City Under the Waves - 3. Chapter 3

When they reached the marsh Celyn did not so much as pause but strode the all but invisible paths with absolute certainty. It was an effort to follow him and it was a miracle that no one fell into the water. This time, when the trees swallowed them, it was Marc who knew fear, bowing under the weight of darkness that was an almost physical presence; a pressure in his mind and a dull ache in his heart which intensified rather than dissipated when they stepped out into the sunshine on the banks of the lake.

Celyn stopped as if he had hit a brick wall. His body was in the grove but his mind was far, far away. Marc threw himself down onto the grass and closed his eyes, also withdrawing to another, darker place. Mererid felt lost, as if intruding in a sacred moment in a sacred place. She went to sit by the side of the water hoping, perhaps for her own visions.

Nothing but the silver flick of fish moved in the water; only the breeze whispered through the trees. Mererid was almost asleep; in danger of sliding into the water, when a voice seemed to come from the air around her and whisper directly into her head.

“Lady of the Lake. So beautiful. Are you who you seem to be? Shall I tell you of the destiny you were born to fulfil? Look to your brothers, you are in danger of losing them both.”

Startled she sat up. Celyn was crouched beside her, smiling. It was he who had spoken but not the words she had heard. He repeated himself.

“Are you okay? You looked like you were going to fall into the lake.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was almost asleep. I probably would have fallen in. Thank you.”

“It’s beautiful isn’t it, this place; the lake?” His eyes were distant and cloudy as though he were looking through a veil to a place that was invisible to mere mortals such as she. She could only nod in mute appreciation. “I know a story about a lake; maybe it is this one. Would you like to hear it?”

“I would love to.” Marc laughed in the background, a scornful sound which they both ignored.

“Once there was a king, a great and mighty king whom some called a god. He had the finest war band in all of Wales. Only two hundred men but so skilled they could stand against ten times that number; a hundred times more, or so it was told for they never did. So great was his prowess in battle that he came to be called a God of War. Aeron was his name. He was a great and good man.: fierce in battle, brave but gentle and loving. His compassion knew no bounds and his people loved him. He had the soul of an artist.”

Celyn spoke passionately, shaping the image of the dead king almost as though he had known him personally. He was a true storyteller; weaving his words into a rich tapestry of colour and spellbinding them both. Even Marc sat up on one elbow, entranced while he spoke of how Aeron had, by dint of his fearsome reputation, brought peace to all of the lands under his protection, and how he had won for himself a faery bride by his great skill with the harp.

“He built a great castle of crystal on the shores of a lake, where a mountain rose above the waters, cutting a path between his world and hers. In time she bore him three children there; two daughters and a son; as beautiful as their mother, as strong and proud as their father. All was as it should be and would have remained if he had not forgotten the only gift his wife had ever asked of him, given freely on the day of his wedding. The gift was a vow; that he would never raise his hand against her or her issue.

“Two of the children; the daughters, were twins; Alarch and Aerfen. They were identical in every way except that Alarch was fair, with blue eyes and a sunny nature, while Aerfen was dark in every way. One day the children were playing in the courtyard. Aeron was listening to their happy laughter when suddenly it changed to screams and shrieks of horror.

“Fearing attack of some kind Aeron raced to the courtyard and a gruesome scene met his eyes. Alarch had been charming the birds from the trees, enchanted by their song and the brightness of their eyes. They would not come to Aerfen and, in a fit of jealous rage she had captured them, one by one; tearing off their heads, stilling their fluttering hearts and silencing their song forever. All the while she taunted her sister for her helplessness as, with her voice she froze her to stillness and the birds with her as she carried out her gristly work.

“When Aeron entered the scene the courtyard was littered with the small headless bodies, Alarch was weeping and Aerfen licking the blood from her fingers; pure evil sparkling in her eyes. Appalled and angered Aeron strode across the yard and struck Aerfen hard across the face. The child did not make a sound merely smiled with such a look of triumph that Aeron paused with his hand uplifted for another blow.

“A swish of skirts behind him made him turn to see his wife walking towards him with a look of such sadness on her face that his heart broke there and then. Gently she kissed him then, without a word and with Aeron and Alarch helpless to stop her, she took Aerfen’s hand and together they walked from the castle and disappeared into the waters of the lake.

“Aeron never recovered from the loss but life went on and, without the dark thing in their midst the family thrived and grew in beauty and in love for each other.

“Some years later Aeron and his retinue were hunting in the hills behind the castle. Suddenly the hounds put up a great white stag, the likes of which had never been seen before. Immediately they took up the chase and plunged deeper and deeper into the woods until they were hopelessly lost though they did not know it. At last when it seemed as though they were going to overtake the stag and bring it down, it disappeared and the riders found themselves entangled in a deep thorn thicket that hemmed them in on every side with no clear path through. Bemused they drew their swords and began hacking at the tangled briers.

“Whilst the king and his court were struggling free of the enchanted forest his two remaining children were playing with a golden ball in the courtyard of the crystal castle. All at once they heard singing coming from one of the spires. Hand in hand they climbed for hours, stairs that had no end in a tower with no top.

“At last they came to a door which swung open before them and they stepped inside. A girl was sitting on a low stool with her back to them singing as she combed out her long dark hair. As they entered she turned and smiled at them, her dark eyes cold. It was Aerfen.

“Too late they realised they had been tricked. They turned to flee but the door had vanished. There was no crack in the seamless glass to show there had ever been an exit there. Laughing, Aerfen threw open the windows to show them the limits of their prison. There was a wide shady courtyard with high walls on all sides and a fountain playing in the corner. In the tower room there were beds and toys to pass the time. Promising food every day Aerfen vanished and they were alone.

“Some time later when Aeron had eventually fought free of the forest and rode back to the castle a terrible sight met his eyes. The village below the castle had vanished beneath the waters of the lake. Only the castle stood alone on its mountain rising in the center, towering over the waters. In the eerie silence the crying of his children was carried to their father on the wind and his heart died within him.

“Try as he might the king could not reach the castle. He tried to cross the lake but boats sank and swimmers were dragged down by invisible hands from below. In despair the king sought the aid of the faery folk and, in return for certain favours they promised their aid. Through their own sources they had found that the only thing that could break the enchantments on the castle and allow access to the castle and to the children was music. More specifically the notes of a harp which belonged to a bard, the bard of Arawn, king of the underworld. The man’s name was Gwyon and king Aeron embarked on a long and dangerous journey into the land of shades to enlist his aid.

“After many days and many adventures Aeron proved himself to Arawn and won his favour. Arawn gave his blessing to take Gwyon back to the overworld until his task should be completed.

“Gwyon took a boat and set it on the lake. So long as he played the boat floated and he was able to sail safely over the waters. He was almost at the base of the mountain when a huge swan rose from the lake and flew straight at the boat. The white wings beat over the bard and knocked the harp from his hands. By some miracle Gwyon managed to swim back to shore but the harp was lost in the waters below and all hope of saving the children was gone.

“The king gave a great cry of sorrow so that the very foundations of the mountain shook and slowly the mountain and its glittering sliver crown began to fade until it disappeared altogether. With his heart broken the king turned to the only thing that could ever after give him peace…war. More than ever he resembled what men had made of him…A God of War and Vengeance; only now he was no longer tempered with compassion so that he came to be feared more than he was loved.”

As Celyn’s voice faded Mererid became aware, once again, of her physical surroundings, drawn back from the world he had created for her with his words and his passion. She smiled at him and he smiled back, his eyes bewitching her as the colours swirled and shifted even as she watched.

“It was a lovely story Celyn, and so sad. What happened to the bard?”

“He wandered little lady. For more years that he can remember he wandered; but he always came back.”

Both Celyn and Mererid swung round, startled. They had heard no one approach but now a tall man was standing over them, a smile on his lips, lost in a bushy black beard and chasing in and out of large sad eyes. The voice was deep and melodious, lilting in the singsong way of those used to using it for music.

With a sigh the big man sat down and stared out over the lake. His presence was commanding; even Marc threw off his lethargy and sat up to listen to what he had to say. When he spoke it was as if he was speaking to himself.

“With my harp gone I could not return to my home; to my Lord. Neither could I remain with the king, for his sorrow was my sorrow and his loss my loss. We stood each as a reminder to the other of what had happened; how I had failed. And so I wandered, all over the world. I roamed, searching for answers, for another way. I found nothing and was close to despair when I met the Lady. I was in a far land near a lake very like this one. I was washing my face when I looked up she was there; standing on the waters before me smiling. ‘Do not despair bard,’ she said, ‘for all is not lost. One day someone will come who will undo what my daughter has done. She will return to you what was lost and free all of my children. Go back and wait, for one day she will come.

“And so I came back and I waited, through long lonely years I waited but she never came.”

“But she will come Gwyon, she will come.”

The bard turned to look at Celyn properly for the first time. A frown creased his brow

“You have the look of someone I have known. And yet…and yet I cannot recall that we have ever met.”

“No, we have never met in this world…but I have had…dreams; maybe they are memories. After all what is a life but a dream; a shadow of waking. Each dream is a continuation of the last and a prelude to the next? How many dreams ago were you my friend? Or maybe it was my father you knew. Is that who you see in my face?”

Wonder came into Gwyon’s eyes and Celyn’s own looked utterly shocked by what he had said; as though he had had no control of the words which came from his own lips. Very quickly the shock became horror and he turned away. Gwyon stopped him from walking away.

“Your father boy?”

“”No; it was a mistake. You couldn’t possibly have known my father. My father is dead.”

“Many fathers have died over the years; many children too. But that does not stop you from being who you are.”

“And who am I? Do you know? I’m damned if I do. All my life all I have ever wanted was to be someone else: anyone, except me. My face; my hair; my eyes, they are like a prison. They mark me, set me apart, make me different. Do you know how many times I have tried to dye my hair; to mask my eyes. Nothing works. Children spit at me; old men cross themselves when they see me; people cross the street to avoid me.

“I have never had a home, not somewhere I could be accepted, fit in and be myself. But when I came here... I don’t know…I felt… It was like… like I belonged. For the first time in my life I belonged; to a place as strange as I am. What does it mean? Can you tell me? What does it make me? And these two…what is it here that is calling to them? What is it that is calling me to them; wanting...”

He paused, glancing quickly at Marc, exhausted by his outburst. Like a spring uncoiling he got to his feet and took a few steps away, then turned again.

“Questions! All I have is questions. Who am I? What am I? Where do I belong? Why am I so different? Why do people hate me who don’t even know me? Why? Why? Why? Why only questions? Where are the answers? When will I find them and when I do… Will they make my life better…or worse? Sometimes I think I will go mad for all the questions.

“When I have come here before there has been peace. For a time I have been freed from the questions. But today…where is the peace today? Something has happened here…something… Can’t you feel it? My head is spinning with it and I…” he faltered his passion leaving him. “I am afraid.” Crumpling, he fell to his knees; his head bowed with the silver hair brushing the grass before him.

Gwyon rose and gently raised Celyn to his feet; feeding him with his own great strength.

“Take heart. Yes, I can feel the change. Something is coming; it has already begun. I cannot answer your questions but the time is coming when all the answers will be revealed. Do not be afraid. It is what you have been waiting for. You have a place and you will find it; of that I am certain. The time is coming and it will be soon. Take heart.”

Mutely Celyn nodded, biting back the tears that he had only just managed to prevent from spilling over. Mererid, feeling out of place; out of time, got to her feet and went to stand by Gwyon. He looked down at her and smiled. As if she had known him all her life, she rested her head against his side as he encircled her with his enormous arm. Marc, however barely saw the bard at all. He was watching Celyn’s face. Without realising it he was reaching out to him with his heart through his eyes and it touched something inside Celyn, something that, at first blossomed in his face like the sun coming from behind a cloud, and then turned to something like horror when the warmth in the gleaming, amber eyes turned cold. He shivered. Many things disturbed him in all of this, but of them all this disturbed him most: that someone he had known for such a short time should have such an affect on him. Mentally he shrugged: time was relative wasn’t it. A moment, a lifetime, many lifetimes, what difference?

The moment was profound. They were bound by invisible threads in mute camaraderie. And then it was broken as Marc abruptly got to his feet and turned away. He threw a stone into the lake, viciously, as if he was trying to throw something away that had nothing to do with the stone. As they watched another stone skim the surface, and then another until a lazy voice taunted with barely concealed venom as Marc turned with half closed eyes.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day? I can’t deny the fascination but shouldn’t we be doing something?”

“Marc!”

This time he had gone too far and Mererid was ready for a fight. Gwyon put a pacifying hand on her arm. He was still smiling, a real smile with warmth in it. Marc winced in the face of it and turned away. As he did so he paused, lifting his head to catch a sound he had almost heard. In the same instant the others heard it too. It could have been the wind or it could have been…it just could have been the song of a harp, muffled by distance and many feet of water.

A look of pure joy broke over Gwyon’s face and he would have leaped into the lake then and there if he had been alone. This time it was Mererid who exercised a restraining hand.

“She’s there. In all of these years we have never heard her speak and now, at last…”

“Okay, so now we know the harp is there, but that doesn’t help us get it out.”

“No, but I have an idea what; or who can.”

“You do?”

“An idea, yes. Yesterday when we came here I saw… well I suppose you could say that I saw pictures in the water. I saw a town at the bottom of the lake and then I saw the crystal castle and the children playing. And then there was a cave and a woman with a crystal ball. It was when I touched the crystal that I saw the castle. Maybe if we could find the cave...”

“No!”

They all swung round to face Marc, surprised by the cold horror in his voice. His eyes were wild in a stricken face but, with an effort he brought himself under control and when he spoke again his voice was quite level, if somewhat strained.

“Even if there was a cave, we’d never find it. For there to be a cave there would have to be a mountain or, at least an outcrop or something. There is nothing like that anywhere near here. It is so flat that you can… Oh Gods...”

He stopped in mid sentence, his eyes flying wide with shock, staring past the others out over the lake. Curious they turned, following his stare and they too froze when they saw what he had seen. The lake stretched as usual, bordered by the trees of the wood, but, on the far side where there had once been only trees there was now a mountain. It was not a very large mountain but it was majestic, crowned with sunlight, stretching the hem of its verdant gown to touch the waters of the lake.

So it was decided. Without conversation or discussion they moved with unspoken accord to find a path that would lead them round the lake. Only Marc hung back, undecided. Something was waiting in the cave; waiting for him. Inside his head and his heart he could feel the stirrings of the evil that had touched him and had never let him go. He knew that, in the cave where it had begun it would become fully awake and then what? Would it consume him altogether? Would it change him…make him into…what? Into ‘Her’ or something like her? That he could not bear. He would give up his life before that.

Half decided he turned away, back towards the village; but the path had gone. The trees pressed together in a menacing living wall. He knew that they would not let him pass. Then he would wait here. He made to sit in the grass but in his mind’s eye he saw the trees moving; drawing closer, herding him towards the water until there was no land left between trees and water. When he looked at the lake the water was red and thick like blood. Steam rose as the water boiled and parted, allowing dead faces to peer up at him; hands reaching, shedding flesh. He tried to take a step back but the trees were there pushing him forwards until the hands could touch him, draw him down.

“No!” It was a cry of anguish and an expression of the pain that bent him double and stole the breath from his lungs; but it was almost silent and no one heard. Gasping he straightened and the water was clear again; the trees back where they should be: but there was and echo of darkness in his head and a gnawing dull pain in his heart. With a shudder he hugged himself tightly against the pain and hurried after the others. It seemed that no one had noticed but on one face there was a frown, in one heart there was a... stirring; a gnawing concern that left him dizzy and confused. What was it about this boy? He was so... and he didn’t even like him, but....