She stood for a moment, motionless, gazing toward him, and he thought he was discovered; but she bent her head to one side, gathered her long, wet tresses and began squeezing the water from them. Once more her voice filled the glade with Taliesin’s melody. It was all he could do to keep from joining in, for every nerve and fiber in his being was already singing with her.

I knew I would find you, he thought, exulting in the knowledge that she was here and alive, flesh and bone like he was- not a vision or spirit, not a Sidhe that lived only in the Otherworld.

He stood and stepped from his hiding place.

Charis did not see him at first. She continued pressing the water from her hair and then began wading toward the bank. She took a few steps and stopped. Her hands fell to her side. She raised her eyes to the elm that grew beside the pool, knowing what she would see.

He was there, just as she knew he would be: tall and slim, golden tore glinting in the sun, his long flaxen hair bound tight at the nape of his neck, dark eyes gazing at her, drinking in the sight of her.

Was he really there, or had she merely conjured his likeness with her song?

For a moment neither moved or spoke. The dripping of the water from her garments filled the silence just as before her song had filled the glade. Then the singer moved toward her, stepping down into the water.

“Lady of the Lake,” he said softly, extending his hand toward her. “I greet you.”

Charis accepted his hand and they waded back to the mossy bank together.

“You are the Fisher King’s daughter,” he said as he helped her from the pool.

“I am,” she replied. “And you are the singer.” She viewed him calmly, much more calmly than she felt, and asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Taliesin,” he replied.

“Taliesin…” She said the name as if it was the answer to a question that had plagued her for years and then turned away, moving toward her horse.

“It means Shining Brow in the language of my people,” Taliesin explained, falling into step beside her. “Do you have a name? Or do men simply utter the fairest word they know?”

“Charis,” she replied a bit warily.

He smiled. “A name which must mean ‘beautiful’ in your race’s tongue.”

She made no answer but unpegged her horse and coiled the braided tether line in her hands. Taliesin stooped and cupped his hands to lift her into the saddle. She raised her foot and saw that it was bare. Both of them stared at the foot-still wet from her swim, with bits of leaf and mud clinging to it-and Taliesin began to laugh, his voice ringing clear and full in the glade.

It seemed to Charis as if an amphora had been upended and, instead of wine or olive oil, pure joyous laughter had been poured out to flow like quicksilver through the green glade. She laughed too and their voices soared through the trees like birds twinned in flight.

Still laughing, Taliesin returned to the bank and retrieved the boots and hair thong. When he turned back, Charis was gone. He heard the jingle of a horse’s tack and glanced toward the sound to see Charis disappearing into the wood. His first impulse was to leap to his own mount and catch her. But he stood looking on as she vanished through the trees and then went back to his horse, climbed into the saddle and made his way back to the Tor, clutching her Belongings to his chest.

Avallach sat with his chin in his hand, frowning. Behind him Annubi, like a granite idol, loomed dark and threatening. Elphin and Cuall sat on a bench facing him, their expressions sad and fierce. Hafgan, wrapped in his blue robe, his rowan staff in his hand, stood by the chamber door, his head inclined, eyes half-closed in complete concentration.

“Such dire events,” said Avallach after a moment. “Your tale distresses me greatly.”

“It bears no pleasure in the telling,” replied Elphin. “But it is the truth.”

“Every word,” added Cuall bitterly. “My life, it is the truth!”

“Do you think these Painted Men, these barbarians you speak of, will strike this far south?”

“In time,” Elphin replied, “it is possible. Although in Dyfed we heard that the emperor was withdrawing two legions from Gaul and sending troops back to the Wall.”

“Perhaps you will be able to return home,” Avallach said.

“No.” Elphin shook his head sadly. “Unless the emperor is prepared to bring the legions back to full strength and man the garrisons on the Wall with trained soldiers there can be no lasting peace in the north and no protection.”

“Peace has gone out of the world,” muttered Annubi darkly.

Elphin nodded toward Avallach’s advisor. “That is what Hafgan says as well. There will be no peace in the Dark Time-only war and still more war.” He sighed. “No, we will not return home. If our people are to survive, it must be here in the south. We must find lands and root ourselves so deeply that when the enemy comes we cannot be driven out.”

Avallach frowned again and said, “Allow me to think on this matter. My brother holds lands to the south and my son with him. They are coming here very soon. Please, stay with me until I can speak to him. It may be that we can help you.”

Elphin nodded. “We will do as you ask, Avallach, although you shame us with your generosity when we have nothing to offer you in return.”

Avallach rose from his chair, wincing with the momentary pain. He smiled and said, “Do not feel under obligation to me, Lord Elphin. For I too am a stranger in this land. But if it will make your stay easier to bear, we will think of a way for you to discharge the debt you seem to feel.”

They moved together toward the door and upon reaching it Avallach turned to Elphin and said, “The singer”

“My son, Taliesin. Yes?”

“Could he be persuaded to sing for us tonight?” wondered Avallach.

“It would take very little persuasion,” replied Elphin. “I will ask him.”

Avallach smiled warmly and clapped Elphin on the shoulder. “It does cheer me to hear him sing-even though I scarce understand the words. I Believe his are the most extraordinary songs I have ever heard.”

“He is a derwydd, a bard,” explained Elphm as they stepped from the inner chamber into the hall. “Among my people a druid bard’s skill is a matter of pride to clan and king. And Taliesin is a peculiarly gifted bard.”

“More gifted than most,” affirmed Hafgan. “His is a unique and unusual gift; most rare.”

“And this from the Chief Druid himself,” said Elphin proudly.

“You say you have lost all,” replied Avallach. “Yet, you have not one but two such bards in your retinue. Indeed, you are a wealthy man.”

Taliesin did not see Charis that night when he sang once more before Avallach. Nor did he see her the next morning or all that day. Late in the afternoon he saddled his horse and went out to ride, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of her as she rode about the hills.

Instead, he happened upon the camp that Dafyd and Collen had established near the shrine.

“Hail, Taliesin!” called Dafyd, coming to meet him as he rode up. Collen stood from the pot he was stirring at the fire, smiled, and waved his welcome.

“Greetings, holy man,” said Taliesin, leading the horse into the camp. He tied the reins to a nearby holly bush and turned to observe the small, wattled shrine on the hilltop above them. “This is where the Good God is worshiped?”

“Here, yes, and everywhere else his name is known,” Dafyd answered.

“All creation is his-ah… his temple,” offered Collen. The young man blushed and asked, “Did I say it right?”

“Most excellently said!” laughed Dafyd. “All creation his temple, yes.” He gestured toward the shrine. “But this-this is a special place.”

“How so?” asked Taliesin. “Is the hill sacred? Or the spring that runs Below it?”