Taliesin Read online

  STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD

  TALIESIN

  Book Two of

  THE PENDRAGON CYCLE

  FOR BRAD AND NANCY

  MAP

  TALIESIN PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  While many of the old British names may look odd to modern readers, they are not as difficult to pronounce as they seem at first glance. A little effort, and the following guide, will help you enjoy the sound of these ancient words.

  Consonants—as in English, but with a few exceptions:

  c: hard, as in cat (never soft as in cent)

  ch: hard, as in Scottish Loch, or Bach (never soft, as in church)

  dd: th as in then, (never as in thistle)

  f: v, as in of

  ff: f, as in off

  g: hard, as in girl (never gem)

  ll: a Welsh distinctive, sounded as "tl" or "hl" on the sides of the tongue

  r: trilled, lightly

  rh: as if hr, heavy on the "h" sound

  s: always as in sir (never his)

  th: as in thistle (never then)

  Vowels—as in English, but with the general lightness of short vowel sounds:

  a: as in father

  e: as in met (when long, as in late)

  i: as in pin (long, as in eat)

  o: as in not

  u: as in pin (long, as in eat)

  w: a "double-u," as in vacuum, or tool; but becomes a consonant before vowels, as in the name Gwen

  y: as in pin; or sometimes as "u" in but (long as in eat)

  (As you can see, there is not much difference in i, u, and y—they are virtually identical to the beginner)

  Accent—normally is on the next to the last syllable, as in Di-gán-hwy

  Dipthongs—each vowel is pronounced individually, so Taliesin=Tally-éssin

  Atlantean—Ch=kh, so Charis is Khár-iss

  Ten rings there are, and nine gold torcs

  on the battlechiefs of old;

  Eight princely virtues, and seven sins

  for which a soul is sold;

  Six is the sum of earth and sky,

  of all things meek and bold;

  Five is the number of ships that sailed

  from Atlantis lost and cold;

  Four kings of the Westerlands were saved,

  three kingdoms now behold;

  Two came together in love and fear,

  in Llyonesse stronghold;

  One world there is, one God, and one birth

  the Druid stars foretold.

  S. R. L.

  OXFORD, ENGLAND, 1987

  Contents

  E-Book Extra

  Stephen R. Lawhead on…

  Dedication

  Map of Britain

  Taliesin Pronunciation Guide

  Epigraph

  “Ten rings there are, and nine gold torcs…”

  BOOK ONE: A Gift of Jade

  One

  I will weep no more for the lost…

  Two

  Gwyddno garanhir stood at the gate of his hilltop…

  Three

  Kellios guttered hard beneath bel’s fire-bright diska…

  Four

  After two days and most of one night in the saddle…

  Five

  On the processional way, the magi slowly…

  Six

  Hafgan stood wrapped in his cloak of midnight…

  Seven

  When the sun orb flared above the great…

  Eight

  Elphin and his companions forded the river…

  Nine

  “It is late and we must travel early…

  Ten

  Elphin’s wedding feast continued the next…

  Eleven

  “Have you ever seen anything so…

  Twelve

  When the bell in the rotunda tolled the…

  Thirteen

  News of Elphin’s astounding prowess in the…

  Fourteen

  Charis rose early and dressed quickly…

  Fifteen

  Two days after Tribune Avitus’ visit, Elphin…

  Sixteen

  The high king’s body was taken to an inner chamber…

  BOOK TWO: The Sun Bull

  One

  Listen! in the silence of these sunlit afternoons…

  Two

  Taliesin stood in the center of the bower…

  Three

  The dawn held all the promise of the…

  Four

  Charis’ injury made it easier for the…

  Five

  It rained in the morning when the firepits were…

  Six

  Charis did not know whether avallach…

  Seven

  Charis awakened before sunrise…

  Eight

  Cormach stayed at caer dyvi four days…

  Nine

  Although confinement drove her nearly mad…

  Ten

  Charis chose a chariot for speed, if not for…

  Eleven

  Work on Elphin’s timber hall proceeded at a…

  Twelve

  Time unwound in a slow, endless coil for…

  Thirteen

  For taliesin the last of summer was pure…

  Fourteen

  The first tremors struck keluos just…

  BOOK THREE: The Merlin

  One

  What shall I write of the hard…

  Two

  Winter had been hard, the spring…

  Three

  The pilgrims stayed with king avallach…

  Four

  They slept that night in the hall of…

  Five

  “Is something wrong?” asked llie…

  Six

  Taliesin did not see charis that night…

  Seven

  When the melancholy came upon her…

  Eight

  “We can make ourselves secure. We have…

  Nine

  Taliesin rose just before dawn the next…

  Ten

  Dafyd listened, a frown appearing now…

  Eleven

  The cold rain squalls of the last days…

  Twelve

  “Did you think to go to him without telling me…

  Thirteen

  Day by day the spring passed and…

  Fourteen

  Charis and taliesin journeyed along the…

  Fifteen

  Maridunum lay in the heart of a…

  Sixteen

  “I have seen this before," said heilyn…

  Seventeen

  When the feast celebrating merlin's birth…

  Eighteen

  “Lady, we can stay here no longer…

  About the Author

  By Stephen R. Lawhead

  Praise for

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  BOOK

  ONE

  A GIFT

  OF JADE

  ONE

  I WILL WEEP NO MORE FOR THE LOST, ASLEEP IN THEIR WAter graves. I have no more tears for my youth in the temple of the brindled ox. Life is strong in me and I will not grieve for what was or might have been. Mine is a different path and I must follow where it leads.

  But I look out from my high window onto fields of corn ripening to the scythe. I see them rippling like a golden sea, and in the rustling of the dry leaves I hear again the voices of my people calling to me across the years. I close my eyes and I see them now as they were from my earliest memories. They stand before me and I enter once more that glad time when we were young and the cataclysm had not come upon us—before Throm appeared with dire prophecies burning on his lips.

  It was a time of peace in all Atlantis. The gods were content and the people prospere
d. We children played beneath Bel's golden disk and our limbs grew strong and brown; we sang our songs to fair Cybel, the ever-changing, to grant us dreams of joy; and we lived out our days in a land rich with every comfort, thinking it would always be that way.

  The voices of the departed speak: "Tell our story," they say. "It is worthy to be remembered."

  As so I take my pen and begin to write. Perhaps writing will ease the long months of my confinement. Perhaps my words will earn a measure of the peace that has been denied throughout my life.

  In any case, I have little else to do; I am a captive, made prisoner in this house. So, I will write: for myself, for those who come after, and for the voices that cry out not to be forgotten.

  * * *

  Men called the royal palace the Isle of Apples for the groves that covered the slopes leading down to the city below. And indeed, in blossom time King Avallach's palace seemed an island floating above the earth on clouds of pink and white. Golden apples, sweeter than honey from the high meadow aviaries, grew in abundance in the orchards of the king. Apple trees lined the wide avenue that ran through the center of Kellios to the sea.

  On a high seaward terrace, Charis leaned against a column, gazing out across the rooftops of the city, watching the sunlight glimmer on beaten sheets of red-gold orichalcum and listening to the sighing hum of the aeolian harp in the random fingerings of the wind. Drowsy, and slightly drunk on the heady fragrance of apple blossoms, she yawned and turned her languid attention to the warm blue crescent of harbor.

  Three ships, their green sails bulging in the breeze, slid slowly into Kellios harbor, trailing diamonds in their wakes. Charis watched them heel about, empty their sails, and glide toward the wharf. The sturdy longboats of the harbormaster were already making their way out to the ships to secure the lines and guide them to berth.

  Kellios was a busy city; not overlarge—not as big as great Ys, city of temples and shipyards in Coran, or even as big as the market city Gaeron, in Hespera—but blessed with a deep bay so that traders from every kingdom called frequently to provision themselves for longer journeys south and east across the great expanse of water that seamen called Oceanus.

  Chariots and wains, the latter loaded with produce of the fields round about Kellios or with goods from other kingdoms, traversed the streets and avenues from early morning to dusk. The market stalls rang with the chatter of trade: value established, prices set, bargains struck.

  From the temple mound in the center of the city rose the holy edifice—a replica in miniature of Mount Atlas, home of the gods. Sweet scented smoke ascended eternally from the many altar fires of the temple as costly sacrifices were performed day and night by the Magi. And from the stables below the temple could be heard the bellow of the sacred bulls as they offered their voices to the god just as one day they would make an offering of their living blood and flesh.

  Next to the temple stood the bullring, a great oval arena joined to the temple stables by an underground tunnel. In a few hours the first bull would be led through that tunnel and ushered into the pit, and the sacred dance would commence. For now, the arena stood silent and empty.

  Charis sighed and turned away, retreating back into the cool, shadowed corridor, the patter of her sandaled feet echoing along the polished stone. She climbed the wide steps at the end of the corridor and wandered onto the rooftop garden.

  A light breeze lifted the broad, notched leaves of the slender palms lining the rooftop, rank on rank, in their shining orichalcum basins. Blue parrots chattered and shrieked among the thick-clustered dates, while quetzals preened their iridescent plumage in the grapevines enshrouding ornamental columns. Nearby, two leopards slept in the shade, spotted heads resting on their paws. One of them opened lazy golden eyes as Charis walked past, then closed them again and rolled over. A fountain splashed in the center of the garden, surrounded by tapering stone pillars carved with sun signs and charms.

  The cool, clear water was afloat with fresh flowers and citrus fruit and the elegant shapes of black swans gliding serenely around the pool, necks curled in graceful arcs. Charis approached and took a handful of meal from a nearby amphora. She sat on the wide rim of the fountain pool and scattered some meal as the swans paddled over to scoop it up, jostling one another, their long necks darting like snakes.

  Charis chided the swans for their uncouth behavior as they beat their wings and hissed at one another. She flung the rest of the meal to them and rinsed her hands in the pool. The water was inviting and she considered stripping off her pleated skirt and taking a swim, but contented herself with dangling her feet in the water and dabbing her cheeks with damp hands instead.

  She snatched a floating tangerine from the pool and began peeling it, lifting the first golden section to her mouth and closing her eyes as the tart-sweet juice tingled on her tongue. The days were long and so much the same, with little to set one day apart from another. This day, at least, there was the bull dance to look forward to and, at twilight, the sacrifice.

  Those diversions sparked her life with momentary excitement. Without them, Charis felt she would be driven mad by the unrelenting sameness of life in the palace. Now and again she imagined that she would like to run away, to disguise herself and travel the tumbled hills, to see life among the simple herdsmen and their families; or perhaps she would take a boat and sail the coasts, visiting tiny, sun-baked fishing villages and learning the rhythm of the sea.

  Unfortunately, making good either of those plans would mean taking action, and the only thing more palpable than the boredom she endured was the inertia that enclosed her like a massive fist. The weighty impossibility of changing her life in any but the most insignificant detail insured that she would not try.

  She sighed again and returned to the corridor, pausing to pick a sunshade from a nearby bush, idly plucking the delicate yellow petals and dropping them one by one, like days, fluttering from her hand.

  Upon entering the long gallery which connected the great hall with the royal apartments, she saw a tall, dignified figure ahead of her. "Annubi!" she called, flinging the remains of the flower aside. "Annubi, wait!"

  The man turned stiffly and regarded her, his solemn features pressed into a frown. Annubi was the king's seer and advisor—as he had been to Avallach's father, and Avallach's father's father. He was also Charis' special friend and had been ever since Charis could remember; alone of all her father's retainers, Annubi had always had time for a little girl and her curiosity.

  On many a hot and sleepy afternoon, when Bel's disc warmed the land and everyone else crept off to find a cool place to nap, little Charis had beckoned Annubi from his stuffy cell to stroll among the blue shadows of the columned portico where the seer would tell her stories of long-dead kings and instruct her in intricacies of the seer's art. "It is a useful skill for a princess," he would say, "practiced discreetly, of course."

  But the little girl had grown, and the curiosity had faded. Or, if not, it lay asleep in some hidden corner of her spirit.

  "Ah, Charis," he said, momentarily rearranging his frown. "It is you."

  "You need not be so abrupt, Annubi," she said, sidling up to him. "I will not detain you from your oh-so-important errands. I only wanted to ask you who had come." She took his hand in a familiar gesture and they continued along the gallery.

  "Has something stirred you from your lethargy?"

  "Sarcasm is not a royal attribute." She mimicked his dour expression. Usually it made him laugh. Today, however, Annubi scowled at her from under his overgrown eyebrows. "Have you been using the stone again without my guidance?"

  She laughed. "I need no silly stone to see what is before my own eyes. I saw the ships enter the harbor. And the palace is like a tomb, it is so quiet around here."

  Annubi's lips curled at the corners. "So, at long last you have mastered the first principle: the second sight is no substitute for a sharp eye."

  "Do you mean," Charis asked as they began to walk along the gallery, "that the
second sight would not have shown me more?"

  "No, child." The seer shook his head slowly. "But why bother to learn the second sight if you will not use the first?"

  "I thought the Lia Fail saw everything!"

  Annubi stopped and turned to her. "Not everything, Charis. Only a very little." He raised a cautionary finger. "If you ever hope to be a good seer, you will never trust the stone to reveal what your own eyes should have seen." He paused and shook his head. "Why do I tell you these things? You have no real interest."

  "And you still have not answered my question."

  "The ships are from your uncle. As for your next question—why they have come? Can you not guess?"

  "Is Belyn here?"

  "I did not say that."

  "You say little enough, it seems to me."

  "Think! What year is this?"

  "What year?" Charis looked mystified. "It is the Year of the Ox."

  "What year?"

  "Why, 8556 years since the world began."

  "Bah!" The seer made a face. "Leave me."

  "Oh, Annubi!" Charis tugged his sleeve. "Tell me! I do not know what answer you want."

  "It is the seventh year—"

  "A council year!"

  "A council year, yes, but more precisely, a seventh council."

  The significance eluded Charis momentarily. She gazed at Annubi blankly.

  "Oh, leap into the sea and be done with it!"

  "The seventh seven." It came to her then. "The Great Council!" she gasped.

  "Yes, the Great Council. Very astute, Princess," he mocked.

  "But why should my uncle come because of the Great Council?" Charis wondered.

  Annubi lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. "Some things are better studied in private before airing in public, I suppose. Belyn and Avallach are close—as close as two brother kings may be. But kings they are, and who can fathom the heart of a king?"