Lucy Camdon knew that she was odd. She had always known it without anyone having to tell her. She had odd thoughts and did odd things, and she never truly seemed to fit anywhere, except with Alec. With him, she could be her true self, and though she had been going to see him this weekend, it was now painfully clear to her that her weekend was to be spent alone in her basement apartment, without even her roommate Rachel to keep her company.
Alec had called earlier on this June Friday to tell her not to bother coming, as he was currently laid low by a particularly nasty dose of chemo he had just received.
"Are you sure I can't do anything?" She had asked this purely out of politeness, for though she loved him very much, the actual thought of going there to deal with his illness made the grilled cheese sandwich she had just consumed for lunch roil and churn in her stomach.
"No, dearest," he said. "You just have a fun weekend. We'll get together soon. Alright?"
She had said 'alright' and she had meant it, but as the day wore on, she had realized just how sad this cancellation had made her feel. Although she had known about Alec Logan's Cancer from the day they had met, she did not want to admit that it was gaining in strength rather than being routed by the medicinal poisons of the doctors. Every time he was ill like this, she started to imagine her life without him, and it scared her to death.
They had met eighteen months before at a Christmas party given by mutual friends. She had no idea what had made this tall, deep-voiced sculptor and smith come over to talk to her, but they had enjoyed each other's company unreservedly, and after some emails and phone conversations, had decided to start seeing each other. Her family had never met him, and while a part of her wished that they could arrange it, another craven part of her was relieved that events had conspired so that the meeting had never happened.
Why was she so scared? Well, Alec was a pot-smoking artist in his early forties, and she was an Honours student in her early twenties. How could she introduce him to her family, and what if they didn't like him? She knew it would have to come eventually, but for now, Alec was an island, a secret thing in the centre of her life that was all hers. With him, she was not her mother's daughter or one among thousands of university students; she was herself, plain and simple, and yet not simple. She found herself writing poems for him and singing for him in a way that she had never sung for her family or even for her friends. With him, all her oddities were on display, and it simply didn't matter.
Pondering what to do with herself that evening, she thought about the Open Mic Night they had on Fridays at The Bluejay and Cardinal, a quaint little pub not far from her apartment. She could easily pack up her little Celtic harp, jump into an Uber, and be there in plenty of time to get some food and then perhaps try out one of the new ballads she had just been learning. As yet, she had not been able to bring herself to play any of her own music, which consisted mostly of famous English poems set to vaguely Celtic-sounding melodies. No, she had only sung those tunes for a few of her friends and for Alec. There were lots of traditional songs she could do though, and she decided to try her luck.
The Uber let her off at The Bluejay and Cardinal at 8:30, and when she opened the door, she was surprised not to hear more people. Usually, Open Mic Night was busy. It was for her just as well that the clientele was small for now, because it made it easier for her to hear her surroundings.
"Well!" said a familiar voice. "If it isn't our own harpist!"
"Hi, Tom," she said, as the waiter came over and led her to a table.
"We haven't seen you here lately."
"No," she said. "I've been busy."
"Well, you'll never believe it, but there's another woman here with a harp. Isn't that neat? Maybe you can do a duet or something."
"Maybe," she said, and she ordered a Coke and some chicken fingers.
The Open Mic began in its usual fashion, with Ray Daniels, the musician who ran things, playing some blues and even a little Simon and Garfunkel on his twelve-string guitar. Then there were a couple of people who came up to play, and Ray came over and whispered to Lucy that she would be next. Lucy hurriedly downed her remaining cola and got her small harp out in order to tune it quietly before her performance. Time, after all, was precious at these events.
"Now," said Ray, after complimenting the guitar and banjo team who had just finished, "we've got a real treat for you! We haven't seen her around here for a while, but we're glad she's back. Miss Lucy Camdon!"
Someone--neither Tom nor Ray, but a woman--came and directed her to the stage. Lucy could not help noticing that she did this by quiet words rather than by leading her, and for this, she was really grateful. Once she was on the little riser that was the stage, Ray helped her to find her chair, and she unfolded the little stool on which she placed her small harp. Then, though she had intended to sing something else entirely, she suddenly began to sing her own setting of W. B. Yeats's 'The Lake Isle of Innisfree.'
"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree," she sang, and then came the familiar hush of attention as the room stilled.
It always amazed her when she began to sing and she would hear the room go silent. Other people had sung and played tonight, but the room had never gone so quiet as it did now. People had trickled in as the night had progressed, and by the time she had gotten up to perform, she could tell that quite a crowd had assembled. But now, here she was, singing a song that no one had ever heard before, and yet they were quiet, with no clinking of glasses or bottles and hardly a cough among them. It almost seemed as though the audience was spellbound. When she finished, the silence lasted for another beat or two, and then the applause began. They really meant it, she knew, but a part of her still wondered if they would have clapped so enthusiastically if she had been playing an ordinary guitar or if she had not been blind. She thought she sang pretty well, but was it really good enough to warrant this adulation? She decided to forget about these questions and just enjoy the rest of the show.
As she sipped another Coke, another girl got up and sang a few Leonard Cohen selections, and then came the woman with the harp Tom had mentioned. As she took the stage and introduced her song, Lucy recognized her as the one who had directed her to the stage. She called herself Branwen, but gave no last name, and then, she began to play and to sing.
The song was in Welsh, and Lucy knew it, but she had never heard it sung with such quiet intensity. It was a song about lost love set to a tune as sweet as spring flowers, and as Lucy listened, she found herself captivated. The music went on and on, and then, all at once, there was another melody weaving in and out of the lovely Welsh tune. This was intricately played on the harp, and as Branwen played, she also seemed to sing, but inwardly. With her outward ears, Lucy could still hear the melancholy Welsh lyrics and the simple yet lovely harp accompaniment, but beneath and behind them both was something deeper, truer, more alive. By the time the music was over, Lucy found herself in tears.
"Hey, Tom!" she said after she had recovered herself and he had come to take her latest glass. "Is Branwen still here, the other harp player?"
"I'm afraid not," he said. "She left just after finishing her set. That was really something, eh?"
"It was! Has she been here before?"
"I don't recall seeing her myself, but maybe Ray knows her?"
"No, not me," said Ray. He had called for a break in the proceedings and had come to join them. "She did say that she was glad to have met you, though."
"Glad to have met me? She hardly said anything to me except to direct me to the stage. We never even exchanged names."
"Hey," said Ray. "I'm just repeating what I heard, is all."
"I know," said Lucy. "It's just so curious!"
"We've only got a few more people," said Ray. "You thinking of staying till the end?"
"Nah," she said, suddenly realizing how tired she felt. "I really should be getting home. I'll just order my Uber and be on my way."
"Okay. Stay safe!"
"I'll do my best," she said, and with that, her night at the pub was over.
Lying in bed two hours later, she thought about what had happened. Again she heard Branwen's lilting voice explaining that she was going to sing in Welsh and telling what the song was about. Her voice had seemed gentle then, but as she had sung, it had begun to grow in intensity, and when Lucy had heard the other music, the inner song, as it were, she had heard a sort of ringing hugeness in it that had almost threatened to shatter her to pieces. Had she dreamed that other music? She could have been dozing, but as she thought back on it while sliding toward sleep, she knew that she had been wide awake. Indeed, when Branwen had begun to sing, she had sat up straighter in her chair and had not yawned even once.
Well, she thought as sleep took her, I guess it was just one of those things. I'm sure we'll never meet again.
What a good thing for you, gentle reader, and for this story, that she turned out to be quite, quite wrong.
The alarm on her phone woke Lucy with its usual six-thirty insistence that she get up and greet the day. Her sleep had been deep and without dreams, but as she rolled over to shut off the chirpy little noise, she felt as though she still needed a few more hours in bed. However, her resolve to give each day in this strange in-between time a shape while she waited for her real life with Alec to begin soon won out, and before the snooze function could kick in, she was up and moving.
Having made a cup of tea in the big airy kitchen on the main floor of the house, she stepped out to the back deck to drink it. This was nice and large, but had been built around a spruce tree which continually dripped sap all over everything. Accordingly, Lucy had decided that it was a place for standing rather than for sitting. The day was cool at this morning hour, but she knew it was shaping up to get very hot. She decided that after she had eaten some breakfast and done a few odds and ends of cleaning, she would step out for some groceries and perhaps get a burger for lunch.
Finishing her first cup of tea, she decided to text Alec. He was not a fan of this type of communication, but once she had shown him how to use the dictate function on his phone, he had done it more often, though never without her beginning the conversation.
"It's like you're from another time," she had remarked to him once, "or from another place. You can use our modern conveniences, but you don't like to, except of course when it comes to your art."
"That's true enough," he said. "If I had to do all my work with a hammer and chisel, I'd never get anything done."
"Hello there," she began now, using the Braille Screen Input function on her iPhone. "How are things today?"
"Getting better," he replied as she was pouring her cereal and milk, "but still off kilter."
"I'm sorry," she wrote, "and I hope you're taking care of yourself."
"I am. Barb is coming later on with some fresh fruit and other supplies for me."
"That's good. I'm going to do groceries myself, actually."
"Have a good day, dearest."
"You too! I love you!"
"And I you. Be safe!"
"I'll do my best," and that was it. She never heard from Alec Logan again until she was standing next to his hospital bed.
The day was fine as she left the house on Alfred Street to walk to her favourite little grocery/convenience store. She figured that places like this only existed in university towns. Yes, some of the items were more expensive here than in the bigger stores, but she had the money and she knew the people who worked there. It felt like home, she thought, as she walked along, her cane tapping out its usual rhythm as she used it to seek for everything from cracks in the sidewalk to discarded objects to the entrances to intersections.
After walking three blocks, she turned left onto Queen Street and began walking past her alma mater, named after Robert Borden, one of Canada's Prime Ministers. Why they had picked him she had never understood, but when the school had ceased being merely a seminary for young Baptist ministers, they had needed something to make it more official. They couldn't just call it Ryanville Baptist University, but neither had they wished to change the initials, or so the popular story told to incoming students had gone when she had first toured the place. So, here it was, the ever-expanding centre of a web of campuses and buildings located in several cities, and she was like a ghost, haunting its perimeter but being barred by the magical spell of graduation from fully sharing in its inner life.
As she began to cross one of the driveways into the school, the first drops of rain came. The weather app on her phone had not called for any rain, but weather apps were not always correct. Perhaps this was a passing shower. But no. By the time she had reached the last crossing before the little mall where the store was located, she could hardly hear the traffic over the wind and pounding deluge that now enfolded her. She had not far to go, but she was frightened of the suddenness of the storm and was unsure if she would be able to hear the audible crossing signal in all the tumult.
"What am I going to do?"
"Take my hand," a voice said, and she suddenly knew that a woman stood beside her. "I'll help you, if you like." The voice was soft, and yet it cut through all the noises around her like sun breaking through seemingly impenetrable cloud. Moreover, it was a voice she knew, though for a second, she could not remember its owner's name. Then it came to her.
"Branwen?" she said, trying to use her best Welsh pronunciation.
"Indeed yes," the woman replied. "Now, would you like my help to get across the street? You should not be out on such a day, surely!"
"It wasn't such a day when I left my house," Lucy said, and took the offered hand. Normally, she would have insisted on showing an assistant the correct way to guide someone who is blind, gently taking the person's elbow rather than their hand or rather than letting them take her arm as though they were a gentleman escorting her to dinner. This time, however, she simply held Branwen's hand, and as she walked with her, she was suddenly enveloped in the most wonderful warmth she had ever felt. The rain and wind could not touch her, and Branwen walked placidly to the corner, waited for the light to change, and then guided her across the busy street to the door of the store. By the time they had reached it, the whole crazy storm had ceased as quickly as it had begun.
"You will be alright now, cariad," Branwen said, using a Welsh term of endearment. "If you need me, call me!"
"But how?"
"The other music," she said, and without actually removing her hand from Lucy's own, she was gone.
"Hey there," said Maggie Telford, the owner of the little store, as Lucy went in. "How come you're so dry? Or do you have an invisible umbrella?"
"Something like that," Lucy said as she prowled the store's freezer section looking for her usual mini pizzas. Alec's mention of fresh fruit came back to her, making her blush at the purchases she was now about to make, but she couldn't help it. She was a refugee from the land of scholarly poverty and she still ate as though she yet lived there. Really, she still did, as she was not making enough money from any of her work as a contributor to various podcasts to give her any kind of meaningful income beyond the usual amount allotted to her by the government. Alec himself was not much better off, so when they did move in together, she knew that they would live on spaghetti and oatmeal and the like, but she didn't care.
"Will that be all?" Maggie asked as Lucy put her purchases on the counter.
"No," she said. "I was wondering if you had any of those powdered doughnuts, the little ones?"
"We do, actually. I'll get them for you."
"thanks, Maggie."
"Are you sure you want to walk home yet? It's raining again," Maggie observed as she rang up the purchases and as she showed Lucy where to tap her bank card.
"It's nothing to what it was before," Lucy said, and indeed this was true. The rain had become almost a scotch mist, and besides, Lucy was still going to get that burger before she went home, so she figured it would be sunny again by the time she was ready for the journey.
"I'm going to pop over to Barney's first anyway. I'll be fine."
"Okay. Say hi to Jo for me!"
"I will," and stuffing her purchases as carefully as possible into her giant backpack, she exited the store and headed across to another set of buildings where she found Barney's Burgers.
To Lucy's knowledge, there had never been an actual Barney to speak of, but Jo Cooper, the amiable and long-suffering owner, had once told her that he had named the place for an old childhood pet. When she had asked what kind of pet it had been, he had surprised her greatly by telling her that it had been a tarantula. She had thought he was joking, but he had been in deadly earnest.
"Hey there, Lucy-lu," Jo said now as she entered, burdened with her usual load of groceries.
"Here for the usual ritual?"
"Yep. I've done the work. Now it's time to eat!"
"A Barney Burger and onion rings today?"
"Please," she replied, "And don't forget the chocolate shake!"
"How could I? I'll bring it over to your usual table." Lucy found the table with no trouble and sat down, taking out her phone in order to do some reading while she waited for her food.
Noticing some new activity on her Messages app, she went there before finding her place in her latest audiobook. Barbara Jenkins, a long-time friend of Alec's who had assumed a sort of big sister role in his life, had texted her to say that she had seen Alec and that he was better than he had been the day before. She was still concerned about him, however, and would check back with him later on. Dashing off a quick reply, Lucy found herself wondering if there would really be any getting better for Alec. Was it too late after all? Would they never truly live together as they wanted to do? Indeed, he had asked her to move in much sooner than her planned date in August of that year, but she had put it off, saying that she wanted to be sure that this was the right thing to do. Thinking back now, she wondered if she had delayed the move as much to appease her family as to assuage her own conscience. What good was she to him anyway? She couldn't just drop everything and drive to his house, which was located in a city half an hour away from Ryanville. She had to depend on the dwindling inter-city transit system for her transportation, or spend far too much money on an Uber or a cab. No, all she could do was sit here and worry, and she knew that to be quite futile, so, finding her place in her latest re-reading of the Harry Potter series, she waited for her food to come and wondered about Branwen.
Have I perhaps made her up? This was not an unreasonable question for her to ask, as she had a very healthy fantasy-life as a rule. She was always making up stories in her head about magical beings and far-flung places, and perhaps all her wondering and worrying about Alec had conjured Branwen out of her imagination and turned her into some sort of a hallucination. She had occasionally had these kinds of waking dreams before. Once, when she had been walking across campus to a class on Chaucer, someone had stopped her to tell her that they had seen another blind student graduate the other night and how it was just so inspiring to see her traveling independently and studying at Borden. Meanwhile, the time was ticking away, and she was still a long distance from her destination. As politely as she could, she had extricated herself from the conversation and had resumed her hurrying pace. Her way took her along well-paved paths, but there had come a moment when she had found herself walking on short, springy turf, the like of which she had never known here or anywhere outside of certain dreams she used to have in her childhood. Then, hardly knowing how it had happened, she had found herself outside the door of her classroom, and when she stepped in, she found only the professor, Peter Danvers, there.
"I thought I was really late," she had said as he greeted her warmly.
"For once, Miss Camdon," he had said, using his best professorial manner, "you are five minutes early! Will wonders never cease?" The two of them had laughed, and that had been that.
But Branwen hadn't been her own hallucination last night. She had really been at The Bluejay and Cardinal and had really played a simple Welsh Folk tune. Had Lucy actually heard that other music though, or had that been one of her waking dreams? Was she a crazy person? She fancied herself an artist, and she had a lot of ideas about what that meant. She actually told people that she had a muse. In fact, she and one of her best friends, Margot Stillman, often joked about how it was a violent muse, after Lucy had described her sudden inspiration for a setting of a Keats poem as her muse hitting her. Alec didn't help, as he supported her in her fancies. His was an epic mind, drawn on a grand scale. Where others might keep a room full of memories and images, he held whole worlds.
He really does seem as though he belongs somewhere else, she thought as she chewed her burger and sipped her shake. Do I, too?
The walk home was uneventful, though as it turned out, the rain was a little more than a scotch mist, so that by the time she had put her groceries away, Lucy was shivering with damp and had to change her clothes. Sitting down to her digital piano after having a hot cup of tea to drive out the chill, she decided to fiddle with some Emily Dickinson poems she had been working on just lately. She always felt that she could compose best while sitting at her piano. Today, however, nothing substantial would come, so, connecting her phone to her bluetooth speaker system, she decided to watch a movie while she did her laundry, another chore she wanted to finish today if she could.
"Hey! Lu?" Lucy turned off Titanic and went to see who had called her name.
"Rache? Is that you?"
"Yeah," said her roommate, hauling a suitcase through the front door as Lucy came up the stairs.
"That was a quick trip!"
"I know, I just wanted to get back here."
"But you never travel on Shabbat"! This was true. Rachel Sternberg was a pious Jew who took her sabbaths very seriously.
"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"
"I suppose so. Wanna come down and watch the rest of Titanic with me?"
"Nah. I think I'm just going to sleep for a bit."
"Are you sure everything's alright, Rache?"
"Absolutely. Don't worry about me. I just have a lot of work to do before class on Monday and I thought I'd come back here so I could have a full day tomorrow." Rachel was taking an intensive summer course in Psychology, as she had missed several weeks of the winter term last year due to illness.
"Okay, well, I'm here if you want me."
"Thanks, Lu."
"No worries," Lucy replied, and the two girls retreated to their separate quarters.
The next time she met Rachel, she was standing over her while she lay in bed. At least, Lucy thought it was Rachel, because it was her voice she was hearing as she lay still, caught in the grips of one of her rather too-frequent bouts of sleep paralysis. In reading up on this phenomenon, she had heard that medieval people referred to it as the hag, or being ridden by the hag. While Rachel could not be described as a hag, the things she was saying were not comforting or friendly.
"I'm going to get you, Lucy," she said, like some revenant out of a cheesy eighties horror movie. "I'm going to get you and there's nothing you can do about it. You can't even scream! See how still you're lying? Just try and move one finger. Just try it!"
I will, she thought. I will move one finger. That was how she had managed to break these strange spells of half-waking, half-sleeping horror that often stole over her in times of stress. I'll just move one finger, just one!
"Move it, and I'll cut it off," said Rachel's soft but insistent voice, and Lucy heard the sound of a knife being sharpened.
This isn't real, she thought. I'm dreaming! I'm only dreaming! I'll get out of this somehow. Rachel's upstairs sleeping. This is just my brain doing its usual stupid thing.
"Do you really think you can stop me? I'm madness! I'm death! I've kindly stopped for you. Isn't that nice of me? I'm Cancer too!"
"No," Lucy managed to whisper. "I don't believe you. I believe in--I believe in the other music," and then she heard it, that softly swelling melody composed of voice and harp, slowly coming to drown out the terribly familiar voice with its unfamiliar taunts. "You're not really Rachel! Rachel's still at home with her parents!"
"Da iawn, cariad," another voice said, and she knew enough Welsh to know that Branwen was telling her her that she was doing well. "Now, move your little finger. Break the spell, and I will come to you. Till then, I am only a voice and a song."
Lucy wanted with all her heart to do as Branwen had asked, but the paralysis still gripped her fiercely. The Rachel-thing was still there, still whispering of doom and doubt, and she wanted it to go away, but she lacked the resolve to make it do so.
"If you do not banish the dark one, Lucy, you will die. Whether it be by your own hand or by some other means, you will die, and such a death with you is not according to the pattern. So try! Please, cariad! Try!"
There was so much love in the strange woman's voice that Lucy could hardly credit it. Just who was this Branwen anyway, and what did she mean about the pattern? Lucy finally realized what she had to do. If she surrendered to the fear, it would lose its grip on her. Therefore, filling her mind with the other music and with the voice of Branwen, she tried very hard to take deep, slow breaths. Before long, she found that she could move more than just her little finger, and she sat bolt upright, thinking of a line from a psalm she had heard while attending an Orthodox Easter service with a friend. Though she hardly believed in anything really, she suddenly found herself making the sign of the cross and saying:
"Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered! If you're using Rachel's body, let her go, or if you're just taking her shape, then go away!"
"Good, Lucy. Good! It is not truly your friend, only a shape meant to resemble her. It has departed, and I, at last, can join you, for a time at least. I will stay with you till morning, if you will have me."
"Well, you didn't vanish at the sign of the cross," she said, "so I guess you're alright."
"And you will be alright as well, though we have much to discuss."
"But I'm so tired!"
"Never fear," said Branwen. "You will sleep, and I will follow you into your dreams."
"Or perhaps, you will lead me there," Lucy mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness.
"It is a dance, to be sure," the woman called Branwen said, and then the music of harps filled the low-ceilinged room as though it were a cathedral, and Lucy simply drifted away.
Lucy knew she was dreaming. She often dreamed in this way, and had wondered what all the fuss was about this phenomenon, called Lucid Dreaming by its devotees, on the internet and in new-age books. In fact, until she had learned about lucid dreaming, she had assumed that everyone did it on a regular basis. So, to repeat, during her meeting with Branwen that night, she never lost the sense of its being a dream. And yet, it was the most vivid dream she could remember having for many years. Every detail of her surroundings was clear and distinct, with nothing imperfectly filled in as with some dreams.
She began the dream alone, walking down a long and empty road. There was gravel underfoot, and she did not have her usual cane. Instead, she carried a wooden staff carved with a twining dragon along its length, and rather than using it as she would use her white cane, she was using it as a walking stick or, she found herself thinking, as a pilgrim's staff. Was this going to be a dream like that of Mr. Lockwood during his snowbound stay at Wuthering Heights? No, she reminded herself as she walked. She was going to meet Branwen. But Branwen had said she would follow her here, so perhaps she should wait for her. Then, as though in answer to this thought, she heard the sound of a harp some way ahead of her and a voice was singing, not the strange and otherworldly music this time, but only a simple song, this time in Irish. She knew it well from a recording by Mary O'Hara. It was called Dream Song, and its words, though largely nonsensical, were set to a tune of surpassing loveliness. She had always thought that paradise must be as that tune sounded. Despite the fact that the voice was now singing in Irish rather than in Welsh, she could not mistake it for any other than Branwen's own, so she kept walking.
The road soon became steep, and she found herself becoming hot with the effort of climbing what seemed now to be a winding path up a high mountain.
"I can't come any nearer," she said, though Branwen's lilting voice and ringing harp sounded as though they were only a step away.
"Why walk when you can fly, little one?" Branwen was suddenly beside her. "You have come far enough in for me to help you. It is only a little further as the raven flies, but perhaps for you, it is still too difficult." Then, without any warning, Lucy was picked up, not in strong arms, but in talons, though their grip was not painful, and carried high over the dry and dusty road until she could hear the sound of a running stream and Branwen, if this was Branwen, set her down on soft grass at its edge.
"You are still Branwen?"
"I am," said the sweet voice she had come to know so well, "and indeed, I have taken the form of my name: a white raven, but now, I need not my borrowed wings, so I will be myself again, or the self you know at any rate."
"What does that mean?"
"You may understand in time. For now, drink, if you will," and she offered Lucy some water in her cupped hands. Lucy was awed by the intimacy of this gesture, but as is the way of dreams, she saw no other choice but to obey. When she did, she tasted sweet water scented with the fragrance of roses and incense which she had noticed about Branwen in the waking world and had thought, at the pub at least, was some sort of exotic perfume or attar of unknown extraction. Now, however, she surmised that it was some ether of this place, Branwen's own place, which the strange being carried with her.
"Where is this place?"
"That is a difficult question for me to answer so that you will understand it. But you have been here before."
"I have?"
"Yes, both in dream and in what you call your waking life."
"What I call my waking life?" By this time, Branwen had shown her to a small hillock which formed a natural seat.
"Yes," she said, "though like most of your kind, you are only half-waking much of the time. The only times you are fully awake are in times of great pain or great joy. The rest of the time, you wander from day to day, not really knowing what surrounds you."
"And you are different?" Lucy was beginning to feel somewhat peaked on behalf of her species.
"We too are not fully awake, alas," said Branwen, "but we have not fully separated ourselves from the song, the pattern, the truth of things. Yet, your race has done much damage to our world by its very ignorance of it."
"I--I'm sorry," Lucy said feebly, "but what can I do about it?"
"You are a doorway, a conduit between our world and yours, Lucy. You may be a light in the darkness if your way holds true, or your light may be drowned forever if the ones like those who attacked you just now have their will. They seek to find doorways such as yourself and to extinguish them any way that they can."
"But if you're not us, I mean human, then what are you?"
"We are the ones whom you would have come to know in a more perfect way had your race not succumbed to temptation. We are the truth behind your ideas of elves and fairies and the like. Some of us serve the pattern, and some of us seek to disrupt it, to turn it to their own ends. This is a futile effort in the long term, but they have managed to unravel small bits of the pattern at times."
"And I'm one of those small bits?"
"I'm afraid you are, cariad. I have watched you for some time, noting the instances when you have strayed into our world at moments of great stress."
"When I have done what?"
"There have been times when you have simply flowed into our world, usually when your emotions ran high, and then you have come out again. You have unwittingly used our world as a shortcut from place to place, or as a realm in which to bring your imaginings to life. You have even, though you did not know it, stolen music from this place."
"Stolen?" Lucy was frightened now. Was this being who spoke so gently and seemed so good going to punish her for trespassing?
"Do not fear, child!" Branwen soothed, putting her hand on Lucy's shoulder. "You could not actually steal what was yours to take. You have been given the power to move a little aside from your world from time to time and to exist in this world. It is only natural that you would bring things back with you, as it were, stuck to the sole of your shoe."
"But why did you seek me out now?"
"Because the balance is shifting, the balance between the light and the darkness, and you are the cause."
"Me? What did I do?"
"You met a man who, like yourself, has glimpsed this world. He, however, has not seen it as a place of beauty and refreshment, but rather as a place of terrors. He asked to see it a long time ago and used strange means to learn more about it, and as a result, he has forced a way in and has found only disorder and death. You may yet save him, but you must learn what you are in order to do that, and time is running short, I fear."
"Can you teach me? Can I really help him?" It was true that Alec's relationship to his art was strange. On one hand, he could make things of brilliant beauty, but it was somehow easier for him to make chaotic things, sculptures filled with too many teeth or eyes in odd places. His favourite literature was that of H. P. Lovecraft, and he had told her more than once that he had identified more with the ancient cosmic horrors depicted in those stories than with the people who were encountering those horrors.
"I'm not from around here," he would often say, and she had always been both attracted and repulsed by that notion.
"You must travel a hard road, Lucy Fach," said Branwen, "and I know of no reason for you to trust me."
"But I do," she said impulsively. "I do trust you!"
"Then we shall both go forward as we may, and take the adventure that comes to us. I will stand your friend, lass. This I promise."
"I hope I may be worthy of that friendship. What will happen now?"
"Now, you will return to your waking life and find me gone, but you will know that I was with you, for I will have left something for you. Remember one thing, however! When I am in your world and knowable to others in my woman's shape, I can only watch and ward. I am not able to help you except by direction and advice."
"Why is that?"
"Your world is not ready for the help I could give. Indeed, even you may not be ready for it. It is too potent, too baffling to human senses, which are sundered and scattered hither and thither on the winds of whim and desire."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Let us hope you never will. Now, you must be gone from here," and with no further word spoken, Lucy found herself lying wakeful in her bed with her alarm chirping at her and the scent of roses and incense all around her.
"she was really here, then!" she said aloud to the empty room. "It was all true!" And, feeling absurdly like Ebenezer Scrooge after his sojourn with the spirits, she got up, made her bed, and almost went sprawling over something lying at its foot. Bending down, she felt an ornately-carved frame, and upon further examination, she knew the thing to be a lovely Celtic harp. This, however, was not her own harp, for it was still lying in its usual place in the corner under the stairs. Besides, this was much larger, a genuine floor model that needed no stool for her to play it. Beside it lay some soft wrappings, and a beautifully-lined case lay near at hand.
"Thank you," she said as she caressed the wood and breathed in the now unmistakable fragrance of the other world. "I hope I may use it without harm."
"Of course you may," said Branwen's voice. "Follow where it leads you and you shall have good hope."
Is this to be my life now? she thought, hearing voices and visiting other worlds? Well, at least it's not boring!
Whatever her adventures of the past several hours had been, Lucy found herself firmly ensconced in her normal life within a few minutes of rising that morning. First, the tea kettle wouldn't work, and it was only when she had found that a breaker had been tripped for some reason that she was able to engage in her customary morning ritual of having tea on the porch. The day was setting in cool and misty, which was interesting for June but not unheard of, and she hoped she would see Rachel later on, coming in and acting normally. That would at least allay some of her fears for her friend, but that left several hours of a Sunday free for her mind to get 'up to dickens', as her grandmother used to say. However, as she was ruminating upon all this free time, an alert on her phone changed everything.
Barb Jenkins: "I hate to do this by text, Lucy, but I have to tell you that Alec's going to the hospital. I went to see him this morning and found him passed out on the floor. I don't know if he took too much pain medication or what. Brigid's out your way today. She says she'll bring you into town if you'd like."
Lucy replied with a quick 'thank you for telling me' and an equally quick 'I'll be there,' and sat down to eat her English muffin and fruit cup, though it tasted like chalk in her throat.
Sure enough, before too long, a call did come in, and she knew it was Brigid Nunan, Alec's home-care nurse, at once, not only by the lilt of its Irish accent but also by the steel buried deep in its core. Brigid may have sounded like a fair colleen, but Lucy knew her to be a battle-hardened warrior, fighting her perpetual enemies of pain and unease with all the weapons she had to hand.
"Will I come to get you, Lucy? Barb's told me what happened."
"Would you? I'd be so grateful!" To her dismay, she felt tears behind her eyes and tried her best to keep them back.
"I'll be there in a tryce, love. Don't worry if you're not ready yet. Just put a kettle on and I'll gladly have some tea while I wait."
"Sure I will," she said, Brigid's light tone doing much to calm her as she went about making her preparations.
Going to the kitchen, she did indeed boil the kettle anew, and by the time she had the teapot filled and steeping, Brigid's plucky little car had pulled into the driveway.
"Thanks for the tea, lass," she said, sitting down at the kitchen table on the main floor of the house. "I've been up all night with one of my patients. She's an Orthodox Christian and the priest was there, reading psalms and sitting with her, but the poor man had recently been ill himself and his voice wasn't really up to the task, so I took a hand."
"You're not Orthodox, are you?"
"No, but a psalm's a psalm. I remember reading the one that starts: 'Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered,' and I suddenly started thinking of you."
"That's--uh--interesting," Lucy said, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. What if it had been at the same time she was saying it to ward off the Rachel-thing? Was Brigid Nunan a part of this too? Surely not. Surely it was just a coincidence. Brigid must have to do things like this a lot in her profession.
"Are you alright, lass?"
"Fine," she said, regaining her composure somewhat. "A goose just walked over my grave."
"Those pesky geese will do that, won't they?"
"Was Barb able to tell you anything more about Alec?"
"I'm afraid not. It'll take a little time for the doctors to be sure why he fell or lost consciousness or whatever actually happened. I'm sure they'll be able to tell us something by the time we get there."
"Then I guess we'd better get going," said Lucy, and started to walk to the front door, purse and cane in hand. Then, on an impulse, she went downstairs and got the new harp, all wrapped now and in its sturdy case, and stowed it in the back seat of Brigid's car, the trunk being filled with the nurse's own supplies.
"Is that a new harp, then? I thought yours was just a small one."
"This was a gift," was all Lucy's response, and Brigid asked no more questions.
The drive was as pleasant as it could be, given its purpose. Brigid played soft classical music on her stereo and Lucy was lulled by the hum of the engine and the strains of Bach and Mozart. Brigid drove carefully, but for all that, they made good time, and within half an hour, they had pulled into the hospital.
Miller was a rather large city for this part of the province, though her own twin cities of Clemens and Ryanville dwarfed it. Alec had made Miller his home, however, and Lucy was looking forward to making it her home as well. Still, as she rushed to keep up with Brigid's nurse's pace, she wondered if this was, in fact, a realistic goal. What would they find when they finally got to Alec's room?
As it turned out, they found something worse than anything she could have imagined. Alec was lying still, tubes hooked up to him and monitors beeping. At least, because of the monitors, she presumed that he was bristling with tubes.
"He has a cannula in his nose to help him breathe," Brigid said quietly, "and I'm afraid he's still unconscious. He also looks feverish, which means that this is likely some sort of infection brought on by his weakened immune system."
"That's right, Miss Nunan," Alec's oncologist, Dr. Kenneth, said. "We've got him on IV antibiotics, but there are no guarantees here. We just have to keep him here and let things run their course."
"I should tell you, lass, that this is the palliative wing," Brigid said, putting an arm around Lucy's shoulder. "That doesn't mean that it's the end yet, but it does mean that we're likely pretty close."
"Are you on call here this week, Miss Nunan?" Dr. Kenneth asked.
"I am, Doctor, but more in my other capacity than as a nurse. Still, I'll keep an eye on him as often as I can." What she meant by her 'other capacity' was that of a Pastoral Care worker. She herself was not a Chaplain, but she assisted Father Kelly in his duties where possible.
"I draw the line at conducting funerals though," she had once told Lucy. "That's a job for someone with training in the afterlife. Me? I know how to talk and to brew strong sweet tea, and I can, upon occasion, listen." Lucy knew this from her own experience. Many times, Brigid had stayed at Alec's far longer than she had been scheduled while Lucy poured out her fears and griefs, so that during the course of just over six months, the two had become fast friends.
"Should we have brought your harp, do you think?" Brigid asked after Dr. Kenneth had left.
"I don't know," Lucy said. "I don't even know why I put it in the car."
"Well, if I went and got it, would you feel up to playing for a bit?" In fact, Lucy wanted nothing more than to have that harp between her hands, so she readily assented, even though it meant her remaining alone in the room with all the monitors and the unconscious thing in the bed which should have been her Alec.
"Alright then," said Brigid. "I'll be back in two shakes." It was only after Brigid had gone tripping lightly down the hall that Lucy wondered if she would be allowed to touch the harp. What if it disappeared before her eyes, or worse, burned her when she tried to pick it up? Stories were full of happenings like that, and after the last couple of days, Lucy felt quite inclined to believe that story logic now prevailed in her life, and anything might happen. Despite her misgivings, however, she soon heard Brigid's light step returning, and then she felt the weight of the harp at her side and began to undo its coverings.
"I've never seen such a beautiful thing," Brigid said with awe.
"I think you have, my fiery one," said Branwen's voice. "I think you know it very well. Why are you hiding from the little one?"
"Lady? Is it you then? Did you give her the very harp of Taliesin?"
"It is hers by right of gift and by right of blood, so yes, I was permitted to give it to her."
"Wait! Wait! Just what the hell is going on here?"
"I didn't know you knew the White Raven, Lucy," said Brigid, "and yet I knew that there was something odd about you, something I remembered from a very long time ago."
"So, you're--you're like Branwen?"
"As like as one snowflake is to another in nature, perhaps, but yes, we are of the same people. At least, I believe I still belong to the pattern. I'm not really sure anymore."
"That is because you have been too long away, my arrow," said Branwen. "Lucy, will you play now?"
"One thing before we begin," said Brigid. "Lady, why cannot I see you?"
"Because there is too much darkness here. Know that it is not only his body that has weakened your beloved one, Lucy. Something else is moving around him. I may be able to come to you if you can do what I think you can with that harp."
"Alright then," Lucy said, pulling the instrument toward her and lightly touching the strings to get their spacing. Then, without knowing what she was trying to play, she began.
At first, the music came haltingly from her fingers, but within a minute or two, she found herself caught up in the waves of undulating glory which seemed to spill like molten silver into the room of sickness. Gone was the sound of the monitors and the hiss of the respirator. Gone was the drip, drip, drip of the IV. All around her was the scent of incense-laden roses and the voice of Branwen, singing in a language that sounded like all the trees of the world rustling in a gentle wind, and then she found Brigid standing near her, her elfin form now seeming taught as a tightened bowstring, a light radiating from her as she had never yet seen when in the company of Branwen.
"Good, my young falcon, my arrow of fire! Good! Find yourself anew and never lose your way again! You are needed, Brigid! You are needed!"
"I come, Lady Raven! I come to serve once more! You are right. The darkness is great here, but I at least have a stronger cloak to wear among strangers than you do, for I have been closer to this world than you have. How far did you have to come to meet our bright one here?"
"It was not so hard as you might think," came Branwen's voice from everywhere at once. "I simply followed the music. Now, I must go. The darkness is too much with me. Brigid will help you, Lucy, until we meet again."
"But are you alright?"
"I will be. This is the price of your gift, little one. You are a doorway for me, for yourself, and sometimes, for the dark ones who do not serve the pattern. But Brigid will be your shield as I am your guide, and together, we will do what we can to defeat them and to restore the balance. Hwyl fawr! Stay strong!"
"Goodbye," Lucy said, setting down the harp.
"I think," said Brigid, "that you should come along with me and sleep at my house tonight."
"I've never been to your house."
"No, but it's closer to the hospital than your place is, and it's out in the country. I have also done what I could to make it a safe place. Will you come?"
"I couldn't imagine sleeping alone tonight anyway. He's lying so still! I hate this!"
"I know you do, Lucy, but it is what it is."
"But well, surely the harp could help me to find him, his--his spirit?"
"No!" Brigid's voice was suddenly huge and terrible, but then she seemed to draw herself in again, like a turtle into its shell, and it was in her usual gentle yet steely tone that she said: "If once you try to turn a thing like this harp to your own selfish ends, only chaos and misrule will follow. When you and the harp work together, it serves the pattern. If once you make it your tool, then you are lost."
"But how can I help him? Branwen said that it's not just his body that's doing this to him."
"We'll have to wait, I'm sorry to say. I know it's not what you want to hear, but we'll simply have to wait. Now, I'm happy to stay here if you like, but if you're tired or hungry, I vote for going home to my place where we can be comfortable and gather our strength."
"Well, it has been three hours and there's been no change. I really thought the harp music might have helped in some way."
"It may very well have helped, my girl. Now, shall we go?" Lucy put the harp back into its case and was about to hoist it up onto her shoulder when Brigid stopped her.
"No," she said simply and in a tone which brooked no refusal. "I'll carry it. If you are truly a child of Taliesin, however distantly descended, then it is my duty"."
Lucy was sad to be leaving Alec behind among the drips and beeps of his hospital room, but her heart grew lighter as she entered Brigid's small house, really little more than a cottage, which she had named Falcon's Nest.
"It's like that soap opera from the eighties," she remarked, "about the winery I think."
"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest notion what you're talking about, my dear," said Brigid as she bustled about the kitchen preparing a late lunch, and of course, her famous strong sweet tea.
"How long should I stay here? I mean, do you have Branwen's sense for this darkness?"
"I do indeed, and the answer to your question is that I really don't know. You'll find plenty to do here, however. Coincidentally or not, i happen to have a lot of audiobooks lying about. My commutes between patients can be long at times, so I decided that I would collect audiobooks to while away the hours."
"Aaaaah!" Lucy started as something furry brushed against her leg.
"Oh, 'tis just Aloysius. He's my bonnie wee kitty, aren't you, sir? He's canny too. He'll let you know if trouble comes calling."
"But I still don't understand what the trouble really is!"
"I know you have a thousand questions," said Brigid, putting down a plate of sandwiches and salad in front of her, "and I'm sorry for that, but things have not come to their full ripeness as yet. If we force them, no good will come. If we wait, perhaps you will learn things little by little, and that will be somewhat less confusing for you."
"Why did I go to the Bluejay and Cardinal that night anyway? If I had just stayed home, none of this would ever have happened."
"The Bluejay and Cardinal? Is that where you first met our Branwen? She would have been mighty impressive in her guise as bard, methinks!"
"Indeed she was, and if I hadn't gone there, then perhaps Alec would be alright now, or at least not lying unconscious in some hospital!"
"Be assured that if the White Raven wished to meet you, she would have found a way to do it, even if it meant finding me and waking me from the half-dream into which I had lately fallen, for that's what happened today. Both she and you recalled me to my true self. I had come here to spy on the dark ones and to mitigate their influence wherever I was able, but in the course of my time spent among you, i fell asleep and went about my human duties much as any of you do.
"I suppose my meeting with Alec started something in me. His voice has the ring of the Old Folk, as we are sometimes called among you. He seemed to me like one of the poets they tell of in your Celtic lands who would spend a night near a fairy ring or a hollow hill and would come away with some strange gift or else the curse of madness. In truth, he seemed gifted and cursed in equal measure."
"Branwen says that he glimpsed that other world, that other place or existence, and instead of seeing beauty as I have, he saw only terror and chaos and he made them a part of himself."
"This may be the truth, but understand that this does not mean that he himself is evil. He is simply very much subject to the dark ones and their influence. For him, it is easy to lose the pattern, because he does not see enough of it to perceive that it is a pattern. Still, a part of him wants to know, wants to understand, and if he can do that before the end, then all is not lost with him.
"However, this much is plain. Between the two of you and your conduit natures, you have managed to upset a delicate balance which was better left alone. Well, that isn't exactly true," she continued in a softer tone as Lucy began to cry. "You haven't upset the balance on your own, but you are both unknown quantities at present.
"The truth is that we have not seen a true child of Taliesin in many an age, and now, it would seem, there are two of you."
"But who is Taliesin? How can I be his child? My parents are Kalvin and Margaret Camdon, and I have the medical records to prove that I am their daughter by blood. For heaven's sake! I'm not even Welsh!"
"No one is disputing this, Lucy," Brigid said. "The story is long and complicated. Perhaps I will tell it to you, but it is more likely that Lady Branwen will be the one, as she is a bard."
"But a bard without a harp," Lucy said. "Why did she give it to me?"
"I only wish I knew," said Brigid, "but it will be for her to say, I think."
Lucy was willing to let it lie for now, but only just. The truth was that she was dog tired, and she simply had to get some sleep.
"There's a room across the hall from mine," Brigid said when Lucy asked where she would be sleeping. "You could go in there now if you'd like, though that might interrupt your sleep schedule for tonight."
"I don't think I care, really. I just hope I don't dream this time."
"I think I can help you with that," said Brigid, getting up to clear the lunch dishes.
"How? Some sort of magic?"
"No, just Chamomile tea. It should help you to go past the stage of dreaming, though I'm sure that if what I see in your face is right, you hardly need it."
"I would be grateful for it nonetheless," said Lucy, and after administering the richly fragrant brew, Brigid soon had her lying comfortably in bed.
She was woken by Aloysius the cat unceremoniously jumping onto her chest and sniffing at her face.
"You don't even know me, cat," she said. "Get down!"
"He's looking for his supper, I suppose," said Brigid, "and I'm afraid I've been rather too absorbed in my case notes to tend to his needs. I'm sorry he woke you, but it is after seven. Are you hungry?"
"No, actually," she said. "Those tuna sandwiches and that salad were really filling!"
"I'm glad. So, why don't we go out to my little fire pit and have a fire. It's a warm evening, and I feel the need of it."
"Shouldn't we wait till dark?"
"We could start it now, at least," Brigid said. "Do you know what day it is, girl?"
"June twenty-first," she said.
"Yes! The day of Midsummer! Will you keep the shortest night of the year with me, Taliesin's daughter?"
"I wish I knew what that title meant, but yes I will."
So, through the entire night, the two watchers sat wakeful, Brigid feeding and managing the fire, and Lucy idly plucking the strings of the harp. Then, when the fire was going nicely and the night noises had sunk to their lowest ebb, Brigid began to spin tales. She told of the silver wheel up among the stars, and of the swords which had once been fashioned from some of those stars after they had fallen to earth long ago. She told of Arthur and Cuchulan, of Finn and the Feona, and of the quest to find the cauldron of Cerridwen. As she told or chanted these stories, Lucy played on, shaping the music to the words.
"Story is a doorway to hidden things," Brigid said, "but hidden things are really only dreams when compared to that which was made manifest."
"What?"
"We serve the pattern, Lucy, but it is your gift to be able to choose to serve the Patterner. Still, you can start by finding the hidden things, things hidden from your mortal senses, though not from the senses of the soul."
"What exactly are you saying?"
"I speak of what you will, I think, come to understand in time. For now, let me dream a while and revel in word and wonder."
"Word and wonder? Wait!" Lucy set the harp down carefully and turned to where her companion still sat, tending her fire.
"Are you that Brigid? Are you the goddess of healing and hearth, of smiths and of poets?"
"Never that, child, but I was named in honour of that dream of your people. Is it not fitting that I should be set to watch over both you, a poet and musician, and Alec, a smith?"
"And why is this place called falcon's nest?"
"It is because of one of Branwen's names for me. I can, in our own world, take the form of a falcon if I choose, even as she will take the form of a white raven."
"So, do you bear names because we have named you in our myths, our dreams as you call them?"
"Yes. We do not often mingle with your kind, but we hear the echoes of your imaginations, and sometimes, if enough of you believe in something, one of us is locked into that being's shape. We are slightly removed from our people's connection to the pattern when that happens, but for the most part, being named does not hurt us.
"It is only when we come to love our names too much that the darkening begins. I call myself 'I' and 'myself' when I am with you, it is true, but I do not think of myself that way. I am manifested as a being only when I am perceived by another being. The 'I' that our darkened brothers and sisters cling to is nothing but a spider's web of illusion and dream. We are the people of the pattern. If we choose to stand out from that pattern, we are cut off from its light and are darkened."
"I don't understand you, but I feel that a part of me does, just like a part of me can hear that other music when Branwen plays and sings."
"That is because you yourself are also a doorway to hidden things. The time is coming soon, however, when those hidden things will be disclosed, and it is then when we must be ready, whatever we are called by the pattern to do."
"What is this pattern anyway?"
"It is nothing less than reality itself. We hear its song and we must dance. For you, there is always conflict and indecision, because you are afraid of your own mortality."
"I suppose most of us are," said Lucy. "We can't imagine becoming nothing."
"But are you really anything now? Have any of you approached true being? Yes, of course there have been some of you, but as I know from my own experience in your world, it is easy to slip into sleep, or," she added ominously, "simply never to wake up."
"Will Alec wake up, do you think? I mean from his unconsciousness?"
"I think he will, yes. I think he has a part to play in whatever is coming, and I think it will be a significant one."
"Hey! I hear a robin singing!"
"Yes, the night is far-spent. The day is at hand. We have kept the watch, and there is much to be said for that in these changing days."
Not long after the fire had been quenched, Lucy went to bed, but as she lay down to sleep, she could hear Brigid moving quietly about the house. She wondered how often the needs of Brigid's human-seeming self, her 'cloak to wear among strangers,' made themselves known, or whether she could just push them aside indefinitely if she wanted. She had talked of this form as a way for her to be inured against the influence of the dark ones, but if it was a real human body, then couldn't the dark ones do to her what they had done to Alec? These and many more questions perplexed her, but soon, her own bodily need for sleep overwhelmed that perplexity and she was lost in the waters of lethe, at least for a time.
When she woke, Brigid had left, but there was a text from her on her phone which gave instructions as to where certain things were in the kitchen and such. After Lucy had made herself a light breakfast--or brunch, seeing as it was past ten in the morning by the time she sat down to eat it--she went about the house looking for things she could do. Finally, she settled on dusting the furniture, and while doing this, she came upon something standing in one corner of the small sitting-room adjoining the kitchen. Touching it gingerly, she realized that it was a staff: a staff with a dragon's body coiling around its shaft and the dragon's head and neck forming its crook.
"The pilgrim's staff," she said. "It's here, in the real world! But if it's Brigid's staff, then perhaps I shouldn't touch it."
"And why not, pray tell?" Brigid must have come in quite quietly for Lucy not to have heard her.
"Do you know that this was in my dream-meeting with Branwen?"
"If it was, then I think it was a stand-in for myself. Don't you?"
"Have you been to see Alec?" Lucy said, replacing the staff in its accustomed spot.
"I have, and he seems to be responding well to the antibiotics as his fever is beginning to come down, but he is still mostly unconscious."
"I want to see him. Can we go there later?"
"I think you should see him, yes. We'll go this evening."
"I can't believe how good I feel after last night's vigil! I mean, I thought I'd be tired for the whole day with the amount of sleep I got, but I feel great!"
"That is as it should be. It is why I brought you here."
"But how? Why?"
"You are beginning to learn your true nature, Lucy. That is all I can tell you for now. You are linked to our world, and so you can, upon occasion, draw strength from it. You will know more in time. For now, try to be content with this." But Lucy would never be content, not until Alec had come back to her. And tonight, she resolved to find him, the soul or spirit that was Alec Logan, wherever it was and whatever it cost her to do it.
After a quickly-prepared supper, Brigid loaded the harp into the car and Lucy climbed into the passenger seat. Aloysius tried to climb in with her, but Brigid quickly shooed him back into the house.
"Silly cat," she said as she got behind the wheel. "He generally hates riding in the car. I wonder what he was thinking?"
Lucy thought she knew. The cat had sensed her intentions to try to seek for Alec using the harp tonight, if, that was, Brigid could be gotten out of the room for a while of course, and Aloysius must have wanted to warn her not to try it, or worse still, to warn his mistress. At any other time, she would have considered such thoughts as ridiculous, but given recent events, she felt that it was entirely possible. In fact, Brigid seemed not to take anything from his strange behaviour other than catlike caprice, and Lucy decided to forget about the incident and to focus on what she knew she had to do. She was the only one who could find Alec; this she knew beyond any doubt, and now she had a way to at least try. But Brigid would have to be gotten out of the way somehow, harmlessly of course. Lucy had no intention of hurting her; she was just sick of waiting, sick of approaching things widdershins. She always preferred a direct approach, and if she could help Alec, could perhaps rescue his spirit or his essence before his body gave out, then perhaps she could help those of the light as well. Branwen had dared greatly to come and find her; the least she could do was to try and call Alec back so they could begin laying plans.
The hospital was quiet when the companions reached it. Visiting hours were almost over, as a disembodied intercom voice informed them, but Brigid assured her that those hours did not apply to the palliative wing. Conseuqently, Lucy soon found herself back in the dreaded room, but she was determined to make the best of it.
"I actually need to go and see to one of my pastoral care clients," said Brigid. "Will you be alright here?"
"Sure. Maybe I'll play for a bit."
"I'm sure some part of him will hear you, lass. I'll be back soon. Alright?"
"Okay." And suddenly, she was alone, alone as she had wanted to be. Only now, she was frightened. Was this really the right way? She remembered what Brigid had said to her about making a harp like this into a tool rather than a companion. Was that what she was going to do now?
"I just can't stand it!" she said to the room at large. "I have to do something!"
The harp fit easily with her body. That was one thing she had noticed the day before. Despite its size, it was not heavy, and it came toward her as though it wanted to be nowhere else. Within seconds, her fingers had begun to dance across the strings almost of their own accord. As she played, first a few planxties and then a couple of airs, she felt her hands warming to their work as they had done during the midsummer vigil. Then, however, something began to change. The music was still hers, but there was another music weaving in and out of what she was playing. This seemed just like that other music at the pub when Branwen was singing, but she knew that she was not consciously playing it. It was as though the harp itself was creating the delicate chords and ripples of sound. At first, it was beautiful, and she felt herself caught up in it as she had been in this very room the day before, but then, it became wild, raging, like a gentle rain that has suddenly become a tornado. As that other music grew in intensity, she felt herself violently whirled away: away from the room, from the hospital, from her own reality. Then, there was silence, and she thought she was standing on the wooden porch of Alec's house. Was this real? She had no way of knowing. All she could do, however, was go forward, for she was certain that right now at least, there was no way back.
The front door stood open, and this in itself was strange, because Alec never used that door unless he was going to sit on the porch. He much preferred the back door, as it led directly into the kitchen and there were no steps leading up to it.
Still unsure of herself but still determined, Lucy stepped inside. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. The house, when she entered it, was insane. No hallway ran straight, and no floor was level. As she made her way across what should have been the front room but was now a forest of strange and slimy growths, she heard a noise in the distance that made her blood run cold. It was a high, keening whine or howl, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was as though the very stars were screaming, shrieking with indignation at some torture being inflicted upon them by some unimaginable inhabitant of this twisted world.
"Alec!" Her voice sounded small in the too-vast space, but she knew she had to keep going. She thought that she would reach his studio soon, but the howling and its echoes rendered her sense of direction almost useless. Meanwhile, the sticky masses which seemed to be growing out of every wall and piece of furniture, clung tenaciously to her clothes, her hair, her hands, and any other part of her body they could find. As she walked, the floor grew spongy in places, and at times there would be a wet popping sound, as though she had trodden on a puffball mushroom or something. She found herself wondering if any spores from these weird fungi would remain with her if she could once escape out of this nightmare or waking dream or whatever it was.
"Alec!" she called again. "Where are you? I have to find you!"
"I'm working," came his voice, though it sounded thick and clotted, as though the thing which had spoken were already a hundred years dead. "Leave me alone!"
"I can't! I came so far!"
"Get out!"
"That isn't you talking," she said. "I think you're the one who's howling! Help me, Alec! Help me to find you!"
"No!" Now, it was a different voice, still recognizable as Alec's, but it was high and cracked. She had been right. It was that voice that made the howling sounds. "If you come to me, you won't be able to leave! You'll be trapped here, dearest!"
"I won't," she said. "I'm a child of Taliesin," and suddenly, it was as though she brandished that title like a sword. Surely all darkness must give way before a being such as herself.
"That is no gift, Lucy! It is a curse! You're doomed to walk between the worlds and to see things no human being should ever see. You have to find your way free of this! It's too late for me, but you can still get clear. Did they call you a doorway to hidden things?"
"Yes," she said, her voice now small once more and her steps faltering.
"So they called me once. They convinced me that I was like them, that I could master the chaos and ride it like a wild horse, but all it gave me was pain. If you reach me, you will bind yourself to me forever, and neither of us will ever be free of this utter meaninglessness! I thought it was my well of wisdom, my cauldron of crazy dreams, but it was a trap all the time, and I'm thoroughly caught."
"But let me show you the truth, Alec! I saw it, and it's not like this! If you come to me, I know we can get out of here!" But just then, she felt something blocking her way forward, and realized that it was his big director's chair. The house was now shifting and tossing as though on a rough sea, and it was all she could do to keep her feet. Then, as a particularly violent jolt came, she found herself pitched to the side, and suddenly, there was nothing beneath her but howling emptiness. Her momentum seemed to suspend her for a moment, but soon, she knew, the darkness would pull her down. Just as it started to do so, however, she felt a strong, firm hand in hers, and Alec himself was pulling her up.
"I won't let it have you, Lucy," he said, his voice sounding almost normal. "I don't know what is going to happen now, but I won't let it have you!"
"Lucy!" There was suddenly another voice calling her name, a voice of sanity in this house of horrors. "Lucy, daughter of Taliesin! Reach out your hand!"
"Brigid?"
"I cannot come to you, but my staff will guide you. You must leave Alec where he is and come now, or I will not be able to help you!"
"She's right, dearest," he said. "She's right! Let me go!"
"I'm not going to! Take my hand and come with me!"
"I'll only weigh you down. It's too late for me!"
"About that, you're quite wrong, Alec Logan," said Brigid's voice, still audible, though sounding as though she was at the distant end of a very long tunnel. "You will be freed, but Lucy cannot do it alone, nor have I the strength at present."
"Will you be hurt anymore if I leave?"
"I may be, but you really have to go."
"Alright," she said, and reached out in the direction of Brigid's voice. Sure enough, she found the end of the dragon staff, and as she took hold of it, she was carried aloft and out of the reach of the clinging growths, and before long, she was sitting in her chair in Alec's quiet hospital room, the harp no longer clutched to her bosom, and Brigid was kneeling at her feet, silent and still as a stone.
"Brigid? Where--"
"The harp has left this world. I do not know if it will ever return. It must be purified, and perhaps even reshaped. You too must be purified, for though the light is still with you, you have been touched by the darkness. Because of this, you have given it a way to attack the light before time."
"Before what time?"
"Before we were fully prepared, Lucy!"
"Don't scold her, Bridey." Lucy started violently. Alec had spoken, though he was on a ventilator and was not currently able to speak.
"Will you wake if I fetch a doctor?" Lucy could not believe the matter-of-fact tone in Brigid's voice.
"I have no choice now but to return to the clay for a while.," came Alec's voice again, though noticeably not from the direction of the bed.
"Alright then," said Brigid. "I'll go and tell the doctor that we need to do a breathing test because you're awake. Lucy, stay here and don't do anything. He cannot talk to you without me here."
"Brigid, I'm sorry!"
"Remorse is not repentance, but it is a good beginning. I'll be back with the doctor directly."
She was as good as her word. By the time the doctor came in, Alec was definitely conscious and trying unsuccessfully to pull out his own breathing tube by himself.
"Alright, Mr. Logan," the doctor, who sounded to Lucy as though he was all of fourteen, said. "Let's see if we can get that tube out without too much trouble. Shall we?" Soon, Lucy heard a whoosh of air, and then the mechanical breaths of the hated machine were stilled.
"How long?" Alec's voice was hoarse and he spoke slowly, but his speech was clear and his question relevant. The doctor seemed very pleased with this.
"You've been here since Sunday morning, and it is now Monday evening. Your fever continues to come down, but we need to keep you here for a while longer. Hopefully though, you won't have to be on the vent anymore."
"Water?"
"You can have ice chips for now," Brigid said, and soon, she was helping him to sit up so he could take some into his mouth.
"There is much we have to discuss, Alec," she said after the doctor had left, "but you're in no fit state for such talk now. Lucy, come! I'll take you home. Alright?"
"You mean to Falcon's Nest?"
"No," she said sadly. "I'm afraid it'll have to be your home for now. I must assess the damage you've done with this ill-conceived adventure, and as you now have the darkness on you, I'm afraid my house would not welcome you as warmly as I would wish it to."
"She was trying to help," Alec whispered.
"I know, and that's what makes this so difficult!"
"If I can, I'll put it right. I promise!"
"Don't make promises you can't keep, girl," said Brigid. "But," she continued in a softer tone, "Branwen is not usually wrong about people. Perhaps even this may be part of the pattern in the end, though for the life of me, I can't begin to imagine how."
"I'll see you tomorrow, maybe," Lucy said to Alec, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly.
"I'll be here," he said, and then Brigid was guiding her swiftly from the room without another word.
Lucy knew that Rachel was home before she entered the house, because she passed her car in its usual spot near the front steps. Brigid was gone, and she wondered if she would ever see her again, but though she was sad and heart-sore, she actually did not want any company at present. Accordingly, rather than calling for Rachel, she slipped quietly into the house and made for her apartment without even stopping to get a drink from the fridge in the kitchen.
The first thing she noticed upon entering her apartment was that the fragrance of the other world was gone as though it had never been there. Suddenly, though it had never done so before, the room smelled musty and damp, as though it had never been finished but was still an unadorned cellar where people might have stored fruits or root vegetables (or fungi?). Moving quickly, she filled her aromatherapy oil diffuser with water from the bathroom faucet, and then sprinkled some oil of sage as well as lemon into it. Then, setting it to mist the room for half an hour, she went about preparing for bed.
Had she ruined everything? Was all this really even happening? Her mind whirled incessantly around these central questions as she lay in bed, not listening to anything on her phone for once, but only listening to the quiet breathing of the house around her. What had she done that was so unforgivable? She had only wished to help Alec, after all. It wasn't as though she had purposely decided to follow the dark path. Had she? They had called her a doorway to hidden things. Surely that meant that she could be a doorway for Alec to return from where he had gone to hide. Yet, when Brigid had dropped her off that night, she had simply wished her a good night and had not said anything about seeing her in the morning.
And why was this room suddenly smelling of rot and damp? Not even her best oils were driving it away. This had always been a pleasant room. The finishing job had been done superbly, and she had never had cause to feel as though she were actually living below the ground until now: now, when she had touched the darkness and had heard the howling. That sound had been utterly without hope, as though the person making it was beyond all saving. But she had saved him; she had saved Alec, and he was awake now. She had done a good thing, damn it! She would not be treated like a naughty child because she had not played by some arbitrary set of rules.
But were they arbitrary? Something deep inside her knew that they were not, though as she began to surrender to her body's need for sleep, she decided to block that part out. The happenings of the last several days had been all very well, but nothing about them had made sense except her wish to find Alec. All this talk of light and darkness seemed far too melodramatic to be true. And what about the other music, the inner song that had guided her to this moment? At the last, it had betrayed her and had thrust her, seemingly of its own volition, into the chaotic space where she had found Alec.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she said aloud, and then, all at once, she simply couldn't speak.
If this was an episode of sleep paralysis, it was not like any she had experienced before. Firstly, this had come on suddenly and while she was still awake. The prevailing theory about sleep paralysis was that it was a trick of the body where a person partly woke up while his or her limbs were still paralyzed from having been in REM sleep, the stage of rapid eye movement when dreams are said to occur.
"Are you sure you did nothing wrong?" This voice Lucy had never heard before, but she knew at once that she did not like it. For one thing, it seemed to sound exactly like the voice of Branwen, but there was something else in it, some note of mockery that she knew could never exist in Branwen's lilting tones. "Are you certain, cariad?"
"I am," she said inside her mind, her voice now rendered useless by the paralysis. "I did what I thought was right."
"Ah yes! The cry of the desperate soul. 'I did what I thought was right!' But you know Newton's third law of motion, don't you? For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore, if you did what you thought was right, you must have also done something that others thought wrong. Which do you think is the truth, eh, cariad?"
"I don't know," she said without speaking. "I really don't know."
"Then you are learning! Good! There is a crack in reality, Lucy, and it is you. A doorway to hidden things did they call you? Far from it! You, my girl, are a crack in your own reality, the place where all the light runs out and the darkness flows in. A crack you are and a crack you will be: a crazy crooked crack which will soon crack everything in two. Then where will you be? You clearly must be mended, but how can you mend a crazy crooked crack, eh? If we can't mend you, then we'll have to end you. If we can't mend you, then we'll have to end you. Mend you! End you! Mend you! End you! Mend you! Ehehehehehehehehnd youhouhouhouhouhouhouhouhou!" It was only when the last words had risen to a shrieking, laughing, hellish crescendo that she found the strength to move her pinky finger and eventually break free from her latest dance with the hag.
"God help me!" She was all over sweat as she said this, and it was only later when she wondered if she had really meant it or not.
The rest of her night was devilled by dreams: dreams of running down long tunnels or through dark woods, always being pursued by Brigid, now in her falcon's form, flying and crying after her like an avenging fury. She would run and run, following the calls of a bluejay and a cardinal, but they would always lead her into a bog filled with quick-mud, and though she did not want to sink, she also feared the falcon's huge talons, for she knew that it could no longer be her rescuer. She was now beyond either grace or favour, having put them far from her with her impulsive act of hubris, so there was nothing to do except to surrender to the bog and to be no more. At the end of one of these dreams, however, came Branwen's voice from a far distance, sounding more like the cry of a seabird than like that of her winged namesake:
"Come home, cariad! Come home! Do not wander in the darkness too long! Come home where there is food an fire, bed and board for your bruised soul and your haunted heart!"
"I don't know how! I lost the music!"
"You cannot lose what was never yours to keep, lass. If you seek it, it will find you! Stay strong!"
When Lucy woke the next morning, she called the hospital. Alec was still doing well, though they were still waiting for a few more signs of his recovery before they would let him go home. One thing the doctor was able to tell her was that they had to postpone the rest of his current course of chemo for a few months. As he told her this, she wondered if 'postpone' really meant 'stop altogether.' Between Alec's stubbornness and his weakened state, she thought that he might now simply tell them that he was finished with the whole show. She wouldn't blame him if he did. She wished she could talk to him directly, but it would be a little time yet till they would let him use his voice. So, having thanked the doctor for his kindness in talking to her, she went upstairs to make herself some tea and breakfast.
"Hey," said Rachel as she entered the kitchen. "You look like hell!"
"Thanks for the compliment," she said, trying to sound as normally sarcastic as possible.
"I really mean it! What's been going on with you? Where were you the other night?"
"I was with a friend, staying with a friend close to Miller General. Alec's there now."
"Oh God, Lu! I'm so sorry!" Rachel went to hug her, but Lucy pushed her away gently.
"He's getting better, or well, better than he was. He had some sort of infection, I guess."
"Well, at least he's getting better. I think you should forget about eating and go back downstairs and sleep for a week!"
"I'd love to, but I'm in that stupid state where I'm actually too tired to sleep. You know?"
"I do! It's hell!"
"Is everything hell with you this morning?"
"Fine," Rachel said in her best prissy voice. "It's simply unbearable! Does that meet with your approval?"
"It will do for now," said Lucy, smiling in spite of herself. "However, I refuse to let mere friendly advice deprive me of my tea and oatmeal!"
"Very well then. I have to get ready for school anyway. See you later tonight?"
"I expect so, yes."
"Alright then! Don't overdo it. Okay?"
"I won't. Have a good day at school!"
"Thanks! Bye!"
After Rachel had left, Lucy did enjoy her tea and oatmeal while scrolling through various items on her phone. There was nothing of real moment, though she had half-hoped to see Brigid's name in her list of messages. She hoped her--friend? Was Brigid a friend?--was alright and had not suffered any ill effects from last night's adventure. She wished there was a way to know for certain, but without the harp of Taliesin, she didn't think she could find the other music for herself. She did have her small harp, it was true, but she somehow knew that it would be useless to try to do with it what she had only achieved with the instrument from the other world. Besides, if she tried, would she perhaps widen the crack she had made? Or was she the crack? Wasn't that what the dark voice had told her last night?
"You are a crack in your own reality," it had said, and it had given her a choice. "If we can't mend you, then we'll have to end you." Well, she could go the darkness one better. She could always do all the ending that needed to be done if only she had the courage.
No, she thought. I could never do that. I'm sure it would be quite impossible, but if I am a liability now, perhaps it would be for the best if I went through with it. She half-expected to hear Branwen or Brigid remonstrate with her, but instead, there was only the silence of the house, silence that was punctuated only by the tick, tick, tick of a clock on the wall above the kitchen table and the dripping of an improperly turned off kitchen tap. Despite what she had said to Rachel, she knew that she would have to get some sleep eventually, but for now, all she could do was sit quietly without moving, setting herself adrift on the ebb tide of memory until the sound of the garbage truck arriving for the weekly pickup brought her to her senses again.
The day was warm, but as she stepped out onto the back deck to get some air, Lucy could feel a strange chill lurking in the summer air. No matter what she did, she could not rid herself of its clinging insistence.
"You are a crack in your own reality." Again those words came to haunt her, and again she tried to dismiss them as the products of an overwrought brain, but she just couldn't. What if she really were the source of all the darkness? What if, in meeting Alec, she had somehow drawn the evil to him and sent him reeling into its depths simply by being who she was? Then, the rest of the ominous saying came back to her, the rhyme which spelled her doom.
"If we can't mend you, then we'll have to end you." Was that perhaps the answer? If she were out of the way, would Alec be able to live or die in peace? She hated mistakes or flaws in anything, most of all herself, but if she herself was the flaw, then surely she had to be dealt with. Maybe this was actually the right thing to do.
There was only a shower stall in her own bathroom, but the one on the main floor of the house boasted an old-fashioned clawfoot tub which she had used upon occasion when only a bath would do. Only a bath would do now, she decided, so in she went, turning on the water and quickly setting the kitchen to rights while it filled. Stripping herself of her robe and slippers, she stood before the tub, stirring the water with her hands to even out the temperature, and then she stepped in. Even here, the chill would not leave her, and she wondered if she had come down with a fever.
No, she thought. The only fever here is my very existence. I must cure it.
She was floating. The pills she had taken some minutes since must have done something, she reflected, for though she knew herself to still be lying reclined in the tub, she also felt herself floating in a kind of nothingness. There was no air here, and yet she was able to breathe. It was neither warm nor cold here, and yet she could still feel goosebumps on her arms. The chill, it seemed, was inside her. Why couldn't it just be over? Surely there would come a moment when all consciousness would cease! It had to, or she would go crazy, like the crazy crooked crack that she was.
"You have it all wrong, you know," came a voice, now surely Branwen's own, as she floated directionless in this nothingness, "but you can be put right, cariad. Will you let me help you? You must remember the music."
"Music? What music?" She knew she was speaking words, but she could not hear the sound of her own voice. It was this that finally broke through her numbed feelings. A sharp bolt of fear crashed through her and she began to flail about violently, seeking something tangible, but the only thing she could perceive was Branwen's gentle voice.
"You must come to me, Lucy. I cannot come to you."
"But I'm lost in the crack! I am the crack, the crack in my own reality!" The soundless words seemed to balloon out from her mouth like bubbles. She thought that if she could see them, they would be like those word balloons in the comics her sister used to read to her out of the newspaper when they were kids.
"A crack can go both ways, you know. Through it, light can run out, but light can also shine in. Do not forget that, and remember the music! It will set you on the right road!" Then, she somehow knew, Branwen was gone and she was again alone.
The music... She had to remember the music, but even as she tried, she felt herself growing heavy. The water was cooling in the tub now, and part of her knew this, but the rest of her was still suspended in the void. She thought she heard someone calling her name from somewhere in the waking world, but she paid it no heed. All her will was bent on remembering the music, the strange other music which had led her into so much doubt and fear. Well, what did that matter? Branwen had told her to remember it, that it would set her on the right road, and she was determined that she would. Soon, however, she realized that it was this very determination that was driving the memory away. She had to let go, she thought, just let herself be and let the music find her, but she was certain that if she did this, she would sink like a stone into whatever oblivion this void portended. Then, as she still floated and dreamed, she felt a sudden deep calm at the centre of her being. She stopped pinwheeling her arms and trying to tread water though there was no water to tread, and then she heard it, clear and deep as a running spring, the music of the harp of Taliesin and Branwen's voice, so utterly unlike that of her bird self. It brought peace, but not the peace of surrender. Rather, it lifted the heart on golden wings of courage and love, and before she knew it, Lucy had found her feet again.
But was this the same road she had walked in her dream-meeting with Branwen? No sun beat on her here. Instead, there was that chill, now made fully palpable, and she knew it now for what it was, the clinging damp of fog. Also, she had no staff this time, and she remembered that the mountain ahead was very steep. Still, she had no choice but to go on, listening to the music, though its sound was somewhat muffled by the cloud through which she now walked. Soon, she was at the foot of the mountain and had to go on hands and knees in order to feel the pathway ahead of her. It was hard going, but as she reached the point where before she had felt herself too tired to climb any further, she once more felt the grip of talons and heard the beating of wings. It sounded more laboured this time, as though she had perhaps grown heavier, but before long, she had been deposited near the edge of the stream, and Branwen stood before her once more, her cupped hands filled with its clear, cold waters.
"I'm afraid that when you taste the water this time, it will not be so pleasant," she said, "but it will help to heal you." And kneeling, she placed her hands so that Lucy could drink from them. As soon as the water had touched her lips, she knew that what Branwen had said was true. Instead of refreshment, she felt pain racking her entire body--which here must actually be her spirit, she thought--and she fell to her knees, doubled over with cramping and nausea. Despite this, however, she managed to keep the water down, and though she felt weak, she was soon able to sit up and to join Branwen on the little hillock where they had sat the last time they had met here.
"I guess," she said, her voice sounding hoarse but at least now audible to her, "I guess you know what I did."
"It would be impossible for me not to know, Cariad. Your actions rustled the very fabric of reality, and if we are not careful, it will shatter, like a glass which has vibrated at too high a speed."
"I just thought I could help, you know."
"I do know, and that is the one saving grace in this whole business. You wished to find your beloved and you did find him."
"It was Brigid who brought us back," Lucy said, a catch in her voice as she felt tears pricking her eyes. "I'm afraid she hates me now."
"She does not hate you, little one. She is frightened for you and for all of us. Even now, she sits vigil by your side in the waking world. You will see her soon, but first, I have somewhat to say to you."
"Alright, but shouldn't you say it to Brigid as well?"
"My connection to her has been broken by what you did, Lucy. Now, there is only you to bring my tidings to her. Will you do so?"
"Of course I will! I'll do anything to make amends!"
"That is well. Now, let me speak, for there is not much time." Lucy was startled by the change in Branwen's voice as she said this last. Though it had been mellifluous and calm as ever, there was now a tightening in it, and though Lucy thought her companion tried to mask it, she could hear a cracking note at times as she spoke. Also, Branwen had taken her hand in her own, and as she spoke, Lucy felt the hand change, shrinking and growing bony, until, by the end of the strange being's speech, a wisened claw held her in a deathly grip.
"What you did, Lucy, though it was well meant, has caused the darkness to advance much sooner than we were prepared for. As a result, it now lies between this place, where the light still lingers, and your world. I am now barred from making the journey, but you, who have been touched by both the light and the darkness, are still able to move between the worlds.
"Remember, however, that the darkness will always try to take you, the moment you step into its shadow, and as you can tell, I am no longer strong enough to stop it. I was barely able to bring you here, and I do not think that I will be able to do so again, unless the balance can be restored."
"That is what I was trying--"
"Hush, girl! I have no time to spare!" Now it seemed that Lucy heard the raven's voice rather than Branwen's own, and she was bound still by it, saying no more.
"Go to Brigid and tell her that the battle must be joined in your world, or this world and all within it will be lost. She must show her power, and you must wield yours. The harp of Taliesin is lost to you for the present, it is true, but the other music, the music of the light does not reside within any instrument, no matter how hallowed it is. You have heard it on both sides of the veil. Now, you must take it with you and make it your own, for Brigid will need the help that I would have given if I could. Will you be my aid in this, cariad?"
"I will if I can," she said, tears now freely flowing. "I'm sorry, Branwen! I'm sorry I've done this to you!"
"Even this may be a part of the pattern, child. We cannot know until we see how things go on."
"Where is the harp of Taliesin?"
"It waits for you," was all that Branwen would say, and before Lucy could say anything more, she found herself lying in bed with a ball of fur kneading her chest for all he was worth.
"Aloysius? Is that you?"
"So it is, lass," came Brigid's voice from somewhere to her left. "I came to tell you that Alec wanted to see you and I found the door unlocked and heard water dripping in the bathroom. I found you passed out in the tub, and after forcing most of the pills you had taken up again, I brought you here to Falcon's Nest."
"But I thought I wouldn't be able to come here again after--after what I did."
"It seems that Branwen has helped you in that regard, but I'm not able to make contact with her."
"No," Lucy said through a pounding headache. "She is too weak and there is too much of the dark between her place and this. I am to be her messenger here. She says that the battle must take place here, and you must show your power, even if it is too much for this world."
"I must confess that I have not truly shown myself in many a year," said Brigid, gently lifting the cat from Lucy's chest. "I do not know if I will be able to."
"Branwen's really weak, Brigid! I don't know how I could have been so thoughtless!"
"You're human, Lucy. You followed your own will without knowing the consequences. I'm afraid there are more of those to be reckoned with. Alec is back at home now, but you will find him much changed, I fear. For now though, you should sleep. Nothing will bother you here. Are you thirsty?"
"No," she said, surprised by her own answer, "for I have drunk the waters of wonder and they have healed me."
"Well then, get some sleep, my girl, and I'll check on you in a while."
"I really thought you hated me, Brigid."
"The darkness wanted you to think that. I don't hate you. I was simply sad to see the path you had taken."
"And that has made all the difference," Lucy muttered as sleep--real, deep sleep--claimed her at last.
By the time Lucy woke again, it was well past midnight. She lay in a dream of peace for the next several hours, no chill pervading the room and no sleep paralysis stealing over her. The cottage lay still around her, even Brigid's quiet movements having ceased for once, though she thought that her companion wasn't sleeping. It was hard for her to say why she thought this. It was as though she could hear a sound, a vibrant humming almost as of live electrical lines, which told her that the peace she felt was due entirely to Brigid's vigilance.
"Another person I have brought into danger," she said quietly, "but at least she isn't like Branwen. At least I seem not to have hurt her."
By the time her phone alarm went off, she knew she couldn't sleep anymore, so she got up and made her way a little unsteadily to the kitchen. Finding no one there, she went to Brigid's little back deck, and without warning, caught a whiff of roses and incense on a stray breeze.
"Brigid?"
"Ah," the other said, seeming to come out of some deep and distant revery. "You're awake, then. Feeling better?"
"Still a bit wobbly, but yes," said Lucy, taking a seat beside her friend on the top step.
"I just smelled--that smell, that fragrance from--from your place."
"I have done what I could to call what power I still have from there into me," she said. "It is only by the strength of my own will that I am keeping myself in this form, this form which will not burn you if I touch you."
"So the time is coming then?"
"It has already come, Lucy. I can no longer pretend that I am one of your kind. I must learn to be myself again, just as Branwen told you. It is the only way."
"What about your staff? It touched the darkness. Did it not?"
"My staff has gone from me, Lucy, though it waits with one who may be able to reshape it, if given the time, and that is where we must go now, to give him that time."
"Alec? Alec is going to remake your staff?"
"He is a maker as you are a singer, and with all the help we two can give him, I know that he will be up to the task." Lucy was unsure about this herself, but what she was very certain of was that Brigid had dropped all vestiges of her human persona. Now, though she seemed the same as ever outwardly, Lucy could feel the power thrumming within and around her, and as they got into the car to drive to Alec's house, she suddenly had an impression of hugeness in Brigid's presence, so that though it was her usual slight form behind the wheel, there was something vast beside Lucy as well into which she might be pulled at any moment.
"Keep your head, Lucy," Brigid said now. "I do not know if I will be able to keep myself in check. The pattern may have its will with me in the end."
"I'll be alright," she replied, trying to sound braver than she felt, but the truth was that she was shaken to her core to be next to this utterly unfathomable creature. Soon, however, the impression of hugeness had subsided, at least a little, and she was able to think clearly again.
"So Alec's alright?" she asked.
"That is perhaps a very relative term," said Brigid, guiding the car around a corner and beginning the steep climb up to where Alec's house stood. "I have brought your harp. We may need it."
"Branwen said as much, though I can't think what I'll be able to do with it."
"It belongs to you. It is something of yourself, and that will lend you power for what lies ahead." Lucy pondered this as they parked and went into the house. Alec did not often lock the door, even though there were times when he could hear nothing because of the noise of his various grinding and polishing tools.
"What would they really want to steal?" he had asked once when Lucy had remarked upon the practice. "Most of my tools are too big and my sculptures are too heavy. It would take too much effort!"
It was true that there wasn't much to Alec's house. It was just a simple townhouse among others, and he was notoriously sloppy in his habits. For him, the house was mostly a studio, a place filled with stone dust or wood chips, a place for hammering and chiseling, but not really for living. His life was truly his work, and vice versa. It was what made him real to himself, she thought now as she came upon him in his chair.
"Lucy! What are you doing here?"
"I came to measure the windows for curtains," she said, taking him in her arms and hugging him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm here to see you!"
"Why did you bring her here, Bridey? I told you to leave her out of this."
"I'm afraid she can't be left out of this, Alec. She's been left out of it for far too long as it is."
"What are you talking about?" Lucy was incredulous. "Does Alec--does he know who you are, Brigid?"
"He does. I came to him as Branwen came to you, and he has seen me at least a little uncloaked."
"She has helped me to hold back the darkness from you, Lucy. If she hadn't, I might have done things, said things which would have hurt you. I am not a good man, you know."
"But you are my beloved," she said, still holding him as though for dear life. "You are my brightest of stars!"
"Only because you saw me that way, dearest. I am a man bedevilled. For a while, my art was an outlet for the darkness in me, but now, I fear it will swallow me whole if I don't do something. Luckily, I do have a project in mind, though it will take time to complete. I've dreamed of a staff with the body of a dragon coiling around its length and the head and neck of the beast forming its top. I recall something like it from somewhere, though I cannot remember where I saw it."
"It is my staff that you saw, Alec," said Brigid, "and it was I who sent you that dream. I need you to carve a new one for me. I'm afraid that my own staff has gone from me, and I need it if I am to help you. Will you do it?"
"I believe I have all the items necessary for doing it, though I do not know if I have the strength." Suddenly, Lucy felt him flinch violently under her hands and she stepped back, almost crashing into a rack of small tools behind her.
"We will lend you what strength we can for as long as we can," said Brigid, "but it is true that there are dark things here which must be banished."
"Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered," Lucy said, almost without thinking.
"Amen," said Brigid, and set a chair in an unused corner of the studio, while Lucy, now knowing what she had in mind, unfolded the small stool and got out her harp. Brigid was right, for though it had not the perfect fit of the harp of Taliesin, she knew this harp's every curve and corner, and this gave her courage. Tuning the strings carefully before beginning, she listened as Alec prepared his materials and began to work. She knew from experience that a project like this, if he could work at full speed, would take him about a week to complete. However, as she settled her hands on the strings and prepared to play, she felt very strongly the lack of time pressing down upon her. He was far too thin, for one thing, and his hands shook, whether from pain or from some other, more intangible weakness, she did not know. How could Brigid even think of setting him to work like this?
"If there were any other way, child," came Brigid's voice from somewhere deep inside her mind, "I would have taken it, but Alec is a part of this too. Now, play!" And before she knew it, Lucy's fingers were flying over the strings of her harp as they had only done with the harp of Taliesin.
Up and down, in and out, the music wove a tapestry of sound all around her which seemed to blot out the sounds of Alec's tools. She followed her fingers through forests of great antiquity, up mountains and down into deep, rocky valleys, over rivers and through caves. Wherever she went, the music followed and led her by turns, and this time, no darkness assailed her, while through it all Brigid stood aloof and yet very present, watching the maker as he worked, and occasionally lending him some of her aid. This timeless time went on and on, seeming without duration and and also to last as long as eternity, and Lucy played, now singing, now silent, as Alec carved. AT one point, she thought she heard Brigid say to Alec:
"She has brought you the light. Can you find it, maker? Let the darkness go and find the truth, before you are lost completely! You are a child of the old wisdom as she is. You must take what she is giving you!" Then the music took her again, and she was lost upon its strange movements, though in truth, she was not lost at all, for she knew what she had to do.
"You are a child of the old wisdom as she is," Brigid had said. So that was what it meant to be a child of Taliesin, or at least it was part of the answer. All her oddness, all her interest in ancient things down to the very roots of her being was due to this affinity, this lineage, whether of the blood or of the soul, with the greatest Welsh bard who ever lived. Though she desperately wanted to find the full truth behind this strange title she had been given, at this moment, she knew all she needed to, and she was resolved upon doing whatever was required of her. Just then, however, her harp simply burst between her hands, its music spent, its strings sproinging apart. Chips of the spruce sound-box flew in all directions, one striking her in the forehead as she sat, stunned and without moving, arms still held out in the instrument's intimate embrace.
"Do not worry, Lucy," said Brigid as she picked the sliver with deft fingers from her skin. "You have done what was needful for now. He will work through the night, I think, and I shall watch with him."
"Alec?" Lucy wanted desperately to hear his voice, to know whether he was in pain or not, but Brigid quickly silenced her.
"He is deep in the trance of your music, child. Seek not to interfere, for he is following the path you have laid out for him. Did you think that your music was the full pattern? No, it was merely the warp on which this part of the pattern is being woven. Let him work while you rest."
"But my harp! My poor harp! I had named it Brigid, you know."
"Then," said Brigid, a hint of sadness in her voice, "perhaps the little one has served her purpose. Perhaps her fire was spent for a reason. Now, go and lie down."
As Lucy moved slowly into Alec's bedroom, she thought of the many times she had lain next to him in the darkness, listening to him breathe and thinking of how much she loved him. Now, as she climbed into his bed, she felt his lack deeply. Was this what it was like to watch someone die, then? Were they perpetually bound on other journeys where the living were not able to follow? The one time she had followed him, it had brought only ruination and madness. She knew that he was mad, even though he had tried to hide it. The music had led her this time through the labyrinths of his tortured mind, and while it surrounded her and she was unharmed by that darkness, she knew that he still lived in the house with the odd angles and the hanging, oozing growths everywhere. She had brought his spirit back from that place to inhabit his body, but just as Brigid carried the scent of the other world, so she knew now that Alec was right, at least as far as he could see. He was not a good man. His mind had bathed in dark waters for so long that there was only a small part of it that could see beyond their depth, and yet it was that part of him which loved her. But was it enough? Was that spark of love enough to save him from himself and the powers with which, albeit unwittingly, he had trafficked? Would anything ever be enough? She felt that these thoughts would keep her from her rest, but her own body had been through great stress recently, and before she knew it, she slept. Not even the sound of Alec's work could waken her. The next thing she knew, another morning had come.
Lucy could smell nag champa, Alec's favourite incense! Birdsong, rather than the chirping of her phone's alarm, had wakened her this morning, and she could no longer hear any sounds of work coming from the studio. Hoping that Brigid had finally let Alec get some sleep, and knowing that at this stage of the Cancer, he often preferred to sleep in his chair, she went to see what was happening. Hearing snores coming from the studio, she decided not to disturb her beloved, and instead, went to the kitchen to boil a kettle for tea. When she got there, the unmistakable scent of Earl Grey came to her nostrils and the sound of light singing fell on her ears like gentle rain.
"He will sleep the day away," Brigid said as she poured a cup of tea for each of them. "He has worked well! The staff has only to be hallowed, and it will be just like the one I lost."
"But how must it be hallowed?"
"The Lady must do it. Your Branwen must do it and you must take it to her."
"But I can't just go there, surely? I've only ever really been there in dreams!"
"Now, you must go in your body, and I must help you to make the journey. The staff, though not yet truly hallowed, is still of that other world. It will guide you, and this time, I do not think you will need the help of Branwen to climb the mountain."
"But Alec! I can't just leave him!"
"It will only be a short journey. As soon as the staff is hallowed, you will return here, for it will pull you to me."
"Alright," she said, "but can i have breakfast first?"
"Of course!" And Lucy heard a wonderful thing, for Brigid laughed. It was a laugh that no human could ever have uttered, she thought, and for just an instant, she thought she had seen the brightness overshadowing her friend as it had done that day in the hospital, that day before all the trouble had started.
"Eat well," Brigid said, "and then we'll begin."
Lucy did as she was bid, eating a hearty bowl of oatmeal and berries, and washing it down with the lovely tea that Brigid had brewed. Then, taking her out to a nearby park, Brigid showed her a hole in the fencing.
"If you will it, this can be the threshold into the other world," she said, "but only if you will it. You must take the staff into your hand and you must bend all your thoughts on the road and the mountain, and, of course, on Branwen. Only then will you be able to travel there. Remember that it is either a step away, or else it lies past the end of eternity, at least as far as your senses perceive such things."
"I'll do my best," Lucy said, and took the staff from Brigid. Again, as their hands touched, she felt the power barely kept in check, and felt herself taking of it as though it were water in the desert.
"Do not fear to take what you need, child of Taliesin. I am your servant in this matter," and there was that hint of sadness in her voice again. Lucy decided to ignore it, however, and to focus on the task at hand.
Walking toward the hole in the fence, she found herself thinking of another Lucy, a Lucy who had met a faun in a wintry woodland under a lamp-post in a long-ago story. This was only supposed to be a short journey, but what if something unforeseen happened? Still, there seemed to be no other choice, and as she walked forward, staff held at her side like a walking stick, she suddenly felt the other world take her, and she was again on the road. The fog seemed less dense this time, but the mountain seemed to be every bit as steep. However, using the staff as a prop, she soon found herself at the summit without even having to crawl, and after descending a short slope, she heard the bubbling of the little stream. Then, a gate stood before her.
"Be welcome," came Branwen's voice, now at least somewhat restored to its normal beauty. "Simply touch the gate. It will open for you, cariad." Lucy did so, and indeed, without even a push on her part, the gate swung gently inward and indeed seemed to melt away as she walked through, and before long, she was again seated by Branwen on the little hillock.
"I am sorry you lost your little harp, Lucy fach," she said. "It served you well! Now, however, we have much to do. Give me the staff."
"Here you are," said Lucy, and Branwen took it gently from her and plunged it into the stream.
"Let this staff be a thing of the light as its predecessor was!" Branwen intoned. "Let it stand for all things good and true, and let it be wielded by one who knows the value of true courage! Now, Lucy, you must take the staff from the stream yourself."
"Me? But it's not for me!"
"Nevertheless, you must complete the hallowing, for I have done all I can."
"Are you alright, Lady?" Lucy found that she could no longer address Branwen by her name, for she saw the light as she had seen it on Brigid now as the woman moved toward her.
"I will be, child, but you must take the staff before the stream bears it away!" Lucy wondered at the urgency in Branwen's voice, for the stream, though swift, seemed shallow to her. However, when she dipped her hand in to feel for the staff, she realized that what sounded like a mere stream was really a cascading torrent. It was all she could do to find the staff where it lay lodged between two river rocks and pull it out before she herself could be dragged in by the wild, foaming current.
"There," said Branwen, as Lucy came toward her with the dripping staff. "You have done well, and so has your beloved. Now, return to him and to Brigid, and you shall have good help, no matter what comes after."
"Will I see you again, Lady?"
"I will never be far from you, bright one, even though I may seem so for a time. Now go! Do your destiny!" AS she spoke, Branwen's voice had begun to crack again, but even so, Lucy could hear great love in it such as she had never heard in any merely human speech.
"I will go," she said. "Thank you for everything, Lady!"
"You need not use such titles with me, child, for we two are bards, keepers of the flame and tellers of the great tales! Be sure that we shall meet again, cariad! Never doubt it!"
"Thank you again," she said, taking the once more cracked and skeletal hand in hers and kissing it. And then, with no warning whatever, she felt a tugging on the staff, as though a dog had one end of it in its teeth and was pulling it like a chew toy, and then, with hardly an interruption, she was standing once more on the grass beside Brigid, the sound of the stream having been replaced by the sound of children playing at a nearby splash pad in the park.
"She's weakening again, I think," said Lucy, when she had come fully to herself.
"Aye," said Brigid, "and he is as well. We must hurry!"
At first, as Brigid took her hand, Lucy thought that they would simply run out to the street and down the block to Alec's house, but instead, Brigid just moved them there by the power of her will. There was no intervening sense of that other world as there had been when she had shown up inexplicably early for her university class either. It was just that one minute, they were standing in the park, and the next minute, they were standing by Alec's chair in his studio. Looking back on it later, Lucy thought that the studio had really shaped itself around them, rather than them being transported into it. Now, though, the important point was that they were with Alec again, and he was in a very bad way.
"You've taken all the life from me, Bridey," he said through chattering teeth. "I hope you're happy with my last artistic act!" It was then that Lucy heard a totally unexpected and yet totally familiar voice, and her heart froze.
"You also left him alone! How could you have done that? How could either of you have done it?"
"Rachel?" Lucy could hardly speak for terror, and try as she might, she had no way of telling whether this was truly Rachel, having been invaded by the dark ones, or whether it was that revenant who had come to her in Rachel's shape.
"Why do you call it Rachel? Can't you see that it's something entirely different? It's the twin I always knew I had on the astral plain," said Alec, falling back on a subject he had often discussed with her.
"She sees what she is given to see," said Brigid, "and so do you. This is a thing without form which can only speak with a borrowed voice. Otherwise, it can only exist in this world as an influence, a whisper in the soul, but if we cannot stop it here, then it will grow in strength, and what remains of the light will parish, for a while at least, for they cannot conquer forever, whatever they try to tell you."
"And what will you do?" The Rachel-thing seemed to envelop Brigid in some clinging slime that Lucy could both feel and smell.. It felt like the fog from the other world made solid, and its smell was like all the worst kinds of putrefaction imaginable, so that she had to plug her nose for a moment. "What will you do for these creatures? You are forbidden to act directly in this world. Are you not?"
Then Lucy saw the light dawn once more, the etherial light that she had seen in this world only on the face of Brigid. This time, however, it was pouring from Alec as he suddenly stood tall. Just then, she felt his hand touch the staff where she still held it, and together, they raised it high. Then, she let go, for the staff and his hand were now hotter than a smith's forge.
"It's true," he said, his deep voice now revealed in its full power. She had always thought that he could shatter stars with his voice if once it were let loose, and now, as he spoke, she felt her own body shaken, and she was reminded of Branwen's words about Brigid's power shattering reality like a vibrating glass. "It's true that Brigid cannot act directly, but for once, for just this once, I have surrendered to the light, and she can act through me!" It was only now that Lucy noticed that Brigid's lithe form was no longer beside her, and yet the room was filled with her presence. "This staff can be wielded only by the one for whom it is meant or by its shaper," Alec went on, his voice growing even deeper and more vast with the power that now lay behind it. "Now, it is being wielded by both of us, and as a river flows from its true source to the sea, or as a fire burns until it burns itself out, so now we stand against you, keepers of the true flame, children of the old wisdom!"
Despite this brave pronouncement, Lucy felt herself growing cold. The clinging slime which she had only touched the edge of was now pinioning her in its inexorable grip, and though she was still on her feet, the familiar sensation of sleep paralysis was soon impossible to deny.
"You can't stand against me, little mortal," the Rachel-thing said, "for I know your cracks and I know your weaknesses. I have been your bosom friend for years, after all! How fitting then that I should come in the guise of another of your friends. Remember what I said before? I am death! I am madness, and I am Cancer too! I will take your beloved despite his brave words, and he will die in pain and without dignity. His flesh will stink and his fire will be put out, and you will be left here to mourn him, stuck fast in a kind of living death from which you will never escape!"
"Let God arise," she said, summoning all her strength to make the sign of the cross even as the chilling influence of the dark thing threatened to freeze her very heart, "and let His enemies be scattered!"
"Da iawn, cariad!" Lucy heard it, cool and clear as a shower on a hot day, and it was Branwen's full, rich voice pronouncing the words from some far off place. "Da iawn! Keep going!"
"I am a doorway to hidden things," she found herself saying, "but you are nothing. You only hide because you have no shape, no true will of your own! You shall come no further either into this world or into that of the light!"
"Quickly," said Alec who was strangely also Brigid. "Take my other hand and sing, Lucy! Sing for all you are worth!"
"Is Brigid really a part of you now?"
"Sing!" came Brigid's own voice, not indeed from Alec's body, but from everywhere at once. There was a deep pain in it which forced Lucy to obey, and by the time she had found Alec's other hand and had begun to sing once more in that unknown tongue, the other music was filling and spilling out of her like audible light. She thought she felt the Rachel-thing abandon all pretence at humanity and grow tall in its utter shapelessness, and then, Alec dropped the staff, let go of her hand, and ran to embrace the darkness. For one absurd moment, even as she still sang, she was reminded of a book she had loved as a child: A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Leguin, but she knew that it was more than Alec who was going to meet this thing.
"You can't!" she screamed.
"We must," came Brigid's voice, and then a wind began to rise, throwing tools and sculptures and all manner of things in all directions. Yet, where she stood behind Alec, Lucy was enfolded in a singular calm, the music she had made surrounding her like a pair of loving arms.
"Be gone!" Brigid cried, and Alec let out a whoop of triumph which would have been the envy of any of his Scottish ancestors. Then, all was still.
"Alec?" Lucy moved carefully over the rubble that now lay scattered over the floor. "Alec?"
"I'm here, dearest," he said, "but only just. I think the thing is gone, thanks to you."
"Thanks to me? I don't think I did anything."
"You did more than you know, lass," said Brigid, now returned to human form, "but there is one more task for you to do."
"If I can, I will," she said, "but are you both alright?"
"That isn't important now," said Alec, and she thought she caught a strange ringing in his voice, but his tone was clear enough. "Forget me for now, Lucy. Bridey's right. You have another task ahead of you."
"What do I have to do then?"
"I need you to guide me home, Lucy," said Brigid. "My sojourn in this world is done, at least for a time, but I have been rendered too weak to make it home myself."
"but why? You had your staff! We did what we were supposed to do!"
"But Branwen was right, lass. I have been too long away from our world. I was able to meet the darkness with the help of you and your beloved, but I have been wounded in the struggle, and I must go to be healed before it is too late."
"What must I do?"
"Only play, my girl, only play." And without warning, Lucy felt the harp of Taliesin between her hands, and she quickly went to find a chair before her resolve slipped. Remembering the last time she had held this harp and the last time she had held her own, she did not want this experience to end as unpleasantly as those had done. However, Brigid needed her, and if she could do something to help her, she knew she had to do it, whatever happened.
The harp sat easily against her body as it had done before, and almost before she had touched her fingers to the strings, she had begun to play. Into the glory of the music she sank, letting it take her where it would, only this time, as she wandered in the landscape which the music seemed to weave around her, ever and anon she heard the cry of a falcon overhead, and she knew that Brigid was coming along with her, following the music as a falcon might follow a fleeing hare. Eventually, as her fingers began to slow, the falcon's cries were joined by the hoarse calling of a raven, and it was then that she knew that Brigid had made it to where she needed to be, and it was only then that Alec's voice recalled her to her earthly senses. Now, however, she was certain that something was different.
"Why do you sound like that, Alec?"
"Because the clay has fallen from me at last, dearest," he said. She smelled the nag champa around him as he moved toward her, and she still felt him solidly with her as he took her hands and then pulled her into a strong embrace. However, now that she was near him, she knew that he was no longer entirely on the earthly plain. He was, for all his solidity, a being of light, a living fire which she could hardly bear to touch, except that he permitted it, or perhaps something else had.
"You can't go!" she said, tears flowing without stint or measure down her cheeks as he clasped her close and kissed her. "How can you be so truly here if you're--well--not here?"
"It is what Brigid has given me, at least for a while," he said, his voice stirring her to her very soul as he spoke. "She could not stay to be sure that you would be alright, so I agreed to surrender my mortality in order to stay with you until we could say a proper goodbye."
"But will we ever see each other again?"
"In dream, perhaps," he said, "but my time here is done. I have borrowed my shape from that of the clay, but the clay will gradually break down, and if I were still tied to it, I too would begin to decay and the darkness would come for me again. Now, while I have the light, I must run, for the pattern is calling me!"
"But how will I live without you? How can anything go on without you?"
"You will live on because you must," he said, "and you will have a magical life. You may even come to know more of the world of the light than you do now. Their harp is still with you, don't forget!"
"I feel as though I am a step away from eternity when I'm in your arms," she said, breathing in the unalloyed vitality that came from him in his current form.
"Technically, you are," he said, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. "But you cannot stay like this. You must let me go. I do not know what is awaiting me. I'm sure there will be some sort of reckoning to go through, but you will have to do the needful for the clay, I'm afraid."
"I suppose that's true," she said, "but I will miss you!"
"Will you do something for me, dearest? Will you sing me home?"
"I will," she said. "What would you like to hear?"
"Something green and growing, something made of the dew of the stars!"
"Alright," she said, reluctantly extricating herself from his arms and going back to the harp. Then, she began to play and to sing the Dream-song which Branwen had sung to her during their first meeting in the other world. As the song progressed, she felt his hands on her shoulders like living sunshine, and they were still there when she had finished. Then, with a whispered 'goodbye, dearest' that for all its quietness seemed to ring through all worlds, he was gone, with only the scent of his nag champa left, and his body, sitting lifeless in his old chair. It was only then that she realized that it had been his spirit which had risen and taken the staff from her during the battle. That was how he had surrendered to the light, by letting go of the part of him that was mortal.
"Goodbye, Alec," she said, touching his hand which was still warm. "I love you, my brightest of stars!" Then, she began making calls.
Lucy was alone and she didn't want to be. Three days had passed since Alec's peculiar passing, and she didn't know what to do. She had, as he had said, done the needful, calling Barb to help her with arrangements and not doing a very good job of explaining away the mess in the studio.
"It must have been one of those microburst things," she had said. "I just came in from the park and found it like this."
"But why were you here? Why did he not tell me he had left the hospital?"
"I was here," she had said, trying her best to be on her dignity, "because he asked me to be, and as for why he didn't tell you about his release from the hospital, I really can't say."
"Well, luckily he left instructions," she had said, and then, the machinery of mortality had begun to grind into action. Lucy had stood aloof from it all, but now, she was home again, 'the clay' as he had called the body she had known so intimately having been well and truly fired and the ashes scattered in his favourite river. Rachel had condoled with her and had fed her until she thought she might burst, but she was now off on a trip with some friends. She had offered to stay behind, but Lucy, of course, had told her not to be so silly, that she would be fine.
The wee hours of Sunday were upon her. It had been a week since he had gone into the hospital, and now he was dead. The word rang hollowly in her ears whenever she said it. She was numb and she didn't care that she was numb. On the other hand, she was also not overly distressed because she now knew that his work was not his whole life, except, perhaps, for that last creation. He was much more than his work, and she was comforted to know that he had come to find that out for himself before the end, or was it after the end? Was 'end' even the right word for what had happened to him? Surely it was something more noble than mere death which had taken him, or maybe death was a more noble thing than she had believed. These questions really did not bear close scrutiny, so rather than driving herself crazy with them, she poured herself another too-big drink of rye and coke and tried to summon sleep.
"It's true," she said to the empty room, "that I didn't want him to suffer anymore, but to have him near me and so alive, and now never to be able to touch him again, what am I going to do?"
"Cariad," came a stern yet gentle voice from everywhere at once, "do you know why Brigid gave you that gift?"
"Branwen?"
"Yes, it is me, but I can only stay for a moment. Take my hand, will you? It is still difficult for me to enter your world unaided."
"I'm sorry," she said, drunkenly reaching out her hand and clasping Branwen's own as the being fully manifested herself in front of her.
"Why have you come?"
"I told you that I am never far. Did I not? Unfortunately, your head is not clear enough for me to sing to you. In your present state, the music would only jangle in your ears."
"That's probably true," she said, noticing a definite slur in her speech.
"You must be careful, cariad, for you are poised between the light and the darkness now. Brigid tried to tip the scales by showing you Alec's transfiguration, his freedom from the darkness he had courted for so long. Why has her gift gone so wrong with you?"
"I don't know. I guess it's just that I can't mourn for him. I'm afraid to start."
"I don't think you're afraid to start, little one. I think it is that you are afraid that you will not be able to stop. Do I have the right of it?"
"Yes," she said. "Even when we released the ashes, I felt nothing. Well, alright. I did feel something, but it was too big. I just can't let it out!"
"But if you do not, it will only grow and grow. It is like a river that you have dammed. If you don't give it a sluice gate, the dam will burst and you will be swept away in the flood."
"I miss him," she said, tears coming to her eyes but still refusing to fall. "I really do miss him, and yet, how can I miss him when I saw him so well and whole at the end? He's clearly in a better place."
"That is by no means truly certain," said Branwen, "yet I think he may have come to know something of the truth of things before he left you. Perhaps that has stood him in good stead. So, why do you not weep? Tears are the bath of the soul, little one!"
"The worst thing of all this is that I don't know if any of what we did worked. Is the balance restored?"
"As nearly as it ever can be until the end," said Branwen. "My wounds have been healed and Brigid will be better in time, though she will no longer be living among you, I'm afraid. Her house, however, is in need of an occupant. I think you will find that she has left you the deed if you wish to possess it."
"I don't know," said Lucy, and then all at once, she began to sob. Branwen took her in strong arms and then, Lucy was not just sobbing; she found herself keening. All the grief she had been building up ever since Alec's Cancer had worsened earlier that year had now come to its head, and still, Branwen held her, singing a haunting Welsh lullaby as she rocked her gently to and fro.
"How can there be anyone like him again?" she asked, her tears finally subsiding and fatigue replacing emotion.
"That I cannot tell," said Branwen, "but I can give you a blessing. You are a child of Taliesin, and like it or not, you are destined to walk between the worlds. Now that the doorway has been opened, you will be a magnet for both the light and the darkness. However, I will give you what I have to give." And, laying her hands on Lucy's head, she intoned:
"The warp is laid for you already, but the woof is yours to weave. Weave it well, child of Taliesin, and weave it wisely. The harp is your loom and your fingers are your shuttle. The music is the thread of silver which will bring you, in time, to its source. All you can do now is begin to learn the song. Hwyl fawr, cariad! Stay strong! Be true!"
"I'll do my best, Branwen," she said, but her words fell only upon her own ears.
Dumping the rest of her drink and the remaining rye in the bottle down her bathroom sink, she at last felt ready to sleep. As she lay down, she heard, from somewhere both far and near, Branwen's voice singing the haunting Welsh lullaby again, and beneath and behind it, the other music, the music of the light, the music of the old wisdom. AS it took her in its usual way, she wondered if there were other children of Taliesin out there, and whether all of them had been as fortunate as herself and Alec to have found beings like Branwen and Brigid. Just as her thoughts began to leave the waking world at last, Branwen's recent words recurred to her.
"Now that the doorway has been opened," she had said, "you will be a magnet for both the light and the darkness." She supposed, then, that she was doomed to live a life filled with oddities, no matter what she did.
Oh well, she thought as thought gave way to dream, at least I have known true and deep love, and that is a consolation beyond telling. Then, she was running across a field of flowers and Alec, the new and vital Alec, was coming toward her, and the rest of that night passed in a dream of green and gold, till the morning sun woke her and a new day began.
THE END