“Ach, I forget that happens sometimes to those who are new at it,” Myrddin muttered. He was busily shuffling around, his voice moving this way and that.
The fear in Trynne’s heart began to ebb. Her blurry vision was sharpening, but her strength was too spent for her to lift her head, so she stared down at the tiles beneath her. She rubbed her lips on the back of her wrist, feeling better after vomiting so hard. The seasick feeling was settling and the whirling of the room was slowing down, like a wagon wheel coming to rest on its axle after being upended.
She saw a pair of sandaled feet by her, and then Myrddin thrust a flask toward her. “Drink this, little sister. Fresh water.”
She gratefully accepted it, then uncorked the stopper and quickly drank. The taste was leathery, but it was satisfying and helped remove the flavor of bile from her mouth. She handed it back to him, still unable to fully lift her head. There was a pattern on the tile floor, she noticed, a mosaic of sorts. The shape was an octagon with a large cross through it. It was made of light and dark tiles and pieces, not the traditional black and white of a Wizr board. She had never seen the symbol before.
“Where did you bring me, Myrddin?” Trynne asked hoarsely. She coughed against her fist and found her voice again. The room was shadowed and dark, lit only by blue stones glowing in the wall. The place had a run-down feeling, and beneath the stench of her sick, there was the stale smell of an ancient crypt. The stones beneath and around her were mottled with broken pieces. The room was a small cupola, but there was an arch on one wall leading to a dark corridor beyond.
“This is an in-between place,” Myrddin said. As she looked up, she saw he was wearing a traveling cloak and had a large sack with a strap across his chest. He gripped his gnarled walking staff in one hand and the pommel of a sword in the other. He looked prepared for a long journey.
“In between what?” she pressed. “Why am I here?”
Myrddin crouched on one knee to bring himself down to her level. “I don’t have time to explain all this, little sister. The Fountain bids me go, and so I must, but it has also bidden me to speak to you ere I go too far. Your king is in danger, and I will not be there when he faces it. You must do so. He has enemies who seek the hollow crown. The Fountain wills you to be his champion, his protector.” Myrddin sighed and shook his head. “So much I want to say, but so much I cannot. Heed me, little sister. The fate of Ceredigion rests upon your shoulders. If you fail, the Deep Fathoms will reclaim not only Kingfountain, but all the territories the king has gathered into his peace. You cannot fail. I could not see how you could fulfill your destiny, not when there is so little time before it will come to pass. But your words triggered a memory. The Oath Maidens!” He smiled confidently and with energy. “You must bring the order back, to restore it anew. There will be many men who will seek to undermine you. They are pethets. If you do not stand by the king in his hour of need, then all will be lost and ruined.” He wagged his finger at her. “But if you are an Oath Maiden, you will be able to stand.”
She gazed at him in bewilderment. “I can hardly stand now. What are you saying, Myrddin?”
“Anthisstemi,” Myrddin whispered, gripping her elbow and helping her rise. As he uttered the word of power, Trynne felt strength fill her legs and wash away all of her queasiness and discomfort. She was refreshed and suddenly alert, her mind cleared of the fog of the journey.
“I do not have time to explain this all to you, little sister,” he continued, keeping his hand on her elbow. His voice was hard and determined. “Brachio, I would that I did! I must obey the Fountain’s summons. You were meant to be an Oath Maiden. One of the Broken Ones. If you accept the oaths, you will be empowered by the Fountain to do the work it has for you. You will be tempted to violate the oaths. You must not!” His eyes were fervent, almost wild. “There are grave consequences, sister. If you accept the oaths, the Fountain will personally guide you and direct you. You will be an emissary of its will, like the Maid of Donremy. She was an Oath Maiden too. But the people in her day were not ready to follow her. They were unworthy of it, so she was taken and executed. Her heart was broken. To be an Oath Maiden, to be a Broken One, you must endure hardship and suffering and not flinch from it.” He screwed up his brow and said the next words in almost a whisper. “No pain that we suffer, lass, no trial that we experience is ever for naught. Hardships teach us qualities we can get in no other way. Like patience, faith, fortitude . . . and humility. These are the true principles of Virtus. All that we endure, especially if we endure it patiently,” he added, wagging his finger at her again, “builds up our character, it purifies our hearts, and it expands our souls.” He paused, sighing deeply. “It makes us more worthy to be called the children of the Fountain. Now I have told you the Fountain’s will for you. I have delivered my warning that once you go down this path, you cannot go back upriver. If you forsake your oaths, there will be terrifying consequences. You are only fifteen. This is a heavy burden to put on you, but those even younger than you have had to bear it. The Fountain will not force you to accept it. But this it commands me to offer you. Will you accept it?”