Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“Would you be away long?”

“Two days, maybe three.”

“I suppose,” Elphin mused, “there is no harm in it.” Hafgan said nothing but merely stood silently by, allowing the king to make up his own mind. “Well, he can go if you like,” Elphin said and made to turn away. “I will tell his mother.”

“Thank you, lord,” replied Hafgan with a curious little bow.

Elphin saw the bow and turned back. “Thank you , Hafgan.”

“Lord?”

“You show me respect.”

“Have I ever shown you disrespect, lord?”

“You of all people know me for what I am-yet you have never Belittled me. For that, I thank you. Further, I know you could take Taliesin whenever you chose to, yet you come to me and ask. For that I thank you too.”

“Lord Elphin, it is because I know you for what you are that I have never Belittled you. And as to this other-how could I ever take something that was not mine to take?” He touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “Do not fear the time of testing, for you have mastered your strengths and your weaknesses. You will live long, my king, and will be forever remembered for the goodness of your heart and the wisdom of your reign.”

“Flattery?” Elphin smiled uneasily.

“Truth,” replied the draid.

Hafgan, Taliesin, and Blaise departed the next day. Ordinarily Taliesin would have welcomed the journey, but as it meant he would miss out on the work of the hall, he was less than happy about leaving. He did not voice any misgiving to Hafgan, and although the druid noticed the slump of the lad’s shoulders and his dragging heels and knew what the problem was, he said nothing. Disappointment, however slight, was a reality of life to be dealt with, and Taliesin was learning.

“What is the color of summer?” asked Blaise after a while. They were following a well-used forest track, heading north and west to Dolgellau where they would join the other druids gathering to bear Cormach’s body to the cromlech on the hill Below Garth Greggyn. The three strode along the wooded track, Hafgan with his new rowan staif, Blaise with his staif of elm, and Taliesin with his willow staff, impatiently whipping the supple wand at branches along the path.

“Huh?” Taliesin swiveled around.

“The color of summer,” repeated Blaise. “What is it?”

The boy thought for a moment. “It is-hmmm… gold!” he declared triumphantly.

“You mean green, do you not, Taliesin? I think autumn should be gold.”

“No,” replied Taliesin. “Autumn is gray.”

“Gray?” Blaise shook his head in bewilderment. “The things you say, Taliesin. What do you think, Hafgan?”

The druid did not answer. “What color is spring, Taliesin?”

“White.”

“And winter? What color?”

“Winter is black.”

Blaise laughed. “Summer is the only season of color in your world, Taliesin. Do you realize that?”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation, swinging the willow wand easily. “That is why I am going to be King of the Summer and my realm will be known as the Kingdom of Summer. While I am king there will be no winter, no autumn, and no spring.”

“Only summer?” said Blaise suddenly serious. He had caught the wistful note in the boy’s voice and had stopped laughing.

“Only summer. There will be no darkness and no dying, and the land will flow with all good things.” Taliesin became quiet then and said no more. The three walked on in silence, listening to the woodland sounds.

They reached the settlement by midday. Dolgellau lay in a shallow, wooded valley beside a fresh cold-water stream. It had no gates, no walls, or earthwork defenses, but relied on seclusion and the strength of its neighbors for safety. The people welcomed them cordially, for Cormach had served them long and well as bard, counselor, prophet, and physician. The fain chief saw Hafgan’s staff and hastened to meet him. “We made a bier for him,” he said. “Bard told us to hew it out of new hawthorn.”

Hafgan nodded.

“It is what he wanted. We have done all he asked and I regret that we could not do more.”

“I am certain you have done well,” Hafgan told him. “We will take him now. You and your people may accompany us if you wish.”

“Will you require horses?”

“No, we will carry him.”

“Let it be as you wish.” They moved through the village under the lively scrutiny of the clansmen. Blaise leaned close to Hafgan and whispered, “Why are they looking at us like that?”

“It is Taliesin they are looking at,” Hafgan answered. Taliesin, however, appeared perfectly oblivious to the attention he was getting and walked with his head erect, eyes straight ahead.

Yes, thought Hafgan, he is the King of Summer and his reign will know neither cold nor darkness. But summer is short in the Island of the Mighty, Taliesin, and winter will not be held back forever. All things yield in their season. Still, let the light shine, lad; while it burns, let it dazzle the greedy night like starfall.

They arrived at a small thatched hut at the far end of the settlement. Three of the Brotherhood sat on the ground outside the hut, each in his blue robe; the empty bier lay nearby, covered with boughs of fir and yew. When they saw Hafgan they all stood.

Hafgan greeted them by name. “Kellan, Ynawc, Selyv, is all in order here?”

Selyv answered, “All is in order. The body has been prepared, and I have sent the others to the grove to await us there.”

“Good,” said Hafgae. He stooped and pushed his way through the deerskin hanging at the door of the hut. A moment later he held back the hide flap and beckoned Blaise and Taliesin to enter.

Taliesin followed Blaise and found himself in a single-room dwelling which had no windows but only a round smoke hole in the roof to let in light and let out the smoke from the hearth in the center of the room. Stretched out on his bed of rushes lay the body of Cormach, his hands folded over his chest. Two tallow candles-one at the Chief Druid’s head, another at his feet-cast a thin yellow glow against the limed mud wall.

Taliesin looked at the body and was struck by the fact that it no longer looked like Cormach. There was no doubt that it had been the Chief Druid-the features and shape were the same-but it was clear that Cormach himself had utterly vanished. The spirit that had animated the body was gone, and its absence made the husk on the ground seem terribly frail and inconsequential, a residue, a mere afterthought of the person that had been.

“He is gone,” whispered Taliesin. He had not viewed many dead bodies and lowered his voice in the corpse’s presence as he would in a sickroom. “Cormach is gone.”

“Yes,” agreed Hafgan. “He is well on his journey now.”

He touched Blaise on the arm and stepped to the corpse’s head; Blaise took his place at the feet.

Hafgan spoke a few words in the secret tongue of the Brotherhood and placed his hands on either side of Cormach’s head. Blaise repeated the words and put his hands around the cold, stiff feet. They said the words once more, in unison, and lifted the body. If there was any exertion to their movements, Taliesin did not detect it, for it seemed as if the corpse floated freely under the lightest of touches.

The druids stood and turned the body so that it would go through the door. “Taliesin, hold aside the deerskin,” instructed Hafgan, “and do not forget his staff.”

The boy came to himself with a start, darted to the doorway, and pulled back the deerskin hanging. Hafgan and Blaise stepped through, bearing Cormach’s body between them. The other druids held the bier ready, and with the gentlest of efforts the body of the Chief Druid was placed upon it.