The Pendragon's Challenge (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 7) (7 page)

“It’ll be faster if you run.” And then Goronwy gave him a summary of what had happened since they’d left the castle, leaving nothing out, including Mabon’s recent encounter with the Goronwy’s sword.

The young man stared at him, his eyes as big as trenchers. Goronwy lifted his chin to point in the direction of the castle. “Go.”

The young man ducked his head in a quick bow. “Yes, my lord. It is done.” He ran off.

“You gave him an earful. That’s a great deal to remember,” Catrin said as she watched the boy’s retreating back.

 “He will remember it. He has a bard’s gift for it.”

“Our visit here will be all over the countryside tomorrow.”

“The boy can keep a secret too. It would be best if the news that spreads is no more exciting than that we passed through. As long as the
sidhe
walk among us, it could be very much worse than that.”

Chapter Seven

Taliesin

I
t was well past midnight when the companions reached Valle Crucis: the Valley of the Cross. It was a peaceful spot, with green fields and a brook running merrily through the grounds.

“The Horn of Immortality isn’t here you know, if that’s why we’ve come,” Mabon said as they halted in front of the gatehouse. “I already looked.”

Goronwy edged between Taliesin and Mabon. “When was this?”

Since the time of the Romans, the abbey had been a place of pilgrimage for Christians, not only throughout Britain, but in other countries as well. It was here that men believed Joseph of Arimathea had left the Cup of Christ. The pilgrims were right, of course, but Taliesin was pleased that the secret of the horn’s location remained his and Cade’s. Though he was surprised too, since the darkness beneath Dinas Bran shouldn’t have been difficult to detect. And yet, Arianrhod had not mentioned it.

Mabon shrugged. “Months ago now.” He grinned at Taliesin. “Don’t worry, the monks won’t know me in this guise. I’m looking forward to hearing what they have to say when you ask for it.”

Taliesin thought but didn’t say, “Who says I’m here to ask for it?” Instead he gave way to Catrin, who said, “What did they tell you?”

“Nothing of use,” Mabon said.

“You didn’t hurt any of them, did you?” Catrin said.

“Of course not.” And then Mabon laughed—one that sent shivers down Taliesin’s spine. “Not in a way that any of them would remember.”

Goronwy put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but then eased it away before leaning in to whisper to Taliesin. “I can’t tell if he’s telling the truth, or if he speaks as he does merely to aggravate.”

Taliesin’s gifts hadn’t deserted him in this instance, because he himself could tell. “A little of both. Remember, he’s been walking among humans for countless years. He knows something of us.”

“Our weaknesses, surely,” Goronwy said. “He has seemed continually surprised, however, that we have strengths too.”

And that was definitely one of Mabon’s weaknesses. With a nod from Taliesin, Goronwy pulled a rope, and a bell chimed inside the abbey, though not with a tolling sound as when a church called people to worship, but with just a little tinkling somewhere close by.

While Catrin waited patiently, as was her fashion, Goronwy stood with his arms folded across his chest and stared impassively at the door. Mabon shifted from foot to foot, already bored. Taliesin himself kept his eyes on the gatekeeper only he could see: a wizened old monk who crouched by the door, smiling at one and all. Taliesin nodded at him, and the man smiled back.

It couldn’t quite be said that Taliesin could see ghosts, since ghosts didn’t exist as most people thought of them. They could not harm or affect normal men. What did exist was a spiritual remnant of the dead, which remained behind in the same way that their physical remains could still be seen. Nobody occupied these misty beings most of the time, but an occasional soul had the wherewithal to return to this plane of existence by animating their spiritual form. Such a creature couldn’t harm the living, but he could speak to them.

Or, at least, he could speak to Taliesin. Taliesin’s sight may have failed far too many times this evening, but he had other gifts to call upon. This ghost might not know what lay beneath the abbey, but there were others in the abbey who did. While Taliesin didn’t have a choice but to follow the path that lay before his feet, he would keep an eye out for any shade who could speak to him about the dangers he faced.

Finally, footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door, and a window in it opened.

“Who wakes us at this hour?” A man with white whiskers stuck his pointed nose through the opening. Taliesin didn’t answer, just looked at him. The man pursed his lips, clearly not happy about Taliesin’s presence, but he nodded anyway. “Right.”

The door opened, and the man gestured to the companions that they should enter. With a last glance at the spirit at the door, who was still chuckling to himself, Taliesin led the way inside.

 But not everyone was able to follow. As Catrin made to cross the threshold behind Taliesin, the gatekeeper’s arm swung up to block her. “We do not suffer women to enter our presence.”

 While Taliesin had been speaking to him, Catrin had been standing to the right of Goronwy, hidden by his bulk, so the gatekeeper hadn’t seen her at first.

It wasn’t as if Taliesin had forgotten that the monks here didn’t like women, but he had no patience with such prejudice either. Women were a focus of spiritual energy and were more emotional and intuitive than men by nature. These monks were fools to exclude them from their practices.

“Why not?” Mabon’s chin stuck out in a look that had become very familiar.

“Evil resides within them,” the monk said.

Taliesin rubbed his chin, feeling the bristles just poking through the skin. He hadn’t shaved this morning. “She is with me.”

“It does not matter. It is our law.”

Mabon suddenly grinned. “You are more foolish than I expected if that’s what you think women are about.”

For the first time ever, Taliesin agreed with Mabon. That wouldn’t do at all. But at the same time, he would not side with the monks. Any man who could dismiss his own mother as a source of evil had no place in Taliesin’s world. Fortunately, these monks were an isolated sect, and their beliefs were shared by no other abbey in Wales that Taliesin knew of—or he would have been speaking more pointedly to Cade about the proclivities of this god of his.

Catrin shot Mabon a sour look. “It’s all right, Taliesin. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.”

Goronwy wasn’t having any of it. “I have been baptized, and I have never heard of such a prohibition.” He shouldered his way forward, elbowing the monk in the chest as he crossed the threshold. The man fell back. Since Goronwy’s arm was around Catrin’s waist, she came with him whether the monk liked it or not. Then Goronwy pulled the hood of Catrin’s cloak over her head to hide her hair. “We won’t be but a moment.”

“N-n-n-no, please, my lord.” The monk was stuttering, shocked to find himself disobeyed. “I cannot allow it! My abbot will punish me—”

“Then don’t tell him.” Goronwy looked at Taliesin. “We should be about whatever business you have here.”

Ignoring the monk’s fluttering anxiety, Taliesin marched across the courtyard and straight up to the great double doors of the main church building. Matins, the midnight vigil, had come and gone, and there was nobody else around. Mabon, Goronwy, and Catrin followed, along with the monk, who was still protesting.

Taliesin stopped on the threshold and allowed the others to pass him. Rather than leave the peacemaking entirely to Goronwy, which might be amusing, he spread his arms wide and filled the doorway, preventing the monk from entering the church after them. “We have business that does not include you. Return to the gatehouse and forget that we were ever here.” It was the voice of Command, one Taliesin did not often use, and barely used in this case, putting only a little force into his words. He’d known in advance that the gatekeeper was suggestible. As he’d told the others, he’d been here before.

The monk’s eyes glazed for a heartbeat and then cleared. When they did, he was no longer looking at Taliesin. A scuff mark on the frame of the door had caught his eye, and he licked his finger and rubbed at it. Then he turned away, muttering about careless novices.

Goronwy stepped to Taliesin’s side and watched the monk walk back across the courtyard. “Do I want to know what you did to him?”

“I gave him a slight nudge in the direction he wanted to go. He didn’t want to wake the abbot and wanted this problem to simply go away—so I encouraged him to think that it had. He is much happier now.” Taliesin closed the door with a gentle thud.

If Taliesin had been alone, he might have opened and closed the door again, just to appreciate how well made it was and how easily the heavy door swung. Catrin gained her strength, as did most seeresses, from the living creatures that filled the earth. Taliesin, on the other hand, drew his power from the earth itself—from soil and stone. Many druids made a wood or forest their center of worship, but it was equally likely to find them in stone circles and caves. Or it had been until the Romans came and murdered every druid they could find.

Catrin shook her head. “And some men question why I have not found the Church to be a haven for me.”

“Taliesin took care of it.” Goronwy took her arm. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now?” Mabon headed down the nave.

“Taliesin?” Catrin glanced back.

“The crypt,” Taliesin said.

“This way.” Goronwy strode towards the altar, which lay in the exact center of the church, and then through the monks’ choir, where they sat during their services. The steps to the crypt lay at their feet.

Taliesin meant to follow them, but instead he found his feet frozen to the ground at the sight of so many shades inside the church. Most were floating near the walls, paying no attention to their surroundings, but four or five turned to look at Taliesin. One wore the uniform of a Roman legionnaire, his helmet tucked under his arm. Another was dressed in ragged robes, and Taliesin recognized him as a fellow druid, though not one he knew personally.

“Blessings, friends,” Taliesin said, though he didn’t say the words out loud. He didn’t need to.

The druid’s eyes were full of concern. “Have you drunk from the holy well?”

“I have,” Taliesin said.

The druid nodded. “Then you may enter. But beware. All is not as it seems.”

“If I know anything, I know that.”

The druid glided closer, his eyes focused intently on Taliesin. “You are not like the others.” He looked him up and down. “I am forbidden to say more. Know only that the one you fear is close, and he seeks you too.”

Taliesin assumed the shade meant Efnysien, but whether he was right didn’t seem like a question he could ask. “I seek nothing for myself.”

“So we understand. That is the only reason you have been permitted to continue.” The ghost faded backwards, towards the legionnaire, and his last words echoed in Taliesin’s ear. “You are a rare one, Taliesin, and more important than you know.”

Taliesin found himself shaking a little as he approached the stair. Mabon had picked up a candle from the monks’ altar and was waiting for Taliesin with it. Though Taliesin had been to the church before and for years had wanted to descend into the crypt, he’d never done so. Perhaps that was just as well, since from what the ghost had said, he might not have been given admittance.

The abbey had been built over the top of an ancient cave in which his people had worshipped before the Romans had come to their land. Inside Taliesin, a chorus rose up as the men who’d come before him worried about what damage the monks might have done to their sacred site. He told them to hush and that they would soon find out.

This adopting and coopting of ancient holy sites had been happening since the first priests came to Britain, as Christians attempted to convince the people that worshipping the Christ was only a step from worshipping the old gods. It meant that tunnels, whether built by the ancients, Romans, or early Christians, were found at virtually every church and fort throughout Britain. In many cases, the secrets that lay beneath had been forgotten or destroyed but, as at Dinas Bran, the core of what had once been a holy site to someone remained.

Taliesin resented the way this new religion appropriated the symbols of the old for its own purposes, but he told himself to be pleased too, for their actions meant the Christian monks hadn’t destroyed the cave, as they could have. It was to this cave, in fact, that Joseph of Arimathea had first brought the Cup of Christ for safekeeping, knowing that nobody would look for it among pagan artifacts. When he died, he’d been buried beneath the mountain upon which the castle of Dinas Bran rested—also above a sacred druidic site and entry point to the Otherworld—and the Cup with him.

Until Cade and Taliesin had permanently buried Joseph and his Cup inside the mountain, Taliesin hadn’t connected the Cup of Christ to the horn recorded in his own tradition as a great Treasure. But he was beginning to understand that the connection was not limited to the cup.

He wasn’t a Christian, but he’d learned their myths out of self-preservation. If the Cup of Christ was the same Horn of Immortality of druidic legend, then other artifacts could have a similar counterpart. For example, it might be that the Mantle was made from the cloth in which Christ’s body had been wrapped; the knife, which had also been found, was the weapon that had pierced Christ’s side as he hung on the cross at Calvary; even Dyrnwyn was the sword of fire held by the angel of heaven who guarded the entrance to the Garden of Eden. And so on.

Goronwy looked at Taliesin over the top of Catrin’s head. “It’s really dark down there.”

Taliesin studied the unlit steps. “I fear it too.”

When the others looked at him anxiously, Taliesin blinked, realizing that he’d spoken those last words out loud. As at Dinas Bran, Taliesin felt the dark force beneath his feet, thrumming to get out. “I fear that you may regret coming with me.”