Page 14 of The Cornish Princess
For now, the best they could do was to mitigate the damage every Spring, and it was important to catch the blight before it took hold for the year.
If not, they risked the chance that the trees would perish, and if aught at all changed in this sacred place, it would alter the environs enough so it might endanger the pool.
A little south of Trevena, near the older tin and copper wheals, there used to be another such spring. Now it was nothing but awinterbourne.
Eventually, this, too, could be the fate of theirs, but it was early yet, and if there was any sign of blight, this time, they would call the Druids to tend their glen before it sickened further.
With their long, white beards and frizzled brows, the Llanrhos Druids were simply not men to be trifled with. They, like the Tuatha Dé Danann, were born of ancient blood, and whilst her own father was considered Pretania’s first High King, the Druids were the arbiters of this land, tasked with enforcing the will of the gods.
If her father’s goodwill inspired peace amongst the tribes, the Druid’s curse inspired fear, with good reason. Any grievances that could not be rectified among themselves could be brought before their door, but the outcome was never certain, for the Druids’ laws were not the laws of men, and their resolutions were frightening, and sometimes, the method of their judgment came at the expense of the plaintiff’s death.
Gwendolyn once heard of a man who went to plead his case to the Llanrhos Court, begging them to intervene on behalf of his good name. Of course, being a man, they agreed, and whilst he stood, smiling with satisfaction, they shoved a dagger into his belly, cutting him to his entrails, and made their judgment about his innocence by the way he stumbled and fell, and the way his entrails revealed themselves, as well as the splatter-tell of his blood.
No one should ever summon them without great care.
Feeling a stirring in her heart, a surge of love for her beloved father, Gwendolyn quickened her pace, eager to reach the glen before Bryn, and to see how the trees had fared through the long Winter—better than Urien, she hoped.
When finally she arrived, she exhaled a long breath, delighted to find that the trees were all hale—mostly—and realizing Bryn would delay his arrival only a moment to afford Gwendolyn a measure of privacy, she quickly disrobed.
No matter, it would be easier to survey the entire glen from the water, with all the trees surrounding her. Trusting the waters to be warm, she dove in and sighed with delight.
Wonderful. Blissful. Soothing.
Gods.This was what she needed today—a dip in the pool to steal all her troubles away. Holding her breath, she dove deeper.
Oh, yes, this!
This was how she imagined a mother’s womb should feel—cozy, warm, and safe.
Cradling her knees, Gwendolyn spun about, turning and turning, allowing her momentum and the water to carry her as it would.
Acceptance with grace and faith.This was the way of theAwenydds—the enlightened ones,those whose hearts were attuned to the Old Ways, and who still believed the warp and weft of all life was biddable through theAether.
When at last Gwendolyn opened her eyes and peered into the crystalline waters, she blinked, fascinated, as tiny points of light swarmed beneath the surface…
Piskies.
It was impossible to see them from above. One could only spy them from beneath the water’s surface, and only from certain angles. Their minuscule bodies darted about like water spiders, leaving wakes like silken webs. Their bites were equally vicious, though water spiders were bigger, and skated above the surface, even aspiskiesswam beneath.
Sometimes, during the twilight, they rose above the pool, their wee bodies twinkling like stardust. And yet it was said that if one’s heart was not true,piskieswould assail en masse and sink their fangs into one’s flesh, leaving their victim with a fever that would either rent them from their miserable life once and for all, else purge them of the black in their hearts.
Fortunately, they never bothered Gwendolyn, and if only one listened, one could hear them chattering, their tiny voices gurgling like a brook.
Perhaps if the Prince and his father lingered long enough, Gwendolyn might bring him here to share the blessings of this place. She didn’t know if they had such springs in Loegria, but a learned soul such as he must surely appreciate its beauty and history.
One of the largerpiskiesrose to the surface, and Gwendolyn followed. Compelled, she reached for it, but it eluded her and vanished into a ray of golden light, the sound of its answering giggles like bursting bubbles.
Emerging into the sunlight that slid between the thickening boughs, Gwendolyn inhaled a hawthorn-scented breath, reveling in the cascade of warm water that tugged gently at her curls.
It was only another moment before Bryn emerged from the woods. Hands upon his hips, he glared down into the pool, shaking his black hair in disapproval. But that didn’t stop him from ordering Gwendolyn to turn about, spinning a finger to beg privacy for himself.
Smirking victoriously, Gwendolyn did as he bade her, turning away, wading over to a shallow spot in the pool so she could stand and inspect the low-lying foliage.
Together, she and Ely and Bryn had swum here so many times—as often as they could. No doubt Ely would be heartily sorry she missed the day’s fun, but that’s what she got for worrying so much about what Queen Eseld thought.
Sometimes, one must take one’s fate into one’s own hands and follow one’s heart.
She heard Bryn’s bellow, then felt a hefty splash, and spun about with a wide, happy grin, prepared to splash him once he re-emerged. But her smile died on her lips when she spotted the figures emerging into the glen—one in particular, with arms crossed, the look on his face full of contempt.
