The Paradise War

Chapter 27 The Flight to Findargad

Together with his warband the Great King made the circuit of his lands: Caer Dyifryn, Cnoc Hydd, Yscaw, Dinas Galan, Caer Carnedd. In each settlement and holding he viewed the wicked destruction with the stone-hard silence of a mountain, remote and impenetrable in his grief. None could tell the king's thought, for he spoke to no one, but viewed the carnage and waste with an unflinching eye.

The warriors howled for justice; they screamed for revenge. They raged. At each place of destruction, at each atrocity of desolation, they renewed their cries for vengeance. Like frenzied hounds baying for blood, they filled the air with their bellowing, shouting taunts and curses, urging the king to ride in pursuit of the enemy. They imagined the enemy could be fought with sword and spear.

But the king knew better. When he had seen enough, King Meldryn turned away from the desolation of his lands and, much to his warriors' dismay, rode for Findargad, his icebound fortress in the vast heart of the high northern peaks of the Cethness Mountains. There the Great King would gather the ragged remnant of his people. For, by some fabulous chance, there were survivors. A few settlements had escaped annihilation: smaller, hidden holdings where the Demon Host did not come. Perhaps these were overlooked in the frenzy of destruction, or were deemed insignificant. However it was, when Meldryn Mawr turned his back on the lowlands and set his face towards Findargad, six hundred souls followed in his train.

Of those six hundred, nearly one hundred and fifty were mounted warriors. The rest were farmers and craftsmen from the holdings. At each settlement where people endured, we gathered only those provisions we could carry easily, and moved on. We needed food and warm clothing in order to survive the journey north. Yet we were compelled to travel swiftly and silently lest we attract the notice of Lord Nudd. We could not be burdened with heavy baggage, nor slow our pace for ox-drawn wagons. If we went hungry, at least we went quickly.

At Yscaw on the banks of Nantcoll, the river whose headwaters issued from the snowbound heart of Cethness, Tegid erected an ogham tree: an oaken post squared on one side and carved in ogham letters revealing to any who came after us that we had survived.

Then we proceeded along the banks of the swift-racing water northwards into the highlands of the Cethness Mountains. Sollen, most cruel of seasons, showed no mercy-save in one regard: the cold froze the water marge and allowed us to travel at pace along the banks, leaving little evidence of our passing.

We were all kept busy, morning to night. Moving so many people quickly and quietly is arduous work. «It is impossible,» growled Tegid. «Sooner herd a shoal of salmon with a willow wand!» He had reason to complain. The brunt of the chore fell to the bard, for the king would speak no word to anyone except Tegid, who remained by Meldryn's side at all times. And as I was pledged to Tegid's aid, I too was busy.

Owing to my duties and my vow to watch over Tegid, it was not until the evening of the third day after turning north that I learned that Simon was still alive. In truth, I had not thought about him since leaving Ynys Sci. So much had happened Since then that I had scarcely a spare thought for myself, let alone Simon.

But I caught sight of him among the retinue of warriors in Prince Meidron's band. And the shock of seeing him again brought with it the sharp realization of where I was and why I had come. In that instant, I understood exactly how Simon had felt that day when he discovered me on the battlefield. I deeply resented the reminder that I was a stranger, an outsider, and I lived in a world not my own.

Simon did not see me, so I was able to observe him for a few moments before going to him. He moved in the company of Prince Meidron, who, I quickly learned, maintained an ilite force among the warriors-his Wolf Pack, he called them. These had been given the task of guarding our escape, riding at the rear of our procession to challenge any pursuit, which is why I had not seen him sooner. And Simon had won pride of place in the prince's Wolf Pack. One had only to look at the way the others deferred to him to know it.

He had added some weight to his athletic frame-all of it muscle, especially through the upper arms and shoulders. His back was broad and his legs powerful. I watched him move among his swordbrothers and recognized the old assurance and easy confidence-now heightened by the many victories he had won in Meidryn Mawr's service. He was a chief of battle, and looked it, with his hair grown long and bound in a queue at his neck. His breecs were fine blue linen, and his siarc was bright yellow; his cloak was green-and-blue checked. He wore no torc, but boasted four broad armbands of gold, and golden rings on the fingers of each hand.

Disagreeable as was the shock of seeing him, I was glad he was alive and well-despite the changes wrought in him during our time apart. For he was no longer the blithe young man I had known, but a Celtic warrior through and through. He might have said the same of me, for I had undergone a similar transformation.

When I finished my scrutiny, I went to where he sat on a red calfskin beside a small twig fire he shared with three others. «Simon?» At the sound of his name his head swiveled towards me. His eyes played over me for a moment, and recognition broke slowly over his features. «Lewis!»

«So you do remember me, after all.»

He rose to stand before me, but did not grip my arms in a kinsman's greeting. «It is good to see you, friend. I heard you had returned.» Though his tone was light and welcoming, I felt the restrained coolness of his greeting and knew that he was not at all happy to see me. «I have been meaning to find you.»

He was lying, but I let it pass. «You look well, Simon.»

He cocked his head to one side as if trying to decide what to do with me, then laughed softly. «It seems an age since I saw you last,» he said. «How was the island? I hear Scatha has very lovely daughters.» Simon laughed again. His friends smiled and nudged one another.

«That is true,» I replied. «How have you been, Simon? Rising in the world, I sec.»

His face clouded suddenly in a frown, and he glared at me for a moment. «I am Siawn Hy now,» he replied quietly, pride and scorn blending in his gaze. His jaw bulged menacingly. I looked at the face of the man I had once known well, and now knew not at all. He had changed-in more than name. «You seem to have done well for yourself.»

«I am still alive.»

Simon accepted this explanation readily. «You always did surprise me.»

«We have all had a few surprises the last few days,» I told him."I did not mean to disturb you.»

The tension went out of him and he became expansive in his pardon. «Think nothing of it,» he said loudly. «It was nothing. Less than nothing!» This was said more for his friends' sakes than for mine. «Here, sit with us; share our fire. We are always glad to welcome a swordbrother.»

The other warriors heartily concurred, expanding their circle to make room for me. I settled among them, feeling instantly a part of their fellowship. I wondered at how quickly they welcomed me, and then realized that they must have seen me with Tegid and the king, and speculated about my exalted position. «They say you were with Ollathir when he died,» said the warrior sitting across the fire from me. It was the accepted way of fishing for information: by indirect statement of fact, usually attributed to someone else.

«I was there,» I replied tersely. It was a subject which I had no wish to discuss openly.

«He was a great bard,» put in the warrior next to Simon. 'A king among his kind. His counsel will be keenly missed.»

«That is true,» said another. «If he had been there, Sycharth would not have fallen.»

I could feel the sadness of the warriors; it was no greater than my own, but the horror of devastation was still fresh for them, and they were struggling to imagine the enormity of the loss.

One of them turned to me. «They say you and Tegid lit the beacon. Were you there when the destroyer came? Did you see it?»

The question carried with it the mild insinuation that Tegid and I should have done something to save the stronghold. «No,» I told them. «Like you, Tegid and I came after. But as to that, why were you not there to protect your kinsmen?»

There I had probed the raw wound of their regret. They all winced and gazed sullenly at the fire. One of their number, a warrior named Aedd, spoke for all of them. «I would gladly the a thousand deaths to save even one of my kinsmen.»

«Ten thousand,» added the warrior sitting next to him. «If we had only been there. . .»

I could not take away their grief, but I could ease their pain omewhat. «It would not have mattered,» I told them. «I have seen the enemy, and I tell you the truth-you would have been slaughtered with all the rest.»

«Who is it?» they wanted to know, suddenly angry. They leapt up as if they meant to seize their weapons and ride away at once. «Who has done this?»

Before I could answer, Simon spoke up. «Sit!» he commanded. «You have seen Caer Dyifryn and Yscaw and Dinas Galan. We could have done nothing.»

«It may be as you say,» Aedd replied, slowly taking his place once more. «But a warrior who fails to protect his own is worse than a coward. Better that we should have died with our kin.»

«Your presence there would have made no difference,» I repeated with as much conviction as I could muster. «There is no virtue in useless death.»

«Well said,» agreed Simon quickly. «Dead we can do nothing. But alive we have a chance to avenge our kinsmen.»

They all agreed heartily with this, and voiced their approval with solemn vows to kill as many of the enemy as possible when the day of retribution came. They still did not comprehend the hopelessness of our predicament. I did not have the heart to disappoint them; they would learn the truth soon enough.

The warriors accepted the small comfort I offered. «The blood debt to be repaid is heavy indeed,» Aedd observed. «Still, it is shame to me that I was not with my kinsmen in their time of travail.»

«That is what we thought to prevent,» Simon reminded him.

«When Tegid and I arrived at the caer,» I said, returning to my question, «we thought you dead. We could not imagine what had taken you from the stronghold.»

«We rode to the summons,» Aedd replied, and went on to explain how word about a coming invasion had reached them from the southwest coast. Thinking to forestall the assault, the king had raised the warriors of his hearth and left the caer. They ranged far in protection of the realm, but sighted no invaders, and, after many days, with the weather growing worse, they had turned back.

«When we saw the beacon fire, we thought-« Aedd halted abruptly, unwilling to go on.

The soft splutter of the twig fire and the sigh of the rising wind made a melancholy sound in our ears. After a moment, Simon said, «Hear me, brothers. The blood debt will be repaid. We will avenge our dead. The enemy will be crushed into dust beneath our feet.»

Despite Simon's brave words, the warriors' sorrow was too great to shrug aside easily. Given time, bold words would again ignite the spark of their valor; they would rise up and clasp courage to their hearts. But not now, not this night. This night, and for many more nights to come, the lament for the lost would fill their souls, and their hearts would remain heavy with mourning.

I left them to nurse their grief, and returned to my place With Tegid and the king. Prince Meldron was there, too, Vamly trying to pry some word of explanation from his father. At last he yielded to the king's stubborn silence, and Stormed away, saying, «You talk to him, Tegid. Perhaps he will listen to you. Tell my father that we cannot reach Findargad like this. It is too far, and too cold. The high mountain passes will be filled with snow. We will lose half our people before we ever come within sight of the towers. Tell him that, Tegid!»

«I have already told him,» Tegid mumbled, when Meldron had gone. «He will not listen.»

«Is it really so dangerous?» I asked.

Tegid nodded slowly. «The mountains of Cethness are high, and the Sollen winds are cold. The prince speaks the truth when he says that many will die before we reach the stronghold.»

«Then why are we going?»

«There is nothing else we can do,» Tegid replied dismally. «It is what the king has ordered.»

I saw how the matter stood, so I did not bother asking the most obvious, and most disturbing, questions. If mighty Sycharth could not protect her people, why believe the stone walls of Findargad would fare any better? What good were swords and spears against an enemy that felt neither pain nor death?

As Tegid had morbidly suggested, we might as well have stayed in Sycharth and saved ourselves the hardship and distress of a cold mountain journey, for one grave is very like another, and when Lord Nudd came for us there would be no stopping him wherever we happened to be.

And yet… and yet, an elusive glimmer of hope danced at the edge of my awareness like a firefly floating just out of reach. It was there, and then it was gone. I gave chase and it disappeared; I stood still and it drew close. But, try as I might, I could not capture it.

Yet I could not rest until I had seized that hope, however small. That night I withdrew from the comfort of the king's fire and stood alone in a nearby grove, holding vigil until I should succeed. All through the night I stood, wrapped in my cloak, leaning now and then against one of the alder trees of the grove, listening to the branches clicking in the thin, cold wind while the knife-bright stars turned slowly in the black Sollen sky. All through the night I waited. And when the moon sank from sight below the hills, I was no closer to achieving my purpose.

Then, even as a sullen, gray-green dawn lifted night's curtain in the east, the evasive quarry I sought drew near. It came, slim and fragile, in the form of a question: if Lord Nudd was so powerful, why remove the king from his stronghold before laying waste to the fortress?

The Coranyid had not moved against Sycharth and the other settlements of the realm while, the king remained in his stronghold. The destruction came only after Meldryn had been drawn away through deception. It seemed to me that some power had prevented Lord Nudd's awful attack while the king remained with his people. Despite all the terrible Coranyid had done, the annihilation was not complete. And even now it might be avoided somehow. But how?

As the first faint rays of daylight spread a sickly glow into the sky, I heard again the voice of the Banfбith, clear and strong as if she were before me once again:

Before the Cythrawl can be conquered, the Song must be restored.

Was this the hope I sought? It seemed unlikely, for she had also said: No one knows the Song, save the Phantarch alone. How could the Song of Albion be restored if no one knew the Song but the Phantarch, and the Phantarch was dead?

It was a riddle and it made no sense.

I worried at it through the mist-shrouded day and the long hours of the freezing night, as we sat huddled in our cloaks before our twig fire. But the riddle turned inward upon itself and I could make no sense of it.

«Tegid,» I said softly, «I have been thinking.» Twrch slept at my feet, the king rested fitfully on his white oxhide nearby, and Tegid sat beside me, staring into the shimmering flames, brooding in silence.

The bard grunted but did not turn his eyes from his brooding contemplation of the fire.

«Where is the Phantarch?»

«Why speak of it again?» he muttered. «The Phantarch is dead.»

«Hear me out,» I insisted. «I have pondered this in my mind and do not speak just to amuse myself with the sound of my voice.»

«Very well, speak your mind,» he relented..

«The Banflith told me many things,» I began, and was quickly interrupted.

«Oh, yes, the Banfйith told you many things. And you have told me little.» He was sullen in this observation. «Have you now decided to part with some of your treasure hoard?»

The words of the Banfйith were still a mystery to me, and I still feared them and all they might mean. But as the days passed and the hopelessness of our plight became ever more apparent, I grew less concerned for myself. This was no time for the selfishness of secrets. Tegid was Chief Bard now; he must be told what I knew. He might make some sense of it.

«You are right to rebuke me, Tegid,» I told him. «I will tell you everything.» So I began to relate all she had told me regarding the Phantarch and the Song of Albion-reluctantly at first, but then more readily as the words sought release and tumbled out. I described the prophecy as well as I could remember it. I told him about the destruction and upheaval of the days to come, and the looked-for champion. I told him about Liew Silver Hand, and the Flight of Ravens, and the Hero Feat at the end of the Great Year, and all that I could remember, just as the Banflith had given it to me. When I finished, Tegid did not raise his head, but sat staring morosely into the fire.

«It seems to me that despite all the prophecy portends, there may yet be some future for us.»

But Tegid took no comfort in what I told him. Instead, he shook his head slowly and said, «You are wrong. What future there may have been, now can never be. The Cythrawl is too, strong in the land; Lord Nudd has grown too powerful.»

«Then why give the prophecy at all?»

Tegid just shook his head.

«I do not understand you, Tegid. You moan because I would not tell you the Banflith's prophecy, and, when I do tell you, all you can do is complain that it is too late. Before the Cythrawl can be conquered, the Song must be restored-that is what she said. It seems to me that we have to find the Phantarch.»

«The Phantarch is dead, as you well know.»

«And the Song with him?»

«Of course, the Song with him. How can it be otherwise? The Phantarch is the instrument of the Song-there is no Song without the Phantarch.»

«But where is he?»

«You have Ollathir's awen,» he snapped, «not me.»

«What does that mean?» He muttered something under his breath and made to turn away, but I held him. «Please, Tegid, I am trying to understand. Where is the Phantarch?»

«I do not know,» he answered, and explained how, in order to protect the Song, the Phantarch's chamber was hidden and the location kept secret. «Only the Penderwydd knows where the Phantarch hides. Ollathir knew and Ollathir is dead.»

«And he died before he could tell you the secret?»

«Yes! Yes!» Tegid rose to his feet and raised his hands in clenched fists above his head. «Yes, Llydl You have finally grasped this important truth: the Phantarch is dead; Ollathir is dead; the Song is dead; and soon we will be dead, too.» The king stirred in his sleep. Tegid saw that his outburst had disturbed the king, and dropped his fists.

What a cruel deceit, what a pitiless ruse this prophecy. I felt the fragile hope I had held so lightly begin to disintegrate. There could be no defeating the Cythrawl without the Song, and no Song without the Phantarch. But the Phantarch was dead, and, as if to make matters worse, the only person who knew where to find him was dead, too.

•"Tellme n~,w that there is still hope for us,» said Tegid, his voice a choked whisper. The fight went out of him and he sank Once more to the ground.

«The king is alive,» I replied. «How can we be without hope, if the king is alive? You are alive, too, and so am I. Look around-there are hundreds of us here, and we are ready to fight once more. Why has Lord Nudd been unable to kill the king? Why has he only attacked the unprotected Villages?»

Even as I spoke, my own words began to convince me that there was still something or someone keeping Nudd from his ultimate victory. «Listen, Tegid, if I were as powerful as you say Nudd is, I would first kill the king, and the kingdom would be mine. But why has he not done this?»

«I do not know! Ask him-ask Nudd when next you meet!»

«The Coranyid attacked only after the king had been removed-why?»

«It is not for me to say! Perhaps Nudd wishes tQ prolong his enjoyment with the rich spectacle of our futile efforts at escape.»

«We live only at Lord Nudd's pleasure? I do not believe that.»

«Believe it! We live at Lord Nudd's pleasure. And when it pleases him to kill us, he will kill us-just as he has killed all the rest.»

«And is it our king's pleasure to die at Findargad?» I challenged.

«That is the way of it! It is the king's pleasure to die in Findargad, and I serve the king.»

These were Tegid's final words. But as I lay sleepless by the fire that night, these few words of the Banfбith sustained me: Happy shall be Caledon; the Flight of Ravens will flock to her many –shadowed glens, and ravensong shall be her song.

And as! stared into the shimmering flames I saw, framed in the molten red and gold of the embers, a vision: I saw a green oak grove, and, under spreading branches of clustered leaves, a grassy mound. On this mound stood a throne made of stag antlers adorned with the hide of a white ox. And perched on the back of the throne an enormous raven, black as moonless night, with wings outstretched and beak open, filling the silent grove with a bitter, stringent, yet strangely beautiful song.