It was a gentle kiss: exquisite and chaste. But there was passion in it, an eager ardor that awoke a sleeping hunger in her.

Taliesin did not speak, but she could hear his breathing. He was close to her. She could feel the heat of his body on her skin.

“Neither pain nor pleasure evermore,” she whispered and lay her head against his chest. Enfolding her into his arms, he very softly began to sing.

The shadows of the wood had deepened when they stirred. Sunlight slanted through the trees in radiant bands, and the clouds were gray and ruddy-edged. The horses had wandered a short way among the trees and stood with their heads drooping.

Taliesin raised a hand to her cheek. “Charis, my soul,” he murmured softly, “if I have captured your heart, it is at the cost of my own.”

Charis made to rise, but he caught her hand and held her. “No,” she said, “I… I cannot bear it…”

She pulled away, rose, walked a few paces, stopped and looked back at him, her eyes growing hard as the stone of the quoit. “It can never be!” she said, her voice a quick knife-thrust into the silence of the wood.

Taliesin stood slowly. “I love you, Charis.”

“Love is not enough!”

“It is more than enough,” he soothed.

She turned on him. “More than enough? It does not stop the hurt, the sadness, the dying! It does not bring back what is lost!”

“No,” agreed Taliesin. “All life is rooted in pain. There can be no escape, but love makes the hurt bearable.”

“I do not want to bear it and go on bearing it. I want to lay it down, to be free of it at last. I want to forget. Will love make me forget?”

“Love, Charis…” Taliesin moved to her; he put his hands on her shoulders and felt the tension there. “Love never forgets,” he said gently. “It never stops hoping or Believing or enduring. Though pain and death rage against it, love remains forever steadfast.”

“Brave words, Taliesin,” replied Charis, her voice ringing hollow in the wood, “but only words after all. I do not believe that such love exists.”

“Then Believe in me, Charis, and let me show you this love.”

As she turned from him, he saw in her face the years of aching loneliness and something more: a pain which bit deep, a wound raw and open in her soul. Here was the source of her anger and also her pride.

“I will show you,” he said tenderly.

For an instant she appeared to soften. She half-turned toward him, but the pain was too great. She stiffened and turned away, gathering the reins of her horse.

He did not try to stop her but merely watched as she rode through the trees. A few moments later he heard a splash as the gray entered the stream at the entrance to the wood. Then he swung into the saddle, turned his mount, and started back the way he had come.

He reached the hawthorn thicket and had no sooner entered the stream when there came a sharp, startled cry from the glen just ahead. Then he heard his name, “Taliesin!”

He pulled his horse to a stop and listened for more. Hearing nothing, he lashed the reins across the horse’s neck and galloped forward. The thorns slashed at his flesh and clothing, holding him back. Heedless, he drove through the thicket into the glen.

At first he did not see her-only a gray mass writhing on the ground. It was her horse, struggling to regain its feet as three men clung to its head and neck. Four more men were stooped over, tugging at something on the ground. A flash of white clothing… Charis!

Taliesin raced to the fight. As his horse pounded closer he saw Charis break free of her attackers and step away. The men had spears and all four advanced on her, weapons ready. Taliesin was still too far away; he would never reach her in time. Pounding to her aid he watched in horror as one of the men charged and thrust his wicked spear at Charis.

As the spear slashed forth, Charis disappeared… An instant later in the air above the head of the attacker she spun, arms wrapped around knees, head tucked, braid flying. Unbalanced, the man tumbled forward, sprawling in the grass.

Charis darted away behind the others, who stood by in flat-footed confusion. One of the men holding the horse released his grip and lunged toward her. His arms closed on empty air and he fell to the turf.

The raiders rushed at her, their iron speartips glinting in the shadowed glen. One of them raised his spear and with blinding quickness drew back and let fly. The spear flashed.

But Charis had vanished again, leaving the spearshaft quivering in the ground.

The raider darted after his spear, but there was Charis, rolling to seize the shaft and turn it as he came flying toward her. The raider stopped abruptly, straightened, and staggered back. He turned to his comrades, screaming, his hands clenched about the spearshaft protruding from his Belly.

As he fell, clawing at the spear, another leaped over his body and grabbed Charis from behind as she tried to dodge away. He held her by the arms and spun her toward the spearmen, the foremost of whom dashed forward, weapon leveled, to impale her.

The spear flashed, passing through the space where Charis had stood and burying itself deep in her captor’s chest as she tumbled up and over his head.

Taliesin was close enough now to see the fear on the faces of the attackers. Thinking only to make a quick kill and take the horse and whatever other valuables Charis possessed, they had not been prepared to take on a she-demon that could appear and disappear at will.

With two of their members mortally wounded the raiders reconsidered. One of them dropped his spear and backed away from Charis in hopes of escaping into the wood. Too late he heard the thunder of hooves behind him. Taliesin glimpsed the wretch’s face-eyes white-rimmed with fear, his mouth agape in terror-as he disappeared beneath the horse’s chuming legs.

The remaining raiders scattered, fleeing for their lives. Their shouts of terror could be heard in the valley long after they were gone.

Taliesin leaped from his horse and ran to Charis’ side. She was shaken. Her clothing was torn and grass-stained, and there were welts on her upper arms where the raider had grasped her; but she otherwise appeared unharmed. He raised his hands to embrace her, but the gesture stopped halfway.

“I am not hurt,” she told him, her eyes straying to the dead around her. “Who were they?”

“Irish sea-wolves. No doubt they came up Mor Hafren last night and have been looking for easy plunder.” Taliesin glanced at the bodies on the ground. “I think they have had enough of plunder and will return home now.”

“It happened so fast,” said Charis, her breathing rapid and unsteady. “How many were there?”

“Seven,” replied Taliesin. “There were seven and now there are four.” The woman before him suddenly appeared inexpressibly alien, Belonging to a world far, far removed from his own.

“If you had seen me in the bullring you would not look at me that way,” she said and offered a weak smile. “I danced the sacred bulls in the Temple of the Sun.” She shrugged. “There are some things one never forgets.”

“We should go back now. I think they have gone, but there may be more nearby.” He led her to her mount.

“Taliesin, were they the same-the same as those that attacked your lands?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “These were from the south of lerna, coastal raiders after quick spoils. They do not often come this far inland, however; most content themselves with taking cattle and gold, when they can find it, from settlements on the coasts.”

She mounted the gray with some stiffness and looked down at Taliesin. “You will be leaving soon.”

“Why do you say that?”

She raised her face and gazed into the dying sunlight in the west. “We are not meant to be together, Taliesin. My life ended out there-‘-“ She nodded toward the red-orange sunset.