Merlin

'I was born Eiddon Vawr Vrylic,' he told me as we rode back. 'But your father gave me the name I wear now: Maelwys. It was the greatest gift he could have bestowed.'

'I remember it well,' said my mother. 'We had just come to Maridunum…'

'He sang as I have never heard man sing. If only I could describe it to you, Myrddin: to hear him was to open the heart to heaven, to free the spirit within to soar with eagles and run with the stag. Just to hear his voice in song was to satisfy all the nameless longings of the soul, to savour peace and taste joy too sweet for words.

'I wish you could have heard him as I did. Ah, but when he finished that night, I went to him to give him a gold chain or some such and in return he gave me a name: "Arise Maelwys," he said. "I recognize you." I told him that was not my name and he replied, "Eiddon the Generous it is today, but one day all men will call you Maelwys, Most Noble." And so it is.'

'Indeed, it is. He may have given you the name, but you have earned it in your own right,' I told him.

'I wish you had known him,' Maelwys said. 'Had I the power, that is the one gift I would most like to give you.'

We rode the rest of the way back to the villa in silence, not sorrowfully, but simply reflecting on the past and on the events that had led us to where we now stood. The short winter day faded quickly in a flare of grey-gold among empty black branches. As we entered the foreyard, some of Maelwys' men returned from hunting in the hills. They had been away since dawn and had a red stag slung between two of the horses. Gwendolau and Baram were with them, as I might have guessed they would be.

I realized with a twinge of shame that I had neglected to introduce my friends. 'Maelwys, Charis,' I began as they came up, 'these men before you are responsible for returning me safely… '

One glance at my mother's face and I stopped cold. 'Mother, what is it?'

She stared as if transfixed, her body rigid, breath coming in rapid gasps.

I touched her arm. 'Mother?'

'Who are you?' Her voice sounded strained, unnatural.

Gwendolau smiled reassuringly and began a small movement with his hand, but the gesture died in the air. 'Forgive me-'

'Tell me who you are!' Charis demanded. The blood had drained from her face.

Maelwys opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then looked to me for help.

'We had to know for certain,' replied Gwendolau. 'Please, my lady, we meant no harm.'

What did he mean?

'Just tell me,' replied Charis, her tone low, almost menacing.

'I am Gwendolau, son of Custennin, son of Meirchion, King of Skatha… '

'Skatha,' she shook her head slowly, dazedly, 'how long since I have heard that name?'

Skatha… from somewhere deep in my brain the memory surfaced: one of the Nine Kingdoms of Lost Atlantis. And I remembered other things Avallach had told me in his stories. At the time of the Great War, Meirchion had sided with Belyn and Avallach. Meirchion had helped Belyn steal the ships from Seithenin – the ships that had eventually landed the remnant of Atlantis on the rock-bound shores of the Island of the Mighty.

How was it that I, who had grown up among the Fair Folk, failed to recognize them when I encountered them in Goddeu? Oh, I had sensed something – just hearing them speak had inspired a vague sensation of homecoming; I remembered the feeling, and at the same time, wondering why I had come there. I should have guessed.

'We did not intend to deceive you, Princess Charis,' explained Gwendolau. 'But we had to be certain, you see. When my father heard that Avallach was alive, and that he was here – well, he wanted to be certain. It was important to see how things stood.'

'Meirchion,' Charis whispered. 'I had no idea… we never heard.'

'Nor did we,' Gwendolau said. 'We have been living in the forest these many years. We tend our own, keep to ourselves. My father was born here, as I was. I know no other life. When Myrddin came, we thought… ' he left the thought unspoken. 'But we had to make sure.'

My mind staggered under the weight of understanding. If Meirchion had survived with some of his people, who else? How many others?

Gwendolau continued, 'Sadly, my grandfather did not survive. He died not long after coming here. Many others died also, before him and after in those first years.'

'It was the same with us,' offered Charis, softening.

They fell silent then, simply gazing at each other, as if seeing in one another the ghosts of all those lost.

'You must go to Avallach,' Charis said at length, 'this spring, as soon as the weather allows. He will want to see you. I will take you there.'

'It would be an honour, lady,' replied Gwendolau courteously. 'And one my father would wish to repay in kind.'

Maelwys, who had held his tongue all this time, finally spoke. 'You were welcome in my house before, but as you are of my wife's people you are doubly welcome now. Stay with us, friends, until we can all travel to Ynys Avallach together.'

It is a strange thing to meet someone from one's homeland long after becoming resigned to never seeing home again. It is a singular experience, mingling both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

Grooms came to take the horses and we dismounted and returned to the hall. As we walked up the long ramp to the villa's entrance, I saw how much Gwendolau and Baram looked like the people of Ynys Avallach and Llyonesse. They were of the very appearance of men from Avallach's court. I wondered how I could have been so blind, but reflected that perhaps I had not seen the similarity before because I was not meant to see it. Perhaps their true appearance had been hidden from me, or disguised in some subtle way. That was something I thought about for a long time.

Another surprise awaited me in the hall. We trooped in to find the hall ablaze with light, shining with torches and rushlights by the hundred, and old Pendaran standing in the centre of the hall with candles in both hands, talking to a man in a long, dark cloak, while servants bustled to and fro on brisk errands.

A gust of frosty air came in with us and the two turned to meet us.

'Dafyd!'

The priest made the sign of the cross and clasped his hands in thanksgiving and then held out his arms to me. 'Myrddin, oh, Myrddin, let Jesu be praised! You have come back… oh, let me look at you, lad… Bless me, but you have grown into a man, Myrddin. Thank the Good Lord, for your safe return.' He smiled broadly and pounded me on the back as if to reassure himself that the flesh before him was indeed solid.

'I was just telling him,' said Lord Pendaran, 'just this very moment.'

'I have returned, Dafyd, my friend.'

'Look at you, lad. Jesu have mercy, but you are easy on the eyes. Your sojourn has done you no harm.' He turned my hand and rubbed the palm. 'Hard as the slate in the hills. And here you come wrapped in wolfskin. Myrddin, where have you been? What happened to you? When I heard you were missing, I felt as if my heart had been carved out. What is this Pendaran tells me about the Hill Folk?'

'You deserve a full accounting,' I replied. 'I will tell you all.'

'But it must wait for a time yet,' said Dafyd. 'I have a mass to prepare -'

'And a feast after,' put in Pendaran, rubbing his hands with childish glee.

'We will talk soon,' I promised.

He gazed at me with shining eyes. 'It is happiness itself to see you, Myrddin. God is indeed good.'

I do not believe I ever heard a more heartfelt mass spoken than Dafyd's Christ Mass that night. The love in the man, the grace and kindness shone from him as from a hilltop beacon, and kindled in his congregation a knowledge of true worship. The hall with the holly and the ivy, and the glowing rushlights bright like stars, light glinting off every surface, warmth enfolding us, love upholding us, joy flowing from each one to every other.