When
Meg stopped and looked back where she had come on her journey, she
could see the trees behind her waving back and forth, as if in a high
wind. When she turned back to the path ahead of her, she could see the brush by the side of the road rustling, as if stirred by a gentle breeze. So Meg was on the right track. She took off running again.
Soon she skidded to a halt just beyond a small village on the shore of a long lake, and when she looked back, she would see great waves on the water, and the skirts of the villagers rustling, and a hut's roof laying in the grass, though there was not a trace of wind today. She turned back to the path ahead, where the valley rose towards a field of snow. She squinted, and thought she could see a blur of snowflakes moving swiftly up slope. She dashed forward.
Now needing to catch her breath, she halted for a moment in the snow. She looked back, and she could see a great whirling of flakes in the air in a line behind her, like a dust cloud a caravan leaves on the road. She turned back to look up the valley. The blur of snow was still as far ahead of her as it had been, now moving straight up the face of the highest peak. Meg shot forward --
Only to find herself at the top of the peak, amidst swirling wind and snow, and all trace of the girl, if she had even reached here, was gone.
Meg cursed all the gods she could think of, and she cursed the wind, and she cursed the snow. That was two people, now, to whom she had failed in her duty of care. And was Cerridwen even here? No. Up here was wind and snow and nothing else.
Meg jogged forward, toward the other face of the mountain. Skidding down a patch of ice and landing hard at a rocky outcropping, she beheld a small icy lake in shadow, in a circular valley at the mountain's feet. She leapt forward off the outcropping, landed far down the slope, and kept running down towards the water.
But here at the shore, there was not a thing to show where Cerridwen might be, if she was even here. Meg did not even know what to look for --
Except that sometimes magical things were hidden under the water. And Meg needed to smash something anyway. She marched out onto the ice and stamped hard, driving herself feet-first into the water.
She had hoped that there would be some manner of light down below that she could swim towards, and emerge into a warm and dry cavern, where Cerridwen would be, and there would be her cauldron, and then everything would be fine -- no, there was no light down here below the water. There was only the dim shape of a woman, holding out a sheathed sword to her. This could not be Cerridwen.
She
wished she could ask the woman who she was, but the woman only stared
at her and shook her head, and pointed upward. And Meg was running
out of air anyway. So she swam up to the ice, and punched her way
through it, and dragged herself out of the water.
She
looked about her. The little valley was mostly snow and stone.
Nothing of anything to see, save for the little stream where the lake
poured out into a bigger lake. And yet – on the ridge between the
one lake and the other, there was a hillock. A little thing, a dome
perfectly shaped, like a bowl turned upside down.
Meg
dashed across the ice, and, when she stood atop the hillock, she
discovered that it was one of seven arranged in a perfect circle.
Well,
nothing for it. She jumped into the ring.
As
she looked about her, she spotted a door in one of the hillocks, with
a little window in it, and through that opening she could see light.
And
yet, once she glanced away and glanced back, the door was gone. There
was another one in a hillock close to the first, and yet when Meg
blinked, the door was gone again. She turned around. Now the door was
behind her. And so it went, Meg turning around and around, the door
vanishing and appearing in no particular pattern.
"I
wish I had spotted you sooner," said a familiar voice behind
her.
She
turned around. It was the little man.
"What
do you want?" said Meg, as she stumbled in her sudden dizziness.
"I
want you to take the front door," said the little man. "Jumping
into a fairy ring like this, what on earth has gotten into you? Wait,
wait, don't answer that, the answer's obvious. And no time to argue
anyway, I have someone to look after. Just follow me." And he
took Meg by the hand and led her out of the hillocks.
There
was a door in another one of the hillocks, on the outside of the
ring. It was open. Meg could hear merry laughter from inside.
And
the voice of an unfamiliar woman, arguing with a familiar girl.
"Jayzus
Mary and Joseph," said the little man, "I shouldn't have
let my eyes off her for a second. See what trouble you've got me into
now?"
"I
assume you're the one who brought her here," said Meg.
"I
wish I had that much influence over her," said the little man.
"Lucky we were both going to the same place."
"And
why were you going to the same place?"
"Because
I told her you wanted to get Deirdre back. Come on."
But
Meg needed no further prompting, and she dashed through the doorway.
Inside
the hillock was a room that seemed much larger than the hillock
itself. There was a long table made of wood, laden with all manner of
dishes; there was a corner in the far back whose furniture was oddly
white and shiny; there was a box on one wall with some kind of clear
but reflective front, and before it a chair whose arms and back were
thicker than anything Meg had ever seen. There was a bronze fixture
hanging from the ceiling, which emanated a light steadier than any
flame Meg had ever seen; there was a rug between the chair and the
table that was thicker than any bearskin Meg had ever seen, of a color
Meg had only ever seen on woodland berries; there was some manner of
red and green garland composed of shapes Meg did not know.
But
what was familiar to Meg was the little girl standing in the middle
of the room, though she seemed a little taller than what Meg
remembered. The woman she was arguing with was not familiar. Meg had
expected a haggard old crone like in the stories. This woman was grey, but
still hale and hearty. And harried, if her expression was any
indication.
"I
keep trying to tell you," said the woman, "there has to be
some sort of price, otherwise everyone who lost their loved ones
would come begging for help."
"Well
maybe you should let everyone have everyone back," said the
little girl. "That would be a nice thing to do."
"Oh
sure," said the woman. "And then nobody dies and everyone
lives happily ever after and this place turns into Tir nan Og. Do you
want that?"
"Yes,"
said the little girl.
"Ahem,"
said Meg.
Both
of them turned to see Meg. They both looked startled. Then the little
girl ran to Meg and hugged her about the knees.
"What is the matter with you?" said Meg. "You didn't even give me a chance to catch up with you, and then you ran straight towards a place where your tracks would be lost. I thought I would never see you again."
"I thought I would never see you again," said the little girl. "You want to know how long you were gone? It was --" She glanced at the woman, who shook her
head. "It was such a long time," said the little girl. "I
had to wait and wait. I had to learn how to trap rabbits and fish and
swim. But I had Mister Tally with me so I wasn't all that lonely."
"I
certainly wasn't going to let her out of my sight again," said
the little man. "And then I did again today. Silly me."
Meg
picked the little girl up and held her in her arms. "You're not
getting away now, you realize."
"Maybe
I won't want to get away if you're going on grand adventures,"
said the little girl.
Meg
shook her head. "No more of those," she said. "This
will be the last, if I've come to the right place. Have I?"
She
turned to the woman, who was just setting a wool cloak over the
mysterious box. The woman had also hung a curtain in front of the
corner full of shiny white furniture.
"Assuming
you're Meg the Mighty," said the woman. "Assuming you're
here for the cauldron."
Meg
nodded.
"It
will be a high price," said the woman.
"I
know," said Meg. "All my limbs, my ears, my nose, a piece
of my heart, the gold ring Deirdre gave me, and one of her bones. I
don't have the bone but I'll pay anything else that I have the right
to offer. Although I wonder if you're the one who brought the rain so
I couldn't get any of Deirdre's bones." She eyed the woman
suspiciously. "I already know you heard me offer my limbs and my
facial features, so I can't get out of that price, but maybe I ought
to be more cagey about what else I offer."
The
woman blinked and looked confused. "Heard how?"
"Well
you're Cerridwen, aren't you?"
The
woman nodded.
"And
you can listen in on anyone speaking your name, right?"
The
woman shook her head, now looking very confused. She turned to the
little man. "Tally, what did you tell her?"
"I
might have exaggerated slightly," said the little man. "You
know me and my stories."
"Oh
yes," said the woman, crossing her arms. "Your stories. As
if that was all."
"Please,"
said Meg. "At least tell me you can bring Deirdre back."
The
woman shrugged. "The cauldron does the work. I just give it the
right ingredients. Which does not include your own bone, dearie. Nor
anything from your face."
Meg
sighed in relief.
"But
I will be needing something big. Something to equal Deirdre's bones.
You said you had a piece of your heart to give. What's that about?"
"You
could call it a piece of my heart," said Meg, "or a piece
of Deirdre's that lives in mine."
The
woman stroked her chin. "Hmmmmmm," she said. "It might
work. Usually I need that and the bone. If it's just the heart part
then sometimes the person who comes back is a self-serving memory.
And yet…there's also the ring that Deirdre gave you. Hmmm. Tell me,
this ring, does it have any markings on it?"
"Curious
markings on the inner band," said Meg. "Not sure exactly
what they're about but – take a look." She set the little girl
down, took her ring off her left hand, and handed it to the woman.
The
woman stared at the markings and said, "I
am yours, you are mine, you are what you are."
"Excuse
me?" said Meg. "I am Deirdre's, thank you very much."
The
woman laughed. "No, no, dearie, that's just what these letters
say."
"Letters?"
"After
your time," said the woman. "And this particular phrase is
well after your time. I wonder who could have possibly made these
markings, Tally."
"Hey,"
said the little man, "I wanted to give them something special.
And it's not like either of them would have had the ghost of a chance
of figuring it out. Unlike your kitchen and television and – "
"And
I am not at fault here," said the woman. "This is my house,
I didn't know I was having guests just yet, Meg has no context for
understanding any of these things, you're the one who goes
gallivanting all over the place anyway – "
"Well
I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't kicked me out!"
"You're
the one who stole my potion!"
"You're
the one who made a potion that could be ruined by having a single
drop out of place!"
"AHEM!"
said Meg.
Both
the woman and the little man fell silent, glancing at Meg.
"We're
wasting time here," said Meg. "Chuck the ring in the pot
and let's get started or I'll jump into that thing myself."
The
woman chuckled. "It's a bit smaller than that, dearie. But yes,
let's be about it. Sit yourself down at the table there and close
your eyes."
Meg
sat at the bench, and closed her eyes.
"Now
what I need you to do is concentrate," said the woman. "Think
of nothing but Deirdre. Everything you know about her. Everything you
remember. Your thoughts must be on her for the next hour. Do you
think you can do that?"
"Easily,"
said Meg.
"And
you two, go play in the snow until I call you back in."
"Yay!"
said the little girl.
"How
do I know you're even going to let me back in?" said the little
man.
"I
know why you're here," said the woman. "You're here to tell
a tale. I won't deprive you of this part. I have some mercy. Now
scram."
The
door slammed, and Meg was left alone with her thoughts, and the sound
of a crackling fire.
She
concentrated on what she knew of Deirdre. Of her arms that were as
strong in battle and cattle-raiding as they were tender in quiet
moments. Of her eyes that always lit up when the sun came out from
behind the clouds. Of her hair, which the dawn lit a brilliant gold, as she stood on the high hill each morning.
Meg
thought of where she and Deirdre had been. Of the north coast, where
giants from out of the sea had tried to come ashore. Of the west
coast, where storm gods had threatened to wash away all. Of the high
mountains, where she and Deirdre had held a pass against a hundred
foes. Of the fortress of the Black Pool, where she had wrestled the
Hound to a draw, because the queen had said she would impose a high
price for winning or losing. Of the hundred-beehive heist.
Meg
thought of Deirdre's songs. For by daylight and firelight she would
sing sweet songs of long ago, and in battle she would sing joyous
songs of valor, and by starlight, when Meg held her in her arms, she
would sing soft lullabies.
Meg
thought of what Deirdre had been to the people of her village. A
steady hand at the plow, slower to scold than most, quicker on the
draw than most, and always coming up with more efficient ways of
doing things. Always trying to make things easier, always questioning
the old ways of doing things, even when that included questioning the Queen's authority.
And
to Meg, no matter what they went through together, no matter how else
they changed, Deirdre never forgot the fact that they had met on the
battlefield, on opposing sides, and discovered that they had fancied
each other far more than either side they were fighting for. Whatever
arguments she and Meg had, over the years, neither of them had
forgotten what they had given up for the sake of each other.
Meg's
thoughts circled around to the battle of the north coast again. And
yet this time, she could not recall the details. Nor could she recall
anything of the adventure on the west coast. Nor anything of the
battle at the high mountain pass. And as for all other details of
Deirdre, they were losing their clarity, and slipping away.
Suddenly
the light through her eyelids darkened, for there was a hand over her
face. And over her mouth. "Speak not a word," said the
woman's voice, "and do not open your eyes. I need you to stay
very still right now. Tap twice if you understand."
Meg
tapped twice on the table.
"Perfect!"
said the woman. "Moment passed. Now open your eyes, I want you
to see this part."
The
hands lifted from her face, and Meg opened her eyes.
The
cauldron had been on the table this entire time, yet only now was it
visible. There was some golden light shining from within, something
that outshone the light above.
The
woman had the door open again. "Fia? Tally? Come inside, the
best part is about to happen!"
The
little man and the little girl rushed inside. "Wipe your feet,"
said the little man, "there's a good girl. Now what exactly is –
oh my."
The
cauldron was rattling enough to clatter on the table. The light from
within was casting all else in the room into deep shadow. The
cauldron began to boil over with golden bubbles, and the air close to
it was getting nearly too hot to bear. Smoke rose from under the legs
of the cauldron. Meg pushed the bench backward.
"Maybe
I shouldn't have left it on the table," said the woman.
Then
there was a blinding flash of light, and a roar of sound, and a force throwing Meg backward.
Meg blinked her eyes open slowly, wincing at the pain in her shoulderblades as she slumped forward from the wall she had impacted. The room was an awful mess, with the furniture in splinters and tatters, the table in shards of wood, the cauldron tipped over on its side -- but Meg's attention was fixed upon a golden cloud where the table had been
And
stepping out of it was a lady tall and brawny as her, with skin like a cloud in the clear sky, eyes of gleaming gold,
and hair the color of a horizon at sunrise, hanging down to her waist.
She
was the handsomest lady Meg had ever seen.
"Hello,"
said Meg. "Who might you be?"