Hafgan nodded.

“It is what he wanted. We have done all he asked and I regret that we could not do more.”

“I am certain you have done well,” Hafgan told him. “We will take him now. You and your people may accompany us if you wish.”

“Will you require horses?”

“No, we will carry him.”

“Let it be as you wish.” They moved through the village under the lively scrutiny of the clansmen. Blaise leaned close to Hafgan and whispered, “Why are they looking at us like that?”

“It is Taliesin they are looking at,” Hafgan answered. Taliesin, however, appeared perfectly oblivious to the attention he was getting and walked with his head erect, eyes straight ahead.

Yes, thought Hafgan, he is the King of Summer and his reign will know neither cold nor darkness. But summer is short in the Island of the Mighty, Taliesin, and winter will not be held back forever. All things yield in their season. Still, let the light shine, lad; while it burns, let it dazzle the greedy night like starfall.

They arrived at a small thatched hut at the far end of the settlement. Three of the Brotherhood sat on the ground outside the hut, each in his blue robe; the empty bier lay nearby, covered with boughs of fir and yew. When they saw Hafgan they all stood.

Hafgan greeted them by name. “Kellan, Ynawc, Selyv, is all in order here?”

Selyv answered, “All is in order. The body has been prepared, and I have sent the others to the grove to await us there.”

“Good,” said Hafgae. He stooped and pushed his way through the deerskin hanging at the door of the hut. A moment later he held back the hide flap and beckoned Blaise and Taliesin to enter.

Taliesin followed Blaise and found himself in a single-room dwelling which had no windows but only a round smoke hole in the roof to let in light and let out the smoke from the hearth in the center of the room. Stretched out on his bed of rushes lay the body of Cormach, his hands folded over his chest. Two tallow candles-one at the Chief Druid’s head, another at his feet-cast a thin yellow glow against the limed mud wall.

Taliesin looked at the body and was struck by the fact that it no longer looked like Cormach. There was no doubt that it had been the Chief Druid-the features and shape were the same-but it was clear that Cormach himself had utterly vanished. The spirit that had animated the body was gone, and its absence made the husk on the ground seem terribly frail and inconsequential, a residue, a mere afterthought of the person that had been.

“He is gone,” whispered Taliesin. He had not viewed many dead bodies and lowered his voice in the corpse’s presence as he would in a sickroom. “Cormach is gone.”

“Yes,” agreed Hafgan. “He is well on his journey now.”

He touched Blaise on the arm and stepped to the corpse’s head; Blaise took his place at the feet.

Hafgan spoke a few words in the secret tongue of the Brotherhood and placed his hands on either side of Cormach’s head. Blaise repeated the words and put his hands around the cold, stiff feet. They said the words once more, in unison, and lifted the body. If there was any exertion to their movements, Taliesin did not detect it, for it seemed as if the corpse floated freely under the lightest of touches.

The druids stood and turned the body so that it would go through the door. “Taliesin, hold aside the deerskin,” instructed Hafgan, “and do not forget his staff.”

The boy came to himself with a start, darted to the doorway, and pulled back the deerskin hanging. Hafgan and Blaise stepped through, bearing Cormach’s body between them. The other druids held the bier ready, and with the gentlest of efforts the body of the Chief Druid was placed upon it.

Taliesin ducked back inside the hut, found Cormach’s staff where the body had been, retrieved it, and joined Blaise and the other druids, who had begun covering the body with fir boughs. When the body was covered-except for the head, which Hafgan still held between his hands-the druids, one at each corner of the bier, raised the green-mounded platform. It rose from the ground as lightly as wool drifting on the wind.

“Take the staff, Taliesin,” Hafgan told him. “Raise it before the hut.”

Holding the staff in both hands, Taliesin raised it as high as he could. Hafgan spoke a phrase in the secret tongue, paused, and repeated it twice again. In a few moments wisps of smoke began ascending from the smoke hole in the roof and out from under the deerskin in the doorway. Taliesin held the staff between his hands and watched bright orange flames creep up the outside of the wattle hut. The fire drew the fain who observed with silent curiosity as flames engulfed the hut and the thatch roof collapsed inward.

The druids turned the bier then and, began walking back through Dolgellau, Taliesin going before them with Cormach’s staff in his hands. They crossed the stream at the ford and then took the path leading from the woods and into the hills. A good many of the clansmen followed them, making a fair-sized procession.

They walked without hurry, but the distance shrank so that they reached Garth Greggyn in almost no time at all. It seemed to Taliesin that they merely walked out of the forest, over a hill and were there, in the valley of the spring Below the sacred grove. The druids ascended the hill to the grove where the rest of the Brotherhood had gathered. The clansmen followed but timidly and at a distance.

The bier was carried into the center of the grove and placed on two upright stones. The druids closed around, each with a branch or bough from a tree. Hafgan raised his hands shoulder high, palms out, and began speaking in the secret tongue. Then, lowering his hands, he said, “Brothers, our Chief has begun his journey to the Otherworld. What will you send with him?”

The first druid stepped forth, raised his branch and said, “I bring alder, Foremost in Lineage, for assurance.” With that he placed his branch against the bough-covered bier and stepped back.

“I bring dogwood,” said the next, “Powerful Companion, for compassion.”

“I bring birch, Lofty Dreamer, for high-mindedness,” said the next, placing his branch against the bier.

“I bring hazel, Seed of Wisdom,” said another, “for understanding.”

“I bring elm, Great Giver, for generosity.” And another placed his branch against the bier.

“I bring chestnut, Proud Prince, for regal bearing.”

“I bring ash, Stout-Hearted, for honesty.”

“I bring rowan, Mountain Lord, for fairness in judgment,” said another.

“I bring thorny plum, Invincible Warrior, for keenness of discernment.”

“I bring apple, Gift of Gwydyon, for reverence.”

“I bring oak, Mighty Monarch, for benevolence.”

Around the circle they went, each druid naming his gift and then placing it against the bier. Taliesin watched, entranced, listening to the words, wishing he had a gift. He glanced around the grove and saw a rose thicket with a few late-blooming flowers persisting among its barbed canes. Laying down the staff, he went to the thicket and took hold of a cane near the root where the barbs were not so close, pulled and pulled again. There was a snap down in the earth and the cane came up.

He carried it to the bier where the last brother was bestowing his gift. Hafgan drew a breath and opened his mouth, but before he could speak Taliesin stepped forward with his cane and said, “I bring rose, Enchanter of the Wood, for honor.” And he placed his cane with the other boughs, which now formed a leafy enclosure around the bier.

Hafgan smiled and said, “Brothers, let us release the body of our friend from its duty.”

Each druid bent, took hold of the bough he had oifered, raised it in one hand, and with the other took hold of the bier, and together they carried the body out through the grove to the cromlech which stood on a mounded hill Below the grove.