Page 304 of The Daughters of Avalon
In all her years, she had never heard their story told so succinctly and so candidly. So, it seemed, her kindred were a bloodthirsty and treacherous lot—including Taliesin.
It left much to be considered—particularly Taliesin’s entire role in Cerridwen’s tale. Verily, if the man they’d been led to admire and emulate, was, in fact, a thief and a murderer, then what else could be expected from a man who’d steal a mother’s curative? Of course, she was speaking of the potion Cerridwen brewed for her son Morfran… that boy whose fate Rhiannon had always believed she’d shared.
Of all people, Rhiannon knew well enough what it felt like to be reviled for the way she looked. Only now that her face was altered, it didn’t eradicate the pain of her youth. In her mind’s eye, she was still that wretched little girl, with the crossed eyes, and a temper as wild as her hair.
So much of what she’d come to know was utterly wrong.
In the stories she’d heard about Taliesin, he was the one who was pursued and persecuted. He was the golden mage whose wit and wisdom united kingdoms. He was the wise druid, whosename was known and respected by the Romans. He was the falcon who’d guided them.
But, in reality, there was another way to perceive the tale, and in this new light, he wasn’t the least bit flattered.
It was not enough that he’d stolen from those less fortunate, but he’d also befriended the man who’d stolen the Witch Goddess’s daughter, and then he’d turned her against her own mother, only to marry her as well, even amidst their mother’s bitter protests—an incestuous relationship that purportedly enraged Cerridwen. And it was all because of her fury that Avalon was ultimately destroyed. Considering all this, it didn’t seem entirely fair that Taliesin somehow escaped the wrath of the gods.
In fact, now that Rhiannon considered it, she understood why, after being possessed by the Witch Goddess, that Morwen had bedded her own brother—an eye for an eye, she supposed. After all that had been done to her, her heart now burned with an ember of hatred that could no longer be extinguished. She was the sum total of her life, Rhiannon supposed, and now she also knew why the Witch Goddess was so bent upon revenge—if only she didn’t also have the grave misfortune of knowing that the Witch Goddess was also Morwen. And therefore, whatever Morwen was in theory, it was hardly what she was in the flesh…
Still, she was a daughter herself, cast aside and forsaken.
She was a wounded creature, dangerous and resentful.
She’d lost everything throughout her life—husband, son, her beauteous daughter, her precious isle, and her standing with the gods… Naturally, all Rhiannon and her sisters were to her now were bitter reminders of the betrayals she’d suffered throughout her life. And really, since she was only borrowing Morwen’s body, in her eyes, they were children of Taliesin’s, not hers. They were ungrateful half-breeds, who shouldn’t be allowed to wield the gifts of the Chosen Ones.
So much made sense now.
And yet, it didn’t make the pain of her mother’s existence any less difficult to bear. Morwen’s pain had become her daughters’ pain, and now she hadn’t any more mercy to give—not if you also understood that it was mercy for Taliesin, the babe, that allowed him to live. And then he grew up to be her ruin.
Alas, so it seemed, there were no true heroes in this tale—none save the innocents who’d found themselves in harm’s way.
“Rhiannon,” said Marcella, gently, perhaps realizing how difficult it must be to accept all these truths—one terrible revelation after another since departing Blackwood. She was like ahud dudoll full of pins, scarcely able to bear the thought of another. Slowly, pensively, Rhiannon lifted her gaze to her new friend.
“There is one lesson youmusttake from this tale…”
“Me?”
Marcella nodded portentously. “Of all the swords that were forged by theDynion Mwyn… only onewas forged in the spirit of betrayal; it might yet lend itself to this game.”
Rhiannon furrowed her brow. “What are you saying?”
Marcella’s voice was sober. “What I am saying is that, indeed,Caledfwlchis cursed. ’Twas made to beguile Maelgwn ap Cadwallon, and with that sword, Uther slew him. Later, Lot slew Urien—again, with the same sword. And then, after, Urien’s wife slew Maelgwn’s daughter… Do you understand what I am saying?”
Rhiannon thought she did, though it seemed to her that Marcella was trying to say something more.
“If Taliesin’s own daughter was not immune toCaledfwlch’shud du, neither are we.”
“My sister Rosalynde has the sword now. Are you saying she will betray us?” Rhiannon was horrified by the prospect.
Marcella gazed at her mournfully, and Rhiannon shook her head adamantly. “Nay! She would never. My sisters would not. Arwyn died to protect Seren—shedied!”
The look in Marcella’s eyes was full of pity. “Calm down… all I am saying,mon amie, is that when the time comes… there is one among us who could be swayed. And…” She shook her head. “That is all I can say; because to say more wouldst be a betrayal.”
“To whom? My mother?”
Marcella laughed bitterly. “Oh, my friend, you cannot betray someone you are not aligned with.”
“Cael?”
“Ah,” she said, lifting a finger, then wagging it. “There’s the rub… Lord Blackwood’s part in this tale is his alone to tell. But now I shall truly say no more, because the Law of Three does not only apply itself to the Craft of the Wise, I fear.”
Rhiannon’s mind whirled. What role in this pageantry could her husband possibly play?
