Behind me the world of sense and substance, stark and solid, faded from view; before me opened the glimmering, insubstantial Otherworld. The boat, its bull-necked pilot, and my fellow passengers vanished – as if stolen by an all-obscuring mist. I felt the rising upsurge of my spirit as it shook off the dull, unfeeling flesh and soared free. Fresh wind rushed over my body; I tasted sweet air on my tongue. In the space of three heartbeats, my feet touched a far distant shore.
A woman wearing a long gown of gleaming sea blue stood waiting for me. Fair efface and form, she raised a slender hand and beckoned me to follow. I moved as one without thought or will, shielding my dazzled eyes with my hand. I looked for the sun, but could see it no more. The sky itself glowed with the intensity of brilliant white gold, a radiant firmament reflecting a great hidden source of light that was everywhere present, casting no shadows.
The woman led me to the foot of a high hill a short distance from the shore; the estuary had disappeared and a sparkling green sea stretched to the far horizon. We walked up the hill, the broad flank covered with grass so green it glowed in the golden light like sun-struck emerald.
Atop the hill a standing stone pointed like a long finger towards the shining sky. The woman, her long hair black as polished jet, her green eyes shining with wisdom's undimmed light, lifted her hand to the stone and, in a voice soft as the breeze rippling the grass on the hilltop, asked, 'Can you read the stone, little man?'
I stepped to the stone and saw that its rough surface was deeply carved with the spirals, knotwork, and maze-like patterns of old. I gazed at the ancient designs, letting my eye follow the intricate tracery of the cunning lines. Though I had seen it countless times before, I could make no sense of it.
'I cannot read them,' I confessed, and turned away from the stone to see the woman's face cloud and tears begin to fall from her lovely eyes. She buried her face in her hands and her slender shoulders shook with sobs. 'Lady,' I said, agitation making my voice tight, 'why do you weep?'
'For sorrow that this confession should fall from your lips,' she said. 'For you, above all men, should heed the signs carved in the stone.'
'I read words,' I countered. 'Give me words and I will discern their meaning.'
She raised her tearful eyes and gazed upon me with an expression of deepest grief and mourning. 'Alas and woe,' she said, 'now is our doom come upon us! Once there was a time when you would have beheld these selfsame signs and their meaning would have been clear to you. This is my lament: you then, O Son of Dust, might have read them as men now read their precious books.'
This last was said as she turned and walked away. I started after her, but she held up her hand and bade me stay. 'There will come after me another, one who will lead you back the way you came.'
By this I thought that I would return to the world I had left behind. Either I was mistaken, or she meant something else, for I waited and no one appeared. Yet something held me on that high hill through a day and a night.
I slept through the dark period and awoke to see a maiden approach. She came to stand beside the tall stone. 'I give you good greeting,' she said, and smiled. Her teeth were even and white, her brow high and smooth; her eyes were bright. She was dressed in a mantle of green and gold, and her feet were bare.
In her hands she held a cloth-wrapped bundle, which she opened to reveal a harp. The harp was none other than my own, for I recognized it.
'What is this?' she asked in a voice to charm small birds from the sky. And before I could answer, she added in a warning tone, 'Though you think you know it, surely you know it not at all.'
'I would be ignorant indeed not to know what I myself have held and played a thousand times,' I replied. 'It is my harp.'
She shook her head sadly. 'Though you say it is a harp and speak the word forthrightly, it is clear you do not know it. For if you had spoken in truth, this instrument would have sung its name aloud. The sound of your voice alone would have called forth music.'
The maiden turned away, and with a world-weary sadness, rested the harp against the rune-carved standing stone. 'There will come after me another who will lead you back the way you came,' she said, and disappeared, leaving me alone once more.
Three days and three nights passed, and I awoke on the fourth day to see a tall youth standing beside the stone-so still he might have been a part of it. Like the woman, his hair was dark and his eyes green. His cloak was blue like the sky, and his shirt leaf green, his trousers yellow gold, and his belt white as a cloud. He carried a large cup, or bowl, in his hands.
Upon seeing him, I rose and stood before him. 'I have been waiting for you,' I told him, suddenly irritated at the delay.
'Though every heartbeat was a thousand years,' he answered, 'you have not tarried half so long as I have waited for you.' Anger leapt in his eyes like lightning seaming black storm clouds with fire. 'I have waited all my life for you.'
'Who are you?' I asked.
'I am the King of Summer,' he replied.
I knelt before him. 'I am your servant, lord.'
'Stand on your feet, little man. You were never servant to me,' he sneered. 'For how is it that the servant does not recognize his lord?'
'But I have never seen you,' I insisted. 'Even so, I stand ready to serve you through all things.'
'Get you away from me, False-hearted One. For if you had been my servant you would have heard my call. And you would know what it is I hold here in my hands.'
'When did you call me, lord?'
'Myrddin,' he replied in a voice aching with sorrow, 'I have ever called you. From before the beginning of the world I have sung your name.'
'Please, lord,' I cried, 'forgive me. I did not hear… I did not know.'
With a look of mingled sorrow and disgust, he placed the cup he carried beside the stone next to the harp. He then started away. 'Lord, I beg you!' I called after him.
He paused and looked back. 'After me will come another who will lead you back the way you came.'
The Summer Lord vanished then, and I was alone once more. I contemplated the stone and its carved symbols; I gazed upon the harp, but did not play it; and mused over the meaning of the cup.
Three days passed on my lonely hilltop, and three dark nights. A sound came to me as I slept, and I awakened. I rose and stood, listening for the sound that had roused me. Almost at once, I heard someone singing in a clear, strong voice. My heart beat more quickly. I knew the voice… though I had heard it only once before – for there is none like it in all the world or any other. I heard it, and, oh! I knew it.
Taliesin!
FOUR
I gazed across the hilltop to see a man striding towards me: a fine and handsome man. His hair gleamed like shimmering flax, his cloak was blue as the night sky and full of stars; his tunic was white, and his trousers soft leather. He carried a stout rowan staff in his right hand and a harp slung over his shoulder on a strap. In all he looked a mighty bard – Penderwydd, champion among bards. My heart ached to see him, for I realized there were no more of his kind in the world.
Great Light, where are the men of power and vision, whose words bring life from death and kindle goodness in the coldest hearts? Where are the men who dare great things, whose deeds are legend?
'Hail, Taliesin!' I called, casting aside my grief and running to meet him.
He seemed not to hear me, for he strode on as if to pass by. 'Taliesin, wait!' I shouted. He halted and turned aside, but did not greet me.
'Do I know you, little man?" he asked, and the question cut through me like the thrust of a sword.
'Know me? But I… Taliesin, I am your son.'
He gazed at me, searching me head to toe. 'Is it you, Myrddin?' he asked at last; his mouth bent in a frown of disapproval. 'What has become of you, my son?'