AERONS TEARS

Chapter 2

Myrddyn sat by the fire watching the trout sizzle on the hot stone. A white raven perched in the old oak above him. Watching him, cocking it’s head one way then another, and softly cawed. Chuckling to himself, Myrddyn followed what had become the evening ritual, he picked up the steaming trout, tore a large piece off, and took a bit as he tossed the rest casually over his shoulder. The raven cawed as it took wing and snatched the fish from the air, landing close to the fire. Myrddyn studied the raven as it hopped about pecking at the steaming fish. ” I have guessed who You are you know. You are wise not to wear that other face, fair as it is. Ygrainne would be most unhappy if you followed me home in that form.” The white raven paused from her eating, cocked her head and laughing spoke. ” Too true my Myrddyn, Ygrainne is one of my daughters just as you are one of my sons. She would flay us both alive. I need you whole and live for your task. " Shaking his head Myrddyn asked “And what exactly is this task?” The raven gulped the last of the trout, ” We shall see.” was all that she said.

Wood smoke dusted the air and mixed with the tang of the sea. Myrddyn was sure he could smell meat roasting for the evening meal. He was almost home. Of their own accord his feet hurried. Caer Dubh was not large, barely a village in fact. Built in and around an old Roman legionary outpost. Old Roman earth works, in good repair and a sturdy stone keep. The people filled the grounds with low, peaked round houses bright with new thatch. Assembled in no easily discernible order. It was only when Myrddyn saw the heavy oak and iron main gate, broken and burning, that Myrddyn knew something was wrong.

The white raven called and wheeled over head as Myrddyn drew the sword and charged through the ruined gate. The village was a charnel house, dead and mutilated animals lay randomly slaughtered between the houses and along the wooden corduroy walkways. There were no people or even their bodies in sight. Running towards the keep, calling for Ygrainne. Myrddyn found them. All of them it seemed, stacked like sheaves still burning on the assembly grounds before the keep. Myrddynn fell to his knees retching, sickened by the cooked meat stench.

Wildly Myrddyn arose and ran into the keep. Vainly calling and searching for some sign of Ninaine, his mother, Ygrainne, his wife or Ygerna his young daughter. The keep was empty, stripped of everything but the smoldering rushes covering the floor. When he reached the top of the tower, Myrddyn gazed out across the desolation of Caer Dubh. He found his family, or what remained of them rather. The sight would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. Myrddyn had run past his family and not even recognized them, or saw that they were even human. They were laid out beside the eastern gate. The sasanachs had sacrificed them, mutilating them in what the savages called blood eagles. The sasanachs had come, and stayed awhile, leaving their mark, taking everything living from Myrddyns heart and soul with them.

Myrddyn quite simply lost his mind. He fled in horror to the deepest darkest recesses of his mind, to gibber and howl in horror, grief and rage. Something else came to the fore front. Something new and terrible, a creature of madness and fury howled. The white raven circled the keep, weeping.

For seven full years the body of Myrddyn raged and slaughtered the sasanachs wherever he found them. His sword ran red and dripped with gore, while Myrddyn gibbered and wept inside, unaware of anything save the depths of his grief.

Myrddyn was wandering through the forests of Lothian, when a band of warriors found him. They were Celts, warriors of king Maelgwyns band. With gestures they convinced him to follow. They were wary and kept their distance. Morgaine, their queen, had sent them searching for Myrddyn. Morgaine was his sister, though she had married Maelgwen while Myrddyn was still a young boy.

Morgaine and Maelgwen had been out hunting, running deer with their deer-hounds when rumors of a gore draped demon in the forest reached them. Morgaine knew it had to be Myrddyn.

As Myrddyn madly glared into His sisters eyes. She recoiled in fear and revulsion. Myrddyn’s hair was wild and long, matted with rotting gore. all of his armor was blood stained and splattered with rotting effluvium as well. He was a nightmare reeking of Anwwfyn. Something even the fair folk, the Y Tylwydd Teg would run screaming from.

The white raven swept low, flying between Myrddyn and the crouching Morgaine, calling aloud as she passed.

” Myrddyn come out! AWAKE!!” Instantly Myrddyn was aware, aware of everything finally, the loss of his family, and the horrors he had committed wreaking terror among the sasanach… he had become the stuff of nightmares, the fear whispered of by warriors and herdsmen huddled around campfires.

The sheer horror of it all swept over him, Myrddyn screamed, whirling about. As the warriors fell beck, Myrddyn plunged the gore spattered sword into a large stone. The blade slid into the stone as if it were water. The stone rippling and flowing as the blade penetrated it. Myrddyn released the hilt and collapsed, weeping and retching onto the exposed stone. The assembled warriors stared in silent wonder.

The white raven cawed as she settled down to perch on the pommel of the sword. Then cried aloud, “This is the sword of kings, Caladwylch, who so ever draws this sword from the stone, is the rightful Riothamus of Britain.” Myrddyn screamed wordlessly as he leapt to his feet, fleeing into the forest. The white raven ruffled her feathers then took flight. Closely following Myrddyn as he disappeared through the trees.

Myrddyn ran blindly until he could no longer lift his feet. The white raven watched as he fell and rolled in the decomposing leaves.

The morning sun found Myrddyn following a tiny stream. He ranted and raved as he walked. Venting his fury at the white raven. She remained silent, listening, She had earned it after all. She fully deserved every curse and agreed with him.

The stream widened into a shallow pool at the base of a small steep hill. The stream flowed from a cave near the top of the hill. Myrddyn flung himself into the pool, shrugging off his armor, until naked, he scrubbed himself clean with the bottom sand in the stream bed. Still naked, but clean now, Myrddyn climbed the hill, crawled into the cave, and went to sleep. The White raven watched over him in silence, weeping.

Long years passed. Years of madness and sorrow. The white raven labored , working to weave together the torn and tortured threads of Myrddynn’s mind and soul. A mans mind is incredibly more complex than even the most intricate or woven plaids. The white raven persevered through the curses and ravings and the tears. Through the times of stony silence, until finally the pattern took shape. Like a phoenix Myrddyn was born anew from the ashes of despair. The white raven was well pleased.