He turned his eyes toward the west and the clouds gliding in. The water gleamed like oiled sunlight, and further out, just at the horizon, he saw an island. It glistened and shone like a faceted stone or polished glass, and was nearly as transparent: an isle of glass.
The beams of light glancing off its central peak struck his eyes, pierced them like spears and passed through him. The fire of their passing burned his bones. He felt brittle, as if he would shatter.
The roar increased. He could make it out now. It was a chorus of voices. They cried out as one:
Lost! All is lost! The gods are fallen from on high, and we die. We die! All is lost… lost… lost…
The voices trailed away. Taliesin looked and the Isle of Glass faded, its outline dim and vanishing like a vapor on the wind. Then it was gone and he was standing at the edge of the cliff, trembling, the sound of his friends’ voices booming in his ears, his head throbbing.
“Taliesin!” shouted one of the bigger boys. “What is wrong? Taliesin! Quick, one of you run and fetch his mother!”
Taliesin shook his head and stared at the others gathered around him. “No… no-it was nothing.”
“You looked like you were in a fit,” said another boy. “You said you saw it. What did you see?”
Taliesin glanced out at the sea again; the horizon was clean and empty. “I thought I saw something that was not there.” The other boys craned their necks to study the sea, and it came to him that they would not understand, perhaps would never understand. “It is gone now. It was nothing.”
“Maybe a boat,” offered one of the smaller boys, gazing fearfully out at the huge expanse of ocean.
“A boat,” replied Taliesin. “Yes, maybe it was only a boat.”
The boys fidgeted uneasily. “I’m hungry,” said one. “I think I’ll go in now.”
“Me too,” seconded another.
“I have to feed the pigs,” remembered a third.
“Not me,” replied Turl, the older one. “You go on. I’m waitin’ for my father. Right, Taliesin? Me and Taliesin will wait all night if we have to.”
The others left, jumping over the rocks and down to the little dell, on the other side of which rose the hump of hill on which the caer was built. The two boys sat down on the rock and watched the sun slide nearer the western sea.
“I am going to Talybont soon,” said Turl presently. “My uncle lives there; he is going to learn me my arms. I shall stay in his house until I be old enough to ride the Wall with my Da.” He stared at Taliesin sitting silently beside him. “What about you?”
Taliesin shrugged. “I will stay here, I think.” He had never heard anyone suggest otherwise, at least not in his presence. “Anyway, I have to stay with Hafgan.”
“He’s a gelding!” hooted Turl. “All druids are, says my cousin, and he is old enough to ride the Wall next year.”
“Your cousin is a fool,” muttered Taliesin darkly.
“What do you do with him all day?” wondered Turl, letting the slight to his cousin go unheeded.
“We talk. He teaches me things.”
“What sort of things?”
“All sorts of things.”
“Druid things?”
Taliesin was not sure what his friend meant by that. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Birds and plants and trees, medicine, how to read stars, things like that. Useful things.”
“Teach me something,” taunted Turl.
“Well,” Taliesin replied slowly, looking about, “you see that bird down there?” He pointed to a white seabird skimming the waves Below them. “That one is called a blackcap.”
“Anybody knows that!” laughed Turl.
“It only eats insects,” continued Taliesin. “It scoops them off the water.” The bird’s head swung down and its beak sliced a v-shaped ripple in the tidepool Below. “Like that- did you see?”
Turl smiled broadly. “Coo! I never knew that.”
“Hafgan knows more than that-he knows everything.”
“Could I come and learn with you?”
“What about your uncle?”
Turl offered no reply; so they sat together, flaking the yellow lichen from the rock, until Taliesin jumped to his feet. “What is it?” asked Turl.
“Come on!” cried Taliesin, already running over the rocks toward the woodland trail on the far side of the dell. “They are coming!”
“I don’t see anyone!”
“They are coming!”
Turl hurried after Taliesin and soon caught up with him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I know,” replied Taliesin as they ran along.
They ran across the grassy hollow of the dell and up the knoll on the other side. Taliesin reached the knoll first and stared at the place where the bare dirt track crested the hill beyond. “I don’t see them,” said Turl.
“Wait.” Taliesin shaded his eyes with a hand and squinted hard at the road as if he would make them appear by force of will. Then they heard it-a light jingling sound, followed by the deeper drumming of horses’ hooves.
A moment later they saw a prickly forest of gleaming lance-heads sprout from the crown of the hill. The forest grew and men appeared beneath the shining arc of their weapons, and then the horses were sweeping down the near side of the hill and the boys were racing down to meet them, yelling, arms outspread as if they would fly straight into their fathers’ arms. “Da! Da!” they cried.
The leader of the warband turned toward them and nudged the man riding next to him. He raised his hand and the column cantered to a stop as the boys came running toward them. Taliesin stared; his father wore the short red cloak of a centurion and the stiff leather breastplate. At his side was the broad-bladed gladius. He looked every inch a Roman commander-except for the fact that his cloak was fastened at his shoulder by a great silver wolf’s-head brooch with ruby eyes and his trousers were bright blue. “We have been watching for you all day! I knew you would come before sunset,” said Taliesin.
Elphin took one look at Taliesin’s face and declared, “Was there ever a better welcome home?”
“No, lord,” replied Cuall, “never was.” He beamed down at his own son and gave the lad a sharp salute.
“Climb up here, Taliesin; we shall ride in together.” Elphin put down his hand and pulled the boy up into the saddle with him. “Forward!” he called, and the troop moved on.
By the time they reached the outer gates, the whole village had turned out to meet them. Wives, mothers, fathers, children-all waving, calling glad greeting to their sons and husbands and fathers. Elphin led the band to the center of the caer and dismounted them. They stood at attention beside their horses for a moment and then Elphin shouted, “Dismissed!”
The men let out a whoop and the caer erupted in noisy welcome. Elphin surveyed the scene, grinning, happy to be home at last, happy to have delivered his band safely yet another year.
“Were you born in that saddle?”
Ehonwyn, her red-gold hair brushed and glowing in the late afternoon light, stood with a hand on the horse’s bridle. She wore a new orange gown with a woven girdle of blue and green stripes; her arms were bare, displaying gold armlets inset with a serpentine of emeralds, and at her throat a slim tore of twisted gold.
“Look, Taliesin, a goddess has addressed us,” said Elphin, drinking in the sight of her.
“Come down from there and I will show you whether I am a goddess or no.”
Elphin handed the reins to his son and slid from the saddle.
“Take care of Brechan, Taliesin. Give him an extra measure tonight.” He slapped the horse on the rump and the animal trotted away, a beaming boy on his broad back. Then his arms were around his wife and her lips were on his.