The Last Knights of Cambria Book 4: Secrets of the Mountain

Chapter 2: Not all who wander are lost

Gideon
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king," I recite, softly, as I lay on my back staring at the water of the pool. I trail my hand in it, idly. It's my favorite poem, from Lord of the Rings. I figure if there's anywhere you should be singing songs from Lord of the Rings, it's trapped in a cave. I think Tolkien would want that. Right now the crownless needs to be king. Elis has no crown but he is the rightful king of Wales. And while I wandered I do hope I'm not lost. Of course the whole poem was about Aragorn. And yes of course as a child I longed to go a quest to destroy a ring.
And yes the moment I did get my hands on an enchanted ring I did immediately put it on so yes, it's safe to say, I learned nothing from the many hours spent studying Lord of the Rings. I should try to bring copies, actually. If possible. Or just memorize as much as possible. I feel like Prince Harry, our Henry VI, would enjoy it he likes books and he's very religious and Tolkien was very religious and anti-war and the whole thing is anti-war and I think he'd enjoy that.
But I'm trapped for now. I wonder if they're looking for me. Or if everyone's assuming I'm off someplace else. Probably. Gareth might worry but they'll tell him not to. I do disappear to go back to the 21st century so everyone is conditioned to me being gone. They probably aren't that worried. I'll keep singing. It might make the ghosts like me. And I'm lying in a cave. On some rocks. What am I supposed to do, not sing Tolkien? Really.
"Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Toward the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell.
Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back to home and bed.
Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
And to bed! And then to bed!" I sing it, drumming my fingers on the cool rock. It's very relaxing and quiet here, I will say. I memorized all these songs because when I was in my Lord of the Rings phase, my mother thought I wasn't sleeping enough or something so she took my maps and books and things and they put me in the room with no toys or anything to occupy me when I couldn't sleep. So I'd memorize a song each day. And I'd sing it to myself and then curl up to sleep, pretending I was marching to Mordor. That got me through my parent's divorce. And I thought everything would be better because then my mother and I would be alone so I could have some things to myself. But within a few months she'd moved her new boyfriend in, to treat her the same way as my father. I shut my door. And I got out more maps. This time not a fantasy world. The Hundred Years' War. I played it over and over, mapping out movements, meticulously calculating dates. I lay in my bed reading Edward III's letters. To his wife. To his son, then just my age. His son who he'd soon take to battle with him and they'd have adventures together. And there would be shouting and arguing downstairs. And I'd curl up and envision an English camp in the middle of France. And I'd pretend to be there.
"I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea," I sing, softly, closing my eyes. I am tired. And so hungry. There's only so many raw fish a person can catch and eat before they become Gollum and I don't know what that limit is but I think I'm super close.
"Curious boy," a cold, clear voice echoes through the cave. I don't sit up or move. The person is clearly one of the ghosts. But I've not heard this voice before, sometimes they mumble. But not like this. This is echoing around me not unlike the Mirror scene in phantom.
"Who are you? Please speak to me," I beg, sitting up.
"Strange wizard child. Do you not fear me?" A man's voice.
"Don't you like my signing? I know many songs," I say, politely, "If you don't like it I'll stop, but it is your cave. And unless I'm very much mistaken you're trapping me here."
"This is where you belong. Don't you listen to stories, pitiful child?" He laughs.
"I know plenty of stories. To be clear, the protagonist usually isn't hiding in the dark kidnapping people. It's not a good look. You're in anti-hero at best territory," I say.
"Insolent little boy. One day you will learn. Life hasn't been kind to you," he almost sings the words.
"Show your face," I say, sitting up, "What fun is this? You can see me."
"You want to meet me?" He laughs. What accent is it? As always I assume what magic is bringing me here is helping me to understand. But. I am not fully clear on how that works. And I can usual make out an accent even if it's being translated for my modern ears.
"Yeah, I figure anyone in a mountain is worth meeting," I say.
"Come to the water."
I sit up, crawling to the waters edge. I draw magic for light and let orbs float above the pool.
Instead of my reflection I see a man. It's hazy at first. Then I make out, firm features, lined from years in the sun. Shocking, thick white hair. And he's dressed as a huntsman. Two spotted dogs lie at his feet.
White hair. Think, Gideon. That means something. But it's not British is it? It's not at the forefront. I know this though. I should know this.
"Take my hand," he says, holding out his hand, in the reflection.
Before I narrate what happens next, may I remind you, reader, if I made good decisions for my safety and were capable of proper self care, we wouldn't have much of a story.
So yes, I take his hand.
I reach out, into the cold clear water, and feel his rough hand close on mine.
And then he's tugging me into the pool, through the water. I gasp and my mouth fills with cold water, and magic bubbles over in me.
Then nothing.
I fall back to the bank I was on. Except it's a mirror image of the cave I was in. It's not the same. I'm on the other side.
And the man stands above me, large as life. His pale blue eyes flash in something like amusement as I spit out water.
"You're a fool," he says, softly. And then I catch the hint of an Irish accent.
Irish.
"Fionn MacCumhail I presume," I say, a smile slowly spreading on my face, "The King in the Mountain."
"Hold him still," Fionn commands, snapping his fingers. The dogs leap at me, each taking hold of one of my wrists. More men appear from the shadows to restrain me. And a boy walks forward. Maybe my age, perhaps a bit older. White hair down nearly to his soldiers. Pale blue eyes. And a soft, neutral expression. He kneels by my side, and starts to tug the ring from my right finger.
"No—you don't want to do that—you're Oisin aren't you? Don't I'll—," I don't get the rest out. He pries the ring from my finger, and stands.
And I'm—still here?
"You're my guest in the mountain," Fionn laughs, "Have no fear. You're not going anywhere."
"What are you doing with that?" I ask, rolling to my knees, as the dogs release me.
"I'll return," Oisin says, holding my iron ring in his palm.
Fionn grips the boy's neck, pressing his forehead to his. Then Oisin slips the ring on his finger, and vanishes.
"Wow, didn't know they worked that way, cool, cool, Fionn am I correct? Ireland's greatest hero?" I ask, standing slowly, "This would be your Fianna with you, trapped in the mountain. Waiting to return for Ireland's greatest need."
The rest of the Fianna drifts away, slow and silent ghosts.
"I'm surprised a child like you has heard my name. I don't hear them whisper it, not so much these days," Fionn says, looking me up and down.
"No, we, we tell your story. It's an honor," I say, bowing a little, "Is it true you have all the knowledge in the world?"
"Is it true you're interviewing your kidnapper?" Fionn laughs.
"Plenty of Kings sleep in mountains, not all with their 27 men, waiting to ride to Ireland's defense. You were less a King, more of a warrior, protecting Ireland from witchcraft, and other threats, stories abound, half probably made up. Oisin, he told some of them? So why was he here?" I frown. According to legend, Oisin's mother was killed by some magical evil spirit known as the Dark Man, and Fionn raised Oisin alone. They had adventures. Eventually Fionn went on King in the Mountain duty. Oisin narrated most of Fionn's cycle of myths, and a few of his own.  He's not usually sleeping in the mountain as well. That said these guys are NOT asleep.
"You can make yourself comfortable. This is your home away from home for, next few thousand years or until I get sick of you," Fionn scoffs, walking away, not even concerned, turning his back on me.
"Oh, that'll happen really quickly—is it true you stabbed yourself with a spear to stay awake and avoid a magic spell from a—fire monster?" I ask. My Irish mythology is hazy but I'm trying here.
"You listen to too many stories, boy," he says.
"I've heard that before," I nod, moving to follow him. The dogs growl at me. I know they're Fionn's hounds, but I forget their names. They're in stories though.
"Why is Oisin here? Oh, he's not trapped in the mountain is he?" I realize, "No he visits you. You told him not to do that but he's got magic—oh you have magic—," I say that as he pins me against the opposite wall. Blue light flows form his fingers, and glows in his already bright eyes.
"You're a wizard too," I breath, letting him relax his hold and not bothering to fight it.
"Don't talk about my son," he says, "You're rapidly becoming less amusing."
"You can't kill me till you and the Fianna are called upon. Can you?" I ask. He could pin me to the wall but this dude had a full life. He's weak as a kitten right now. He's basically comatose, it's only immense magic letting him stay awake. I'm not that weak, but I'm also not instigating a fight. "Oisin probably could have. But you just let him go on an errand he needed my ring for. Why?"
"Don't concern yourself," he scoffs, going back to look at the water. I walk over, tentatively, to join him. I wonder if he's using a spell to see Oisin? Maybe?
"I'm kind of concerned. I'm Welsh, by the way. Didn't introduce myself there. Gideon Saint, the third if that matters," I say, holding out a hand. He does not shake it, just looking at me critically. "It really is an honor to meet you."
"You're a very strange child."
"Yeah I get that a lot. Also I'm sixteen I'm not really a child," I add, "You'd saved Ireland—probably twice by the time you were sixteen. We're in Ireland then? The cave had the markings, reading that brought me here I bet?"
"You were in a cave? Hm," he says.
"Oh, so Oisin got me? He didn't tell you? That's interesting, why?" I ask.
"I don't know why you think I'm going to start answering questions."
"What is Oisin doing? And why is Ireland in danger?" I ask, frowning, "From what?"
I say that like I didn't personally watch Henry V plan to take over Ireland. Oh damn. Henry was planning to conquer Ireland, wasn't he? He was, he talked to his son about it. That was a ways off but we're a year closer. Damn it, Henry, why do you always have to touch things that aren't yours? I'm aware of the irony.
"Look, I'm happy to help. I don't know what you've seen of the outside world, but whoever is threatening Ireland might be a threat to Wales too," I say. I may have taken an oath not to personally harm Henry. Which is an issue. But not really I don't want to harm him, just his army, and stop him from doing whatever his warlike heart is set on. That's all.  "Oisin can keep the iron ring if it's helping you guys accomplish something. That's cool. I'm happy for you. I just need to get home."
"You're not going anywhere. My son's magic is strong," Fionn says, without any real kindness in his voice, "You're as trapped as I am. A creature of the mountain."
"But your spell can be broken by Ireland's greatest need—the horn. By sounding the hunting horn, you'll all rise," I say, quietly, left hand moving to my right. I do wear another ring. Also enchanted. A simple spell, but very binding. I can be called upon in an hour of need too. This spring I gave future Henry VI a copy of this ring. He can call on me in times of trouble, but he's not likely to.
"Who do you wear it for?" Fionn asks. I don't question that he can see the ring. With his magic, of course he can. "Sweetheart?"
"No, no, just a friend who might need me," I say. He probably can tell it's enchanted, "I do sort of need to get home though. Very ominous and all, but I'm not dead or enslaved here. I'm sure there's a way to get out and I just don't know it. My friends will be worried."
"Friends. Your father not wondering when his boy will come home?" He asks, looking out at the water of the pool. Still and dark. The rest of the Fianna has slipped off into the shadows so we stand alone by the waters edge.
"No. Not exactly," I say, "My birth father is dead. A couple took me in, but they didn't care for me. Now an archer, he looks out for me, I suppose. He'll wonder why I'm not back."
He nods a little, saying nothing.
"Your father died before you were born. You had to fight for the Fianna," I say, struggling to remember. Damn, so it seems I need to pay more attention to mythologies and not gay little history facts.
"I'm sorry you can't go home. I would fear for my son," he says, shrugging a little, and looking off, "It can't be helped."
I suspect it can.
"You're sending Oisin to sound the horn to awake the Fianna, but Ireland is supposed to do that—if I know that they know that. You don't think they will for whatever reason. You think they've forgotten you. But I know they haven't. So what's threatening Ireland so bad that we need to awake a King from a mountain? Also you're keeping me here intentionally, we both know that. I don't need the ring to leave the mountain—oh god that means Oisin is in the 21st century? I should—like, I'd be happy to help him. Look it's very confusing there are these things called cars, and worse things called buses and really like I should probably go and help him," I offer, kindly, "There's this place called McDonalds, it looks like it's real food but it's a trap. He's gonna be hungry. I'm hungry—,"
"Do you ever stop talking?" Fionn asks, looking over me tiredly.
"Not at all! Look, why don't you let me go and help him? I'm kind of for Welsh independence it's like my main hobby, I've got nothing against Ireland and I'm not very busy. Why not let me come and help out on your quest? I'd like to, it could be fun," I say, hopefully.
"Why are you shaking like that?" Fionn grunts, looking over at me then kind of regretting it.
"I'm excited and happy," I say.
"I trapped you in a cave. For a week. And took your amulet."
"I know! It's been amazing! And it's really neat to meet you!" I say, bouncing a little, "Come on, please let me help? Please? I'm not saying I'm good at all of this stuff. I'm saying I love it."
"My magic doesn't keep you here. My son's does. When the Fianna is freed you will be as well. You can go home then. We don't need you," he says.
I hang my head a little.
"What? Why are you looking like that?"
"Well, I'd like to help the Fianna. You're the greatest," I say, still sad. It's true. The Fianna were Ancient Ireland's answer to the Avengers. And since all this is ancient, they were the OG Avengers, Justice League, all that rolled into one.
"You're an odd wizard," he mutters, looking back at the water. I suspect he sees something in it that I don't.
"I know. Do we have any other food here? I realize you're dead but I'm tired of catching and eating raw fish I think I'm going to get a disease. And if we can't leave can I send a message of some sort to the outside? It doesn't have to be much like any weird occurrence my friends will blame on me," I suggest.
"Your mother looking for you, child?" He asks, not like concerned, like trying to figure out who he can reliably hand me off to when we escape.
"No. My mother who gave birth to me is dead. Another woman tried to raise me but she didn't like me very much," I say.
"Ah," he says.
"Why?"
"Mother's magic is strong, for her child. You might be able to find her," he says, nodding to the pool. I can see flickers of light but make nothing out. I'm going to assume he's watching his son. Fionn was raised by two lesbian warrior queens (don't look at me like that I'm not making this up. Legit, google it sometime, two badass lesbian warriors adopted and raised him that's what happened). His father died before he was born, and he had no real replacement as far as I understand.
"No she's not even in this—century," I say, sitting down by the pool. I hope nobody's really looking for me or too worried. They should know by now I'm going to turn up soon.
Wait, where did my ring go back to?