Though she ultimately meant me harm – make no mistake about that, I did not – Morgian had not come to join battle with me that day. Only, as I have said, to try her weapons and see what mine might be. I have no clear idea of what she discovered about me in that regard, although she revealed much about herself.

But she was vain! Such vanity is rare in a human soul. But then, Morgian is no ordinary human, and possesses no ordinary soul.

Ganieda! What do you here, my soul?

Ohhhh, your flesh is so white…

Go back, go back! I cannot bear it… Please, go back.

Drink a little water, Hawk. You thirst; you rave. Your chalybeate spring will revive you.

Gods of stream and air, gods of hills and high places, gods of wells and water springs, gods of the crossroads, forge, and hearth… All gods bear witness! Observe this mortal before you. What is his failing that he should suffer so? What was his sin that his torment should be unending?

Is it that he strived too hard, reached too far, attempted too much? Tell me! I defy you!

The gods are silent. They are mute idols with mouths of stone; there is no life in them.

Look out upon Hart Fell… is it day or night? Sun and stars in the sky together… it is so bright!

What does this mean, Wolf? Look you, and speak forth-rightly. Tell me now, what do you observe?

Red Mars rising in a coal-black sky, yes. What does this signify? Does its fresh ruby colour mean that one king is dead, and there shall be another? Of course, but there are always kings and kings. Why should their decline or ascent be noticed by the heavens? Very great kings these, then. Oh, aye, very great!

And you, fair Venus, accompanying Sol on his fiery course, what about this double ray of yours, cleaving the air like a war axe? Division, surely. The realm cloven as with the stroke of Saecsen steel.

A king dead, a new king reigning: division. Ruin shall proceed from this, surely. Who among us is mighty enough to prevent this destruction? Who is wise enough to advise us?

O, Taliesin, speak to your son! My father, I would hear your voice.

What is this? The music of a harp? But no harper do I see, nor bard is there to play. Yet, I hear it – the wonderful music of the harp.

Look Wolf, he comes! Taliesin comes!

See him climbing the mountain path; his blue cloak is flung over his shoulder; his staff is strong rowan; his tunic is white satin, his trousers tanned leather. He shines! I cannot look upon his face. He gleams with the glory of the Otherworld. His countenance is bright to rival the light of heaven.

Father! Speak to your wretched offspring. Give me wise counsel.

Behold, Myrddin, I answer your summons. I will speak to you, my son, and I will give you benefit of my wisdom. Hear then, if you will, and gain all that I have learned since my journey in this worlds-realm began:

Praise the Great Creator, the Lord of Infinite Compassion! Honour him and perform heartfelt worship, all creatures! My own eyes have beheld him; we have walked together in Paradise. And often we have observed you, Myrddin, my son; we have heard your cries and discussed your sore predicament between us, the Lord and I.

Fear not what will happen to you, Hawk. The King of Heaven has covered you with his hand. Even now his angels surround you; they stand ready to do your bidding. Listen to the one who knows the things of which he speaks: your life was given to you for a purpose, dearest flesh of my flesh. How should that purpose not obtain?

So, take heart and put away your sorrow. After a little time, there will come a hermit to this shrine of yours. Do not send him away, my son. Rather welcome him; do as he bids, and he will give you a great blessing.

When you have received this blessing, go out into the world again. Go you back to your lands and your people, take up your staff once more. There is much work to be done, brave Myrddin. I tell you the truth, while you have lain here sunk beneath your heavy grief, Darkness has not been idle.

Therefore, it is time to rise up, strap steel to your hip and helm your head with iron. It is time, Myrddin, now, before the pathways to the Kingdom are overgrown and lost. Once lost, Bright Star, they will no longer be found; even with much searching they will not be found.

Remember well the Kingdom of Summer and let its light become your prow star… let its song be a victory song on your lips… let its glory cover you, my beautiful son…

No! Do not go, my father! Do not leave me alone and forlorn! Please, stay but a little… Taliesin!

He is gone, Wolf. But did you see how his face shone when he spoke to me? It was not the vision of a fevered brain. Never that. Taliesin came to me; my father spoke to me. He spoke to me and I heard the sound of his voice.

Yes, and I heard his stern warning.

If I am crazed, if I am mad, if I am mad… mad I am and there is no help for Myrddin.

But wretched as I am before all the world, I was not always the scrag of hair and bone you see shivering on filthy haunches with flies biting his nether parts. Was Myrddin ever king in Dyfed, Wolf?

Aye, that he was… he was… He was, and nevermore will be. Wild Man of the Wood I am. Yet, while I live, the creatures of the forest hearken to me, for I am their lord.

Let the Forest Lord speak forth his prophecy!

No scribes attend me, no servants have I to give account of what I shall say. Pelleas, where are you, boy? Have you, even you, deserted me, Pelleas?

Intelligent words are uttered to the winds. Wise words from the Soul of Wisdom go unheeded. Let it go, let it go. The bard's awen will not be chained; it moves as it will and no mortal hand may make bold to bid or restrain. Let it go, fool!

Stir up the flames, read the glowing embers and tell us something of happiness. Great Light, in this bleak place, you know we need some kindly cheer. What is it that shines up at me from the bed of ashes?

Behold! Ganieda dressed in fine linen, clothed with the purity of new-fallen snow. Bearer of my soul, keeper of my heart, she walks on a carpet of rose petals, a peerless maid, chaste before her lord. Her smile is as the golden sunshower; her laughter like a silver rain.

Pray to the God who made us, Dafyd! Praise him most eloquently for the gift he has given this day. Amen, so be it!

My marriage day was all a day of wedding should be. I have heard my grandmother speak of her marriage to Elphin, and the celebration that it was. For unlike Taliesin and Charis, who had no celebration – and likely needed none – Elphin and Rhonwyn had been wed in fine old Celtic style and they wanted to see me wed in like manner.

Consequently, the Cymry of Caer Cam bestowed on that gladsome day all the fire and verve of their happiness. Not that Maelwys was to be outdone – he would have hosted the celebration, but Ganieda was Custennin's daughter and Custennin's the feast, as was his right. Maelwys had to content himself with housing the celebrants.

In truth, I remember little of the day. All is shadow next to the daylight of Ganieda, bright and shining star. She was never more beautiful, more graceful and serene. She was love embodied for me, I swear it; and I hope I was for her.

On that fine day, we two stood before Dafyd in the chapel and we gave each other the gift of rings after the Christian custom, and spoke out the eternal promises that would bind our souls, as our hearts had already been bound by love – and as our bodies would be joined later that night.

Ganieda's black hair was brushed and shining, it hung in long braids entwined with silver thread; she wore a circlet of spring flowers, pink as a maid's blush – they filled the wooden chapel with their fragrance. Her mantle was white, and white embroidered; on each tassel hung a tiny gold bell. Over one shoulder was draped the marriage cloak she had woven that winter: a fine expanse of imperial purple and bright sky blue in the cunning checked pattern of the north country; it was held by a great, gold brooch. There were golden bracelets on her wrists and bands of gold on her arms. She wore sandals of white leather on her feet.