Page 183 of The Daughters of Avalon
Whilst I remained Sylph, I was pure and elegant, coveted by men across the realm, like my precious, inviolable Avalon—and, yet, itwasviolated, no less by me.
You see, I had everything… truly, and yet, my Sylph eyes wandered o’er the kingdoms of the Welsh... to a mortal king who was said to be a giant among men.
Tegid Foel.
Even now, his name fills me with ambivalence, for I cannot vanquish my sweeter memories, and they must endure eternally with loathing.
Tegid, oh Tegid… strong, wise, and as handsome as the Sylph were pure. But mostly the man was powerful, and there is a manner of seduction in power.
The longer I watched this king; the more I loved him, and for love of him, I conspired with thefaeto consign myself to mortal form—beguiled by the very beings born to beguile.Imagine that.
Alas, there is little across the realms more powerful than love, and there is nothing even a god wouldn’t do in pursuit of it. So, I offered my new prince the keys to my city and to my heart as well. But, Tegid squandered this, poisoning my Avalon with avarice, desire and hubris, until, black and putrid, like cancer, it seeped into the soul of my lands. After a while, that which was pure began to wither, including my own flesh, and day by day he turned me into a bitter crone, until naught was left of my Sylph-self, and all that endured was jealousy and loathing. Until finally, Tegid stole our beauteous daughter, leaving me to care for our son, whose heart was fair, but whose countenance was not. Because of his face, Tegid renounced our sweet boy, and he called me a pythoness. Lusting after his own daughter, he stole my first-born—all that remained as proof of my Sylph beauty. He crushed my soul, and still, with a shred of my spirit, I swore to avenge my son. One year and one day I toiled over a potion to give my son the greatest gift a god can give to man—enlightenment.
I imagined my Morfran a poet laureate—beguiling his own father with the heartrending beauty of his words.
I saw his name so renowned that he would be sought far and wide. After all, this would be the power of my potion—and yay, I know, how fitting my daughter’s end should be so… illuminating.
Arwyn, my dear, you were always meant to die that way.I saw your death the day you were torn from my womb, squealing and eager to suckle at my breast.
What I didn’t know was that the tricksy fae had sent me a tricksy little boy… Gwion Bach ap Gwreang. He stole my Arwyn potion. And, later, when he was reborn as Taliesin, my husband, my betrayer, offered him our daughter to wed. I raged, and raged, and raged, and raged. I raged so far and wide that I brought down the wrath of the gods. Not only did they take away my beloved Avalon, they exiled me to the sea, imprisoning me by the one barrier a Sylph may not pass any more than the River Dee may pass into Avalon…water.
Gone.
My Island.
Vanished.
Drowned like they drowned me.
Thefaefolk were set free to roam this earth, and to this day, on a moonless night, if you stand upon the banks of Bala in Gwynedd, you will still spy my courtyard shimmering ’neath the silvery billows—a ghost of a city, gone forevermore.
As you can imagine… the blood in my veins turned black with my hatred, spreading to every fiber of my body. Where once I was beauty incarnate, I am frightful now, a creature born of all that is vile. All that was good in me is lost. Love, after all, is the purest of essences, and no trace of this remains in my soul.
So, there you have it: my story. Pitiful, as it should be, but you must rest assured I am not defeated. I am stronger for the absence of my weakness, and I will never again be brought low by this debility called love.
Love, love, love—even a mother’s love is forgotten, gone the instant my son breathed his last.
Sighing as I reach my suite, I peer within.
“You should find everything to your specifications,” says the guard at the top of the stairs.
“Leave me,” I say.
Inside, the candles have been lit… twenty at least. Shoved to one side sits a beautiful, ornate, but empty tub, and a bed shoved to another. In the center of the room lies a rather large cauldron, iron-built, with rust tears staining it from rim to belly. But though it has served me well enough these past years, it is not my cauldron from Blackwood.
If you have not guessed by now, my true name is Cerridwen. Creirwy, Morfran and Taliesin are children of my blood. I took this body, thinking it would serve me, but I chose wrongly. I chose the sister, not the brother. Those two scarcely knew what mysteries they would reveal… but I thank them, even so.Emrys.Poor Emrys.Would he have lain with his sister had I not inhabited her body? I think not. And Morgan? How did she know?
Alas, I suppose… a motheralwaysknows.
Stealing over to the cauldron, I peer inside. Empty at the moment, but there is residue and I reach down to taste the blend.I need more coltsfoot, I think. And, of course, blood…
Mentally, I pore over the faces I saw in the tavern … a man and a woman traveling together, a trader and a thief. These are my choices, and perhaps I will have them all…
Incidentally, do you how thefaewere created?
Cauldron born to serve the Sylph.
So, you see… my daughters are gifted withfaeblood, but I am born of the essence from which they draw. They are whispers of the wind from which I am formed. They are breeze-kissed whilst I am the storm. They are sparks, I am the flame. They are demigods, like thefae. But I… I am a goddess, and once the light of this world is extinguished like the flames of a thousand dyingstars, and the hearts of men are stillborn in a cradle of night… here, I will remain.
