The Silver Witch

SEREN

A feast day has been declared. Prince Brynach is back from a trip north to negotiate a peace with the Mercian queen. The agreement reached was favorable, and a celebration has been called to mark the beginning of what is already being called ‘Brynach’s Time of Peace.’ In truth, I believe he was but a foot soldier in this war of words, for his ambassador, Rhodri, Princess Wenna’s odious brother, was responsible for setting up the meeting. He it was who brokered the deal. He who accompanied the prince to the northernmost border of the realm. He the one who wrote the words on the scroll that must bind all parties to this new peace. But the written words of men are flimsy things indeed. Cast that parchment into the waters of Llyn Syfaddan and they would melt to nothing, first the lettering, then the scroll itself, until all was washed clean away. As if none of it had ever been.

I do not trust the word of the Queen of Mercia any more than I trust that of Rhodri, brother-of-the-princess. And I trust him not at all.

The day of the feast is also the day of the first deep fall of snow this year. For hours the previous night the skies shed their burden until the ground was cloaked in white and all sounds were stilted and robbed of their echo. By morning the clouds were spent, so that the blue of the heavens could be found in the new, glittering surface of the land.

It is midday, and the revelries are set to begin. I reluctantly make my way toward the crannog. I dislike crowds. I more strongly dislike gatherings for the purpose of carousing and indulging any and all vices to excess. Man is a creature who raises himself above his base instincts with effort, and keeps himself there only with continued vigilance. What profit is there in undoing that vital restraint? Why would anyone wish to reduce themselves to their lowest state, and have witnesses to that action? I have donned my ceremonial dress, for it is as Seer I am invited. Each present must declare his or her position, to show the breadth, wisdom, and strength of our prince’s company. To have one such as me as his boon is seen as an enviable thing. Something to crow about. But the cock who crows loudest attracts not only admirers but foxes also. Prince Brynach would do well to remember that.

There is much milling about and excitement on the crannog. The whole village has come, as indeed they must. Shepherds have left their flocks. Cattlemen leave their stock to mind themselves. The blacksmith’s forge is cold. The fisherman’s nets and traps lie in the bottom of his boat. For a few hours, everything will wait on the pleasure of the prince, and it is his pleasure that everyone should have a day of rest, a day of feasting.