“Yes,” Hafgan told Elphin, “it is a good plan. As the Romans hereabouts can offer no aid, we must seek it where we can. It may well be as you say.”

Taliesin also agreed readily. He had his own reasons for wanting to see the Faery. From the first that he had heard about the Fisher King and his people, his heart had burned within him. He had entered his awen and tried to follow along the scattered paths of the future, but a dense, glistening fog had obscured the way and he had been forced to return lest he lose his way in the Otherworld. But before the shimmering fog had taken his sight, he saw a tangle of smaller tracks merge a small distance ahead and took this to mean that, for good or ill, the futures of his people and Avallach’s were in some way bound together.

“In any event,” said Elphin, “it is only right to offer respect to the king whose lands we hope to pass through peacefully.”

Thus, it was agreed to search out this Avallach and pay him a visit. That same night Taliesin took himself off to a secluded grove and, chewing a handful of specially prepared hazelnuts, entered his awen to attempt once more to peer into the future regarding the fortunes of his people.

Closing his eyes, he began to sing softly to himself and in a moment felt the dark headlong rush and the sudden stillness that indicated to him that he had crossed over into the Oth-erworld. Opening his eyes, he saw once again the shadow world that had over time become as familiar to him as the world of men.

He saw the luminous sky like shining bronze and heard the familiar strains of the haunting, ethereal music. He smelled the sweet, heady fragrance of land and saw the mountains in the distance, and though he had explored their slopes many times it was not to the mountains that he turned now. Instead, he found himself gazing on a small stream winding through the trees to empty itself in a forest pool nearby.

Taliesin followed the stream among the glimmering trees to the pool, pushed through the bracken-covered bank to the water’s edge, and wondered if she would still be there-the lady he had seen so long ago. Kneeling down, he peered into the crystalline water, his breath catching in his throat…

The lady was gone. The water still flowed, the green horsetail weed still waved among the smooth, amber-colored stones, but the woman was not there.

He rose slowly and retraced his steps along the stream to the place where the pathways converged. Choosing the one he had followed before, Taliesin started off. As before, he had not gone very far when the strange, glimmering, glistening fog began curling around his legs. In a few moments the fog had risen and deepened so that he could no longer see the path before his feet. He pushed on a short distance and stopped.

Reluctantly Taliesin decided to turn back and discovered that the fog now surrounded him completely. All about him the dense vapor curled and wreathed on unseen channels in the air. Taliesin knew the peril of stumbling through the Oth-erworld blind and dropped to his knees. He crawled a few more paces on his hands and knees before settling down to wait for the fog to clear.

He waited a long time, but the fog did not lift. Instead, the luminous sky-showing through the fog overhead like a roof burning with a dusky flame-began to dim, and the fog grew deeper and more dense. Taliesin had never before been frightened in the Otherworld, but he became frightened now.

He waited, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth as the sky darkened and the Otherworld slipped into one of its rare, interminable nights. To buoy his sinking spirit, Taliesin began to sing, quietly at first, but with increasing volume to keep the fear away by the cunning beauty of his verse.

While he sat there, wrapped in his cloak, singing his most powerful songs, he heard footsteps on the invisible path behind him. He stopped singing. A soft radiance shone through the rolling fog, and he perceived the presence of an Other-world being approaching: an Ancient One.

The being came to stand near him but not near enough to see clearly-it was just a glowing blur through the fog. Taliesin waited, not presuming to address the entity, but allowing it to speak first if it would.

“Well, Shining Brow, here you are once more,” the Ancient One said after a moment. The voice seemed to come from a place high above his head.

Taliesin instantly recognized that he was being addressed by the entity he had encountered on his very first visit to the Otherworld as a boy, years before. “I am here,” he said simply.

“Why have you come this way when you know that it is forbidden?”

“I had hoped to see” he began and faltered.

“You hoped to see,” replied the Ancient One in a lightly mocking tone. “And what have you seen?”

“Nothing, Lord,” replied Taliesin.

“You do well to call me Lord,” said the being. “That shows you have learned something in your years as a man. What else have you learned?”

“I-I have learned to sing in the way of bards,” answered Taliesin. Pride made him bolder. “I have learned the secrets of words; the elements obey my voice. I have learned die ways of wood and glen, of water, air, fire, and earth, and of all living things.”

“You are indeed knowledgeable, O Wise Among Men,” taunted the being gently. “Answer me, then, if you can: why is one night moonlit and another so dark tiiat you cannot see your shield beside you or the spear in your hand?”

Taliesin pondered the question but could not think of a suitable answer.

“Why is a stone so heavy?” inquired the Ancient One. “Why is a thorn so sharp? Tell me if you know: who is better off in death-the fresh-limbed young or the hoar-headed?”

Taliesin remained silent.

“Do you know, or can you even guess, what you are when you are sleeping-a body, a soul, a bright spirit? Where does night await the day? What supports the foundations of the earth in perpetuity? Who put the gold in the ground to make your tore? What remains of a man when his bones are dust?

“Skilled bard, why do you not answer me?”

It seemed to Taliesin as if he no longer remembered how to speak. His mouth would not frame a reply. Ignorance covered him like a cloak and shame made his cheeks burn hotly.

“Have you nothing to say, O Word in Letters?” demanded the being. “No? In that, at least, you show wisdom, Shining Brow. Many prattle idly when they should listen. Are you listening?”

Taliesin nodded.

“Good. I told you that I would teach you what to say… Do you remember?”

Taliesin did remember. He nodded again.

“On the day of your liberation your tongue will be loosed and the words I give you will come. You will be My bard, My herald, proclaiming My reign in the world of men. Men will hear your voice and will know who it is that speaks. They will hear you and believe.

“In the Dark Time your people will look to you, and to the one who comes after you, for light. You will give it to them as I give it to you. Do you understand, Shining Brow?”

Taliesin made no move, so the being said, “Speak, Son of Dust. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“So be it,” said the Ancient One. “Do you know who it is that speaks to you?”

“No, Lord.”

“Look upon me then, Shining Brow. Behold!”

Taliesin raised his eyes and a sudden, sharp breeze began blowing, dispersing the unnatural vapor. He had a last glimpse of the Ancient One through a gray hanging veil of fog, and then the veil melted away and there stood befare him the giant figure of a man-at least twice as tall as any moftalr^naa- wearing a dazzling white robe. Light glinted and shone in dancing rainbows around the man, and Taliesin felt the heat of the being’s presence like a flame that licked his face and hands and burned through his clothing to set his skin ablaze.

The man’s face shone like the sun, burning with a white-hot heat so that it could not be gazed upon, nor its features discerned. The being raised a hand toward Taliesin, the light leapt up, and the Otherworid became a meager shadow, vague and insubstantial.