Isle of Glass Read Online Free PDF Page B

Alun does nothing?”
    When they were boys together, they had played a game. Morwin
would name a name, and Alf would look inside, and that name would appear as a
thread weaving through the world-web; and he would tell his friend where it
went. It had been a game then, with a touch of the forbidden in it, for it was
witchery. As they grew older they had stopped it.
    The tapestry was there. He could see it, feel it: the shape,
the pattern. He lived in it and through it, a part of it and yet also an
observer. Like a god, he had thought once; strangling the thought, for it was
blasphemy.
    Gwydion , he
thought. Alun. Gwynedd.
    In his mind he stood before the vast loom with its edges
lost in infinity, and his finger followed a skein of threads, deep blue and
blood-red and fire-gold. Blood and fire, a wave of peace, a red tide of war. A
pattern, shifting, elusive, yet clear enough. If this happened, and this did
not; if...
    Grey sky lowered over him; Morwin’s face hovered close.
Old—it was so old.
    He covered his eyes. When he could bear to see again, Morwin
was waiting, frowning. “What was it? What did you see?”
    “War,” Alf muttered. “Peace. Gwydion—Alun— He can’t leave
this place. He’ll fail again, and this time he’ll die. And he knows it. I told
him what the Church thinks of suicide.”
    “What will happen?”
    “War,” Alf said again. “As he saw it. Richard will ride to
Gwynedd and Kilhwch will come to meet him; Rhiyana will join the war for
Kilhwch’s sake. Richard wounded, Kilhwch dead, Gwydion broken beyond all
mending; and lords of three kingdoms tearing at each other like jackals when
the lions have gone.”
    “There’s no hope?”
    Alf shivered. It was cold, and the effort of seeing left him
weak. “There may be. I see the darkest colors because they’re strongest. Maybe
there can be peace. Another Alun...Rhydderch’s death...a Crusade to divert
Richard: who knows what can happen?”
    “It will have to happen soon.”
    “Before spring.”
    Morwin began to walk aimlessly, head bent, hands clasped
behind him. Alf followed. He did not slip into the other’s mind. That pact they
had made, long ago.
    They came to the orchard’s wall and walked along it,
circling the enclosure.
    “It’s not for us to meddle in the affairs of kings,” Morwin
said at last. “Our part is to pray, and to let the world go as it will.” His
eyes upon Alf were bright and wicked. “But the world has gone its way into our
abbey. I’m minded to heed it. Prayer won’t avert a war.”
    “Won’t it?”
    “The Lord often appreciates a helping hand,” the Abbot said.
“Our King is seldom without his loyal Bishop Aylmer, even on the battlefield.
And the Bishop might be kindly disposed toward a messenger of mine bringing
word of the troubles on the border.”
    “And?”
    “Peace. Maybe. If an alliance could be made firm between
Gwynedd and Anglia...”
    “My lord Abbot! It’s corrupted you to have a worldling in
your infirmary.”
    “I was always corrupt. Tell Sir Alun that I’ll speak to him
tonight before Compline.”
    o0o
    Alun would have none of it. “I will not place one of your
Brothers in danger,” he said. “For there is danger for a monk of Anglia on
Rhiyana’s errand. Please, my lord; a litter is all I ask.”
    The Abbot regarded him as he lay propped up with pillows,
haggard and hollow-eyed and lordly proud. “We will not quarrel, sir. You may
not leave until you are judged well enough to leave. Which will not be soon
enough to complete your embassy. My messenger will go in your stead.”
    For a long moment Alun was silent. At length he asked, “Whom
will you send?”
    Morwin glanced sidewise at the monk who knelt, tending the
fire. “Brother Alfred,” he answered.
    The flames roared. Alf drew back from the blistering heat
and turned.
    “Yes,” Morwin said as if he had not been there. “The Bishop
asked for him. I’ll send him, and give him your errand besides.”
    “Morwin,?’ Alf