Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“He left this morning then,” said Gwyddno. “No doubt he has gone to confer with his brother druids and will return when he has an answer for us. Therefore, we will go on about our business.”

“How can we?” demanded one of the women, “Any moment our destruction may come upon us!”

Gwyddno stamped his foot. “The only ruin will be a day’s work wasted if we do not look to our affairs. Go on now, all of you! Go back to your houses and to your labors. See? The sun is rising; the day has begun.”

There was some grumbling and several of the women complained aloud, but they returned to their houses and began their chores. The sun climbed high and shone bright over the land. No raiding ships appeared on the horizon, and the sky did not fall. By midday their anxiety had abated; the people of Caer Dyvi put aside their fear, although they still wondered what the mighty sign betokened.

A sacred grove stood atop the hill called Garth Greggyn, above a spring-fed stream. Over the place where the water bubbled out of the side of the hill stood a stone carved in ogam and dedicated to Tywi, the god of the spring. As he made his way to the oak grove, Hafgan paused and offered a blessing to the god of the spring, then kissed the ogam stone and continued on his way.

He climbed the hill and passed between two carven images-one of Lieu, god of bards and warriors, the other Don, mother of the gods-and entered the sanctuary of the trees, where he was met by other druids of the neighboring areas who, like Hafgan, had assembled there to discuss the sign they all had seen.

Cormach, a tall, white-haired elder, sat on a stone chair surrounded by assistants and ovates. He lifted his hands in greeting as Hafgan strode up. “See here! One comes who knows better than I the signs of the heavens.”

Hafgan inclined his head, smiled, and said, “Only Cormach of Dolgellau could speak so and have anyone Believe him.” The elder druid stood and the two embraced. Many of the younger ovates and filidh gathered around to hear the two speak, for Hafgan was highly renowned among the learned brotherhood.

At length Cormach raised his rowan staff and tapped it three times on the rock chair. All the others fell silent and took their places in a circle in the center of the grove. Several filidh passed among them with cups of acorn tea and bowls of hazelnuts. When all had been served, Cormach spoke. “If there are no objections,” he began, “I will speak first, as befits an elder.”

“You are chief among us,” affirmed Hafgan, “so please continue.”

The others, nearly twenty in all, readily assented. Cormach touched the back of his hand to his forehead and uttered a long, sighing moan, which the assembly repeated until it became a drone that echoed through the grove.

After a few moments, the Chief Druid lowered his hand and said, “It is right that we come together today. May wisdom be increased! Last night I saw a mighty sign in the sky: stars falling like a rain of fire. And today the earth warms beneath a summer sun, though Beltane is only recently passed. Tell me, my brothers, what does this indicate to you?”

“Death,” answered a young druid. “A falling star always indicates death.”

“Such a great fall of stars must mean a very great death,” said another. “A royal death perhaps?”

They fell to arguing about which king was great enough to warrant such an omen. Cormach listened patiently as the others talked and then tapped his staff on the rock. “Hafgan, you have been silent. Do you mean to keep us in ignorance?”

Hafgan drew himself up. “It is true that a falling star often betokens death, but it may also mean birth. For death and birth are one, as we all know. Nothing is born that does not die, neither does anything die but it is reborn. Each is swallowed and fulfilled in the other.”

“Well said,” replied Cormach. “What else can you tell us?”

“As our younger brothers suggest, such a great starfall can only mean great death-the death of a king, yes. Perhaps many kings.”

This last caused a sensation among the druids, who murmured their surprise. “Explain, please,” said Cormach when the others had quieted.

“Very well,” replied Hafgan. “The stars fell into the western sea, where lie the Islands of the Ever Living. Among our own people it is said that a king and his land are one. Therefore, by this great sign I see great destruction for the Westerlands, hence great death-the death of many kings.”

“And what of the birth?”

“The stars fell from the Royal House of the Sun, so I look for a royal birth.”

“A royal birth sprung from the death of kings,” said Cormach. “Hear and remember, my brothers; Hafgan speaks the truth.”

“When will this happen?” asked a druid from neighboring Yr Widdfa.

“Wait and watch, brother; time will fulfill itself. It is enough for now to know that it will be. When the hour arrives, it will be announced with signs and wonders. Instruct the people.” With that Cormach raised his staff and said, “I declare this assembly ended.”

The gathering disbanded then, but the druids lingered, speaking informally to one another before beginning their separate journeys home. Cormach took Hafgan aside and led him a little apart to speak in private. They stood under the spreading boughs of a great old oak. “What is this I hear about Caer Dyvi’s fortunes on the increase?”

“It is true,” admitted Hafgan. “Where did you hear it?”

The old druid’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “The wind reveals many secrets to those who listen.”

“And men’s tongues reveal more,” replied Hafgan.

Cormach raised a cautionary finger. “Such an increase will be met by a decrease elsewhere. Balance will be maintained. But tell me, what of the child?”

“A rare and special child, to be sure. I have named him Taliesin. He will be a bard of uncommon skill and knowledge-perhaps the greatest among us. If he had not been bom already, I should have thought it was for him that the stars fell.”

“Then I must come and see this child soon,” said Cormach.

“Yes, come. It is too long since we have lifted cups together. We will talk” Hafgan paused, looking thoughtful.

“What is it? Have you seen something?”

“No, it is something you said earlier-about the earth warming beneath a summer sun. I had not considered that before.”

“Consider it then,” pressed Cormach, “and tell me what it suggests to you.”

“Beltane is a time between times, as we know, when the powers of earth and sky, air and water are in flux. Winter is death, which itself dies in spring. For winter to assert itself on the eve of spring indicates that death struggles with life for supremacy. Today we stand beneath a summer sun, which suggests life has survived the struggle.”

“And the starfall?”

“Life won at a very great cost perhaps.”

Cormach nodded thoughtfully. “Your thoughts are deep and true, Hafgan.” The Chief Druid put a hand over Haf-gan’s. “One day soon you will carry the rowan staif. Meanwhile, I think it is time you began teaching. I will send two of my best filidh to you.”

“I am honored.”

Cormach gripped Hafgan’s hand upon his staff. “You will need help with the child.”

“Tell me, Cormach, was there ever such a sign as the one that brings us here?”

The elder druid closed his eyes and leaned on his staff. “Only once,” he replied at length, “many years ago-before anyone now alive was bora, before the Romans came to the Holy Isle, when this grove was young-there was a similar sign. The stars did not fall, however, but remained converged in the sky. A strange sight, I am told, for those who knew how to see it.”

“What did it betoken?”