Daughter of the Sea

XXIV: Confirmed

"Angharad," the woman said, with a solemnity that did not altogether mask a touch of amusement, "would you kindly present me to our host."

Angharad, engaged in untangling the silver chain from its wrappings, looked up, startled. "Oh. I—oh! Geraint of Gellau." Her face colored as she registered his state of undress for apparently the first time. "My aunt, Arianrhod, Daughter of Llyr and High Priestess of Rhiannon."

"Well-met and welcome, my lady," Geraint murmured, without rising; Arianrhod stepped forward, reached out and tipped his chin up.

"You may look at me," she said quietly, without condescension. "Stand up, my dear. Well-met, indeed, Geraint of Gellau. I have heard much of you, and would that we had met under less intrusive circumstances. Forgive us for this, and be at your ease. Though by all means," she added, with a sideways glance at Eilwen and a humorous quirk of her mouth, "put your shirt on."

Rather awed, he hastened to comply, conscious of Eilwen's disappointed sigh, and restored himself to decency as Angharad turned to him and blurted out, "I'm sorry to have woken you. It was rather urgent."

Geraint shook his head, baffled. "So I guessed. I wasn't asleep, not deeply. I can't explain it, but...I felt as though it was watching me." He indicated the pendant in her hand with a nod. "Odd, I know, but...I couldn't shake it off. It made me restless."

The women exchanged significant glances. "Did anything strange happen?" Angharad asked him tensely.

He glanced at each, subconsciously sensing the charged atmosphere that hung about them, his curiosity piqued by the uniqueness of the situation. He had an odd sensation that the little hut was not large enough to hold them all. "No," he said slowly, "nothing. Though I assume this surprise visit means you expected otherwise."

Angharad looked upon the pendant clutched in her hand with wary curiosity, as though she had never seen it before. "I don't know what we expected," she sighed, a sound of mingled frustration and fear.

Eilwen had removed her cloak and thrown it over his stool; from somewhere beneath it she produced a large book, leather-bound. "You never apologized for waking me up," she remarked to her sister, "and I didn't get dragged out here in the middle of the blessed night just to admire the view - delightful though it is," she added, with a wink at Geraint. "Come, let's get to work."

"Outside," Arianrhod directed decidedly, "and to the sand. It's far too close in here."

They filed out, and Geraint followed as Angharad bade him with a silent backward glance. She paused outside the door to wait for him, taking his hand and drawing close to him as the little party moved toward the beach. There was unmistakable tension in her arm and shoulder, in the tightness of her grip. "What is it?" he whispered. "What is all this about?"

Angharad shook her head. "I don't even know where to begin. But I'll explain once we know more. In a moment, I hope."

Arianrhod halted at a stretch of smooth sand just before the reach of the lapping waves, crouched low, and laid her hands upon the ground. The sand shifted itself around her contact, folding into rippling patterns that spread out in a symmetrical design, sinuous and intricate, as though drawn by an invisible hand. Geraint stopped short at the sight, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickling with unease. Angharad squeezed his hand. "It's all right," she whispered.

"I'm sure it is," he whispered back, "but it's uncanny, if you aren't used to it."

Eilwen, materializing on his other side, tossed him a saucy half-smile as she passed them. "If that bothered you, you'd best back up and sit down for the rest." She hesitated, looking at the symbol, and glancing around it. "There's nowhere to put the book, Aunt."