This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  ‘I understand that I am placing you in a difficult position—’

  Keridwen laughed at this. ‘Difficult is an understatement,’ she informed him, with the partiality a mother shows a favoured child. ‘But nothing I cannot handle.’

  ‘I shall not forget your kindness this day,’ Owain swore.

  ‘Good. Now heed this advice . . . when dealing with Gwyn ap Nudd, keep your intentions pure and your emotions in check. The Night Hunter can sense treachery before you have even conceived of it. Politely decline his hospitality: anything he offers you as a gift is a trap. Nothing is free with him, but he will be and act as a reflection of you. And, most importantly . . . never, ever draw a weapon in the Otherworld. Better still, don’t carry one so you can not be tricked or scared into drawing it.’

  ‘I shall take heed, great Lady.’

  Gwion listened with growing concern about what lay in store for him in the weeks ahead, if the two very powerful people before him had their way. ‘Forgive my impertinence,’ Gwion piped up with an objection, but when both King and witch awarded him attention, he was unsure he wished to give voice to it.

  ‘Speak,’ the King encouraged as he rose to standing.

  ‘Do I not have any say in what is to become of me?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Gilmore was outraged, but the King held up a hand to silence his man.

  ‘Of course you get a say,’ the King stated, rather too merrily, and his smile exposed the perfect pearly teeth for which he’d earned the name Owain Ddantgwyn – ‘white tooth’. ‘Would you, Gwion Bach, like to serve me, your king, and the Goddess who protects our land . . . or would you prefer your life to end in the dungeons of Viroco or Degannwy?’

  ‘Or Castell Tegid?’ Keridwen suggested.

  ‘We could take turns,’ Owain jested with the witch, who nodded, liking the terms of the arrangement.

  Gwion forced a smile at the joviality, quietly resenting that he, a free man, was being used as a bargaining chip by two persons who had been nothing but myth to him before this day. True, as a woodsman, he had long yearned for greater adventures, but seeking out and propositioning the Lord of Annwn, and working for an Otherworldly witch, were exploits beyond anyone’s wildest imagining.

  ‘So what say you, Gwion Bach?’ King Owain smiled, knowing he would receive the desired response.

  THE COVENANTS OF GWYN AP NUDD

  From no one to the King’s prized possession – most men would be thrilled, but then most men weren’t privy to their majesty’s impending quest.

  Once recruited by the King, Gwion was assigned a new bodyguard, Madoc, who was normally the young king’s guardian. He was older than most of the men he fought alongside, and the King had given him orders to see to Gwion’s needs and not to permit the young woodsman to leave his sight for any reason.

  Thus it was that Gwion was seated to sup with Madoc and his young squire, Tiernan.

  At all of eight years old, Tiernan was already fixing to be the King’s champion – a position currently held by Gilmore. He was another fatherless son of a high-ranking noble taken on the night of the Long Knives – the lad had barely been born when his father was slaughtered. ‘When will you send me to Gilmore for training?’

  Madoc, a dark, burly fellow, found the question amusing. ‘When you can manage the task I set you.’

  The squire looked ridiculously small next to his mentor, and the lad’s wheat-coloured hair made him appear all the more innocent. ‘I am ready.’ His steely blue eyes narrowed in determination.

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Madoc’s tone was not discouraging; if anything it had a tinge of challenge about it.

  ‘I have been practising.’ Tiernan put his bowl of stew aside.

  ‘I should hope so.’

  ‘I shall show you.’

  ‘If you wish.’

  The lad got up and retrieved Madoc’s sword from its scabbard – the warrior had unbelted the weapon and set it on the ground alongside him while he ate. Tiernan carefully carried the weighty sword in two hands and as he turned and stood before them, he allowed the tip of the blade to make contact with the ground. His left hand dropped to his side, so that he gripped the hilt with only his right.

  ‘You can do it, kid!’ Some of the other fighters took an interest in the proceedings.

  ‘Today could be the day,’ said another.

  Madoc drank down the remains of his meal and placed his empty bowl aside. ‘Well then, let’s see this great feat.’

  Tiernan drew a deep breath and began to lift his right arm outward, his skinny, underdeveloped limb trembling under the weight of the iron implement as his face reddened with the strain. Yet the lad managed to raise and hold the sword horizontal to his shoulder.

  A round of applause broke out among the witnesses as the kid allowed the sword tip to drop back to the ground.

  ‘I did it!’ he cheered, a smile beaming on his face.

  ‘Well done.’ Madoc applauded the effort. ‘Now, the left arm.’

  ‘What?’ The squire was stupefied by the request.

  ‘Left arm,’ Madoc repeated calmly. ‘Both must be equally able.’

  ‘Aww.’ Tiernan swapped hands, clearly not as confident in succeeding this time. ‘Why did you not say so before?’

  ‘Such a detail should go without saying—’

  ‘Messenger!’ A cry rang out through the evening calm.

  Both boy and mentor looked to the guarded trail that led through to the chief house. The guards stepped aside as a lone rider came charging through.

  ‘It is Brockwell!’ Tiernan cried excitedly.

  ‘Who is he?’ Gwion was none the wiser.

  ‘Cyngen Brockwell is only the finest warrior among the Cymry,’ informed Tiernan, obviously brimming with admiration. ‘He is the younger brother of King Aurelius of Gwent.’

  ‘A southern king,’ Gwion noted.

  ‘But he will soon call Gwynedd home,’ Madoc informed, ‘when he weds the sister of King Owain.’

  ‘Brockwell must have news of the situation on Mon,’ the lad suggested as Madoc stood to watch the messenger dismount, then stride through the King’s guard and into the chief house.

  ‘Eat up,’ Madoc encouraged Gwion. ‘I have a feeling the King will call for an audience before long.’

  Madoc would not say why he suspected this, but his prediction proved sound.

  Upon Gwion’s return to the chief house, he noticed Keridwen was absent and the Lady Tegid now sat opposite the King in her stead. In between them, in a pit at the heart of the roundhouse, a fire burned. The warrior noble cited as Brockwell sat alongside the King, appearing very at home and self-assured. He was older than Owain by at least five years and seemed in very good spirits considering the young king’s current Otherworldly woes – perhaps he’d not yet been made privy?

  ‘So this is Gwion Bach.’ Brockwell eyed him over with fascination.

  Gwion rolled his eyes, fed up with the joke. ‘With all due respect, just Gwion will suffice.’

  ‘How clever of the Gods to put such an extraordinary skill in such an ordinary package.’ Brockwell looked to the King and smiled, impressed. ‘Pure genius!’

  ‘I think it far more extraordinary that the Gods put the mind of a vain, shallow simpleton into the head of a would-be leader of men,’ the Lady Tegid cut in. ‘Still, not the first time the Gods have blundered thus.’ She forced a sweet smile as her eyes came to rest on King Owain, whom she clearly detested even more than Gwion had anticipated.

  ‘That is no way to speak to your king!’ Brockwell took offence on his brother-in-law-to-be’s behalf.

  ‘I serve no earthly king. You need me, not the other way around; you’d do well to remember that.’

  Brockwell, riled by the Lady’s comeback, resolved to grin. ‘Wow, the whole she-devil veneer is rather alluring.’

  ‘Do you think I care about your opinion?’ The Lady stared the warrior prince down.

  ‘Don’t even toy with her,’ the King cautioned
Brockwell. ‘Her attentions carry a hefty price.’

  Gwion was rather offended by his king’s summation of the Lady, but more worrisome was how Owain had come to form this opinion.

  Brockwell, perplexed, looked to the King. ‘If you do not trust the Lady then why are you planning on following her into the Otherworld?’

  ‘A very good question,’ the Lady Tegid agreed. ‘Haven’t you caused enough strife for one century?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ Owain was frustrated by the questions.

  ‘You can allow these men to die as they should have in battle, with honour!’ the Lady Tegid strongly suggested.

  ‘But how can I be assured their souls are headed for Annwn and won’t get drawn into the dark abyss Bran described?’ Owain posed.

  ‘How do you know they are not one and the same place?’ the Lady countered, eyebrows raised in challenge. ‘Annwn is a different experience for different people.’

  ‘Can you get us an audience with Gwyn ap Nudd or not?’ The King was not going to be sidetracked.

  ‘You know I can.’ The Lady was indignant. ‘The question is why should I?’

  ‘Because that’s your job, isn’t it?’

  The Lady sat back, offended by the King’s response. ‘I didn’t need a job before you came along.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t love the power that your new station awards you.’

  The comment incited a gasp from the Lady Tegid this time, and it took a moment for her to calm herself. ‘I preferred being in charge of my own destiny. Not all of us are as eager to live a life of misery for the eternal glory of it.’

  Gwion was beginning to feel like he was in the middle of a lovers’ spat and had to wonder why he’d been summoned to witness it. This war was clearly being run by a bunch of headstrong, self-absorbed adolescents. ‘Why not ask the Arth what should be done?’ Gwion broke the uncomfortable silence. Both the King and Brockwell were stunned before they burst into laughter. The Lady Tegid only rolled her eyes at their amusement.

  ‘The Arth knows . . .’ Brockwell sobered first, ‘everything.’

  ‘This is my mess.’ Owain regained his straight face. ‘I will resolve it.’

  ‘I wish you well with that.’ The Lady Tegid stood, clearly of the mind to leave.

  ‘Wait—’

  ‘No!’ The Lady turned on the King. ‘Your actions have a ripple effect. How many more lives will you destroy trying to cheat fate?’

  ‘Would you prefer to serve a Saxon master?’ he challenged, and the Lady Tegid waylaid her departure. ‘You already would be if it were not for the Sons of the Long Knives, and your mother knows it as well as you.’

  ‘A free land is worth nothing when you have lost your free will.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ The King was frustrated. ‘I don’t understand how you have been harmed by my actions.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ she conceded. ‘But one day you will realise the extent of the damage you have caused, and you will be sorry. Remorse is bitter when it means nothing to those you have harmed.’

  Owain stood, palms upturned in utter confusion as he looked from the Lady to Brockwell – equally bemused – to Gwion, to whom he explained, ‘I have gambled only with my own life.’ The King’s attention returned to the Lady. ‘And I saved you from a Saxon sword only this morning. Does that count for nothing?’

  ‘Oh, my dear ancestors,’ Lady Tegid uttered under her breath. ‘Still, you intend to persist.’

  ‘You said you’d consider my request, if Gwion agreed to heal my men.’ Finally the King got to the reason for the summons.

  ‘I said there was no point making another covenant with the Night Hunter if the task of healing your men was going to be too taxing on Gwion.’

  All eyes turned his way, and Gwion was torn. Clearly, the Lady Tegid wanted nothing to do with this deal.

  ‘Well, Gwion? What is the answer?’

  Gwion took a step back. ‘Please, Majesty, that is not for me to say.’

  ‘You must have an opinion, at least.’ The young king looked to him in hope of garnering some aid to swing the Lady around to his cause.

  ‘I am the humble servant of my king and the Goddess, who left me here with his majesty to help resolve this frightful situation. I cannot honestly say if I will be able to revive all of the undead, but if I alone have been given this gift, then I feel I must try,’ Gwion explained as gently as he was able, yet still, a wounded scowl formed upon the Lady’s face.

  ‘Well put!’ Brockwell cheered his nerve, but Gwion would have appreciated his refrain.

  ‘I can ask no more of you than that.’ The King was appeased. ‘So what say you, Lady Tegid?’

  Her scowl shifted from Gwion to the King and deepened still. ‘I hope you do not plan to appeal to the Night Hunter’s mercy – he has none. He will play you all for the fools you are.’

  ‘I have no doubt of it.’ Owain sat back down. ‘But if I have to trade every happiness I shall ever know for the sake of Cymru, I will, gladly.’

  ‘So be it.’ Her agreement sounded more like a threat. ‘Idiots,’ she muttered as she made good her exit from the chief house.

  ‘Praise the Goddess, I thought she’d never leave.’ Brockwell relaxed in his seat. ‘She is every bit as beautiful as reported, but her temperament is vile. What did you ever see in her?’

  The query drew Gwion’s attention so quickly, he near got whiplash.

  ‘I saw a gateway to the folk of the Otherworld, whose aid I needed desperately,’ the King replied. ‘I have no regrets.’ The King’s words did not match his wary expression. ‘I am indebted to you, Gwion. I did not think I was going to secure her support this time. The family Tegid seems to favour you . . . hard to say whether that is fortunate or not.’

  ‘I do not think the Lady would be so passionate in her warning if it was not worth heeding.’ Gwion felt uneasy about the whole affair.

  ‘If I had any alternative I would heed her caution, Gwion. I promise you, I may be young, but I am no fool . . . despite appearances at present.’ The King waved Gwion forward. ‘Come, seat yourself at my fire, and tell us more about yourself.’

  ‘Aye . . . tell us how you acquired this Otherworldly talent.’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ the King informed Brockwell as Gwion was seated.

  ‘But why do the Gods favour you so?’ Brockwell probed further.

  ‘I have no clue.’ It was difficult to stop his eyes drifting towards the exit in the wake of the Lady’s departure. Gwion wanted to go after her and make peace – if that were possible now that he’d taken the King’s side over hers.

  ‘Gwion,’ the King called for his full attention, and he gave it. ‘Do not be seduced by her glamour.’

  ‘Glamour?’ Gwion had not heard this word used in such a way before.

  ‘All the folk have it. They do not understand or feel emotion like humans do, but they have learned how to mimic emotion, in order to glamour humans into doing their bidding.’

  ‘Like a spell?’ Brockwell queried.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But the Lady Tegid was born in the middle kingdoms.’ Gwion felt that set her apart from her kin.

  ‘Aye, but both her parents are of the folk. Lady Tegid may appear innocent, but she is Gwyn ap Nudd’s creature. It is her purpose to seduce men into bartering deals with her master.’ The King sounded most sincere, but Gwion was loath to believe it. ‘If you value your life and future happiness, I would stay as far away from the Lady Tegid as possible.’

  ‘Hindsight can be vexing,’ Brockwell commented and the King was not amused.

  Gwion really didn’t want to discuss the issue further. Clearly, King Owain and Creirwy had an unpleasant history, but to Gwion she seemed a very different person to the one Owain described. Could he be glamoured already? It made Gwion sick to think that such a goddess would use his own emotions against him. ‘May I ask a question, Majesty?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When
I made the suggestion about the Arth earlier, why was that so amusing? I have heard the bards tell that he led “the Sons”?’

  The King and Brockwell looked to each other a moment – the King gave a slight nod.

  But Brockwell ticked his head to the negative. ‘I don’t believe that we know this one well enough to disclose anything on that matter. Perhaps after the trial with Gwyn ap Nudd?’

  ‘You don’t mean to take me along?’ Gwion hadn’t even had any worldly adventures; he wasn’t ready for the realm of the dead!

  ‘Of course. You are my prime reason for venturing there in the first place.’

  Gwion’s gut was gripped with panic – he knew next to nothing about Annwn, only the horror stories about other legends who’d ventured there. ‘Have you heard the bards’ tales of the place? They never end well.’

  The young king’s lips pursed to smother a cocky grin. ‘I can advise you better than any bard on this matter, for I have entered the mists of Annwn and lived to tell of it.’

  ‘Perhaps the Night Hunter can shed light on the reason for the self-healing and miraculous talent of our Bach friend?’ Brockwell advised. ‘Perhaps he is of their ilk?’

  The King nodded to agree with his colleague’s reasoning. ‘There is no hiding your true self in Annwn.’

  ‘You think I am a spy for the folk!’

  ‘We mere mortals are rarely granted personal power by the Gods; usually they grant power to humans in favour through their treasures,’ the King pointed out that the suggestion was not so preposterous.

  The idea was so shocking and flattering to Gwion that it tickled him inside and a chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Sorry, Majesty, but you’ll never be so wrong. Still, if my query falls into a secretive area, I shall wait for my answer until my trust has been earned through service.’ At least Gwion would earn something for his service, and being taken into the confidence of ‘the Sons of the Long Knives’ was a prize as great as any he could conceive of.

  Any attraction he felt towards the Lady Tegid was clearly irrelevant and quite possibly a glamour. Creirwy and Owain fought so passionately that it seemed likely that her kindness towards him was but a tool to spite the King.