle in the name of the Ardh Rhi.
“You convinced Helwriaeth to give back his tongue. But you left the work half-done, Wren. He needs the confidence to use his tongue. You must complete the work, or the spell was for nothing. Each bit of magic left incomplete depletes the value of magic and makes it less effective. You must finish this.”
“Yes, Da. I see what he will become. I won’t let others keep him from his destiny because he cannot defend his heritage with words. Andraste will fight beside him and make him a hero.” I saw the pattern. The Goddess as warrior queen guided Curyll and protected him. His victories would earn him that glorious sword singing with power.
Da chucked softly in the darkness. “So fierce, my Wren. I almost pity any who oppose Curyll, should I turn you loose on the world.”