‘Gwion.’ He awoke – the ceiling above was that of the chief house.
Cyngen Brockwell was in his face. ‘It’s nearly dawn, we have to move.’
A glance aside evinced the hours that had passed, for only a few glowing embers of the fire remained. He rose to sitting, shaking as he fought the need to return to slumber. ‘Where are we going?’
The warrior slapped a hand over his mouth, which startled Gwion. ‘You know where.’ The whisper was ominous. ‘Be silent and follow.’
Gwion nodded and was released from the man’s mighty grip.
Consciousness continued to elude Gwion as he trudged along behind the Lady Tegid, her brother, Morvran, Brockwell, King Owain and Bran – the only resurrected undead. Gilmore and Madoc had been left in charge at the camp.
Undead was a fairly accurate description of how Gwion felt at present. He observed his body walking but couldn’t feel the effort, or the chill of the pre-dawn air seeping through his clothes; he just kept moving because that was the order. His absence of sense was likely a blessing, for who in their right mind would want to contemplate their objective?
The early birds acknowledged the first hint of daylight from the high branches of forest trees bordering the track they followed. Gwion had been told as a youngster never to wander this way and so never had. As the poor excuse for a path terminated, a chill finally pierced through to Gwion’s bones and he shivered.
Before them was an ancient circle of stones lit by the setting moon. Now he knew why he’d been warned away from here; such sites were fabled to be haunts of the Tylwyth Teg.
Their party came to a halt on the periphery of the sacred site.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ The Lady Tegid referred to Gwion’s expression. Her mood was not hostile – a little teasing perhaps – but it pleased Gwion to know that she was at least speaking with him.
‘As a child, I was told not to come here,’ he explained.
‘Aye,’ Bran confirmed, having also grown up around Llanfair. ‘The bards warned us.’
‘That is because this is a place of power.’ Creirwy walked into the circle and turned back about to face them – no one followed her past the stones that marked the periphery. ‘Such sites are where the lines of earth’s energy grid cross.’
Gwion knew what a grid was, and he understood that energy was that invisible force at work when he fuelled a fire to produce heat, or ate food to stay alive – but he was hard-pressed to imagine an invisible grid covering the land. He wanted to know how it had been discovered, and who had marked out these crossings everywhere. But he didn’t interrupt the Lady’s tutorial.
‘The concentration of earth energies at these crossroads is so intense that portals through dimensions can be forged – to the Otherworld . . . and other places.’
‘Like where?’ Brockwell was curious.
‘Like when,’ the Lady corrected.
‘What?’ Brockwell was lost.
‘Portals through history, you mean?’ Gwion guessed.
‘And to the future . . . but only for those most righteous souls.’
‘I knew that.’ Brockwell shot Gwion a look of suspicion, probably wondering how a woodsman understood the mysteries of Annwn better than a noble.
‘That is why people vanish from this place and are never seen again.’ Bran took a step away from the circle – clearly not as keen to enter.
‘You need a guide,’ the Lady Tegid motioned to herself, ‘to aid you to navigate Annwn, and a gatekeeper to hold open the doorway back to this place . . . that is, if you wish to return whence you left.’
‘I do,’ Bran confirmed. ‘I have a young wife to consider.’
‘And I have just been betrothed to the most beautiful woman on earth!’ Brockwell confronted Bran, perturbed by his attitude. ‘But we do what we must for our fellow Cymry.’
All too aware of where the psyche of many of his combrogi dwelt at present, Bran nodded. ‘Extraordinary events call for extraordinary measures. Besides . . . the Gods are with us.’ He motioned to Gwion.
‘That may prove a truer statement than you realise.’ Brockwell observed Gwion warily.
The warrior’s suspicion only amused Gwion and fed his welling ego. He was rather enjoying being a mystery to others, and himself – it was far better than being someone everyone took for granted and overlooked, due to his size, lowly status and skill set.
‘All of you, wait where you are,’ the Lady instructed, reaching back to raise her hood. ‘No matter what you see, do not set foot inside this circle before I tell you it is safe to do so.’
‘I shall ensure proper etiquette is followed.’ Morvran seated himself on a rock and folded his arms to keep watch on them all – though his gravelly voice was enough to deter anyone from questioning him.
‘I know how this works,’ King Owain addressed their hostess. ‘And I assure you, I am very grateful for your pains on my behalf.’ The young king sounded most earnest, surely hoping to clear the air between them.
‘And I assure you that you will not be thanking me once this audience is over.’ Creirwy disappeared beneath her hood and turned to take up a position in the centre of the ancient circle, then began to sing her enchanting summons.
As on the battlefield the day before, a mist rose around her, obscuring her from view – only on this occasion the heart of the phenomenon began to pulse with light, like that of the sun that had yet to peek above the surrounding hills.
What was most concerning to Gwion was that there was no shadow or form to be seen within now – Creirwy appeared to have vanished.
As the mist and light grew to fill the circle, they heard a rumble and then a deafening crack – like a tree split by lightning. The fear on the faces of all intensified as the earth shook violently.
‘This is not right!’ Bran backed away from the circle.
‘Stay where you are.’ Brockwell challenged the man’s desire to run.
Gwion was shocked when he was grabbed around the waist, and when he looked down he found the terrified eyes of Tiernan staring up at him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to see where you were all going.’
‘Run back to camp,’ Gwion urged.
‘No!’ The King approached and locked his hand around the back of the boy’s neck. ‘He poses a security breach.’ The King led the terrified lad towards Morvran and sat him on a rock beside him. ‘I should kill you.’
Tiernan shook his head in appeal, tears streaming from his eyes.
‘Stay there and don’t move until I get back, or I will hunt you down myself. Understood?’
The boy nodded, but did not venture to speak.
‘Good!’ King Owain calmed himself – Keridwen had warned that hostile emotions would weigh against him where he was headed. ‘Now we shall see how brave you really are, Tiernan . . . and how well you can be trusted.’
Again the lad nodded, but his expression morphed from fear to determination, and the King returned a nod of approval.
Distant bells chimed, and a breeze filled with the scent of a thousand flowers wafted over them. ‘The bell of the ancients,’ informed the King, his voice filled with awe. ‘A gateway to the Otherworld is open.’
A loud thud shook the earth again, drawing the attention of all back to the misty light as several other heavy thuds followed.
‘Is it a giant?’ Brockwell queried the man in charge, but the young king was no more certain.
It certainly felt like a giant; it seemed to be coming from underground, and it was getting nearer.
‘What do you think it is?’ The King looked to Morvran.
‘It sounds like one of Mother’s pets.’
‘Dear Goddess . . .’ Owain’s eyes turned back to the illumed, undulating mists as the hooded figure of Creirwy emerged. Behind her, the shadowy outline of the head of a huge creature loomed in the mists; only its red glowing eyes could be seen clearly. ‘Dragon.’
The sight of the beast left Gwion co
mpletely paralysed with fear – his heart was beating in his throat and pounding in his ears. The world seemed to slip into slow motion as the huge beast came to stand behind the Lady Tegid. The creature eyed them all before looking to the dawn sky to spew fire into the air above their heads.
Both Bran and Brockwell reached for their swords.
‘Nay!’ the King commanded. ‘Leave your weapons with the boy.’
‘What!’ Brockwell sounded completely mortified by the instruction.
‘Or stay behind,’ King Owain gave him the option.
‘You have nothing to fear from this soul, so long as you are pure of heart. The same could not be said of all the inhabitants of Annwn.’ Morvran stood and approached the massive beast. ‘Greetings, Rufus!’ He waved up at the creature, and the dragon growled in response. Morvran chuckled. ‘They’re not so bad. You’d be clueless too if you’d existed less than a quarter of a century.’
‘You speak with it?’ The King was stunned.
‘Him,’ Morvran corrected. ‘Rufus is a male.’
‘Pardon my ignorance,’ the King apologised to the dragon, who growled.
Morvran was amused. ‘He said, he expected nothing less,’ he relayed to the King, who frowned at the insult. ‘But in answer to your query . . . yes, Rufus can mentally link with anyone he pleases . . . “he pleases” being the operative part of that statement.’
‘Will you speak with me?’ King Owain appealed to the beast.
A growl was all the response he received.
‘He says not if his life depended on it,’ Morvran conveyed, and again the King appeared offended. ‘To link with anyone is to know and feel all that they do – he is far more likely to link with someone who is carefree.’
‘And are you so carefree?’ The King obviously didn’t believe the beast of a man.
‘I am family.’
‘I see.’ Owain seemed slightly appeased by the information. ‘Well, in that case, I do not begrudge Rufus . . . I don’t want to be in my head most of the time either.’
‘Rufus is not obliged to do you this service today, so his cooperation is a credit to you.’ Morvran made a move towards his sister.
‘The Night Hunter awaits.’ The Lady turned about and proceeded into a light-filled gateway.
The King, Brockwell and Bran removed their weapons and left them with Tiernan – who looked as petrified as the rock he was seated upon.
‘We cannot just leave the boy alone with a dragon,’ Gwion appealed on the lad’s behalf.
‘Tiernan chose his own path,’ the King replied, looking to the lad, who nodded to confirm this. ‘Fear is a product of the mind; you can let it control you, or you can learn how to bring it under your control. The only way to do that is to confront fear head-on.’
‘I am not afraid,’ the lad stammered.
‘You’re brave, kid.’ Brockwell ruffled his hair as he left. ‘Come through this and your path as a warrior will have a very auspicious beginning.’
Clearly, the words of encouragement from his idols heartened the lad. ‘I am ready.’
‘No matter what should happen, do not draw any of those weapons,’ the King warned Tiernan as he led the others into the illuminated circle. ‘Maintain only the purest intentions and you will fare well.’
Gwion felt for the lad; he was petrified himself – they all were! Brockwell and King Owain were just more adept at masking their trepidation, but it was evident in their cautious approach to the inter-dimensional gateway.
Morvran vanished into the phenomenon and the King followed, yet Brockwell waited. ‘After you, gentlemen.’
The lads from Llanfair looked to each other as they walked side by side towards an uncertain outcome.
‘How did we get ourselves entangled in such mysterious matters?’ Bran was still understandably dubious as they wandered down alongside the stationary form of the dragon, whose huge body disappeared into the misty gateway of light.
As Brockwell fell in behind them, it was clear that their course was not going to alter. Gwion shrugged. ‘Well, it’s not every day one is chosen to be part of a legend . . . we may as well enjoy the experience.’
Bran found his perspective amusing. ‘Even if it is our last?’
‘Especially so.’ Gwion resolved to smile. ‘If we do survive, it will be another great tale for you to tell your children and grandchildren.’
Bran’s spirits took a sudden upswing and they both advanced towards their peril with grins on their faces.
As they reached the dragon’s long tail, the mist began to clear, and the party found themselves standing in the same ring of stones they’d left behind. Gwion would have thought they’d just looped around in the mist, but the landscape was dissimilar to anything he’d seen before. It was like nature was reversed here – all the vegetation glowed with a vibrancy that hurt to stare at. Even the rocks and the earth itself gave off an illumination that pulsed in time with all around it and enhanced the colour of every feature. All the flora was abuzz with tiny bugs that glowed in various colours. The sun was of deep blue and shone like moonlight, which gave the impression of twilight with all the shifting mists.
There was a stranger in their midst, who stood by the cloaked Lady Tegid, speaking quietly with her. Was this Gwyn ap Nudd? The fellow had the divine look of the folk about him – for he appeared too perfect, too pretty and too futuristic to be human. He stood a good half a man taller than Bran, and was dressed in a fine, long white coat.
‘Who is that?’ Brockwell asked the King, and Gwion’s ears pricked up.
‘That is Morvran.’ The King’s grin conveyed his delight in shocking them all with the fact.
‘The monster?’ Brockwell blurted out.
‘Not really,’ the King pointed out. ‘Truth be known, Morvran has more love of our world than all of us put together . . . the form of a demon is the price he pays to live in our realm with the rest of his family.’
A panic feeling welled in Gwion’s gut. ‘If Morvran paid such a cost to visit Abred, did the same apply in reverse for the Lady Tegid when she entered Annwn?’
‘Why do you think she remains cloaked?’ The King’s whispered response sent a chill through Gwion as he noted the Lady was moving off down the track with her brother, yet she had no feet! Her cloaked presence just glided along. The King raised both brows as Gwion looked back to him, dumbfounded. ‘Have any of us transformed upon entering this place?’ It was a rhetorical question. ‘Now you see, the Lady is not human.’
Gwion was not concerned about what race the Lady belonged to; it was the slights against her character he objected to. ‘And yet it seems that Morvran is clearly more humane and self-sacrificing than we humans . . . that he would fight for our cause alongside men who shun him and make fun of his appearance.’ Gwion was now as resentful about how everyone judged Morvran as Keridwen had been at Gwion himself at that first meeting.
The King raised both hands in truce. ‘That is true. In my experience Morvran is very selfless, but I warn you, despite her facade, the Lady Tegid is not so inclined.’
‘The caution is duly noted.’ Gwion kept his opinion on the matter to himself. He suspected the young king still fancied Creirwy, and perhaps, having noted her favouring another, was intent on deterring the rival for her attention.
They followed the track to what was a field back where they’d come from, but here in Annwn a great mound rose out of the earth. Large, uneven stone blocks were laid around the base to mark the periphery of the monument. These blocks lined and supported the only entrance to the structure, outside of which Morvran and the hooded lady awaited them. As they neared, it became clear that the stones featured around the mound were all engraved with spirals and zig-zig patterns. Gwion ventured closer to note the patterns glowing as green as the witch’s fire, and pulsating in time with the surrounding nature.
‘The Night Hunter would speak with the King alone,’ Creirwy advised from beneath her hood.
‘Not on your life!’ Brock
well insisted. ‘The trickery of the folk is notorious!’
‘I’ll be fine,’ the King encouraged Brockwell to heel. ‘I’ve done this before on my own.’
‘On your own . . . really?’ the Lady mocked, insult ringing in her voice.
‘What I meant to say was, I have done this unguarded,’ King Owain admitted, his tone and body language suppressing his annoyance at having his word disputed in front of his men, especially by a woman. ‘Wait here,’ the King commanded as he proceeded down the entrance, bathed green by the light from the carvings upon the stone of its walls.
From the entrance the tunnel appeared to go on forever; as the end of it could not be seen, the passage had to extend far beyond the mound marked out on the ground above.
‘There is nothing I despise more than waiting,’ grumbled Brockwell.
‘Hey.’ One of the glowing bugs landed on Bran’s hand. ‘This isn’t an insect, it’s a little naked woman with wings!’
‘You are seeing things.’ Brockwell moved in to take a look, but Gwion stood closer and could see plainly that Bran told the truth. ‘Well, look at that! They must be the Fey.’ He lifted his gaze to observe all the coloured lights flitting about in the sky and forest.
‘They are not the Fey,’ Creirwy corrected bluntly. ‘The Fey are my kin. They are sylphs – air elementals. They delight in the emotional responses of humans, but awe is not a favourite. They like tears.’
‘How do you mean?’ As Bran looked to the cloaked lady, the sylph bent down, as if she were going to kiss Bran’s hand, but she bit him. ‘Ouch!’ He flinched but didn’t drop her as the elemental jumped about, clapping, on his palm.
‘Hey, she likes that!’ Brockwell was amused.
‘Here, you take her.’ But as Brockwell moved in, she flew away.
‘For such a big bloke, you’re a bit timid,’ Brockwell commented snidely, clearly annoyed to have lost the comely distraction.
Bran stood tall, a good head taller than Brockwell. ‘Forgive me, my Lord, but I have been slaughtered in battle, immersed in a witch’s cauldron, then recruited to an army of the dead where my soul was cast into a dark abyss! And upon my return to my life – which I am extremely grateful for –’ Bran awarded Gwion his due, ‘I’ve been confronted by a dragon, dragged into Annwn and bitten by an air elemental! So aye, I’m feeling rather more battered and wary than I was at dawn yesterday.’
This Present Past Page 5
