walking until I have found the thing which will quell my restless heart and fill this hunger in my soul.”
Thus, he began a journey through many lands, through kingdoms and dominions of every kind. At the end of seven years, he reached a distant shore and gazed across a narrow sea, where he beheld the fairest island that he or anyone else had ever seen. Its white cliffs glowed in the dying sunlight like a wall of fine pale gold, and larks soared high above the green-topped hills, singing in the gentle evening air. He wanted nothing more than to go to the island without delay, but night was coming, and he knew he could not reach the far shore in time, so he settled down to spend the night on the strand, intending to cross over the narrow sea with the next morning’s new light.
Unable to sleep, he lay on the beach all night long, listening to the fitful wash of the waves over the pebbles, feeling as if his heart would burst for restlessness. When the sun rose again, he rose with it and looked out at the many-splendoured island as it lay before him in the midst of the silver sea. Then, as the rising sun struck the white cliffs, setting them aglow with a light that dazzled the eyes, Bran struck out.
Drawing himself up to full height, he grew until his head brushed the clouds, whereupon he waded out into the narrow sea, which reached only to the knot of his belt. He reached the opposite shore in nine great strides, emerging from the water at his normal height.
He spread his arms to the sun, and while he stood waiting for the bright rays to dry his clothes, he heard the most delightful music, and he turned to see a lady on a milk-white horse approaching a little way off.
The music arose from a flute that she played as she cantered along the water’s edge in the sweet, honeyed light of the rising sun. Her hair shone with the brightness of a flame, and her skin was firm and soft. Her limbs were fine and straight, her gown was yellow satin, edged in blue, and her eyes were green as new grass or apples in summer.
As she came near, she caught sight of Bran, standing alone on the strand, and she stopped playing. “I give you good greeting, sir,” she said; her voice, so light and melodious, melted Bran in his innermost parts.
“What is your name?”
“I am Bran Bendigedig,” said he. “I am a stranger here.”
“Yet you are welcome,” said the lady. “I see that you are beguiled by the sight of this fair island.”
“That I am,” Bran confessed. “But no less than by the sight of you, my lady. If ever I boast of seeing a fairer face in all this wide world, may I die a liar’s death. What is your name?”
“Would that you had asked me anything else,” she told him sadly, “for I am under a strong geas never to reveal my name to anyone until the day of Albion’s release.”
“If that is all that prevents you, then take heart,”
Bran replied boldly, for the moment she spoke those first words in his ear, he knew beyond all doubt that the thing required to bring contentment to his restless heart was the name of the lady before him—just to know her name and, knowing it, to possess it and, possessing it, to hold her beside him forever. With her as his wife, his heart would find peace at last. “Only tell me who or what Albion might be,” Bran said, “and I will achieve its release before the sun has run its course.”
“Would that you had promised anything else,” the lady told him. “Albion is the name of this place, and it is the fairest island known. Ten years ago a plague came to these shores, and it is this which now devastates the island. Every morning I come to the sea-strand in the time-between-times in the hope of finding someone who can break the wicked spell that holds Albion in thrall.”
“Today your search has ended,” replied Bran, his confidence undimmed. “Only tell me what to do, and it will be done.”
“Though your spirit may be bold and your hand strong, Albion’s release will take more than that. Many great men have tried, but none have succeeded, for the plague is no ordinary illness or disease. It is an evil enchantment, and it