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By Root 783 0

the waxing moon he would pick his way through the grasslands or stride back and forth along the streambank, always hurrying as if he could leave his shame and dishonor far behind or perhaps as if he could meet himself coming in the other direction and at last know who he was. Never once in that long madness did he think of himself as Rhodry Maelwaedd. The best swordsman in the kingdom, the lord whose honor was admired by the High King himself, the best gwerbret Aberwyn had ever known—those men were all dead. Every now and then he did become the old Rhodry who was a father and a grandfather and wonder if his blood kin fared well, but only briefly. Even his beloved grandson seemed to be drifting farther and farther away from him with every minute that passed, as if the child rode a little boat sailing endlessly away down some vast river. Just at dawn he would come stumbling back exhausted from these walks to slip into Aderyn’s tent and sleep the day away in a welter of dreams. Often he dreamt of old battles, particularly the destruction of a town called Slaith; that dream was so vivid that he could practically smell the smoke as the pirate haven burned to the ground. Once, just when the moon was at her full, he dreamt of the White Lady, but it was only a distant thing, a memory dream and perfectly normal. The marvels were gone, utterly gone. When he woke, he was in tears.

Aderyn and Gavantar were sitting in the center of the tent by the dead fire and studying a book together, talking in low voices about sigils and signs. From the light glowing through the walls of the tent, Rhodry could tell that it was near sunset. When he sat up, Aderyn looked over.

“Hungry? There’s smoked fish.”

“I’m not, but my thanks.”

Aderyn closed the book and studied him for a moment, or, rather, he seemed to be studying the air all around Rhodry.

“You know, you need to get out in the sunlight more. You’re pale as milk.”

Rhodry looked away.

“Oh, come now,” Aderyn said sharply. “No one outside of Jill and me and Gavantar even knows the truth.”

“Everyone else just thinks I went mad, right? That’s dishonor enough.”

Aderyn sighed. Rhodry forced himself to look at him.

“Somewhat I wanted to ask you,” Rhodry said. “When this, well, this trouble started, you said some strange things that I’ve only just remembered. She found me again, you said. What do you mean, again? I never saw her before in my life.”

“Um, well, I was wondering if you’d remember that. I made a terrible mistake, saying such a thing.” The old man got up and walked over, and at that moment he seemed taller, towering, threatening, his dark eyes cold. “Do you truly want to know? I’m bound to tell you if you ask, but that asking is a grim thing in itself, and the beginning of a long, long road.”

All at once Rhodry was frightened. He knew obscurely that he was about to let some terrible secret out of its cage like a wild beast, knowledge that would rend and rip the few shreds he had left of his old life, his old self. He had seen too many secret places of the world, crossed too many forbidden borders already, to risk more.

“If I’m not meant to know, keep your secrets. It’d be a fine way to repay you, anyway, prying into things you shouldn’t tell me.”

Aderyn sighed in honest relief and looked his normal self again. It occurred to Rhodry, much later, that the old man had been as frightened as he.

That day marked a turning point, as if fear were the only medicinal strong enough to drive out his shame. That very evening Rhodry left Aderyn’s tent and wandered over to Calonderiel’s, where Jill was staying. As usual, the banadar had a crowd around him, young men, mostly, passing a skin of mead back and forth. While Jill watched, a little nervously, everyone greeted Rhodry without comment. He found a place to sit off to one side, took his turn at the skin when the mead came his way, and merely listened to the talk of hunting and the summer’s grass. When he left, everyone said goodbye in a casual sort of way, and that night he only walked for a couple of hours under the waning moon. On the