"The Dark Time? You mean the attack that drove your people south?"

"That is only the beginning, and not even that." Taliesin grew very grave. "But it is coming... Darkness deep as dead night will descend over the Island of the Mighty."

"This king-you say he has been born?" asked the priest.

Taliesin shook his head. "Perhaps... No one knows. But his coming cannot be far off, for the darkness grows more powerful with each pa.s.sing day. He will have to come soon if there is to be anything left worth saving."

"I Believe it is true," put in Collen excitedly. He had been following this exchange as closely as he could. "Some herders pa.s.sing by this morning said that raiders have been seen hereabouts-where no Irish have been seen for many years."

"Charis came upon them yesterday in the valley. If I had not been there, she might have suffered the worse for it..." He paused, remembering the sight of her besting trained warriors. "Ah, but you should have seen her. Even now I am not so sure she needed my help at all."

"I can well imagine," mused Dafyd, stroking his chin, "that she would be a most formidable opponent. There is a good deal of iron in that spine. I have often wondered where it comes from."

"Will you be leaving soon?" asked Collen.

"Today," said Taliesin. "I mean to visit here often though and invite you to do the same."

"We will, we will," promised Dafyd. "I have my new converts to look after. And more new converts to make. I think we will be seeing much of one another in time to come."

Charis rejoined them, and she and Taliesin reluctantly took their leave. The priests waved them on their way and then went back to work on the shrine.

The two rode to the Tor and across the causeway, whereupon, reaching the winding pathway leading to the palace, Taliesin turned aside. Charis also pulled up, and they sat for a moment looking at one another. "You are leaving," she said matter-of-factly.

"For a little while. But when I come back we will be together and will never be separated again." He urged his mount closer a few steps and took her hand. "You will fill my thoughts every moment until I return." He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

Charis stiffened, gripping the reins in her fist. "You say we are reborn," she replied bitterly. "You say we will be married and that we will never be parted. You say you love me."

"I do, Charis. With all that is in me, I do."

"It is not enough!" she shouted, lashing the reins across her horse's withers, kicking her heels into its flanks. "It is... not... enough..."

The gray bolted away up the winding path to the summit of the Tor.

Misery descended upon Charis' heart with the cold, bleak, rain-filled days that settled over the land. She paced the corridors of the palace, fretful, anxious, hating herself for feeling the way she did, and then feeling worse for it.

Her torment had no center. Like a wind that a.s.sailed from all directions, it seemed to strike wherever she turned, at times unexpectedly. Why? she kept asking herself. Why? Why? Why?

Why does it have to be this way? Why does the thought of loving Taliesin fill me with such dread? Why am I so afraid?

She thought about Taliesin-but more as an abstract presence, a force to be faced, or an argument to be reconciled than as a flesh-and-bone human being who loved and desired her. He was a cipher that had no face, a symbol of something she could not reckon.

Why, she would ask herself, does the thought of him bring no happiness?

Time and again she asked the question, and time and again stumbled over the same awkward conclusion: "I do not love him."

That must be it, she decided. As painful as it is, that must be the answer. I do not love him. Maybe I have never loved anyone...

No, I did; I loved my mother, she thought. But that was a long time ago and she has been dead many years. Perhaps when Briseis was killed all love inside me died too. Strange to just find out now. It has been so long since I have loved anyone or anything except myself-no, not even myself. What the High Queen told me that day long ago was true: I wished myself dead, which is why I danced the bulls.

Love...

Why should love be so important? Save for a few brief years as a child, I have lived my life without it. Why should this lack make any difference now? Why now?

And what had happened to that calm, agreeable feeling she had experienced only a few days ago-that sense of security and the rightness of things, the feeling of being part of a hidden plan meticulously working itself out... Where had that gone?

It was true, she reminded herself. Only a few days ago you were certain you were in love with Taliesin. Only a few days ago you felt as if life had recovered its purpose and meaning for you. Only a few days ago... And now?

Had things changed so much? Or had those feelings been but fleeting sensations, more dream than reality? There was certainly something very dreamlike about the last few days. It was as if she had slept and awakened from a pleasant dream to the soulless austerity of reality.

Was it a dream? Had she, out of loneliness and melancholy, imagined it?

Taliesin was real enough. Charis could still hear her name on his lips, could feel his touch on her skin, the warmth of his arms around her. That was real, but was it love?

If it was, it was not enough.

Her words at their parting came back to her, stinging her with their hopelessness. It was not enough! Not enough! Love had never been enough. It had not kept her mother from dying; it had not prevented the hideous war that had taken Eoinn and Guistan; it had not saved Atlantis from destruction. So far as she knew, love had never saved anyone from the agony of life, even for an instant.

And now here was the Christian priest Dafyd insisting that the ruling power of the world-indeed, of all worlds past, present, and yet to come-was love. This same feeble, inconstant emotion. Impotent and by its very nature vulnerable. More a thing to be despised than exalted, more to be pitied than embraced.

Who was this G.o.d that demanded love of his servants, called himself love, and insisted that he be worshiped in love? This G.o.d who made love the highest expression of his power and insisted that he alone stood above all other G.o.ds, that he alone had created the heavens and earth, that he alone was worthy of honor, reverence, and glory?

A strange and perverse G.o.d, this G.o.d of love, thought Charis. Not at all like any of the other G.o.ds I have known. So unlike Bel, whose dual aspects of constancy and change demanded nothing but simple reverence and ritual-and not even that if one was not inclined. If he did not greatly heed or help his people, at least he made no pretense of caring for them either. He ignored all men equally, Mage and beggar alike.

But this Most High G.o.d insisted that he cared for his followers and asked-no, demanded demanded-that men acknowledge him as sole supreme guardian, authority, and judge over all. Yet, he could be as silent and cold and distant and fickle as Cybel ever was.

Even so, Charis had promised to follow him, had been baptized into the Christian faith. Why?

Was it because she was restless, and tired of her restlessness, tired of searching, tired of the lonely, empty feeling that there was no longer any significance to her life? Was that it?

Like a bird trapped in a cow byre, throwing herself against dumb, unfeeling walls, Charis struggled to understand the unhappy welter of her thoughts and emotions, only to be met time and again with silence and indifference. Her questions went unanswered.

Very well, she had been attracted to this new G.o.d through his son, Jesu, who had lived as a man among men, teaching the ways of love, and pointing the way to a kingdom of peace and joy without end. That, at least, was worth Believing. But to what end?

Bel offered nothing so impossible, made no barren promises. Life and death were all the same to him. But not to this Jesu. If Charis understood Dafyd right, Jesu, who was himself truly G.o.d, sacrificed himself so that all might be reborn to live in his kingdom-a kingdom as remote and insubstantial as the love he promised to share with those who Believed and followed him.

"Only Believe," Dafyd had told her. "He does not ask us to understand him, only to Believe in him. As it is written: 'For G.o.d so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever Believes in him will never die, but will have everlasting life.' "

Only Believe! Only raise Atlantis from the depths-that would be easier, thought Charis in despair. How can I Believe in a G.o.d who has no image, yet claims all of creation for his province; who demands total and unstinging devotion, yet will not speak; who calls himself Father, yet refused to spare his only true Son.

Better to Believe in Bel or Lieu or Oester or the Mother G.o.ddess or any of the mult.i.tude of G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses that men have worshiped through the ages. Better to Believe in nothing and no one at all... That conclusion had all the comfort of the tomb.

"G.o.d!" she cried in despair, her voice lost in the wind and rain that beat down upon the Tor. she cried in despair, her voice lost in the wind and rain that beat down upon the Tor. "G.o.d!" "G.o.d!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The cold rain squalls of the last days pa.s.sed in the night and spring returned. Charis lay some moments in her bed, feeling light in body and spirit, and remembered that she had not eaten a bite the day before, nor the day before that. She was hungry but also felt unburdened, as if the weight of misery had dissolved in the night and melted away like the storm clouds. Although nothing had changed at all.

She was still unsure of her love for Taliesin, still unsure of her Belief in the new G.o.d, still very much alone, and still very restless. Her first thought was to rise, saddle her horse at once, and ride out into the hills-to ride and never stop riding, to lose herself in the brooding glory of green earth and deep sky.

Pausing for bread and cheese and a mouthful of wine on her way to the stables, she hurried through the courtyard and met Morgian, sulky and bristling with inarticulate menace. "I have no quarrel with you, Morgian," Charis told her. "But let us have an understanding."

"An understanding? How so, sister?" she asked slyly.

"About Taliesin. He has declared his love for me, and it is his wish that we should be married. Now I tell you in all honesty, I do not know if I love hire or not. I do not think that I do. Very likely we will never be married"

Morgian's smile had much in it of the cat whose claws have just closed around the mouse. "So, you adm-"

"But," Charis cut her off, "whether we are married or not I forbid you to interfere in our affairs."

"If you do not love him, why do you care?" inquired Morgian.

The question went by Charis at the time. But later, as she let her gray horse have its head to plod along the brome-edged hilltrack, she found herself pondering the same question: Why do I care?

She turned the question over in her mind, listening to the slow clop-clop of the horse's hooves on the damp dirt. Is not love born of caring? In truth, are they not one and the same thing?

Lost in thought, she crested the hill and started down the other side, pa.s.sing by a dense blackthorn thicket. A sharp, keening cry jarred her out of her trance. She jerked the reins and listened. A soft rustling sounded in the blackthorn just ahead.

Charis stepped from the saddle and walked to the thicket. Kneeling, she peered in among the tight-woven branches. It was too dark to see much, but something was there in the shadows. Carefully she bent back the top layers of leaves. The piercing scream split the air and the blackthorn shook with fury. Charis released the branch, but she had seen what lay within: a small hawk, trapped in the thorns.

She parted the leaves once more and slowly, slowly reached in. The bird struggled, tossing its head and kicking its legs, but its wings were pinned by the thorns and held fast.

"There, bright one," Charis soothed, reaching her free hand toward the hawk. "Be still; I will not hurt you."

The bird slashed at Charis' fingers with its talons and beak. She withdrew the hand. "Shhh, easy now. I am your friend." The hawk screamed again and struck out at her, its red-rimmed eye glaring proud defiance. Charis had no choice but to sit back on her heels until the rage had subsided.

In a few moments the hawk grew quiet again and Charis raised her hand toward it. Slowly, gently, she edged her fingers closer. The hawk let her fingertips brush its feathers and then it stabbed at her with its sharp beak. "Ow!" The beak grazed her forefinger.

This cat-and-mouse game continued for some time with the hawk repulsing each of Charis' advances. But she persisted- talking to it, soothing it, willing it to respond to her concern.

"What am I going to do with you? I cannot leave you here like this... You will die," she told the hawk. The bird screamed in reply but not so loudly as before, and Charis noticed that its thrashing was weaker as well.

"So," she told it, "you have been here for some time. I thought so. The gale swept you into the thicket and here you are-you cannot free yourself and must have help. Now, be still and let me help you." The bird stared at her with a round bright eye but did not struggle this time; it lay still and let her hand close around its body.

Gently she worked the wings free and pulled the hawk from its prison. Its wings and back were light gray, its underside a soft cream color blushing red; dark points like tiny daggers were scattered over its chest, back, wings, and head; there was a wide black band across its tail and the tips of each wing.

"There, you see?" she told it, holding it close and stroking it, her voice low, calming. "You are free. Now I will let you go-"

Charis walked a few paces from the thicket, turned into the breeze, and raised the bird in her hands. The hawk leapt free, struggled into the air and fell, one wing beating the air furiously, the other half-folded and limp. The bird struck the ground a short distance away. She ran to it.

"I am sorry, bright one! You are hurt. Let me see." She stooped to pick it up again and the hawk slashed with its beak, catching Charis on the fleshy part of her hand between thumb and finger. "Ouch!" The nip was clean and the blood flowed instantly.

"Not a very grateful bird, are you?" she said, raising her injured hand to her mouth. "How can I help you if you will not let me?"

The hawk gave the keening cry again and struggled forward, hobbling through the tall gra.s.s, its injured wing dragging uselessly along.

"Where will you run to?" Charis called after it. "Look at you. You are hurt and weak from hunger. You cannot hunt to feed yourself; you cannot even fly. There is no one else to save you. You will die out here, bright one."

It ran as far as it could go, but the effort proved too much and it stopped, looking back at her, head low, panting through its open beak.

Charis ran to it and stood over it. "Will you let me help you?" The hawk, exhausted, lowered its head and flopped forward in the gra.s.s. Charis gently gathered it up and the hawk, too weak to struggle any more, allowed itself to be handled. It closed its eyes and settled into the crook of her arm.

Upon reaching the palace, Charis took the hawk directly to her room and put it on her bed. She went in search of Lile and found her in the herb garden on her hands and knees, pushing seeds into a patch of wet ground.

"Lile," said Charis, "I have found an injured bird. Would you come see it, please?"

"An injured bird?" Lile wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "You cannot heal birds. You should have left it where it was," she said and went back to her digging.

"It would have died," explained Charis.

"Yes, that is what happens. Most wild things cannot be healed, birds among them. They die."

"It is not that kind of bird," replied Charis. "It is a hawk. I think its wing is broken; it cannot fly."

"A hawk?" Lile appeared interested and then shrugged. "Still, I can do nothing for it."

"Oh, at least come and see it," insisted Charis. "I doubt if it is badly hurt-just the wing. And it is weak from hunger."

Lile rubbed her hands on her yellow mantle and got up. "Very well, I will look at your hawk. But you must promise that if there is nothing to be done you will have it killed directly. It is not right to let a creature suffer needlessly."

"I promise," agreed Charis. "Come; it is in my room." They hurried off together.

Lile settled on the edge of the bed and studied the hawk carefully. It made no move when she reached to touch it and even allowed her to examine its damaged wing without resisting. "The wing is broken," she said. "This little merlin has flown its last, I fear."

"No!" Charis protested in alarm. "You can heal it, surely. Please, Lile, you must try."

Lile sighed and frowned at the gray-feathered lump skeptically. "Well, I will do what can be done. But I do not hold much hope for the bird. Even if you can keep it alive, it will likely never fly again-which is hardly a kindness." She left the room, saying, "I will bring my things. Meanwhile, go and instruct the stableboys to catch a mouse or two but not to kill them. From now on we will want as many rats and mice, alive, as they can catch. And bring a bowl of fresh water."

Charis did as she was told and returned as Lile was binding the wing with linen strips. There were feather clippings scattered on the bed, and the hawk's head was wrapped in a linen band. "What have you done?" demanded Charis.

Without looking up, Lile explained, "I covered the bird's head so that he would not struggle. The pinions had to be clipped so that he will not try to fly before the wing is healed. I have joined the broken bones as well as I could and have bound the wing. Now if we can keep the creature fed and quiet, he may be saved." She sat back and viewed her handiwork. "That is as much as anyone can do. The rest is up to the bird."

Charis sat down and began stroking the hawk's head. "Thank you, Lile. He will recover," she said with conviction. "I will see to it."

"Perhaps," said Lile, unconvinced. She began gathering up her bandages and utensils. "We will see."

A few days later Taliesin returned to Ynys Witrin. He skirted the Tor and rode directly to the shrine. Dafyd met him at the spring, where he tied his horse and walked with him up the hill. "It is good to see you, Taliesin. Will you eat with us? We were just about to break bread."

They sat down together and Collen brought out bowls with boiled rabbit and onions and fresh-baked bread. They prayed and began eating and Taliesin told about coming to the land Avallach had given them. "There is a ruined caer on a high hill which can defend the land as far as a man can see. It is an excellent stronghold in the center of fine woodlands and fields. Any king would be fortunate to have it, but it has not been inhabited for many years and there is much to be done-shelters to raise, fields to clear, livestock to tend, and a thousand other tasks large and small to make the holding secure."

Dafyd noticed that the young man's eyes kept straying toward the Tor in the distance and so tried to ease his mind by talking on about how the shrine would appear when finished and how the worship there would soon begin.

Taliesin did not hear a word, so Dafyd said at last, "But you did not come to hear me prattle on about the shrine. If you want word of Charis, you must ask her yourself. We have not seen the lady."