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not lie.”
    Suddenly Branwen remembered Rhodri. She stared down toward the stream. He was sitting up, leaning heavily on one arm, rubbing his head with his other hand.
    â€œWhy did you hit him?” raged Branwen. “He was trying to help you!”
    â€œI like him. He has an open and kindly heart,” Blodwedd said, looking down at Rhodri. “That is why I hit him only gently.”
    â€œYou didn’t need to hit him at all!”
    â€œHe would have tried to stop me,” Blodwedd said with a shrug of her thin shoulders. “You needed to see what a threadbare cloth your selfishness would weave. Warp and weft—blood and death.” She cocked her head, her eyes on Branwen again. “If you go to the east, you will shape for yourself a necklace of corpses that will bow your head down to the bowels of Annwn!”
    â€œBe silent!” Branwen shouted. “I won’t listen toyou anymore.” She ran unsteadily down the hill. “Rhodri? Rhodri, are you all right?”
    He was on his feet now, grimacing and holding his head. “She hit me!” he gasped. “I turned away for a moment and she hit me.”
    Blodwedd came racing down the hill, her feet as light as a breeze as she leaped from rock to rock. “Rhodri, forgive me,” she called. “I did not mean you harm. I had business with the Warrior-Child. I could not let you stop me with your great heart and your strong muscles.”
    Rhodri winced and frowned at her.
    â€œI shall make amends,” said Blodwedd. “I shall gather wildflowers and roots and herbs for you to make a soothing mash as you did for my arm. Tell me what you need to ease your pain.”
    â€œThere’s no need,” said Rhodri, the anger draining from his voice. “It’s not that bad. The skin’s not even broken. But please don’t do it again!” He looked at Branwen. “What business did she have with you?”
    â€œShe wanted to show me phantoms,” said Branwen. “Ghosts of the pretended future to make me change my mind about going home.”
    â€œGhosts, you say? What kind of ghosts?”
    â€œA Saxon army heading away north,” Branwen said sullenly. “A battlefield strewn with the dead of Brython. A citadel broken and burning.” She narrowed her eyes, the memory still too fresh in her mind. “Iwan ap Madoc’s severed head—speaking tome from beyond death.”
    â€œAnd what did he have to say?” Rhodri asked quietly.
    â€œYes,” murmured Blodwedd, her eyes filled with a knowing light. “Tell him the words of the dead.”
    â€œHe…he told me his death was…was my fault,” said Branwen haltingly. “But what does it matter what he said? It was not Iwan—it was just a trick.”
    â€œAre you sure?” murmured Rhodri. “In your heart—are you sure it was a trick?”
    â€œYes!” Branwen glared at him. “Yes!”
    His eyes were troubled. “But, what if…”
    â€œNo!” Branwen shouted, uncertainty and anger boiling up in her. “Leave me alone. Just leave me alone! It’s too much. I cannot bear it!”
    She turned frantically and ran off into the trees, desperate to escape the confusion that was threatening to overwhelm her.
    She had not gone far when she heard behind her a flutter of wings and a familiar “ caw! ”
    She stumbled to a halt, holding her breath, her heart thumping, her ears straining.
    â€œCaw!”
    She turned. “Fain!”
    The falcon was perched on a rock among the trees, watching her intently, his clever eyes bright and black. Something shone between his claws, flashing with reflected sunlight.
    â€œCaw!”
    â€œWhy did you leave me?” Branwen asked. “I thought you would guide me, but you flew away, and the shining path disappeared and I was lost in the forest. Why? ”
    She walked slowly toward him.
    The thing at the