Hawk of May by Gillian Bradshaw Page A

traitor, traitor…” There was almost a sob in it.
    Then I was in the stables and my horse stood waiting in his stall, ready for me to mount and go flying away from Dun Fionn and from the Darkness which ran behind me, thick with the fury of its Queen and heavy with her desire for my death; and I was mounting and riding off through the moonlight and cloud-shadows, riding away from Dun Fionn, riding…
    My horse’s hooves kicked up stones on the path, and the fortress was limned for a moment against the wracked sky, and then I rounded a hillside and it was gone…
    Gone.

Five
    There was sand and gravel under me, and somewhere very near the sea was pounding.
    I lifted my head and looked out over the western sea which beat-hissed on the narrow beach and flooded up towards the deep pool of fresh water by the cliff’s base. Llyn Gwalch.
    The memory of the night before returned to me, and I lay still for a while and considered it. I felt tired, too tired to feel anything, and the memory was heavy and hard. After a while, though, I realized that I was very thirsty, so I crawled up to the pond and drank from it. The water was very cold, clear and fresh, delicious. I splashed it over my head when I had quenched my thirst, then went over and sat down against the cliff to look out at the sea.
    I thought about the wild ride, down along the cliff-path, with the demon of Darkness chasing me, catching at the edges of my mind. I remembered reaching Llyn Gwalch, dismounting and sending my horse on with a slap, then scrambling down the cliff to lie, exhausted, in my only refuge. And apparently it was indeed a refuge, for I was still alive and sane. I wondered how long it would last, then wondered again because it did not seem to matter much. I felt weak and empty but not sick. In fact, I felt better than I had for a long, long time. I was free. Even if I lost my life, I was free.
    The sun had risen behind the cliff, and its rays crept closer across the ocean. I smiled at the light and spoke an old poem of greeting to it:
    â€œWelcome to you, seasons’ sun,
    Travelling the skies from afar
    Winged with glad strides the heights you run
    Joyful mother of evening stars.
    With night you sink on the perilous sea
    But arise from the waves’ bower
    Leaping from harm and darkness free
    As a young queen in flower.”
    And in a moment of dizzy triumph I thought, I have followed the sun, the young queen. I have recalled my step from Avernus. And then, close behind the triumph came the pain. My mother was trying to kill me. As vividly as if I relived it I saw her fury when I threw the knife at Connall—poor Connall!—and saw the Darkness leaping from the shadows behind her.
    I shuddered. I could not return to Dun Fionn. I pressed my hands together until it hurt, trying not to realize what that meant. I would never ride into those light walls again, nor listen to old Orlamh’s drily courteous explanations of metre and genealogies, or Diuran’s coarse jokes. In one blow I had separated myself from my kinsmen and home for ever. Even if somehow, in some later time, I returned, I would never regain what I had just lost. I had lost the world of warriors before, and now had lost the other world I had desired, and if I were free, it was with the freedom of the outcast; clanless, nameless, placeless. I could not return to Don Fionn—and for that matter, why ever was I safe at Llyn Gwalch?
    Perhaps, I thought, distracted from the pain by surprise, perhaps there is some force here that thwarts the Queen.
    I remembered Arthur.
    Certainly my mother would have destroyed him long before, if she had been able to. She hated him enough. But she was unable to, because of his new gods and his counter-spell that she didn’t understand.
    I reminded myself sternly that Arthur had defeated my father, and that he kept my brother as his hostage. He ought to be my sworn enemy. And I reminded myself of the constant wars which