Lawhead, Stephen - Pendragon Cycle 1 - Taliesin

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Lawhead, Stephen R. - Taliesin
TALIESIN
Book One of the Pendragon Cycle
Stephen R. Lawhead
Avon Books - New York, New York
Taliesin Pronunciation Guide
While many of the old British names may look odd to modern readers, they are
not as difficult to pronounce as they seem at first glance. A little effort, and the
following guide, will help you enjoy the sound of these ancient words.
Consonants—as in English, but with a few exceptions:
c: hard, as in cat (never soft as in cent)
ch: hard, as in Scottish Loch, or Bach (never soft as in church)
dd: th as in then (never as in thistle)
f: v, as in of ff: f, as in off g: hard, as in girl (never gem)
ll: a Welsh distinctive, sounded as “tl” or “hl” on the sides of the tongue r: trilled,
lightly
rh: as if hr, heavy on the “h” sound s: always as in sir (never his)
th: as in thistle (never then)
Vowels—as in English, but with the general lightness of short vowel sounds: a: as
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Lawhead, Stephen R. - Taliesin
in father e: as in met (when long, as in late)
i: as in pin (long, as in eat) o: as in not u: as in pin (long, as in eat)
w: a “double-u,” as in vacuum, or tool; but becomes a consonant before vowels, as
in the name Gwen y: as in pin; or sometimes as “u” in but (long as in eat)
(As you can see, there is not much difference in i, u, and y— they are virtually
identical to the beginner)
Accent— normally is on the next to the last syllable, as in Di-gan-hwy
Diphthongs—each vowel is pronounced individually, so Taliesin = Tallyessin
Atlantean—Ch = kh, so Charis is Khar-iss
“Ten rings there are, and nine gold tores
on the battlechiefs of old; Eight princely virtues, and seven sins
for which a soul is sold; Six in the sum of earth and sky,
of all things meek and bold; Five is the number of ships that sailed
from Atlantis lost and cold; Four kings of the Westerlands were saved,
three kingdoms now behold; Two came together in love and fear,
in Llyonesse stronghold; One world there is, one God, and one birth
the Druid stars foretold.”
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Lawhead, Stephen R. - Taliesin
S. R. L.
Oxford, England, 1987
BOOK ONE - A GIFT OF JADE
CHAPTER ONE
I will weep no more for the lost, asleep in their water graves. I have no more tears
for my youth in the temple of the brindled ox. Life is strong in me and I will not
grieve for what was or might have been. Mine is a different path and I must follow
where it leads.
But I look out from my high window onto fields of corn ripening to the scythe. I
see them rippling like a golden sea, and in the rustling of the dry leaves I hear
again the voices of my people calling to me across the years. I close my eyes and I
see them now as they were from my earliest memories. They stand before me and
I enter once more that glad time when we were young and the cataclysm had not
come upon us—before Throm appeared with dire prophecies burning on his lips.
It was a time of peace in all Atlantis. The gods were content and the people
prospered. We children played beneath Bel’s golden disk and our limbs grew
strong and brown; we sang our songs to fair Cybel, the ever-changing, to grant us
dreams of joy; and we lived out our days in a land rich with every comfort,
thinking it would always be that way.
The voices of the departed speak: “Tell our story,” they say. “It is worthy to be
remembered.”
As so I take my pen and begin to write. Perhaps writing will ease the long months
of my confinement. Perhaps my words will earn a measure of the peace that has
been denied throughout my life.
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Lawhead, Stephen R. - Taliesin
In any case, I have little else to do; I am a captive, made prisoner in this house. So,
I will write: for myself, for those who come after, and for the voices that cry out
not to be forgotten.
Men called the royal palace the Isle of Apples for the groves that covered the
slopes leading down to the city below. And indeed, in blossom time King
Avallach’s palace seemed an island floating above the earth on clouds of pink and
white. Golden apples, sweeter than honey from the high meadow aviaries, grew in
abundance in the orchards of the king. Apple trees lined the wide avenue that ran
through the center of Kellios to the sea.
On a high seaward terrace, Charis leaned against a column, gazing out across the
rooftops of the city, watching the sunlight glimmer on beaten sheets of red-gold
orichalcum and listening to the sighing hum of the Aeolian harp in the random
fingerings of the wind. Drowsy, and slightly drunk on the heady fragrance of apple
blossoms, she yawned and turned her languid attention to the warm blue crescent
of harbor.
Three ships, their green sails bulging in the breeze, slid slowly into Kellios harbor,
trailing diamonds in their wakes. Charis watched them heel about, empty their
sails, and glide toward the wharf. The sturdy longboats of the harbormaster were
already making their way out to the ships to secure the lines and guide them to
berth.
Kellios was a busy city; not overlarge—not as big as great Ys, city of temples and
shipyards in Coran, or even as big as the market city Gaeron, in Hespera—but
blessed with a deep bay so that traders from every kingdom called frequently to
provision themselves for longer journeys south and east across the great expanse
of water that seamen called Oceanus.
Chariots and wains, the latter loaded with produce of the fields round about
Kellios or with goods from other kingdoms, traversed the streets and avenues from
early morning to dusk. The market stalls rang with the chatter of trade: value
established, prices set, bargains struck.
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From the temple mound in the center of the city rose the holy edifice—a replica in
miniature of Mount Atlas, home of the gods. Sweet scented smoke ascended
eternally from the many altar fires of the temple as costly sacrifices were
performed day and night by the Magi. And from the stables Below the temple
could be heard the Bellow of the sacred bulls as they offered their voices to the
god just as one day they would make an offering of their living blood and flesh.
Next to the temple stood the bullring, a great oval arena joined to the temple
stables by an underground tunnel. In a few hours the first bull would be led
through that tunnel and ushered into the pit, and the sacred dance would
commence. For now, the arena stood silent and empty. Charis sighed and turned
away, retreating back into the cool, shadowed corridor, the patter of her sandaled
feet echoing along the polished stone. She climbed the wide steps at the end of the
corridor and wandered onto the rooftop garden.
A light breeze lifted the broad, notched leaves of the slender palms lining the
rooftop, rank on rank, in their shining orichalcum basins. Blue parrots chattered
and shrieked among the thick-clustered dates, while quetzals preened their
iridescent plumage in the grapevines enshrouding ornamental columns. Nearby,
two leopards slept in the shade, spotted heads resting on their paws. One of them
opened lazy golden eyes as Charis walked past, then closed them again and rolled
over. A fountain splashed in the center of the garden, surrounded by tapering stone
pillars carved with sun signs and charms.
The cool, clear water was afloat with fresh flowers and citrus fruit and the elegant
shapes of black swans gliding serenely around the pool, necks curled in graceful
arcs. Charis approached and took a handful of meal from a nearby amphora. She
sat on the wide rim of the fountain pool and scattered some meal as the swans
paddled over to scoop it up, jostling one another, their long necks darting like
snakes.
Charis chided the swans for their uncouth behavior as they beat their wings and
hissed at one another. She flung the rest of the meal to them and rinsed her hands
in the pool. The water was inviting and she considered stripping off her pleated
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skirt and taking a swim, but contented herself with dangling her feet in the water
and dabbing her cheeks with damp hands instead.
She snatched a floating tangerine from the pool and began peeling it, lifting the
first golden section to her mouth and closing her eyes as the tart-sweet juice
tingled on her tongue. The days were long and so much the same, with little to set
one day apart from another. This day, at least, there was the bull dance to look
forward to and, at twilight, the sacrifice.
Those diversions sparked her life with momentary excitement. Without them,
Charis felt she would be driven mad by the unrelenting sameness of life in the
palace. Now and again she imagined that she would like to run away, to disguise
herself and travel the tumbled hills, to see life among the simple herdsmen and
their families; or perhaps she would take a boat and sail the coasts, visiting tiny,
sun-baked fishing villages and learning the rhythm of the sea. Unfortunately,
making good either of those plans would mean taking action, and the only thing
more palpable than the boredom she endured was the inertia that enclosed her like
a massive fist. The weighty impossibility of changing her life in any but the most
insignificant detail insured that she would not try. She sighed again and returned
to the corridor, pausing to pick a sunshade from a nearby bush, idly plucking the
delicate yellow petals and dropping them one by one, like days, fluttering from her
hand.
Upon entering the long gallery which connected the great hall with the royal
apartments, she saw a tall, dignified figure ahead of her. “Annubi!” she called,
flinging the remains of the flower aside. “Annubi, wait!”
The man turned stiffly and regarded her, his solemn features pressed into a frown.
Annubi was the king’s seer and advisor—as he had been to Avallach’s father, and
Avallach’s father’s father. He was also Charis’ special friend and had been ever
since Charis could remember; alone of all her father’s retainers, Annubi had
always had time for a little girl and her curiosity.
On many a hot and sleepy afternoon, when Bel’s disc warmed the land and
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everyone else crept off to find a cool place to nap, little Charis had beckoned
Annubi from his stuffy cell to stroll among the blue shadows of the columned
portico where the seer would tell her stories of long-dead kings and instruct her in
intricacies of the seer’s art. “It is a useful skill for a princess,” he would say,
“practiced discreetly, of course.”
But the little girl had grown, and the curiosity had faded. Or, if not, it lay asleep in
some hidden corner of her spirit.
“Ah, Charis,” he said, momentarily rearranging his frown. “It is you.”
“You need not be so abrupt, Annubi,” she said, sidling up to him. “I will not
detain you from your oh-so-important errands. I only wanted to ask you who had
come.” She took his hand in a familiar gesture and they continued along the
gallery.
“Has something stirred you from your lethargy?”
“Sarcasm is not a royal attribute.” She mimicked his dour expression. Usually it
made him laugh. Today, however, Annubi scowled at her from under his
overgrown eyebrows. “Have you been using the stone again without my
guidance?”
She laughed. “I need no silly stone to see what is before my own eyes. I saw the
ships enter the harbor. And the palace is like a tomb, it is so quiet around here.”
Annubi’s lips curled at the corners. “So, at long last you have mastered the first
principle: the second sight is no substitute for a sharp eye.”
“Do you mean,” Charis asked as they began to walk along the gallery, “that the
second sight would not have shown me more?”
“No, child.” The seer shook his head slowly. “But why bother to learn the second
sight if you will not use the first?”
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“I thought the Lia Fail saw everything!”
Annubi stopped and turned to her. “Not everything, Charis. Only a very little.” He
raised a cautionary finger. “If you ever hope to be a good seer, you will never trust
the stone to reveal what your own eyes should have seen.” He paused and shook
his head. “Why do I tell you these things? You have no real interest.”
“And you still have not answered my question.”
“The ships are from your uncle. As for your next question—why they have come?
Can you not guess?”
“Is Belyn here?”
“I did not say that.”
“You say little enough, it seems to me.”
“Think! What year is this?”
“What year?” Charis looked mystified. “It is the Year of the Ox.”
“What year?”
“Why, 8556 years since the world began.”
“Bah!” The seer made a face. “Leave me.”
“Oh, Annubi!” Charis tugged his sleeve. “Tell me! I do not know what answer you
want.”
“It is the seventh year”
“A council year!”
“A council year, yes, but more precisely, a seventh council.”
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The significance eluded Charis momentarily. She gazed at Annubi blankly.
“Oh, leap into the sea and be done with it!”
“The seventh seven.” It came to her then. “The Great Council!” she gasped.
“Yes, the Great Council. Very astute, Princess,” he mocked.
“But why should my uncle come because of the Great Council?” Charis wondered.
Annubi lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. “Some things are better studied in
private before airing in public, I suppose. Belyn and Avallach are close—as close
as two brother kings may be. But kings they are, and who can fathom the heart of
a king?”
“Is there trouble between our people and Belyn’s?”
“I have told you all I know.”
‘ ‘Oh, when did you ever part with more than the least little kernel from your vast
store?”
The seer smiled wickedly. “A little uncertainty keeps everyone awake.”
They had reached the entrance to the great hall. Two palace ushers stood before
the huge polished cedar doors. Upon Annubi’s approach one of them snapped to
attention and pulled on a braided cord; the door swung open soundlessly. The seer
turned and said, “Enough kingcraft for today. Go back to your dreams, Charis.”
He entered the great hall. The door closed and Charis was left outside to wonder
what was going on within.
She gazed at the doors for a few moments, then moved off. “Annubi treats me like
a child,” she muttered to herself. “Everyone does. Nobody takes me seriously.
Nobody ever tells me anything. Ah, but I know a way to find out.” She turned and
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looked back at the closed doors and saw a challenge to her ingenuity. “Should I?”
she wondered. By the time she had reached the end of the corridor, she had
already made up her mind.
Flitting like a lithe shadow along the darkened mazework of lower rooms and
corridors Charis came at last to a narrow red door. Without hesitation she put her
hands on the door and pushed it open. The room within was lit by a single lamp
hanging from a chain by the door. With practiced movements she drew a beeswax
taper from a wicker basket, lit it from the flickering lamp, and made her way to the
round table in the center of the room.
On the table, resting on a base of chased gold, sat the Lia Fail, a stone of murky
crystal the size and shape of an ostrich egg. Charis placed the taper in a holder and
stretched her hands to the egg, peering into its depths. The veins in the stone were
dark, like blue smoke, and turgid, like the silted waters of the River Coran; it was,
Annubi liked to say, the smoke of possibility and the fertile thickness of
opportunity.
She composed her thoughts as she had been taught, closed her eyes, and recited
the incantation for seeing—once, and then twice more. Gradually she felt the stone
warm beneath her hands. She opened her eyes to see that the smoke-tinted veins
had thinned, becoming transparent wisps that seemed to writhe and dance like a
sea mist fading in the sun’s first rays.
“Seeing stone,” she addressed it, “I seek knowledge of what is to be. My spirit is
restless. Show me something ...” She paused, thinking how best to phrase the
request. “Yes, show me something of traveling.”
She remembered Annubi’s injunction to always be discreetly imprecise when
addressing the oracular stone. “The seer comes to the stone to be instructed, not to
dictate,” Annubi often said. “Therefore, out of respect for fate’s handmaidens one
makes vague the request so as not to seem presumptuous. Think! What is
opportunity but possibility made flesh? Would you shun a bouquet because you
sought a single flower? It is always better to allow the stone to be generous.”
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Lawhead,StephenR.-TaliesinTALIESINBookOneofthePendragonCycleStephenR.LawheadAvonBooks-NewYork,NewYorkTaliesinPronunciationGuideWhilemanyoftheoldBritishnamesmaylookoddtomodernreaders,theyarenotasdifficulttopronounceastheyseematfirstglance.Alittleeffort,andthefollowingguide,willhelpyouenjoythesoundo...

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