Destiny's Path (5 page)

B
RANWEN FOUND
R
HODRI
and Blodwedd together by the stream. He was kneeling while the owl-girl dabbed at his bowed head with wetted mullein leaves.
Making amends for hitting him
, Branwen thought.
And knowing Rhodri's good heart, it will probably be enough
.

As she approached them, Fain cut through the air and swooped down in a long curve, his wings cupping his frame as he came to rest in the grass slightly behind her. The falcon stared hard at Blodwedd, moving uneasily from foot to foot and ruffling his feathers.

“Where would you have me go?” Branwen asked, her eyes on Blodwedd.

They looked up at her as she spoke.

Rhodri glanced from Branwen to the falcon. He
smiled but did not speak.

Blodwedd glowered at her. “The Saxon hawks circle above the place of singing gulls,” she said. “There you must go, and there you must tear them from the sky before their feasting begins.”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Branwen. “Where is the place of singing gulls?” She recalled the burning fortress of her vision. “Is it on the coast? Is it north of here?”

“Singing gulls,” said Rhodri. “That would be
Gwylan Canu
in the old language.” He looked at Branwen. “Do you know of such a place?”

“I do,” said Branwen in surprise. “It is upon the north coast of Powys—it is the citadel of the House of Puw. Its lord is Madoc ap Rhain—Iwan's father.”

Rhodri gave a low whistle. “Well, now—that would explain why Iwan spoke to you in your vision. It was
his
home that you saw in flames, and his people who were slaughtered.”

“It would be a tempting prize for the Saxons,” said Branwen. “Gwylan Canu stands in the gap between the mountains and the sea. If the citadel of the House of Puw could be taken, there would be nothing to stop the Saxons from sweeping west into the cantref of Prince Llew. And if that happened, what hope would there be for Powys or Gwynedd or all the north of Brython?”

“And once the Saxon cock sits crowing his triumph in the north, what will prevent him from gathering
his armies and strutting southward?” said Rhodri. “Ironfist has an insatiable appetite for war, Branwen, and King Oswald will not sleep easy until all Brython is under his thumb.”

Branwen glared at Blodwedd. “You said Govannon sent you to be my eyes and ears. So, do what you were sent to do—show me the way and tell me what I should do when I get there.”

Blodwedd's large eyes blinked as she looked into Branwen's face, puzzled. “I have told you where to go and what you must do,” she said. “I do not know
how
you are to travel to meet your destiny, nor how you should fulfill it when you reach journey's end.”

“Then go back to your master and tell him to send me a guide who
does
know,” Branwen snapped. She turned about, staring into the trees. “Govannon? Do you hear me? I will do as you ask—but I don't know
how!
”

She waited, peering under the branches, listening for a voice from the forest gloaming. The wind sighed. The stream chimed and sang. The sun continued to rise in a clear blue sky. No voice came from the woods.

“I think he has sent you all the help you are going to get, Branwen,” Rhodri said. “The rest is up to you.” He gazed northward. “How far is it to the sea?”

As though in response, Fain let out a series of shrill, carping calls.

Blodwedd watched him with her head cocked
to one side. “Not far, as the falcon's wing makes it,” she said. “But there are no roads northward over the mountains. You must make your way down to the western lowlands and follow clearer paths.”

“You understand his speech?” Rhodri asked in amazement.

“I do,” Blodwedd replied.

Branwen turned to Rhodri. “So, we should go down into Bras Mynydd and then head north.” She frowned. “A curious troop we'll look, too—you in your beggar's rags and I in my brother's battle-gear.” She glanced at Blodwedd. “And
her
.”

“What if we meet the prince's search parties on the road?” asked Rhodri. “They will not have stopped looking for us yet, and I've no wish to be dragged, bound and gagged, back to a certain death in Doeth Palas.”

“We will be wary,” Branwen assured him.

But Rhodri had good cause for his fear. Only a brief time had passed since he had been captured in the woods outside Prince Llew's citadel and condemned as a Saxon spy. Had Branwen not rescued him, his broken body would be hanging from the gallows by now. But Branwen's actions had made them fugitives, and capture by Prince Llew's soldiers would be the end of them both.

Branwen mounted up and flicked the horse's reins to get it moving. Rhodri's horse followed, with Rhodri as awkward as ever in the saddle. The owl-
girl was seated at his back, her arms around his waist and her eyes uneasy.

Rhodri's words ran through Branwen's mind as they rode, sounding more and more ominous as they moved through the mountain forest and drew ever nearer to the cantref of Brys Mynydd.

What if we meet the prince's search parties on the road?

 

Rhiannon's sparkling path had led them into the mountains and left them in the wild, deep in an unknown forest, far from hearth and home and the well-trodden roadways of man. Even if she could have found the usual route down into the west, Branwen knew she could not risk taking it. If Prince Llew's soldiers came over the mountains, they would surely choose High Saddle Way, and at all costs she wanted to avoid meeting armed men on the high passes. She knew of no other safe pathways through the rearing peaks, but a way off these mountains had to be found, perilous as that venture might prove to be.

The whole day was spent seeking a safe corridor between crags and pinnacles of naked rock. Fain flew on ahead, never straying far out of sight and often returning to guide them away from precipitous falls—crumbling slopes where a single misplaced hoof could set the whole hillside moving in a deadly river of rubble and scree.

At last they came over the highmost ridges. As the
afternoon bled away, they began to make their way down the forested slopes to the less perilous foothills and valleys.

They made camp in a narrow defile cut by a racing river of white water. Alder trees reached out overhead, and the air was filled with the soft drone of bees. With tinder and flint, Branwen kindled a small fire; the midsummer evening was not cold, but the dancing flames were cheering in the wilderness, and the crackling, leaping fire would warn predatory animals to stay clear. The mountains were full of wolves, and although they seldom attacked people in the food-rich summer months, it was wise to take precautions.

Fain perched on a low branch close by. He sat silently, only half seen, a shadow among the leaves. His head was tucked into his feathers, and his black eyes were unblinking. Branwen was oddly comforted by his presence. Although he, too, was a messenger from the Shining Ones, he did not disturb her half so much as did the owl-girl.

There she was—Blodwedd the owl-girl, squatting huddled at the fire by Rhodri's side as he went through their meager provisions. Her arms were wrapped around her shins, her chin resting on her pointed knees, and the flames reflected in her wary eyes. There was something unnatural in her pose, as though she did not entirely know how to use her human body.

“Not much to fill our bellies after such a hard day,” Rhodri observed with a sigh, laying out a small remnant of cheese and a piece of bread no bigger than a clenched fist. He upended the earthenware flask. “No milk, either.”

“We have water enough to hand,” said Branwen, nodding toward the gushing stream. “Give me a few moments to rest, and then I will see if I can bring down something for us to eat.” She had in mind hunting with her slingshot for a hare or a small wild boar—or even a young deer, if luck was with her.

“There is no need,” said Blodwedd. “I will find food for us.” Her eyes shone in the firelight. “Fresh meat. A shrew, perhaps, or a plump mole.” Her lips curled in a pointed smile. “They make good eating while the blood runs warm.”

Branwen looked at her in revulsion.

“We can't eat raw meat, Blodwedd,” Rhodri said gently. “And I'm not sure we'd like the taste of moles and shrews even if we could.”

Blodwedd's eyebrows knitted. “Would a young hare be to your liking?” she asked him.

She follows him around like a newborn puppy. Things were better when it was just the two of us. Look at those big eyes of hers, gazing up at him as if the sun rose in his face!

“A young hare would suit us very well,” said Rhodri. “The last hot meal we ate was roast hare. Branwen killed it with her slingshot.”

“The Warrior-Child hunts with stones and
leather,” Blodwedd said, getting to her feet. “I need only my hands and my teeth. I shall not be long.”

“Be careful,” Rhodri said. “Your wound is still fresh.”

“Have no fear,” said Blodwedd, resting her hand for a moment on the bandage. “We heal swiftly or not at all.” So saying, she bounded off into the trees, her footfalls silent as the night breeze.

Rhodri glanced sideways at Branwen. “Roast hare, eh?” he said. “I can almost taste the juice on my fingers already.”

Branwen turned away from him and stared into the fire without speaking.

“Why do you dislike her so much?” Rhodri asked.

“I don't want to talk about her,” Branwen replied. “We need to discuss what we are to do next. Besides go north and tear the ‘Saxon hawks' out of the sky.”

“If the lord of Gwylan Canu is given warning of the Saxon attack, he will be able to close the gates and defend his citadel,” said Rhodri. “Perhaps that is all Govannon wants you to do—warn them of the coming danger.”

“I have already learned how little weight people give to my words,” said Branwen. “When I tried to tell Prince Llew about the attack that was coming to Garth Milain, he ignored me.” Bitterness laced her voice. She looked at Rhodri as a new thought came to her. “And what if Prince Llew's soldiers have already
been to Gwylan Canu to warn them about
us?
” she continued. “What if we are thrown into chains the moment we show ourselves? What if their only response is to send us to Doeth Palas to be hanged?”

Rhodri raised an eyebrow. “Do you think it is your ultimate destiny to swing alongside me on Prince Llew's gallows pole?” he asked. “I doubt that very much! But you may be right—the straight road to Gwylan Canu may not be our best hope.” He shot her a sudden glance. “What was the last thing that Iwan ap Madoc said to you before you gagged him?”

“I don't remember exactly—he asked me to leave his sword. He said it had been passed down from his great-grandfather, or something of that sort. What does that matter?”

“I heard something else that he said,” Rhodri murmured. “He said—‘You're going to have an interesting life, Branwen! I wish I could have shared it.' Do you remember that?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“I think perhaps you have still one friend in Doeth Palas.”

Branwen gave a harsh laugh. “Iwan ap Madoc was never my friend. If I had a friend at all, it was Gavan ap Huw—but he will think, as everyone else does, that I betrayed him when I set you free.” She narrowed her eyes as she thought of the grizzled old warrior who had briefly been her confederate and her tutor in the ways of warfare. It pained her to know that he
must hate her now, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“I disagree. I think we should not go to Gwylan Canu,” Rhodri replied. “I think we should make our way with all the stealth we can across Bras Mynydd and tell our tale to Iwan ap Madoc.”

“Go to Doeth Palas?” exclaimed Branwen. “Are you moonstruck?”

“If Iwan can be convinced that you're telling the truth, he will surely go to Prince Llew and have him send reinforcements to Gwylan Canu,” said Rhodri. “A fast rider could be sent ahead to warn the lord of the citadel to bolt his gates and hold fast till the prince's warriors arrive. Ironfist will be thwarted—where he hoped to fall upon an unprepared foe, he will find all in readiness for his coming. The citadel will be saved, and you will have fulfilled the task Govannon has given you.”

Branwen looked at him. “And if the saints watched over us and we made our way to Doeth Palas without being hunted down, what then?” she asked. “Our faces are known there, Rhodri. We would not get past the gates without being recognized. We'll need disguises.”

“Yes! Good thinking,” said Rhodri. “A dress and wimple for you, so that your hunting leathers are hidden and you can cover your head. And a cloak and cowl for me—and perhaps mud rubbed into my hair to darken it. That way we could slip in among the
everyday market crowd and go unnoticed.”

“And your new friend?” asked Branwen. “Have you looked closely into her eyes, Rhodri? Govannon may have given her a human shape, but there are no
whites
to her eyes. She will be spotted immediately.” She shook her head. “And even if I agreed with your plan, where are we to find these clothes? We have nothing to trade for them, even if we dared show ourselves.”

Rhodri stared pensively into the flames but did not reply.

Branwen sighed. “I am not even convinced that Iwan would…”

Her words were broken by the sudden sound of choking and gagging. A slender figure came stumbling out into the firelight. It was Blodwedd, but her face was a deep red and her strange eyes were bulging. She took a few staggering steps forward and then fell to her knees, her hands clutching at her throat.

B
LODWEDD TUMBLED TO
the ground and rolled onto her side, her knees up to her chest, her hands clawing at her neck. Hideous strangling noises came from her throat. It sounded as if she were choking to death.

Rhodri sprang up and ran to her side.

“What is it?” gasped Branwen, scrambling up in Rhodri's wake. “What's happening to her?”

“I don't know!”

Rhodri dropped to his knees, leaning close over the stricken owl-girl, trying to hold her steady as her bare feet kicked in the dirt.

“Does she need water?” cried Branwen.

“Wait!” he said. “I think I have it!”

Branwen saw his hand move to Blodwedd's mouth, but his shoulder covered what he did next. After a
moment or two, Rhodri pulled his hand away and Branwen saw him throw something small and dark into the grass.

Blodwedd let out a scream then sat up, coughing and gasping for breath.

“It's all right,” Rhodri said gently, holding her shaking shoulders between his hands. “You're safe now.”

Blodwedd looked up at him, her face still ruddy, her eyes streaming tears.

“I could not…swallow…,” she panted. “Could not…breathe….”

“What did you do?” Branwen asked Rhodri. “What was that thing you took out of her mouth?”

“I'm not sure,” Rhodri responded. “A small animal of some kind. A vole, maybe.”

Branwen stared at him in disgust. “
What
?”

Rhodri looked up at her. “She was trying to swallow it whole,” he said. “Her throat wasn't wide enough. It got stuck. She's fine now.”

“Swallow it whole?” she asked, revolted.

“Up until today she was an owl!” he snapped. “Owls swallow their food whole, then later cough up the parts they don't want, as pellets. Skin and fur and bones. She doesn't know how else to eat.”

Blodwedd began to breathe more easily, her cheeks returning to their usual color, her brittle body relaxing a little.

“I shall starve!” she gasped, pulling away from
Rhodri. She turned her face to the sky, her voice rising to a howl. “Lord Govannon! Release me from this bondage! I cannot eat! I cannot fly! It is too cruel!”

She began to sob and put her hands over her eyes, her shoulders jerking. Rhodri put an arm around her and held her against him.

“It will be all right,” he said to her. “I will teach you to eat as humans do. You won't starve. I won't let you starve.”

There was a rustle in the leaves. Fain came swooping down on slate gray wings. He snatched up the small, dead animal from the grass and went winging back into the trees with it dangling from his claws. Blodwedd would not benefit from her kill, but the morsel would not be wasted.

Branwen turned away and walked back to the fire. She was torn between being sickened by Blodwedd and feeling the first inklings of pity for the poor creature. If only she had remained an owl, she would not be so difficult to come to terms with. Branwen knew that at this very moment Fain's curved beak would be pecking and ripping at warm flesh—she had no problem with that. That was nature. But Blodwedd? There was something demonic about her. She was not to blame, however—neither for Branwen's problems nor for what Govannon of the Wood had done to her. She was as much a cat's-paw as Branwen was herself. But all the same…

Branwen picked up the jug that had held the
milk—it was now half full of fresh, cool river water. She walked back to where Blodwedd sat huddled in Rhodri's arms.

“Here,” she said. “Water. It will soothe your throat.”

Blodwedd took the jug from her. She drank in an odd, jerky way, filling her mouth then throwing her head back to swallow.

“Is that better?” Branwen asked.

Blodwedd nodded, water trickling down her chin.

“And now come back to the fire,” Rhodri said to her. “There's a little bread and cheese left.” He looked up briefly at Branwen, before turning back to the owl-girl. “I will teach you how to chew food and swallow it without choking. And I'll check your wound. And while I am doing that, Branwen will go and hunt for our supper.”

Branwen slipped her slingshot from her belt and headed into the woods, turning over this new development in her mind. Whatever happened to them on their journey, Blodwedd's presence would surely have a profound effect—but whether it would be for good or for bad, she was not yet sure.

 

Branwen could not help feeling a little pleased with herself as she threw the small wild pig down by the fireside. She had come stealthily upon it in the forest as it rooted under an oak tree, quite oblivious to her
presence as she crept close enough to use her slingshot. She had stunned it with a single deadly accurate blow to the side of the head and then quickly finished it off with a neat cut of Geraint's knife across its throat.

Blodwedd was huddled by the fire. She seemed to have fully recovered now, and Branwen noticed that all the bread and cheese was gone.

“Get some sticks for a roasting frame,” she told Rhodri. “I'll prepare the meat for the spit.” She crouched down, taking the pig by a hind leg and turning it over to begin dressing it. She was aware of Blodwedd's eyes on her as she worked.

“Do you want your meat raw or cooked?” she asked without looking at her.

“I do not know,” Blodwedd said quietly.

Branwen grimaced. “I ate raw meat once, when I was a child,” she said, still concentrating on her delicate knife work. “Afterward, I was very sick. I think human stomachs cannot cope with raw meat.” She glanced at last at Blodwedd. “Try it roasted,” she said. “I think you'll like it better that way.”

Blodwedd nodded. “I shall try,” she said.

 

Branwen looked across the flames at Rhodri. Blodwedd was still at his side, sitting up awkwardly on her thin haunches, holding a bone in both hands and snapping at it with her teeth. Watching her eat was not pleasant—she chewed like a dog, loudly and
openly, with her lips drawn back and the juices dripping down her chin and onto her dress. The intent look of pleasure on her face showed she was clearly relishing the taste of roasted pig, so at least Branwen wouldn't have to suffer the sight of her trying to swallow live rodents whole again.

“I've been thinking about the idea of wearing disguises,” Branwen said, averting her eyes from the slavering owl-girl. “I think I know how it can be done.” She threw a gnawed bone into the fire. “At first light we can hunt for another of these pigs, or for a deer or something similar. Then we will take it to the nearest village or farmstead and barter the fresh meat for clothing.”

“And if we are recognized?”

“I do not think we will be,” Branwen replied. “The prince's soldiers will not have had time to visit every hamlet and farm.” She glanced at Blodwedd. “We can leave
her
in the forest with the horses and my war-gear. We enter on foot, with a fresh-killed deer or two over our shoulders, and leave the rest to luck and destiny!”

Rhodri grinned. “That is a good plan,” he said.

“But if we're to go hunting at first light, we should sleep now.”

They piled more wood on the fire so it would keep burning through the night. Then Branwen made herself as comfortable as possible by curling up on her side, her face to the warmth of the flickering
flames, with Geraint's cloak pulled up to her ears.

She woke once in the night. Blodwedd was sitting hunched by the fire, her arms folded around her up-drawn shins, her chin on her knees, her eyes closed.

She sleeps sitting up
, Branwen thought drowsily.
Like a bird on a branch!

She looked for Fain, but the falcon was invisible in the night-shrouded tree. She dropped her head and fell quickly asleep again, but the silent, soaring shapes of owls haunted her dreams.