Rheged
In the midst of the feasting, while birds were sent off to the kingdoms to announce the royal marriage, Anson, Ohean, and their company left quietly. By sunset they were past the marsh and well to the Royan Road under the shadow of the mountains. On the other side of the trees they could hear the waves, and after Ohean looked up to those hills, he looked at Ralph, who smiled, and remembered the past.
“We should head straight,” Ralph said, “through the forest, and down along the lowlands, taking the Royan Road. Or does anyone object?”
“Lord, you know the land,” Anson said. “This is foreign to all of us. Save Ohean.”
“Save Ohean, indeed,” Ralph said. “But this road will take us to the capital of Chyr.”
Ohean shook his head.
“We will leave it before we reach Immrachyr. I do not wish to be anywhere near Ermengild. Too many signs are leading to many things, and it may give her a hope she has long surrendered. In the end I think I will exchange this red cloak for something far less interesting.”
They entered the woods by nightfall, but there was little to fear, so they traveled in the dark. Each of them had a horse, and Ohean manned a vardo. Though no one knew the location of the Hidden Tower, Anson imagined Ohean must, and the enchanter walked with certainty.
They ate well. Ohean being practical and not wishing to cook, had taken much from the wedding. Long into the night they laughed, told stories, drank, and under the shadow of great trees with roots like old expanding toes, they slept. While Anson slept beside Ohean, he heard music coming from outside the vardo. He turned to Ohean to see if he heard it or not, but Ohean only snored. Long Anson lay, debating if he should rise from sleep or no, but at last he did, following the faint singing.
About the fire he saw only the burning wards, for Ohean had seen no need for actual watchmen and cast the runes of power about their encampment. Under the bole of an enormous tree not far from them, its roots greating natural beds, the firelight reflected upon the bronze buttocks of Ralph Curakin. His long strong body undulated while white legs and arms wrapped about him, and on the artery of the elm, Pol Kurusagan lay, looking with delight on Ralph and Austin Buwa.
Anson tore his eyes from this and ignored the throbbing of his outstretched cock. His lust made him lose the music. When he did hear it again, the music was from deeper in the woods, and he said to himself, “Careful, there, Anson.”
He went into the trees, following the sound that was like hearing music in a dream, hearing music in the waking world you could just barely reach. At last he heard the singing more clearly.
“Sa chás go íslíonn an highland creagach
As Sleuth Adhmad sa loch,
Tá Tá oileán duilleogach
Sa chás go ‘erons flappin éis
Na francaigh uisce codlatach;
Tá againn hid ár dabhcha Sí,
Atá lán de caora
Agus ar reddest shilíní goidte.”
Now he could see, faintly, lights, bobbing lights or, no, it was the moonlight falling on things just barely there, and now, as he followed the light that seemed to shimmer on glass or on glass figures, the music became more pronounced.
“Tar amach, O leanbh daonna!
Chun na huiscí agus an fiáin
Le Sí, lámh ar láimh.
Maidir leis an domhan níos iomlán de
gol ná mar is féidir leat a thuiscint.”
And now he saw men and women in fine clothes sitting about a fire. There were three women, their heads pressed together, and they were singing to him, and as the black haired woman between the gold haired women beckoned, he understood that it was not their words but his understanding that had changed. They sang:
“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.”
“Anson, son of Essily, what are you looking for?” the black haired woman asked.
“I followed the light, Lady,” he said, and now he was aware of all in the firelight looking on him. They resembled the Royan, but these were not the Royan, and what they were he did not dare speak, not even in the silence of his heart.
“I followed the music,” he corrected himself.
“Aye,” the black haired woman in the blue gown nodded, “But what does the son of Essily desire?”
“My lady,” he said, then turning and bowing about him at the faces who smiled on him gravely, “My lords and ladies, I cannot rightly say I know.”
“In time you shall,” the black haired woman said. “And when you have discovered your longing, then you shall know me again.”
“For this night, Prince of the Crystal Isle,” the gold haired woman to the dark haired one’s right said, “abide with us, and hear our songs.”
“But do not touch our food,” the other pale haired woman warned, “for that is not for such as you, not if you would remain in the mortal world.”
A blue robed bard, black haired, handsome, lifted up his voice and sang. He was tall, like a warrior, and they said his name was Garavac.
Ahna bless all here who are tired,
who are weary who are wintered
over, who do not think they will
make it through another day
bless the community of the
languishing, the chaffed, the
wearied and the lonely
and gather them in where
all is gathered into one
give love to the one who
can go on no longer
and weakness to she who
is too strong
and to those broken down
a song
Alam!
Anson stayed until he was yawning, and the black haired woman bid him rise and return to his camp. On his way back, he looked to the bole of the tree, hearing the outcry, and now he saw that Ralph sat, straddling a great root while this time it was Pol who straddled him.
But that had once been him, sharing a bed and pleasure with Austin and Pol. Months ago it would have been him. And Ralph had once lain at Ohean’s side. This tall Royan warrior, how was Anson linked to him? As he watched them, Anson thought, “I am the dragon, but he is the bull. He is the stud. He’ll have us all.”
His body warmed, and suddenly he was in a dark room, face pressed to the earth, feeling Ralph Curakin pressing inside of him. The lover of my lover…
He shook his head, and he was back standing in the red lit clearing. Anson returned to the pallet where Ohean lay, and though the wizard seemed to be sleeping, he turned to him and Anson told Ohean of his visit, but kept Ralph from his narrative.
“You were with Them,” Ohean said, “And so you have been blessed. Keep that with you.”
“Have you seen Them? Do you know Them?”
A great cry of release came from across the clearing. Anson turned to it, but Ohean steered him by the chin to look on him again.
“Do you know them?” Anson said again, ignoring the heat in his body, and the desire to turn back and watch his other companions.
“I do,” Ohean answered. “As much as they wish to be known.”
“They called me the son of Essily.”
“And so you are.”
“And Prince of the Crystal Isle.”
“And so you are, even though Westrial is all you think on.”
“Perhaps it is Westrial I need to stop thinking on. Perhaps I need to remember I am Royan.”
“Perhaps you should go to bed,” said Ohean. “Soon we shall come to the coast, and on the coast we will take a ship to sea, and from the ship we shall come to an island, and from that island we will approach the Hidden Tower.”
“The Tower is out on the sea?”
“It will be,” Ohean said. “This time.”
