Page 65 of The Mirror of Beasts

“I think I know the one, then,” Nash said, his voice hushed as he began to weave his tale. “Long ago, before Arthur ruled man and the Fair Folk alike, the Goddess began the great work of her creation. Her children, the Gentry, came first, then beasts of every kind, and man—but few know the story of the child she bore for herself …”

The present came into focus again as the creature stroked a long nail over her cheek in thought, then seemed to find her place again in the tale. “As much as the Goddess desired to keep her daughter by her side, Creiddylad was a curious child, and asked to live among the mortals and know their world. The Goddess entrusted her to Nudd, who swore to return her to her mother in a year’s time.”

Nash’s lyrical telling flowed into the river of the story as it passed through my mind. “There in the house of Nudd, Creiddylad fell in love with a young man, one of the Gentry, and though her mother was reluctant to part with her own heart, she allowed them to be betrothed …”

“Gwyn, having lived with her in his father’s home, was said to be taken by her beauty and set his heart on her,” the creature continued.

“One night, Gwyn, in an act of foolish pride, spirited her away,” Nash continued, his voice far-off in my mind. “He tried to force her hand in marriage. Her intended, however, caught up to them and a duel ensued. And in the end, Creiddylad’s love fell to the power of Gwyn’s blade.”

“Poor Creiddylad.” Olwen, with her kind heart, looked close to tears.

“Oh, yes,” the creature said, smirking. “You see, Creiddylad had relinquished her divinity for a mortal life. Before Gwyn could claim his prize …”

“… she raised her lover’s blade to her heart and killed herself rather than submit to him.”

Cabell gasped.

“That was my reaction as well, lad,” Nash said. “But her end is not the end of this tale.”

“Well!” the creature continued, articulating the word with a flare of her fingers. “The Goddess was devastated, but it is not in her nature to kill.”

“She punished Gwyn by sending him to Annwn as a prisoner, and so great was her grief, the Goddess herself receded, accepting the final form of a god—the incorporeal soul of the world she created,” Nash continued in my mind, his telling harmonizing perfectly with the creature’s telling. “It fell to the Lady of the Lake, one of the Gentry and the first priestess of Avalon, to ensure the soul’s protection, when the day came for her to be reborn. For it was her destiny to protect the Goddess’s heart—the sacred isle of her worship, and the child born of her being.”

“And was it reborn?” Olwen asked.

“It is beyond our knowing, for a spell was cast by the Lady of the Lake to ensure she would remain hidden,” the creature said. “It is meant to stay lost, child, that is the point. For a seed of evil was planted in Gwyn’s soul that day, when he was denied what he felt he had won rightfully in that contest to the death.”

“He burned with fury at being sent to the world of the dead,” Nash continued. “Being of noble blood, he ingratiated himself to Arawn, the true King of Annwn. Seeing the death magic at the king’s command, a terrible notion overcame him, and Gwyn killed Arawn and took his place on the throne.”

“Industrious of him,” I heard myself say.

“Gwyn ruled when Arthur and his knights came to Annwn, showering them with gifts in exchange for any morsel of information about the soul,” the creature said. “And so he began his hunt again.”

“So great was his desperation to find Creiddylad’s soul, Gwyn destroyed Otherlands with the Wild Hunt, tearing through them with sword and claw.” Nash’s voice was fading, the memory sinking back into the same dark morass I’d pulled it from. “All because he believed the soul had been hidden there. Then one year, when winter arrived to haunt the world once more, the Wild Hunt did not accompany it. Many believed the hunt had ended for good, but there are those who know better, who believe Lord Death will one day ride again …”

Cabell had fallen asleep long before then, carried into the darkness of dreams. I’d felt his breathing even out as certainly as I’d felt Nash reach over and brush my brow, whispering, “But do not worry yourself with such things …”

Dread walked along my skin, stinging. I was sure the others could see the pulse jumping in my throat—that they could hear it thundering in their own ears. But Olwen and Caitriona had looked to one another, as if to silently debate the truth of it between them. A story they’d never been told.

But I had.

Nash had known it, had spoken it. He prided himself on collecting little-known legends and stories, but this … I’d never read any record of it. Hadn’t even been able to summon the memory until something the creature had said cracked the forgotten archive open and allowed it to come spilling out again.

How did Nash know this story?

And why had I forgotten it?

“And so I end my tale, having told you the whole of it, from head to hind,” the creature said. “Now release me—”

“Wait!” Emrys’s voice sent a warm frisson racing up my spine. My body turned toward his of its own accord, trying to chase the almost unbearable fluttering sensation in my chest.

Beside me, Caitriona relaxed her blade-straight posture ever so slightly, drawing in a deep breath as Emrys and Neve ran across the warehouse.

“Do we hate him?” the creature whispered to me. “Is his meat stringy with greed? Is there malice in his marrow? Which one is the pretty one you spoke of? They both have such succulent flesh and delicate bones …”

I ignored her, scanning Neve to make sure she was all right. The priestess only stared wide-eyed at the creature, her lips parting in surprise.

“You can’t let it out,” Emrys told me, breathless.

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