Huff and Chuff glower down upon the harma as it passes between them on the start of its arduous ascent up the rutted and crumbling cobbled track. Tom has to slow the vehicle to a crawl as its undercarriage keeps bottoming-out bouncing through the deep pot-holes.
‘I hope yer Aunt’s gotta travon to pull us out when we get stuck. Brian’ll kill me if he doesn’t get his harma back in one piece.’
‘Ah go on we’ll be fine if ye’ll just keep it slow an’ steady. It’s good practise for your drivin’ skills.’
‘There’s nuttin’ wrong with my skills thank ye very much.’
The harma bounces through a deep hole hitting their heads upon the roof and throwing Cerri sideways into the door handle.
‘Aaoouch! I don’t know about Brian’s harma but do you think you could get me there in one piece please.’
Cerri smirks at Tom teasingly whilst gripping the handle above the door and leaning into her arm in order to protect herself from any further involuntary head banging. A few more minutes of rocking from side to side and bouncing over unavoidable holes before Tom brings the harma to a halt and turns the head lights off. At this point the track bends sharply to the right but a gap in the trees reveals a breathtaking sight. Having nearly reached the top of the ridge, the vast ancient forest lies below them, a gently undulating arboreal sea captured in a giant curving bay by the formidable granite ridge that culminates in the towering walls of Breo Saighead, the Mother’s mountain. They sit in silent awe until the last of the light drops below the horizon, before finishing the last leg of their journey.
Megan Morgan’s small holding nestles just below the crest of the ridge in the centre of a mixed leaf copse. Smoke rises from both the chimneys and a warm light glows from the windows, a welcoming sight for the travel weary. Standing on the veranda, by the front steps, Megan waits to greet them as they grab their bags from the boot of the harma.
‘There’s a goodly fire set in the hearth an’ hot broth on the hob, come in an’ warm yersel ma dears. We can bother wee introductions once yer settled.’
‘But you’ve met Tom before Aunty don’t you remember?’
‘O course I do child, I hav nae lost ma ken just yet. Come in, come in noo afor ye catch a chill, yer hair’s still damp from thon dip in the river.’
‘My hair? Yes…but how did…’
‘Och come noo child, an why dae ye think thon it was here thon yer father was sendin ye? Tomlin take yer things tae yer room by the logoserium, ye cuimhnich wier?’
‘Aye, but Cer….’
‘Ther’ll be naw mair buts frim the pair o ye. Tae many questions an’ naw enough eolas, I’ve naw the time tae be teachin’. Keep yer eyes an’ lugs open, an’ yer tongues still, an’ wee a bit o patience an’ a dash o luck ye may just find the answers ye seek before ye hae need tae ask them. In wee ye noo, an geeza haun tae dress the taeble Cerri lass, we’ve got guests.’
‘Guests?’
Fear grips Cerri’s voice as the image of the Sec Officer and the “wanted” flier flash through her mind. After all they’d done to avoid being seen and caught, to walk into a trap laid by her own family’s hand, had her mother not warned her about blind trust. A ball of panic surges up from her belly and ignites the sleeping venom, blackness flushes her irises as the vitriol prepares to erupt.
‘Och thon ma o yers is a one fer the drama, ye’ll ken tae take her wee a pinch o salt in time. Dinnae fret y’sel lassie, there’ll be nae haram come tae ye here. Your enemies are their enemies. Forgive me child, it’s been a long while since ma dance wee tha snake, I forget whit it is tae naw ken thon power. Come, tha taeble can weet.’
Megan leads Cerri from the kitchen to the hearth room. A large fire fills the room with warm glowing light and a calm cocoon of security. A young girl sits on the floor curled up against the day bed clutching the hand of a slender, wan looking woman. Dark patches under her eyes sallow the skin that clings to her bones. The copper of their curls gives away their kinship.
‘Cerridwen mae dear, I wid like ye tae meet Roshan and her ma Ilinedd. Ilinedd, tha poor soul, has been in Lamia’s clutches an barely lives to tell us her tale. But live she must an we are charged wee bringin her an tha wain tae safety.’
Cerri squats down beside Roshan and offers out her hand.
‘Hi, Roshan is it? That is a beautiful name, it’s traditionally from Arboria isn’t it?’
Roshan looks at her mother to check that she has not awoken before releasing her grip and accepting Cerri’s hand in greeting.
‘Yes it is. My father wanted me to carry his grandmother’s name. And Cerridwen? That is one of the Great Mother’s names is it not?’
‘Yes indeed it is, my family hearth lies under the shade of the Mother’s Mountain at the edge of the Great Forest. I was born on The Day of Brigid’s Fire so they gave me one of her names to honour the gift of her blessing. What’s wrong with your mother?’
‘Lamia’s poison. She used her to keep my father in her grip and in hope of discovering the Dogs of Achren. If she were to discover that my father is a Brother of the Shield his life will not be long. It is why the Grand Master sent us here least we all be lost.’
A tear rolls down Roshan’s cheek. She sniffs and brushes it away with the back of her hand steeling herself to be strong against her grief. Cerri seats herself on the floor beside Roshan with her back leant up again the day bed.
‘I know nothing of Dogs nor Brotherhoods that shield, but I do know what it is to have a price upon your head. I have no idea what Lamia will do if they catch me but I know that it will be foul and not fair.’
Cerri pulls her knees up and hugs them into her chest, together they stare silently into the flames.
*
Tom deposits the bags in their room, an extension on the old cottage it is a light and airy timber built space with large picture windows looking out over the garden and its own private veranda. He opens the garden doors to let the air in and himself out, sitting on the steps of the veranda he lets his head drop into his hands and takes a deep releasing breath.
‘What weighs so heavily upon you brother?’
Tom is not in the least surprised to see a Goshawk perched on the banister of the veranda opposite him.
‘Taliesien? It has been a long time friend, how is the Master?’
‘He is as he is, was and always will be. He had hoped to entice you back for a visit but unfortunately things have become rather complicated of late.’
‘Funnily enough I was hoping to gain an audience with him myself, but why would he wish to see me? He is not taken ill is he Taliesien?’
‘No, no, nothing of the kind young Breakwater. I believe there is some family business he wishes to speak with you about, but I’m afraid it will have to wait, the betrayer is snapping at his heels and now watches his every move.’
‘Lamia? Yes it would seem that she has her fangs into Cerri too. We have important information for the Master with regard to some of her plans, I can not trust them to receiver can you carry them for us Taliesien?’
‘Would that I could but I can not brother. I am only here briefly to relay a message to The Crone, I must fly for Draconholm as the light begins to fill the sky. The crone may be able to help you.’
‘Meg? Aye I am sure she will do what she can. What takes ye to Draconholm brother, is my uncle unwell?’
‘Fear not Tomlin your uncle fares well it is his aid we seek. The Seven are not safe on the mainland with in Lamia’s reach.’
‘Ah yes, she can not touch them at Draconholm, the seas would not let her near. Is Cerri to go with them?’
‘I’m afraid she can not brother. If she is to replace the snake when she has done her dance then she must remain near to the source.’
‘Done her dance? Oh so that is it, I should have known, of course if her mother was of the Seven then the blood would flow throw her veins too.’
‘Her mother WAS of the Seven, do you not mean IS one of the Seven, brother?’
‘IS? She is not dead then?’
‘No more than is yours. They dwell with the Annwm, I thought you of all people would know this truth?’
‘ME? Why ME of all people?’
‘I am sorry Tomlin, I have spoken out of line. Perhaps this is the matter of which the Grandmaster wished to speak with you.’
‘Do not concern yourself friend, you are not out of line. I always knew that she was still alive so thank you for the confirmation, I am however pained that the Metaphysician should have seen fit to keep such knowledge from me.’
‘His ways are rarely clear until the out come is reached, there will be reasons for this.’
‘Yes I know Taliesien, forgive me, it has been a mad day and I think it is beginning to finally catch up on me.’
‘I will leave you to find some peace then brother whilst I seek out the Crone.’
‘Thank you friend, I think I will soak the day off in a bath, please tell Meg not to wait for me if they wish eat.’
Tomlin takes his leave with a light nod of respect and returns inside closing the door behind him.
As he slides himself into the hot, fragrant bubble filled bath the tension he is wearing slowly begins to unwind itself from his sinew. He lets his head flop back and rest upon the edge of the bath. Staring up at the ceiling until his eyes lose their focus he takes a deep draft of the aromatics rising with the steam. Relaxing deeper with each breath full, his consciousness slips into the half space between this world and the others. Remembrances tickle at the edge of his awareness. He takes another deep aromatic breath and sinks a little farther into the other. A mixture of wood smoke, damp earthy loam and mossiness wafts past his nostrils teasing his memory into matter. Looming giants surround him, creaking and groaning as the wind plays in their top branches, hidden moisture drips to the ground from lichen and fern gardens suspended from arborial arms. Slowly the ancient woodlands take form around him so that he can witness with adult eyes the captured memories of the child within. Faintly at first he hears his mother’s voice calling him. As the tone rises in anxiety so too does the volume and proximity of her voice and with it a butterfly of excited anticipation flutters from Tom’s gut into his chest.
‘Tomlin! Tomlin! Yer not to go near the water with out me! Tomlin wait for mummy now, be a good boy! Tomlin!’
Somewhere in the opposite direction Tom can hear a defiant and elated childish giggle, followed by the sound of splashing water. For a moment he wonders if his mother had another child because he does not remember being this mischievous. His breath catches in his throat momentarily as his mother steps out from behind a tree in front of him and at a trotting walk follows the direction of the giggling child. The caught breath causes an involuntary cough, Olwin stops in her tracks and darts a look behind her scanning the area for signs of company, the hairs on the back of her neck creep upright alert to eyes upon them. Further splashing and giggles from the river draw her attention back to her mission, she shakes her shoulders to slosh off the sensation and her trot become a run.
‘Tomlin I told you not to go in the river alone!’
‘I’m not alone mummy, daddy’s here.’
Her run slows to a relaxed lope and the tension falls from her shoulders as she sighs in relief. Father? Tom stumbles to catch up almost running into the back of her as she stands on the river bank looking down into the water.
‘Endymeon my love, I did not expect to see you today.’
‘Oh Olwin, Queen of my Light and Breath of my Soul, I come without warning because this is the last that I can come at all. I could not leave with out seeing you and holding my son for the last time.’
As tears well up in his eyes the water of the river rises to greet them. Endymeon bends down and lefts little Tomlin from the swell and carries him to the bank, popping him down beside his mother. As he steps up the bank, taking Olwin around her waist and holding her tightly to him, Tom finally gets to see the father that he thought he had never met. Endymeon is tall and muscularly lithe but strangely insubstantial, almost translucent, shrouded in a blueish haze its as if he is made of light and not matter.
‘My father is Annwm, no wonder mother never spoke of him.’
With this thought Endymeon looks up directly at Tom and holds him with his eyes.
‘Soon. We will meet son. Soon. For time is nearly done and Tomlin Breakwater will bear the seed from a fruit for a new tree. Take your seat amongst the Elders my son and then.’
‘And then…what?’
Endymeon and Olwin are in full embrace, Tom is once again nothing more than a spectator in a memory that he does not have. His heart is pounding in his chest and pain grips at his throat, whilst frustration boils in his belly. If he could he would scream but it would dissolve the scene and he must know why he does not own this memory. With Endymeon’s tears falling freely now the river has swollen to the point of bursting its banks. He crouches down beside his son and holds him tightly for a moment, then he touches his first and middle fingers to the front of little Tomlin’s brow.
‘You will remember nothing of me my son until you are old enough to know why.’
‘Be a good strong boy for your mother now Tomlin, listen to her words and pay heed and never stray into the forest with out her.’
Before the river carries him away with his tears, Endymeon places a kiss in the centre of Tomlin’s brow and then lies back surrendering to the flow.
‘Farewell Queen of my Light Breath of my Soul, I will call you too me as soon as I might. Until then trust to your metal and keep to your light and do not lose sight. I will come for you.’
Tom can hold back he feelings no longer, he opens his mouth to let out a long howling scream only to find himself gagging on a mouthful of soapy water. Gnarled and bony fingers reach under his neck and raise him gently by the back of his head until he is fully back with his body and sitting up in the now lukewarm water.
‘Ach noo ye poor wee thing. I did nae think it was fair tae keep yae truth from ye this lang. Come noo laddie yerl get a chill, I’ve a warum robe fer ye here. Cosy up be the fire an eat some hot broth, it’ll bring ye back to yer flesh n bone.’
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