“… of the fishes with shells,” said Taliesin, “there are three kinds: those with feet and legs to move, and those with neither feet nor legs that do not move but lie passive in the sand, and those that affix themselves to rocks and… and” His eyes peeped open. “And I forget what comes next.”
Hafgan drew his eyes from the sky and spared a stern scowl for the boy. “You forget what comes next because your mind is not on your recitation. You are somewhere else entirely, Taliesin, and not with the fish in the sea.”
Taliesin looked solemn for a moment but no longer. The joy of the day had welled up within him so that he could contain it no longer, and he burst into a grin. “Oh, Hafgan,” he said, running to the druid, “my father is coming home today! He has been away all summer. I cannot think about stupid fish.”
“I would give my serpent’s egg for an ovate but half as smart as any stupid fish.”
“You know what I mean.”
“How do I know if you do not say it, lad?” Hafgan reached out and tousled the boy’s golden hair. “But the opportune moment is passed; we prattle here to no purpose. Let us go back and you can wait for your father with the other boys.”
Taliesin clapped his hands. “But,” Hafgan cautioned, “on the way back you shall tell me about the uses of saxifrage root.”
“Saxifrage? Never heard of it.”
“Just for that you can tell me in rhyme,” replied Hafgan.
“Catch me first!” Taliesin called over his shoulder as he raced away.
“You think me too slow?” Hafgan leaped after the boy, caught him up, and lifted him high.
“Stop!” cried Taliesin, squirming helplessly. “I yield! I yield!”
But even before the words were out of his mouth, Hafgan had dropped him back onto his feet. “Shh!”
“What is”
“Shh!” the druid hissed. “Listen!”
Taliesin fell instantly silent, turning his head this way and that to capture any stray, wind-carried sound. He heard nothing but the ordinary sounds of a woodland steeped in summer.
At last Hafgan relaxed. He looked at the boy. “What did you hear?”
Taliesin shook his head. “I heard the wren, a wood pigeon, bees, leaves rustling in the breeze-that is all.”
Hafgan stooped to retrieve his staff and straightened, brushing grass and twigs from his gray mantle.
“Well,” demanded Taliesin lightly, “what did you hear?”
“It must have been the bees.”
“Tell me.”
“I heard what you heard,” replied the druid. He turned and began walking back toward the caer.
“Ah, Hafgan, tell me what you heard that I did not hear.”
“I heard three crickets, a moorhen, the stream yonder, and something else.”
“What else?” The boy brightened at once. “My father?” he asked hopefully.
Hafgan stopped and turned to his pupil. “No, it was not your father. It was something else-it may not have come to me from the world of men, now that I think about it. It was a groan-a long, low groan of deep enduring pain.”
Taliesin stopped walking and closed his eyes once more, listening for what Hafgan had heard. The druid walked a few steps and turned back. “You will hear nothing now. The sound has gone. Perhaps I imagined it in the first place. Come, let us go back.”
Taliesin joined his teacher and they walked to Caer Dyvi in silence. When they reached the village they were met by Blaise, who was sitting somewhat anxiously at the outer gates. When he saw his master, the young man ran to him.
“Did you hear, Hafgan?” He saw the answer to his question on his master’s face and asked, “What do you make of it?”
Hafgan turned to Taliesin and said, “Run along home now. Tell your mother we have returned.”
Taliesin did not move.
“Get along with you,” insisted Hafgan.
“If you send me away, I will only spy on you to hear what you say.”
“As you wish, Taliesin,” the druid relented. He turned back to Blaise and said, “It will bear study, but I think it may be beginning.”
Blaise stared for a moment and then sputtered, “But-but how? Is it time? I thought-thought it would be-be…”
“That it would be some other time? Why? All things happen in their season.”
“Yes, but-now?”
“Why not now?”
“What is beginning?” demanded Taliesin. “What is it? Is it about the Dark Time?” He had heard the druid speak of it before, though he knew little about it.
Hafgan glanced at the boy. “Yes,” he said. “If I read the signs aright, the time is fast approaching when the world will undergo mighty travail. There will be storms and great rend-ings; the stony roots of the deep with be disturbed and old foundations shaken. Empires will fall, Taliesin, and empires will rise.”
“To what end?”
Hafgan hid a smile of pride. Young as he was, the boy had the knack of piercing to the heart of the matter with a question. “Ah,” he said, “that is what we all want to know. Get you home now; your mother will be wondering what became of you.”
Taliesin turned reluctantly to go. “You must tell me when you figure it out.”
“I will tell you, Taliesin.” The boy walked off dragging his feet and then, overcome by a sudden fit of exuberance, leaped over a stump and raced away.
“Watch him, Blaise,” said Hafgan. “His like will not soon come again. And yet, great as he will be”
“One greater is to come. I know. You tell me often enough.”
The druid’s head jerked toward his filidh. “Do I tax you with my aimless nattering?”
Blaise grinned. “Never more than I can bear.”
“Perhaps you would rather join Indeg at the Baddon Cora-he is getting on wonderfully, so I am told. Instructing the indolent sons of very wealthy men. You might do as well.”
“I have my hands full with just the one indolent son and his cranky druid.”
Hafgan placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and they started through the caer. “You have chosen well, Blaise. Still, I know it must sometimes seem as if you are stuck all alone in the world’s furthest outpost watching and waiting as life hastens by in the distance.”
“I do not mind.”
“You could travel, as I have told you. You could go to Gaul, or Galiza, or Armorica. Anywhere. There is still time. I could spare you yet a while.”
“I really do not mind, Hafgan,” said Blaise. “I am content. I know that what we do here is important. I Believe that it is.”
“And your faith will be rewarded tenfold, a hundredfold!” The druid stopped and turned slowly. “Look around you, Blaise!” he said, gray eyes gazing past his surroundings as through a window into another world. “We are in the center. This” He swung his staff in an arc before his face. “This is the center. The world does not know it yet, perhaps never will. But it is here. It is here that the future will be decided. Whatever happens in the age to come will owe to us for its beginnings. And we, Blaise, we are history’s midwives. Think of it!”
He wheeled suddenly toward Blaise, his face radiant with the power of his vision. “Important? Yes! Many times more important than anyone now alive can guess, more important even than you or I imagine. Though we be forgotten, our silent shadows will stretch across all future ages.”
“You speak of shadows, Hafgan.”
“In the Age of Light, all that has gone before will seem as shadow.”
Taliesin squirmed on a rock overlooking both the track along the sea cliffs and the trail from the woods leading to the caer-either one of which his father might choose. Four other boys bore noisy vigil with him, clambering among the rocks, seeing who could throw stones the furthest. The day had been calm and bright, but clouds were sliding in from the west, low and dark, full of tomorrow’s rain.
Watching the clouds, and thinking about what Hafgan had said earlier, Taliesin felt himself drifting, his mind sailing free like a bird loosed from its cage. He let himself go and it was like flying. He rose up on tiptoes. The air shimmered as with noonday heat. He still saw the boys playing around him, heard their careless talk, but their forms had become vaguely blurred and their voices echoed to him as if from far away. A murmuring roar filled his ears, like that of the ocean breaking on the beach after a storm.