The Paradise War (31 page)

They banked the fire high. We enjoyed a good night’s sleep. And at dawn, as Tegid had said, a boat came for us.

The sea mist lay upon the still water, hiding the island I had seen the night before. The boat glided without sound or effort out of the fog, bearing a lone oarsman—a Gwyddon whom Tegid knew. They exchanged greetings while I settled myself in the center of the craft, my spear across my knees. The Gwyddon saw me and said, “No weapon is permitted on the sacred island. You must leave them here.”

I hesitated, remembering my warrior’s promise to Scatha. Tegid mistook my reluctance and sought to reassure me. “Please, have no fear,” he said. “Nothing evil will befall us there, and your presence is required.” He signaled to one of the young men staying behind, and I reluctantly gave over my sword and spear to the Mabinog’s care. Tegid, his oaken staff in his hand, climbed in before me at the prow, and the oarsman took up his long oar at the stern. The Mabinog pushed us off the shingle, watched us away, and hastened back to the fire.

Once in deeper water, the Gwyddon turned the boat and propelled us across the water. The fog closed around us, cloudlike, thick as wool. It seemed to me that as the world passed from our sight it ceased to exist. I felt the uncanny sensation of traveling, not in distance, but through time—to another day, another age. With the slow dip and swish of the oar, the boat proceeded into a dim, mist-shrouded past, or a future veiled from view. The sensation made me dizzy, and I gripped the wooden sides of the boat with both hands.

Halfway across the narrow strait, the boat emerged from the sea mist. I saw the Isle of the White Rock before us and, turning my head to look behind, saw only the fog bank rising like a solid wall from the gray green sea. Nothing of the former world remained.

The boat seemed to take speed, shedding the last wisps of fog. A short time later, the prow touched the fine white sand of Ynys Bàinail. Tegid leaped out of the boat, pulled it onto the sand, and beached it alongside a few other vessels there. I climbed out of the boat to stand in water to my knees. To my surprise, the water was warm, palest blue, and crystal clear.

I splashed my way to where Tegid waited at the water’s edge. I made to step ashore, but he stopped me. “This is a sacred place and you are not a bard. If it were not for Ollathir, you would not be allowed even this far. Do you understand?”

I nodded. Tegid, more solemn and serious than I had ever known him, took me by the arm and cautioned me tersely. “Do only what you see me do. Speak no word aloud while you are on this island.”

I nodded again, and Tegid jerked his chin down sharply, ending my instruction. Then he turned and fell into step behind our oarsman, who was striding up the beach. I stepped onto the strand, walked a few paces and almost fell flat on my face—overcome by the weird and fantastic sensation that I could not touch the ground. That, or the ground beneath my feet was not solid, but fluid, like water or cloud. Alongside this, I had the bizarre sensation of growing very rapidly, expanding, towering above the landscape; it felt as if my head scraped the sky. The hair on my scalp and arms tingled, and my skin turned to gooseflesh. I could not move for fear of falling, certain that I would not be able to stand on the infirm ground, that it would no longer support me.

Seeing that I had become stranded, Tegid turned and hastened back to me. He placed three fingers on my forehead and uttered a word I did not understand. Instantly, the immobilizing sensation left me and I crossed the beach without difficulty. We very quickly reached a sheep-trail above the beach and followed it into the interior of the small island, toward the huge rock-stack of a hill which dominated the center of the islet, and from which it derived its name.

We walked for some time in silence and heard no sound: neither birds nor sea sounds reached the ear in that place. All was hushed and quiet beneath a heavy pall of dense haze—as if the hand of a god lay cupped over the island. Why this should be so, I cannot say. But I do not think it was a natural thing.

I followed Tegid, still a bit queasy, keeping my eyes to the uneven trail lest I catch my foot on a stone and fall down. When the sheep-track began to rise, however, I looked up to see the great hump of white rock soaring in front of me like an enormous bank of billowing cloud. The white rock formed a lofty promontory with three sides open to the sea. A narrow trail wound around the outer rim of the promontory. Without so much as a backward glance, the Gwyddon led us to this trail. At once the footpath became precipitous; one misstep and I would plunge headlong onto a scree-covered shingle far below.

I continued on, setting my feet to the path winding up and around the giant white rock. Upon reaching the furthest western extent, the track ended in a blank wall of stone. Pressing myself to the smooth rock face on my left hand, as I inched slowly closer, I saw the Gwyddon leading us into this wall of rock disappear. I almost remarked on this but remembered Tegid’s warning and said nothing.

Tegid approached the rock wall, gave a quick sideways turn, and likewise disappeared. Following his example, I, too, stepped up to the wall, and then saw the narrow cleft—just wide enough for a man to pass through if he swung his shoulders to the side. I did as I had seen Tegid do and stepped through the opening into a short tunnel. The tunnel floor slanted sharply upward. I scrambled up the last few paces into daylight and onto a huge, flat, grass-covered plain. A scattering of sheep grazed over the green expanse, drifting like clouds across a wide green firmament.

In the center of the plain rose a vast conical mound with a flattened top. Whether the mound was a thing of nature or crafted in some ancient age by human hands, there was no way to tell. Perhaps it was a little of both. Atop the mound, a slender pillar pointed a tapered finger toward the sky. At the foot of the mound were gathered the bards in numbers amounting to nearly a hundred—three thirties and three, I later learned—some dressed in brown, others in gray.

The bards were milling about aimlessly, some carrying their wooden rods, others holding branches of hazel, rowan, oak, and other trees. They moved among one another, crossing one another’s paths in random fashion. Every now and again, one of the bards would stop and strike his rod against the ground three times, or raise his branch and revolve it slowly in a circle around his head. Closer, I could hear the low murmur of their voices uttering unintelligible words.

As we approached the steep-sided mound, one of the bards saw Tegid and stepped out from among the others to meet him. Coming nearer, I recognized that it was Ollathir, King Meldryn Mawr’s bard. He glanced at me as Tegid and I came to stand before him, and seemed pleased to see me. But he spoke only to Tegid. They conferred with one another head-to-head for a short while, whereupon they were approached by a third bard, emerging from the throng. I recognized him, although it took me a moment to place him—then I remembered him as Prince Meldron’s bard, Ruadh. The discussion finished abruptly as Ruadh, smiling, joined the other two.

At the same moment, Ollathir whirled toward me. “Watch all,” the Chief Bard said, clutching me by the shoulder as if compelling me to understand. “Watch well.”

Then the three removed themselves to the company of the bards. I made to follow, but Tegid placed his hand against my chest and cautioned me with a curt shake of his head. I was left standing alone.

I gathered from Ollathir’s cryptic instructions that I was to stay behind and act as some sort of observer, so I determined to find a good position from which to view the proceedings. I found no such place—not even a stone large enough to serve as a seat. I was still looking around when the bards, at some unseen signal, arranged themselves in ordered ranks and began walking around the base of the mound in a slow, sunwise circle.

Once, twice, three times they circled the mound, their voices murmuring in that strange, droning tongue. Upon completing the third circuit, they mounted the steep slopes of the mound to gather around the central pillar far above.

From my distant position below, I did not think I would see anything of interest. Certainly, I could not hear a word of what passed on the mound. What then was I to observe? I could, it seemed to me, but oversee the gathering itself. I could vouch for the fact that it took place, but little else.

Nevertheless, I trained my eyes upon the gathering atop the mound. A sonorous humming sound drifted down from above, which I supposed to be the bards chanting or singing. This stopped after a while, and all became silent—except that every now and then I would hear something drifting down from on high in gusts and bursts: a snatch of debate, mumbled agreement, grumbled disapproval, sharp choruses of affirmation and dissent. What these outbursts signified, I could not say.

The morning passed in this way: I watched restlessly, craning my neck toward the high moundtop, the cloaked bards muttering and murmuring. I began to weary of my chore. Since I did not know what I was watching, and nothing seemed to be happening in any event, I became bored. My mind wandered.

After a while the morning sun burned through the white haze, revealing a deep blue sky beyond. Despite the chill beginning to the day, the sun warmed the plain. I lay back on my elbows in the grass and soon grew drowsy. As my eyelids drooped, it occurred to me that Ollathir would not thank me for falling asleep on duty, so I dragged myself to my feet and began walking slowly around the base of the mound.

This is how I passed the day, sitting in a bored stupor, relieved only by an occasional ramble around the mound. All the while the bards held their assembly, or
gorsedd
, as Tegid called it. Nothing happened, as far as I could tell—nothing, except the long slow march of the sun across the empty expanse of sky.

Late in the day, I climbed to my feet for yet another of my restless circuits around the broad base of the mound. I made one circle, then another. On my third or fourth time around, the assembly concluded and bards began streaming down the sides of the mound. Most of the bards tarried in separate clusters; still others sat apart on the sides of the mound, their arms folded, gazing out across the grass plain to the sea. However, one small group of a dozen or so bards remained atop the mound, their heads together as if in deep and desperate conversation.

I stood apart from the groups, but no one took any notice of me. The Derwyddi, sour-faced and glum, all seemed preoccupied with weighty matters; at one point, however, I saw one of the Derwyddi steal away from the group and hurry across the plain toward the hill-track leading down to the strand. I noted it, since that was the only thing I saw the whole day.

As I did not see Tegid or Ollathir among any of the bards lingering on the hillside or plain, I supposed them to be among the group clustered around the standing stone atop the mound—and who, from the look of them, were ardently disputing some point. This palaver continued for a good while and then ceased abruptly. The bards lingering on the plain turned to watch their brothers coming down the slope, gazing, I thought, expectantly toward them.

But nothing was said, and no sign was given. Those who had been waiting took up places behind their leaders, and all moved in procession across the plain to the hillside track and began the long descent to the beach below.

Tegid came and stood by me as the others departed, warning me yet again to remain silent. Ollathir, who had been the last to come down from the mound, walked to where we stood. He neither looked at us nor spoke, but merely passed before us and continued on his way to the path. Tegid took his place behind Ollathir, and I followed.

By the time we arrived at the beach, the boats were plying the narrow channel between the islands. We waited as they worked back and forth across the strait, ferrying the Derwyddi to the larger island and the shore where their horses waited. We were the last to leave. Ollathir wanted it that way, I believe, though it made for a long, hungry wait.

The sun had begun sinking when we finally touched ground on Ynys Oer once again. The Mabinogi and all the other bards had gone; only our horses remained in the shelter of the hut. It was as if the gorsedd had never happened. I found my weapons stashed in the stone hut, and a little bundle of food left behind. I retrieved my sword and spear, gathered up the food, and brought it to where Tegid and Ollathir stood in quiet consultation.

“We will stay here the night,” Tegid informed me. “There is much to do yet, and daylight will not last.”

Ollathir, grunting agreement, turned and walked away along the strand. Tegid watched him for a moment and, seeing my wondering glance, explained, “Yes, he is troubled. The gorsedd did not . . .” He paused, hesitated. “It ended badly.”

I nodded. Tegid laughed at me. “You may speak now, my friend. Nothing prevents you.”

Strangely, until Tegid released me from my ban, I had not felt that I
could
speak—yet I had noticed no impediment. I found my tongue now, however, and said, “Am I to know what is happening now? And why I have been brought here like this?”

Tegid put his hand on my shoulder. “It is for Ollathir to tell you what he will. When he returns, perhaps he will lay all before you.” He let his hand drop, and as he turned away I thought I heard him mutter, “Knowledge is a burden—once taken up, it can never be discarded.”

I watched him walk away, resenting the secrecy and guile.
Oh yes, knowledge is a burden,
I thought,
but ignorance is a burden too
—and one I was beginning to find extremely tedious. Someone had better tell me something soon, I vowed, or find himself another beast of burden.