Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,83

killed a dear companion; it has broken her spirit.’

‘We cannot camp upon this hilltop till doomsday.’ That was Aberfa. ‘The question is, will she be able to ride, or must we find some other way to bear her? And what of Rhodri? His injuries are slight, but he will not awaken.’

‘Bear her where?’ Banon, now. ‘Do we still go to Garth Milain, as she intended? Who will lead us?’

‘I shall, if no other takes the challenge.’

Branwen smiled a little at Dera’s voice. Yes, Dera would wear well the mantle of leadership, if it came to it.

‘Did you see that? Her lips moved.’

The wasteland of empty white light began to fill with coherent sights and shapes now. Branwen jerked back as Aberfa’s face loomed close.

‘Are you with us again, Branwen?’ asked Iwan, kneeling at her side. ‘We feared your mind had gone.’

Branwen bowed her head, trying to make sense of what was happening around her. ‘Help me up,’ she said, lifting her arms. She swayed and almost fell, but arms supported her. ‘How long was I …’ She faltered, not knowing what words to use.

‘You strode about the hill for a while, smiting at the air with your fists and shouting oaths and threats,’ said Dera. ‘Then you came and sat at Blodwedd’s side and became still.’

‘You made no move nor spoke any word, nor saw nor heard anything for the whole of the afternoon,’ said Banon.

‘And Rhodri?’ Branwen asked, avoiding looking at the place where Blodwedd lay, a cloak thrown over her face and upper body.

‘Out of his senses,’ said Iwan. ‘Alive, but beyond us to rouse.’

Branwen shook herself free of helping hands and walked unsteadily to where Rhodri lay. She crouched, extending her hand, touching his face with her fingertips. What had Linette told her? Druid in jest no more. But what did that mean?

‘Will you awake now?’ she asked him in a low voice. ‘Even if it is to hatred and despair, I want you to wake up now, Rhodri.’

‘By the saints, look!’ gasped Banon. Branwen saw it too, a fluttering of the eyelids, a movement of the lips, a turn of the head.

Rhodri’s eyes opened and he looked straight into Branwen’s face. She gasped, standing up, quivering. His eyes were golden – like discs of amber threaded with sunlight. His eyes were the colour of Blodwedd’s eyes!

And then his body heaved and he sucked in air and struggled under the cloak. He sat up, panting, his teeth gritted, his head lowered.

Then his head snapped up and he stared at Branwen – and his eyes were his own again – and there was a look of such pain and anguish and hatred in them that Branwen took a step backward and lifted her hands as though to ward off a blow.

‘You killed her!’ he cried, scrabbling to his feet, his fists bunching. ‘She did not need to die! I could have saved her.’

He flung himself towards her and it was only the quick actions of Iwan and Dera that prevented him reaching her with his flying fists. He struggled in their grasp, his face enraged, his eyes blazing.

‘Blodwedd knew this would happen,’ Branwen replied, her voice dull and stoic. ‘She told me – she told me that I would have to kill her.’ She gave a wracking sigh. ‘Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted any of this?’

Rhodri pulled himself upright. ‘Leave me be!’ he said in a suddenly loud and commanding voice. ‘None may touch the son of Y Ladi Wen!’ Startled by the change in his voice, Iwan and Dera stepped back. Rhodri spread his feet apart and raised his arms, his fingers stretched wide, stabbing at the sky. ‘I see the high pool of Deheubarth, where my mother held the mirror to the sun and all the world was burned. I see the bright-browed Taliesin, teller of the ancient tales. I see Mabon the son of Modron, bearing the gift of the ocean’s child. Bachen rhyfeddol, they called me! Child of wonder! But that was many years ago and I am grown mighty in power and lore now. I am the strange marvel of my people.’

And now he seemed to see Branwen, as though for the first time. His eyes widened, his finger pointing. ‘When the owls depart, you must ride south,’ he roared at her, his face blazing with such majesty that she truly believed he might be some ancient Druid lord brought back into the world. ‘Ride to Pengwern