Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,32
told her of a sword that went with the shield.
‘What things?’ Branwen called, her breath billowing. ‘Are you going to tell me more about the sword now?’
‘Ahh, the sword,’ called Nixie. ‘In good time and if all goes well for you, then you shall hold the sword in your hand. But you shall grasp it for but a short time, before passing it to the other.’
‘ “The other”?’ Branwen remembered that Blodwedd had spoken of another champion – a boy, chosen like she was. A child of great destiny. ‘Will I meet him? Will he help me in the wars?’
Nixie ignored the question. ‘The first thing of great import is this,’ she sang. ‘Beware the eyes like two black moons. Death lies behind those eyes!’
‘Eyes like black moons?’ Branwen stammered. ‘I don’t know what that means. Is it a person or a demon or what?’
‘Secondly,’ continued the graceful goraig-girl, as though Branwen hadn’t spoken. ‘When all is done for good or ill, and if you survive the ordeal that is coming to you, your destiny lies at the end of the young bear’s path.’
And with that, the goraig began to spin ever more rapidly. Snow came flying from her like darts of ice and Branwen threw her arms up over her face and yelled out in alarm.
‘Branwen?’ Iwan’s voice was urgent in the darkness beyond her closed eyelids. ‘What’s the matter?’
Branwen sat up, gasping, clutching at his offered arm. She stared at the pale blur of his face, only faintly recognizable in the grey of an early dawn.
‘A dream!’ she panted. ‘Only a dream.’
‘A dream?’ echoed Banon, standing at the foot of her mattress. ‘It sounded deadly!’
‘Is all well?’ called Dera’s voice.
‘Yes – Branwen had a bad dream is all,’ Iwan called back.
From a little way off, Aberfa’s snores rang out like ten men sawing ten logs.
‘Get back to bed, both of you,’ said Branwen. ‘It was night fears. Nothing more.’
Banon nodded and slipped back to her bed. Iwan was hunkered down at Branwen’s side, looking keenly into her face.
‘Will you tell me your dream?’ he asked gently.
‘It had no sense to it,’ Branwen said lightly. ‘Hobgoblins dancing in my head, that’s all.’
He frowned.
‘What?’ she asked, puzzled by his expression.
‘I wish you would confide in me more,’ he said.
She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I have no secrets from you, Iwan. What do you mean?’
‘Are we friends, Branwen?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’
There was a strange pause.
‘And is that enough for you?’ he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you want from me, Iwan?’ she asked, surprised to hear a tremor in her voice.
‘What would you give me, barbarian princess?’ he whispered. ‘If we were—’
‘Ho!’ called a loud voice in the gloom, cutting Iwan’s words dead. ‘Enemies at the gates! The Saxons are upon us!’
For a moment, alarm flared in Branwen’s heart. But then she heard an answering call.
‘Hoy, Aberfa!’ shouted Banon. ‘You’re dreaming, girl! A little peace, for pity’s sake!’
And as the echo of her voice faded, so Iwan slipped quietly away, leaving Branwen to lie back in the darkness and ponder sleeplessly over what he had left unsaid.
It was a raw, gnawing dawn with a wind that bit to the bone and a sky the colour of dead flesh. Branwen wrapped herself tight in her ermine cloak as she made her way across the deserted courtyards of Pengwern towards Linette’s little hut. The churned-up, muddy slush was as hard as knives under her feet, and so slippery that she had to lift her legs high and stamp down hard to keep from falling.
A thin white mist wreathed the palisades, the patrolling guards looking like ghosts as they kept their bitter watches.
By the time Branwen came to the hut, her cheeks were burning and the air was in her chest like frozen stone.
The fire was burning strongly within, and the small round room was full of its rosy light. Linette lay sleeping. Rhodri was alone, grinding herbs in the granite mortar. Branwen glanced at the disturbed cloaks of his bed and the depression in the straw mattress where two bodies had lain together.
‘How is she?’ Branwen whispered, leaning over Linette and gazing down into the pale, peaceful face.
‘She had a quiet night,’ said Rhodri, looking up from his work. ‘The lavender buds help her sleep, and Pendefig’s charmed herbs must do the rest.’
‘How long will it be before she shows signs of healing?’ she asked.