Caer Sidi is set about with lights and creatures: white lights that reflect in the water, and unheard-of hybrid animals that kneel there in silence. Its underpinnings turn every 24 hours, and bring lights and different lights to prominence.
“I saw three ships come sailing in…”
We sang an army into Caer Sidi, glorious songs, then ignominiously nipped in behind them so we could keep the open door at our backs. In the middle of the lights, in the centre of the castle itself, there was a globe, which moved. It, too, was strung with lights. Their patterns looked like the tendrils of plants, or the growth of decay on an old, old tree.
Arthur appeared again, alone, at the far door: a warlord, all too human in this inhuman place. “Tell me,” he said, “where is Caer Sidi?”
And there was a great disappearance. Some of those that had come with us just stopped and stared at the darkness all around them. A number fell upwards from the centre out towards the lights. Many were just eaten up by the sheer geometry of the place, by the perfection of the lines between the lights.
We singers survived. But, in the end, when we went with Arthur, the shining difficulty of it! Except for seven of us namyn seith none arose ny dyrreith from Caer Sidi ogaer sidi.