The men muttered to themselves and made the sign against evil as they threw extra furs on the horses, mounted, and rode upriver. Elphin ignored his clansmen’s rudeness and gnawed a bit of hard black bread as he rode, wrapped in his hunting cloak and thoughts of what the day might bring.
Elphin was a sturdy young man with a broad, good-natured face and soft brown eyes; his hair was mouse brown, as was his drooping mustache. He liked to eat and, even more, to drink, and his voice was often raised in song. If his hands were never overbusy, neither were they ever too full to help another. In all, his manner was as open and guileless as his countenance.
Unlike those around him, Elphin seemed not to mind his bad luck, appearing almost oblivious to it. He could not understand why people made so much of it. Anyway, there was nothing to be gained worrying about it, for all matters of fortune were in the hands of the gods who gave or withheld as they pleased. In his experience, matters tended to turn as they would and nothing he did or did not do made any difference.
True, the weather might have been better. Wet snow and wind were not the best conditions for talcing a fortune of salmon from the river. But what of that? Could he shut up snow in the sky or stop the wind from blowing?
The trail from the caer wound along the Dyvi’s clear waters, now gray and cold, mirroring iron-dark heavens. Snow clung to the trees, weighing down their new-leafed branches. The shrill wind burned exposed flesh and the men hunched their shoulders against the chill; their horses, winter coats partly shed, bent their heads and plodded on.
They reached the weir by midmorning, and although the clouds remained as solid and grave as ever, and snow still fell steadily, the wind had lessened. The weir wardens dismounted and stood looking at the net-strung poles across the shallows. Snow topped the poles, and the nets themselves were traced in white where they showed above the black water. Across the river a stand of larches stood like a group of white-mantled druids gathered to watch the proceedings.
“There’s the weir,” said one of the wardens, a bull-necked young man named Cuall. “Get on with it.”
Elphin nodded. With an amiable shrug, he began to strip off his clothes. Naked, he made his way down to the water, lowering himself carefully over the wet rocks. He entered the water, clamping his arms around his chest to stop the shivering, and waded toward the first net.
The net came heavily from the dark water and Elphin pulled with spirit. But the net was empty.
He cast a look shoreward, where his kinsmen stood un-moving, their faces creased in scowls, shrugged, and made his way slowly to the next pole, his flesh prickling with cold. The next net was empty, as was the one following and, save for a snagged stick, so was the one after that.
“An evil day,” grumbled Cuall. The man’s voice carried over the water. Elphin heard him but pretended otherwise and continued with his task. “No reason we should freeze,” replied Ermid, the second warden. “Let us have a fire.”
The two set about gathering dry kindling and the next time Elphin looked back he saw a merry blaze in a clearing on the bank. He turned and rejoined the others who sat hunkered over the flames.
The young man knelt before the fire and sighed with relief as the flames began to thaw his frozen limbs. “Had enough of salmon already?” asked Cuall. Ermid laughed sharply.
Elphin stretched his hands to the warmth and said through chattering teeth, “I w-would say the salmon have h-had enough of me.”
This answer angered Cuall. He jumped to his feet and shook his fist in Elphin’s face. “All your ill luck aforetime was nothing compared to this! You have destroyed the virtues of the weir!”
Elphin bristled at the accusation but replied calmly, “I have not yet finished what I came to do.”
“What is the use of it?” bawled Cuall. “Any man can see you’ll be getting nothing for your trouble!”
Once more, the young man braved the icy water and made his way among the poles and nets, working his way slowly across the river. Cuall watched him and then said to Ermid, “Come on, we have seen enough. Let us go back.”
They scooped snow with their hands and tossed it onto the fire until it sizzled and died, then climbed back into their saddles. They had just turned their horses, however, when they heard Elphin’s shout. Cuall rode on, but Ermid paused and looked back. He saw Elphin striding through the thigh-deep water toward the bank, pulling a black bundle behind him.
“Cuall, wait!” Ermid shouted. “Elphin has something!”
Cuall reined up and squinted over his shoulder. “It is nothing,” he snorted. “A drowned carcass.”
Elphin shouted again, and Ermid dismounted. Cuall watched the two of them with impatience and swore under his breath, then urged his mount back along the trail. He arrived just in time to see Elphin and Ermid haul a large leather bag from the water.
“Look what Elphin’s found,” said Ermid.
Cuall remained unimpressed. “A watersogged skin that’s not worth spit.”
Ermid took out his knife and began hacking at the bag. “Careful!” warned Elphin. “You will damage my fortune.”
“Your fortune!” Cuall barked, climbing down from his horse. “Aye, your fortune right enough. Every year to this, the weir yields the value of a hundred in silver, and all you get is a castoff bag.”
“Who knows? There may yet be the value of a hundred silver inside,” said Elphin, and he took the knife and began carefully slitting the leather skin. Then he and Ermid opened the bag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in thick, gray seal fur and tied with leather thongs. The thongs and the fur were dry.
“See here!” cried Ermid. “The water has not come inside.”
Elphin lay the bundle on the ground and, with trembling hands-shaking as much from excitement as from cold-began untying the carefully knotted thongs. When the last knot was freed, he lifted his hand to unwrap the bundle, but hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?” growled Cuall. “Show us this fortune of yours so we can tell the clan.”
“Go on,” said Ermid and reached to pull away the fur wrapping.
Elphin caught his hand. “Why so eager to share this bad luck, cousin?” he asked. “Allow me.”
With that Elphin took the corner of the sealskin and pulled it back. There on the ground before them lay the body of an infant.
“Scrawny thing’s dead,” observed Cuall, rising.
The child lay still, its fair skin ghostly pale, its cold, tiny lips and fingers blue. Elphin stared at the infant, a man-child, exquisitely formed. Hair as fine as spider’s silk and the color of gold in the firelight fell lightly across a high forehead. The closed eyes were perfect half moons, the ears delicate shells. There was not a flaw or blemish on the tiny body anywhere.
“A beautiful child,” whispered Elphin.
“Who’d be throwing a babe like that in the river?” wondered Ermid. “He looks fit enough to me.”
Cuall, holding the horses, sneered. “The child is bewitched, like as not. Accursed he is. Throw him back and be done with it.”
“Throw away my fortune?” scoffed Elphin. “I never will.”
“The babe is dead,” said Ermid, not unkindly. “Throw it back lest the curse cling to you for finding him.”
“What of that? As I am cursed already, it will not matter.” Elphin gathered up the babe in its bundle and cradled it to his naked body.
“Do what you like,” growled Cuall and swung himself up into the saddle. “Are you coming, Ermid?”
Ermid rose and fetched a fur from his horse, draped it over Elphin’s shoulders, and remounted.
Elphin held the child for a long moment and felt the tiny body warm against his skin. Snow swirled down through the overarching branches, casting a pal! of silence over the surrounding forest-a silence that was broken by a small, muffled cry.