Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

He shook his head wearily and passed a hand over his eyes. “I cannot see anymore.” This admission came so casually that at first Charis did not realize the import of his words.

“Why was it wrong? I thought it best to” She stopped. Annubi sat as if his chest had collapsed; his shoulders slumped and his long fingers twitched in his lap. “Annubi, what has happened?”

“I cannot see anymore,” he said, spitting each bitter word. “The Lia Fail is dark to me. There is no light anymore.”

“You are overtired,” offered Charis, setting aside the manuscript. “I have pushed you too hard-asked too much. You will rest and it will come back.”

“No,” he groaned. “I know it will not.” He paused and then lifted his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness. “But that is not why I came.”

“You said I should not have told Lile. Why? What has she done?”

“I found her in my room-with the Lia Fail. I was angry. I shoved her… I wanted… to kill her…” He shook his head in disBelief. “I did this. I, Annubi! I have never lifted a hand against another living being in all my life.”

“What did she do?”

“She laughed at me,” he muttered, his eyes squeezed shut. “She laughed and told me I had lost.”

“Lost the sight?”

“Lost you.”

Charis’ stomach tightened. “What then?”

“She left. I could hear her laughing in the corridor.” He put his hands to his head as if to stop the sound.

“Oh, Annubi, I am sorry. I would never have told her if I had known.” Charis pitied her old friend, but even as her heart went out to him in his misery she could not help asking, “Is there any way you could possibly be mistaken?”

“Mistaken!” The king’s advisor reared up; the chair clattered backwards. “She has won you! Curse the day I ever saw her!”

“Annubi, please, I only meant that perhaps there might be some other explanation.”

“I have lost the sight and my mind as well, eh?”

“No, of course not.”

He stiffened, his fists clenched at his side. “She has won, Charis. First your father and now you.” He turned and stormed from the room.

Charis sat where she was, unmoved. I must confront her, she thought. I must go to her at once and… and what? What? Tell her Annubi has lost the sight and thinks she has won? Even if it is true, it would be just the sort of admission she would be looking for. No, I cannot let on that I know about this. I cannot let her know… but what do I know? What has Annubi told me really? There might still be some other explanation. Perhaps it is as Lile said-he resents her and twists her words to discredit her. Perhaps there is some other reason.

In any case, she thought, I said I would trust her. I cannot go to her now without dishonoring my own word. Poor Annubi, he will just have to suffer a little longer. I cannot help him, and there are more important matters at hand.

She returned to her work, sorting out the valuable and irreplaceable manuscripts from the thousands in her mother’s collection and placing them in the watertight wooden casket.

For Taliesin the last of summer was pure enchantment. He rose with the sun to greet glorious golden days that passed with regal, unhurried serenity. When he could spare time away from the work of the great hall, Elphin took Tal-iesin with him into the forest to hunt, down to the estuary to fish or dig for shellfish, or simply to sit on the rocky shingle and watch the clouds and waves.

They rode together for hours, and Elphin described the monotonous work of riding the Wall, or talked of the necessity of keeping the Picti and Irish at arm’s length and of the brief, hot clashes that occasionally ensued. He taught Taliesin about the Roman way of fighting and, more importantly, of governing the land. He recounted the stories his warriors told around the fire at night when they were far from home. He told Taliesin about men and their desires and ambitions; he told his son about his hopes for his people, the reasons for the decisions he had made.

Taliesin listened to it all and hid every word in his heart, for he knew the gift his father was trying to give him.

“You must be strong, Taliesin,” his father told him one day. They were riding through the woods, boar spears in hand, while up the trail the hounds sought out the animal’s spoor. “Strong as the cold iron in your hand.”

“Hafgan says the same thing. Strength and wisdom are the king’s double-edged sword.”

“And he is right A king must be strong and wise for his people. But I fear the time is coming when wisdom will fail and strength alone must suffice.”

“The Dark Time?”

“Dark as ever a time was dark, and darker still.” He reigned the horse to a halt and lifted his eyes to the green lacework of branches above them. “Listen, Taliesin. Listen to it, but do not be deceived. It is quiet here and peaceful.

Yet there is nothing peaceful about it. The world neither knows nor cares what happens in the lives of the men who walk upon her back. There is no peace, Taliesin. It is an illusion-an enchantment of the mind.

“The only peace you will ever know will be the rest won by your own strong arm.”

Taliesin wondered at his father’s sudden gloomy turn but said nothing. A woodcock nearby filled the wood with its cry, which under the melancholy mood cast by Elphin’s words seemed mournful and lonely.

“It is coming, Taliesin. We cannot keep it back much longer.” He looked sadly at the boy in the saddle beside him. “I wish I could make it different for you, my son.”

Taliesin nodded. “Cormach told me about the Dark Time. But he said that in the midst of such darkness, the light is seen to shine the brighter. And that there is one whose coming will blaze in the sky from east to west with such brilliance that his image will be forever burned into the land.”

Elphin nodded. “That is something at least.” He glanced around the drowsy wood once more. “Ah, but we have this day, Taliesin. And listen!” The baying of the hunting hounds had taken on a frenzied note. “The dogs have found something. Let us ride!”

Elphin flicked the reins across his horse’s neck and the animal, excited by the sound of the dogs, gathered its legs and leaped away. Taliesin kicked his mount’s flanks and galloped after. There followed a reckless, breathless chase in which the dogs and horses and three wild pigs-two young sows and a huge, grizzled old boar-careened through the wood, crashing through thick undergrowth, leaping over fallen trunks of trees, darting under low-hanging limbs, and all grunting, squealing, barking, snorting, laughing at the pleasure of the wild race.

The pigs led them far into the deep heart of the wood before disappearing. The dogs plunged into a quick-flowing stream where they lost the scent, and the riders bounded up a moment later to see the dogs whining at the water’s edge, nosing the air and crying for their lost game. Elphin dropped his javelin, sticking it in the mud beside the stream. Taliesin did the same, and the two slid from their saddles and led the horses to the water, where the winded creatures drank noisily.

“A fine chase!” chuckled Elphin, his breath coming in quick gasps. “Did you see that old tusker? Two wives has he-King of the Wood!”

“I am glad they escaped,” remarked Taliesin, his face flushed with excitement and exertion. Sweat soaked the hair across his forehead, curling it into tight ringlets.

“Oh, aye. Though the ride has made me hungry, and I can almost taste that fine meat aroast on the fire, I am happy to see them go. We will chase them again one day.”

Elphin stretched himself upon a shady, moss-covered rock and closed his eyes. Taliesin settled beside him and was just leaning back when he caught a gleam out of the corner of his eye.