Embers that Remain

Michael Faulkner

Late Autumn winds blew in from the ocean, signaling the coming of Winter. Two silhouettes, cloaked in black, walked among the ruins of Tintagel. The voices of past days still echoed there. Painful days they were indeed.

"So, this is the place where my father and grandfather were born?" The figure asked as he looked out over the pounding ocean and swallowed hard, as if fighting back bittersweet emotions.

"Yes. This place, Tintagel, was the seat of Arthur's realm and the birthplace of your father as well."

"What of the Druid?"

"If I am not mistaken, the entrance to Merlin's cairn should not be far from here. I can still sense some remnant magic about the air."

"And what of her, Banba? What of the horrid witch that caused all this? Where does she live these days?"

"In due time, Rhianic, in due time. We shall tend to her soon," Banba said as she looked out upon the ocean with her own sense of melancholy.

The two strangers slowly mounted their horses and road away. An air of finality was about them. So much so, that even the ravens on the henge ceased to caw in their presence.

Up the coast, not far from the fortress ruins, sat the small village of Nudd. Populated mostly with fisherfolk and such, Rhianic and Banba decided that it would be a safe place to stay. As night approached, a storm was rolling in off the sea. This was soon to be a night best spent by a warm tavern fire with a good meal and a good song, not knee deep in the cold mud and soaked to the bone.

"This is better than a damp evening in the woods, is it not?" asked Rhianic.

"Yes, it is," Banba replied as she dismounted, "secure our horses while I buy us a room." She moved with a fluid, almost otherworldly grace.

As Rhianic dealt with the stable hand, he noticed an old woman staring at him from across the way.

"You there," he shouted, "wait a moment."

He approached her with a degree of caution. His instincts told him to beware of Mab's trickery, especially when Banba was not around.

"What is it that you stare at old woman?"

"You have the face of your father and his father. A Pendragon indeed. The black hair, the blue eyes, a Pendragon indeed," she replied matter-of-factly.

"You knew my father and grandfather?"

"Oh, yes. I knew them both well. And Merlin..."

"What of Merlin old woman, what of Merlin?" he asked anxiously. She just smiled at him and began to walk away.

"Sir," came a voice from behind Rhianic.

He turned abruptly.

"Here is your money pouch," the stable hand said as he handed it over to Rhianic, "you left it on your horse. I thought you might want to keep it with you."

"Thank you. Yes, I would prefer to keep it within sight." Rhianic quickly turned once more but the old woman had vanished.

"It does look as if it might get rough this evening," the stable hand stated, in an attempt to keep the conversation going. Rhianic walked away. He did not even hear the young man's words.

"Damn," he thought, "who was that old crone? Could it have been Mab?"

Rhianic entered the tavern. Immediately the sounds of laughter and music inundated him. Outside it began to rain as lightening danced upon the storm clouds like wild fairies in a glen. It was a good night to be inside.

Banba had secured a corner table, a prerequisite for any traveler in a strange town. As Rhianic sat down he let out a sigh of frustration. Banba could tell that something was bothering him.

"What's the matter Rhianic?" Banba asked in hushed whispers. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Someone recognized me, Banba. Someone knew of my birthright," Rhianic took a deep breath, "she said that I resembled my father and my grandfather. She also spoke of Merlin."

"That's impossible. You've been away from here since you were very young. No one could know who you are. Hmm..." Banba paused and pondered what Rhianic said, "It has not been that far removed since the days of Arthur and Mordred. There could still be many who remember them."

"Yeah, but what if it was Mab?"

"I did not sense her presence. She could not move about without my knowing," Banba said with unwavering certainty, "worry no more about this tonight, for tomorrow we go to the Lady of the Lake."

Rhianic ordered an ale and tried to relax, but the nagging image of the old woman haunted him. "Who could it be? Maybe it was Merlin," he thought.

"Rhianic," Banba said sternly, "let it go for now. Have faith in my assurances."

"Sorry, it's just that..."

"Rhianic!" Banba's voice grew louder and more rigid with every spoken syllable.

"Alright, alright. Consider it forgotten."

Rhianic forced the old crone's image from his mind. As he sat there sipping his ale and listing to the Bard sing of ancient tales and heroic deeds, he noticed a rather sad looking gentleman sitting at the table next to him. This person seemed a weary soul. He just sat there staring at his untouched tankard of ale. Every so often a tear would gently flow down his sturdy, but weathered cheek. He was certainly not someone who you would expect to see crying in the middle of a Bardic sing-a-long.

"Pardon me stranger, but with all the ribald behavior about, it seems rather odd for you to be shedding tears over sour ale," Rhianic stated lightheartedly, hoping not to sound to much like a hypocrite, considering the brooding fit that he had just recovered from.

"Leave me alone," the man barked back, "I am not inclined to share my problems with strangers."

"Sorry friend, I thought maybe..."

"No," the man paused, "it is I who should be sorry stranger. I should not be so harsh."

"What is your name?" Rhianic asked.

"Aldrien, good sir. My name is Aldrien."

"So Aldrien, what is of such a grave concern that a strong man, such as yourself, be so melancholy? Surely it couldn't be the weather."

"No friend. It is the fact that my family and I will lose our farm and maybe our freedom," Aldrien swallowed hard and fought back the tears, "the taxes are due tomorrow and I have not the coin to pay."

"What King would do such things to his people?" Rhianic asked.

"King Pedwar is a good man, but some of his Lords are not. The one who holds my lands is not a kind soul. He is a Saxon, of noble blood. If only..."

"If only what?"

"If only I was blessed by the spirits."

Rhianic quizzed Aldrien further, "what do you mean?"

"I had a neighbor who was a fisherman. One day while he was working the harbor, he had his sons tilling the fields. They dug up a pot of gold, Roman gold stolen by fairies years before and buried there. They bought safe passage to Amorica and have never been back since. If only such blessings would fall upon me. Only if Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table were still here. All would be well then."

His words spoke with honesty and touched Rhianic. He had thought many times before, of what it would have been like if Arthur had never been killed in battle and Mordred had never been corrupted by Mab. Rhianic would have been a prince to these people. He would have been a benevolent ruler and a leader of men. But all that was stolen from him.

Rhianic reached down into his ornately carved leather pouch and pulled out a smaller pouch wrapped in twine and handed it to Aldrien.

"Here, take this home with you, but do not open it till you get there. Make sure that your wife and children are there when you open it."

"What is it friend?"

"It is magic, now go, before it fades away."

Aldrien, sensing that this was no trick, quickly rushed out of the inn.

Banba looked at Rhianic and smiled.

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Let's just say that I did my one good deed for the year."

Banba shook her head at Rhianic's vain attempt to cover up his sensitivity with half-wit bravado.

"You are a good soul Rhianic Pendragon. Never forget that."

In the pounding rain Aldrien suddenly stopped. In the flashes of lightening his form changed from that of a middle-aged fisherman to that of an old woman, the old woman who had spoken to Rhianic earlier in the evening. As she looked around she saw a poor family huddled under the overhang of the blacksmith's wood shed. She could tell that they were refugees from the Scot, Angle and Pict wars occurring in the Northlands over the remnant kingdom of Cumbria.

"You there, take this and say a blessing for the Children of Lyr." She tossed them the pouch and then seemingly disappeared into thin air.

The family looked at each other in confusion. The father picked up the pouch and looked at it.

"What is it Papa?" his youngest daughter asked.

"I don't know," he said as he undid the twine and pulled open the pouch.

He shook it once and nothing came out. The family looked at each other in bewilderment. The father then shook the pouch a second time, and this time gold and silver coins came pouring out. Enough to make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

The family then did as the old woman had asked of them. They walked to the village well and threw a coin into the waters as a votive offering to Lyr.

Rhianic was awakened from a rather sensual dream by the sudden shriek of a cockcrow. It had stopped raining and the sun was barely peaking though the clouds.

"Awaken Rhianic, we must be going soon. I want us to be on the Brambledowns by early afternoon," Banba said.

"I'm up, I'm up. No problem," he said as he attempted to refresh himself with some water from the clay pitcher setting on a stand, next to the bed.

Soon they were on their way. The air was crisp and clear. As the mists rose from the nearby stream, the sun began to cover the land in a blanket of warmth. Rhianic and Banba both had a horseback breakfast consisting of bread, cheese and an apple. By high noon they had crossed the Brambledowns and were approaching Lake Saraide.

Rhianic and Banba stopped upon the hill overlooking the lake. There sat an ancient stone nemeton, moss-covered and unused.

"Rhianic, take this apple from the Isle of Vannin and place it on the stone as an offering to the Lady. Then you must continue on your own, down to the shore, for I will not breech her sanctuary out of respect. I gave my word."

Rhianic did as Banba said and placed the apple on the sacred stone. He remembered what was taught by the sages, that if you gave an apple from the Isle of Vannin, as an offering to the gods, that it would nourish a them for a hundred years.

"To your health and longevity, oh Great Lady," he said quietly.

He then proceeded, on foot, down to the lakeshore. For as long as he could remember, he had dreamt of this day. He had waited for so long to meet the Lady of the Lake. Many thoughts raced through his mind. What would he say to Nimue after all these years? He soon would know the answer.

Rhianic descended along the narrow, stony path to the water's edge. The lake was crystal clear and a cold wind rose off its mirrored surface. Rhianic looked back for Banba, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stood there in silence. He could not help but let his imagination wander back to the days of his grandfather. To the glorious days of Camelot, when Excalibur, held by his grandfather's hand, swayed this land.

"Nimue, I, Rhianic Pendragon, son of Mordred, grandson of Arthur, wish to speak to you. Rise from your watery abyss so that my eyes might gaze upon you for the first time."

A single leaf fell from a gnarled, old oak that grew along the water's edge. It danced in the wind, as if cajoled by unseen hands, then fell into the still tarn below. Gentle ripples, the visible echoes of a dryad's whisper, then formed along the water's surface. They gathered force and soon a bubbling whirlpool rose from the depths of the living waters.

Soon came the Lady of the Lake. Enshrouded in mists, she appeared before Rhianic. Her hair was of the sun. It sparkled an otherworldly, golden hue and her eyes were of the most brilliant shade of jade. Around her neck she wore a gold dolphin torc, a symbol of her heritage as a water deity.

"Son of Mordred, where have you kept yourself all these years? Why have you not come to me before?"

"I have been away. I was only three when Arthur and Mordred perished at Camlann. Soon after, I was spirited away across the nine waves to the Isle of Apples. In the lush groves of Dagda I was raised and educated by Banba. Now I return to Camelot, not to claim what is rightfully mine, but to restore my family's honor."

"You come before me with a heart filled with vengeance, though it has been tempered by wisdom and calculation. Beside you walks a goddess whose birth was recorded in the remotest of days. Far before that of even my own."

"Banba walks with me. She is my guiding beacon and my focal. Without her I am nothing."

"So tell me Pendragon, what is it that you seek?"

"I come to you, Great Lady, on this day, to ask for Excalibur, the sword of kings. For only through it shall budding vengeance see fruition."

Nimue smiled at Rhianic, "You are a man of good resolve, of this I know. For I was the old woman who you met at the stables and it was I who was the poor farmer that you helped at the tavern."

"That was you?" Rhianic bellowed in shock.

"Yes. I knew you were coming and I knew you would ask for the sacred sword. I had to determine your worth beforehand."

"So, does that mean you will give Excalibur to me, oh Great Lady?"

"You have proven your virtue, now you must prove to me your courage. Before I give to you the sword of kings, you must bring to me a single scale from the red dragon of the Cymry."

Rhianic's eyes grew big and he swallowed hard, "The red dragon of the Cymry, the great beast of the Blackhand Mountains? Would that not be suicide?"

"You know your task, if you wish for Excalibur, then fulfill the quest."

As quickly as Nimue came, she disappeared, and the lake once more grew silent. Rhianic was in disbelief. He had never seen a dragon before, let alone fought one. He was very skilled with the sword against men, but a dragon? This worried him greatly.

As Rhianic walked back to his horse, he noticed that the apple was indeed gone from the nemeton. In the fertile fields below Banba waited with the horses. She could tell by the look on Rhianic's face that he was upset.

"I see that you are without Excalibur."

"I cannot believe what she asked me to do. I've got to go and kill a dragon first before she gives me the sword."

"Kill a dragon? What exactly did she say and which dragon?"

"She said that I proved my worth...that's another thing. She was the old woman and that poor farmer at the inn. I can't believe..."

"What did she say about the dragon, Rhianic, the dragon?" Banba said sternly in an attempt to cease Rhianic's meandering.

"Sorry, I am a bit excited." He took a deep breath and calmed down, "She said that I must go on a quest, to retrieve for her, a single scale from the red dragon of the Cymry."

"I thought she might have you do such a thing. Though I was not anticipating an excursion of this nature," Banba said as she rummaged around in a leather pouch looking for something, "just as you went to her without me at your side, so to must you go to the dragon alone. But I can give you something that will aid you."

"What is that Banba?"

She handed Rhianic a small glass vile filled with a vibrant green liquid, "This magical potion is an elixir of invincibility, made from the falling leaves of the tree of life. For one sunrise and sunset nothing of the mortal world can harm you. But use it only if you must."

"Thank you Banba. Thank you so much."

"Go now, you haven't much time before the eve of Samhain. Cross the inlet of the Kells and then head north to the Blackhand Mountains, there resides the dragon. I will wait for you back at the village. You have my blessings."

Banba turned and rode away. Rhianic, feeling the urgency in her words, made haste for the coast.

Two days ride hence, he caught a fisher boat to the southern Celtic kingdom of Glamorgan. It was evening when he sat sail. The mists shrouded everything in a veil of white.

"You are lucky my friend," said the fisherman, "King Cor is a benevolent man. There should be no problem dropping you off near the village of Cern. We had heard tales of him and the king of Dyfed going to war, but that has not been verified."

The man's words fell on deaf years. Rhianic was too preoccupied with the thoughts of the coming days ahead. As he stared out through the mists, the sound of the water gently lapping on the side of the skiff made him sleepy. It was at this time, the twilight, that magic can sometimes occur.

As Rhianic sat there he began to hear the sound of oars, many oars in the water. Suddenly, before him a large vessel, carrying many men broke through the fog. It was a Roman ship, not unlike the kind Caesar sailed in to Britannia many, many years before. He could hear the men speaking in Latin, he could see the fires of their torches.

"Sweet Brighid, look out. We are going to be overrun," Rhianic shouted.

He stood up in the boat and drawled his sword from its sheath. The fisherman and his son looked in desperation but saw nothing. As quick as it appeared, it vanished.

"A Fata Morganna," Rhianic thought, "this is an ill omen indeed."

He turned to the fisherman, "Uh sorry. I thought I saw something in the mists."

He said little else the rest of the way across the water.

Once he landed in Cern, he paid the man in silver and then went about his way. At a distance he could see the rugged black peaks of the mountains. It would not be that far of a journey.

He walked for a day and a half when he reached the foot of the mountains. It was there that he came upon an old man working a garden, near a quaint cabin. Before he had a chance to introduce himself, the old man sprang up and greeted him in a tongue unfamiliar to Rhianic.

"I'm sorry, but I do not understand you."

"Damn," said the old man, "I was hoping this time you would be the one."

"The one what?" Rhianic asked.

"The one who could answer my question, that's what."

"I speak seven languages," Rhianic said with pride, "but I do not know the one you spoke just now."

"Good. Then you are not of the fairy and therefore not here to harm me."

"Who are you?" Rhianic asked.

"I, my boy, am Taliesin, the shining brow. And now that you know my name you must come and break bread with me."

"Well, I really should be going."

"Nonsense. You must eat first," Taliesin said as he motioned for Rhianic to follow, "where was it, did you say, you were going to in such a hurry?"

"I did not say. But if you must know I am going to have a word with the red dragon who lives in these very mountains."

"Ha, why would you do such a thing? Are you mad?" he asked.

"No. It is a quest that I am on."

"A quest did you say? Well, all quests must start on a full stomach."

Rhianic followed Taliesin into his cottage. The smell of stew filled the air as a roaring fire heated an iron kettle. Above the fireplace a knotted and cracked shield was mounted. A dried rowan leaf and mistletoe wreath hung above the window. Several walking staffs sat perched along the far wall and a corner table was brimming with small clay bottles and wooden bowls. Rhianic sat down as Taliesin began to slice the freshly baked bread.

"So, it is the red dragon that you come here for. Hmm..." Taliesin thought for a moment, "this must be an important quest that you are on is it not?"

"Yes. Yes it is. One of the most important..."

Rhianic was abruptly interrupted as Taliesin screamed and threw a wooden bowl full of nuts and berries at the open window.

"Damn fairies. Take that you buggers. You will never take me alive, do you hear, never!"

Rhianic quickly realized that his hospitable acquaintance was slightly left-of-center. He stood up cautiously.

"Sorry, Taliesin, but I best be going now. I haven't much time."

"The red dragon you say. Are you going to kill it and steal all of its gold?"

"Oh, I certainly hope I don't have to kill it. I have heard that it can be a reasonable beast upon occasion. I would rather just reason with it and ask it for a scale."

"A scale? What in Mab's festering bosom do you want a scale for?" Taliesin leaned in and whispered, "Is it an ingredient for a magic potion?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Rhianic replied, not sure if he should tell the old man the whole story.

"Well, take my word for it. If you show no violence toward the dragon and ask politely, he just might barter with you. See that staff over there, the one with the silver horn mounted on it?"

"Yes, I see it."

"That is an ancient staff of the Druids. It possesses the power of divination. I traded the dragon a jug of swamp root ale for that staff. He seems partial to spirit water."

Rhianic pondered this for a moment, "I thank you for the advice Taliesin. I will do as you say, but I best be going now."

"Yes, I suppose you should. You never know when the fairies will attack next. Here take this bread with you so you will not grow hungry on your journey."

As Rhianic headed up the narrow mountain path he could hear the crashing of pots and the raving shouts of Taliesin in the distance.

"He is a mad one indeed," he thought.

It was not long until he reached the cave where the dragon was supposed to live. But instead of coming face to face with a roaring beast of mythic proportions, the eerie echo of howling winds was all that could be heard. Its otherworldly, banshee-like wail caused goosebumps to rise and filled the cavern with what only could be described as the ghostly laments of the dead. It was almost deafening. As Rhianic crossed over an inner natural archway the winds suddenly ceased.

"Well, what do we have here?" said a booming voice from the shadows, "who is this that dares enter my abode?"

Rhianic stopped where he stood, "I-I seek the mighty red dragon of the C-Cymry."

"You have found him boy. Prepare to do battle."

"Wait, wait. I didn't come here to fight you. I came here to barter with you."

"Barter with me?" the dragon asked as he lowered his enormous red-scaled head down to Rhianic's level, "hmm...what is it that you desire and what do you have that I may want?"

"I have a potion of indestructibility, stirred by Banba herself, and I also have an apple from the Isle of Apples, birthplace of Manannan Mac Lir. Both of these I would trade to you for one scale from your great wings, oh lord."

"You what?" the dragon looked at Rhianic in amazement.

"Yes, a scale. I am on a great quest and I must have one of your scales or all, I am afraid, is lost."

"Well then, we cannot have that. Let me see these items."

Rhianic nervously handed the bottle and the apple over to the dragon.

"You tell the truth. Both are what you say they are. In all my years I never had anyone ask for a scale."

The dragon folded in a wing and pulled off one of his scales and handed it to Rhianic.

"Here you go. But you best be going before I change my mind."

Rhianic took the scale and ran out of the cave. He ran down the mountain path and did not look back.

"Fare-thee-well Pendragon. May your true quest be fulfilled," the dragon said as he watched Rhianic disappear down the path. He then changed into his human guise, that of the bard Taliesin, "We all wish you well on your journey. May the Tylwyth Teg protect you as you sleep."

Rhianic's journey back to the village of Nudd was an uneventful one. Except for the occasional pixie that would perch in his hair, nothing else happened. Upon his arrival he sought out Banba who, prophetically enough, was waiting at the town's edge with the horses.

"You don't waste any time do you?" Rhianic commented.

"It is two days until Samhain's eve. You would either make it back at this hour, or our window of opportunity would vanish. Did you get the dragon's scale?"

"Yes. I have it right here."

"Did you use the potion that I gave you?"

"Uh, yes. You could say that," he muttered as he quickly changed the subject, "I do hope this time she gives me the sword."

As they both rode along, Rhianic could not help but ask Banba a question that had been on his mind since this journey began.

"Why don't you use your magical powers here? I mean, after all, you are a goddess of much dominion."

"It is because of respect that I do not do so. These lands are not my lands and these people worship various deities. Some still pray to the Old Ones, while others worship the Roman gods, including the Christian sun deity and the Persian Mithra. It is not my place to supersede them here, at this time. For the sky wheel has just turned once more and my second dawn is many epochs away from this moment in time. But you needn't concern yourself with such things. Focus only on your tasks at hand."

"Sorry Banba. I was just curious," Rhianic said apologetically.

Soon the duo, once again, reached the summit overlooking the sacred lake. Rhianic dismounted and placed another apple on the nemeton. He approached the lake slowly, and looked for signs of the Lady. He laid the dragon scale at the water's edge and said the words of summoning.

Soon the waters stirred. A whirlpool of simmering bubbles rose to the surface and through the waves the glint of a sword appeared. It was Excalibur.

"You have proved your courage, Rhianic Pendragon. The sword of kings is yours."

As it breached the surface, the names of all the kings who held it previously, could be seen inscribed on the blade. Rhianic waited until the whole of it was out of the water, then he reached down and took the sword slowly from her hands. As he did so, he heard the words, ‘for Albion' spoken softly upon the wind.

A charge of static energy immersed him. He felt more alive now than ever before. He truly knew for the first time, that this was his destiny.

Two days passed and Samhain had finally arrived. Magic was in the air. Banba was radiant. This was her day after all. All the gods were in their prime on this, the most sacred of evenings. It was also the time that they became the most vulnerable. A duality not lost on Rhianic.

He traveled with Banba to the most ancient and sacred of standing stones. A henge where on this eve, one could enter and call upon the Queen of Fairies, Mab, and she would come.

"Soon Rhianic, Mab's hour of reckoning will come. Do not let her sweet tongue tempt you. For she will try to weave a spell around you, a spell most mortals cannot resist. You must at all costs."

"Fear not. I am not my father. I will not fall for her lies."

"Remember, use your mind. Wait for her to lower her guard and then strike with Excalibur. It will be your only chance."

Banba then placed her hand on Excalibur and uttered a few sacred words. Before Rhianic's eyes the sword turned into an old walking stick.

"This will keep Mab from seeing the blade. When you are ready to strike, the sword will reappear."

Banba vanished. A stiff wind began to blow in from the north. Rhianic felt that the time was right. He took a deep breath. As his body shivered with anticipation, he stepped into the stone circle.

Inside the circle's confines no wind was blowing. All was silent.

"Queen of..." Rhianic stopped as the echo of his words almost knocked him down. The stones magnified the sound of his voice ten-fold.

"Queen of Fairies, mother of Maeve, I call upon you, on this, the most sacred of nights," he said softly.

It was not long before Mab appeared. She was quite beautiful. She was dressed in regal purple and black robes and her pale, milky skin seemed to glow with magic. One could get lost in her flowing, raven-hued hair. She was the essence of magic. Rhianic tried not to be taken off guard by her appearance, but this was going to be harder than he had thought.

"Who is this stranger that stands before me?" she asked.

As she spoke, the scenery around Rhianic changed slightly. Though he still could see the now fading outline of the stone circle, he realized that he had crossed over into her world. A tripod with a hanging cauldron sat over an open fire. A raven was now perched on her shoulder and it looked at him warily.

"You are Mab, the Queen of Fairies?"

"Yes, mortal I am. Come take a sip of broth from my cauldron. It will do you good."

"No thank you. I am not hungry."

"What is it that you come for? Is it wealth? Mortals are always asking for wealth. For a price, a hoard of gold coin can be found in your fields come Spring," she paused for a moment, "you seem to be familiar to me somehow. Something about you..."

Rhianic wasted no more time. He struck with abandonment.

"For Camelot, for Mordred, for Arthur," Rhianic shouted.

The walking staff swiftly changed into Excalibur as the blade found its mark. For an instant Mab gained the look of recognition, but it was too late. With one skillful blow Rhianic had taken her head.

Energies began to swirl about as the cauldron flame went out. The earth below him shook violently. He grabbed her severed head by the hair and kicked over the cauldron for good measure. He then stepped though the threshold back into the mortal world. There, Banba greeted him.

"It is over, it is finally over," Rhianic said as tears of joy and relief welled in his eyes.

"Yes, Rhianic, it is finally over," Banba said as she embraced him.

Rhianic had fulfilled his destiny and Camelot was avenged.