‘My boots.’ He pointed out how muddy they were.
‘Oh!’ She waved off his concern. ‘You don’t have to worry . . . nothing gets dirty here; Mother won’t stand for it.’
Gwion stepped precariously onto the step and the mud that fell from his boots was absorbed by the carpet and vanished. ‘That explains the lack of wax droppings.’
‘The candles never burn down, either. There are far more important pursuits than cleaning and maintenance.’ Creirwy continued her march up the stairs. ‘And it eliminates the need for servants.’
It was only then that Gwion realised he hadn’t seen anyone but the family and Morda. There had been no one to greet them, and Morvran had seen to the horses upon their return. ‘Have you no servants, Lady?’
‘Only mother’s assistant, Morda.’
‘Who cooks?’ Gwion wondered; he was actually rather famished.
Creirwy only laughed. ‘You still don’t get it.’ The Lady reached the top of the stairs and turned back to face him. ‘We all take care of ourselves here. If your imagination is in good form you shall live well.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Gwion joined her on a landing that led down a grand hallway with several doors, none of which had any knobs, not even a keyhole. ‘But I—’
Creirwy held up a large turkey leg – roasted to perfection. ‘To tide you over until I get you settled and self-sufficient.’
‘Thank you.’ He accepted the food graciously, knowing full well the Lady had not been holding the morsel a moment ago – he would have smelled it.
‘Now—’ she licked her fingers clean ‘—you didn’t answer my query about your accommodation. How did you imagine it?’
It was hard to drag his attention away from devouring the meat, but Gwion was forming a theory. To test this, he imagined a horn of warm mead in his free hand and there it was! He startled himself and spilled some, then gasped, fearing the drink would stain the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief to discover all the floor was equally self-cleaning.
‘You learn quickly,’ the Lady warranted, overlooking his little accident.
‘So whatever I imagine my room to be, it will be so?’ The premise was an exciting one, but was his imagination up to the challenge? Perhaps this was a test?
‘But you can modify it to suit your mood in any given moment,’ she informed him, to relieve some of the pressure Gwion was feeling. ‘So don’t feel that you have to get it perfect in this instant. Working with the ethers can take a lifetime to perfect.’
Gwion sipped at the mead – which was the most flavoursome and robust he’d ever consumed. He’d only ever seen the inside of simple round houses, and then the grand rooms here – it was hard to imagine what might be suitable or acceptable.
Morvran joined them at the top of the landing, appearing not as a demon, but as his handsome Fey self.
‘Morvran . . . you have transformed?’ Gwion was thankful for the distraction.
‘We can appear as we desire here as this is my mother’s domain.’ The handsome young lord appeared curious. ‘Most humans still see me as a monster . . . interesting that you do not?’
‘Perhaps it is because I know you are not a monster?’ Gwion suggested.
‘Perhaps?’ Morvran sounded not entirely convinced as Gwion looked back at the closed door before him.
He was still drawing a blank as to what he wished to find behind it.
‘A little stumped by the room challenge, hey?’ Morvran assumed.
‘All I can see right now is a bed.’ Gwion shrugged. ‘That is really all I need.’
‘Well you might suffocate without windows, or fall to your death without a floor.’ Creirwy suggested he try a little harder.
‘Do you want to see our rooms? Then you might feel a bit more inspired,’ Morvran proffered kindly.
‘That would be very helpful.’ Gwion accepted gladly as curiosity overwhelmed his need for rest.
‘Mine first.’ Creirwy was excited to show off her handiwork and rushed to the next set of double doors down the grand corridor. ‘Ready?’ She waited for them to catch her up and then swung both doors wide with a thought.
‘Oh, my Goddess!’ Gwion mumbled upon casting his eyes around the grand chamber; this was more than just sleeping quarters and was much larger than the space between the doorways in the corridor would denote.
There was a grand stone fireplace and hearth at one end of the space, before which was a lounging area, filled with cushions. The room was predominantly painted and furnished in tones of white. The floors and stairs were all seamless marble, while the high ceiling appeared covered in soft white grass. Gwion had never seen so many windows, and they were extraordinarily tall and ornately carved with a vine motif – much like the tall, slim double doors. What was truly amazing was the quality of glass, which was so transparent as to be completely invisible! The window frames were draped in lace with miniature-rose vines weaving over them. But by far the most breathtaking feature were the rose vines that grew all around the top of the huge canopy that hung over the bed, spreading themselves across the ceiling and down the curtains that were tied to the tall posts of the bed – a splash of colour, with the blooms of various pinks and the soft sage green of the leaves.
The beauty of it brought tears to Gwion’s eyes – it was truly a room fit for a goddess, and he dared not imagine how divine Creirwy would appear, asleep amid the beautiful silk pillows, quilts and lace.
‘But this is the nonpareil,’ Creirwy boasted.
The two long glass doors parted and led down a glass corridor into a dome-shaped glass bathhouse that overlooked stunning spring gardens all around. Sunshine poured into the hexagonal mosaic pool, which steamed with warmth and yet did not fog any of the glass.
‘Your imagination is clearly very healthy. Your space is truly magnificent! Is it spring all year round here?’
‘Of course.’ Creirwy smiled with glee, no doubt picking up on Gwion’s delight. ‘But it mimics day and night in the outside world.’
‘And the weather usually reflects my dear sister’s mood,’ Morvran added. ‘Beware when it gets stormy.’
‘You’re just jealous,’ Creirwy goaded her brother.
‘Nonpareil . . . rubbish!’ Morvran challenged. ‘My room is so much more inviting.’
‘More inviting than this?’ Gwion couldn’t imagine.
‘Come!’ The Fey lord led the way back through his sister’s chambers and, entering the corridor, he strode directly across the hall to the double doors opposite Creirwy’s rooms – Gwion and the Lady Tegid had to run to keep up.
‘I give you . . . paradise!’ The doors before them parted into an elegant natural oasis. A deep stream ran around the edge of the foliage walls like a moat – which they crossed via a small glass bridge.
Gwion stepped warily onto the glass, but then Morvran jumped up and down on it a few times.
‘It is my imagination; I designed it not to break.’ He served Gwion a wink.
‘So you can create absolutely anything you can conceive of here?’ He admired the brightly coloured fish swimming beneath his feet.
‘Absolutely anything,’ both Morvran and Creirwy replied at once, and then laughed, empathetic to Gwion’s welling elation.
‘But what is created here, stays here.’ Morvran acquainted him with the only catch.
‘Unreal,’ mumbled Gwion.
‘Exactly,’ Morvran concurred.
The Lord’s room was crawling with cute little creatures – many of which Gwion could not identify – and they all went scampering towards Morvran to scale his body and compete for his attention. ‘I missed you all too!’
Mature trees twisted to form the huge structure of the room; birds and numerous other critters nested in the raftered beam branches. Beyond the leaves of the tree canopy Gwion could see only light that had no obvious singular source. ‘What is the ceiling made of?’
‘I couldn’t decide so I just left it blank,’ Morvran admitted. ‘I can change the
weather to be anything I want out there,’ he referred to the space beyond the mezzanine. ‘But when I am not here it goes to a default setting, depending on what the majority of my critters desire – today most of them must want warm light.’
On the island in the middle of this upper observation level was a huge bed that hung on long ropes from the rafters, and overlooked a huge drop-off. The rushing sound of water urged Gwion to approach the edge of the mezzanine island that was carpeted in soft, green moss. Beyond, the moat overflowed in front of the master bed island and fell down into a large body of water below. The pool was surrounded by a forest garden that was filled with nature’s sounds. ‘That is your bath?’
‘Want to join me?’ Morvran shook off his pets and took a running jump over the protective wood banister that crossed the mezzanine from side to side just short of the drop-off.
Gwion watched with delight as his new friend plunged into the pool below – fully clothed. ‘That does look fun.’
‘Exhilarating!’ Morvran surfaced to exclaim.
A loud squawk startled Gwion. All the little furry creatures that were scampering all over the banister, awaiting their lord’s return, scattered and took cover.
‘What is it?’ He looked to Creirwy, but she merely pointed into the oasis.
From the forest below a creature flew up towards them – which at first Gwion mistook for a large bird of prey, but as the creature came to land on the banister it was clearly quite a different animal.
No bird had four limbs like a cat! Yet the nails that sprouted from the paws were more akin to talons. The animal exhibited the wings, face, bright feathers and beak of a bird, yet the long tail was more akin to a lizard, and it flipped it around like a whip. Its brow and head were purple, and this colour ran down its spine and into its long tail. Either side of the purple, the plumage was brilliant blue, as was the rest of its face, beak and the topside of its wings. Under its chin the soft feathers progressed from green to yellow then into bright orange on its belly and underwing. Around its genitals and hind quarters the plumage turned deep red.
The creature appeared to have come for the remains of the turkey leg, which Gwion was happy to hand over to the talon that it held high to claim it. As he watched the animal strip the remaining meat from the drumstick, he went to ask what species the creature was, when in his mind he heard the answer. ‘A sirrush,’ he uttered, a vague memory of patting such a creature filling his perception.
‘How could you know that?’ Creirwy gasped.
Gwion barely heard her, mesmerised by the animal – or rather the conversation it had sparked in his mind.
One of the sweeter new breeds to be created by Ninharsag and the mighty Tiamat, he was telling a pretty grey being, clad in armour that matched his skin tone.
Who is Tiamat? queried the being, wide-eyed in anticipation of an answer.
She is the Umma-Huber who forms all things, was his response.
What did that mean? Gwion snapped out of his daze. ‘Have you ever heard tell of Tiamat? Or Ninharsag?’
Again Creirwy gasped. ‘Where did you hear those names?’
‘And what does Umma-Huber mean?’ Gwion dared to reach out and stroke the vivid plumage of the sirrush, which was very receptive to his touch and started cooing.
‘I have no idea.’
‘But you know the other names I just mentioned?’
Creirwy swallowed hard. ‘They are very ancient names. Mother is the person to ask.’
Morvran had scaled the rock wall next to the waterfall and hurdled the banister to join them back on the mezzanine. ‘I’ve never seen the sirrush take an interest in anyone.’ Morvran dried off in an instant. ‘It rarely leaves its little cave down there, let alone allow someone to pat it! It doesn’t even like me very much, unless I have a sweet treat for it.’
‘Where did you find it?’ Gwion was curious. ‘Or did you dream it up?’
‘No, not this one,’ Morvran informed. ‘It has been with Mother since before I was born, it was the pet of my illustrious—’
‘Ah, let’s not venture into our complicated family tree.’ Creirwy cut her brother off, appearing somewhat distressed by the conversation. ‘I think it’s time we let our guest get some rest.’
‘After he unveils his room,’ Morvran challenged. ‘Provided he’s up to it . . . or he may end up sleeping in the hallway.’
Gwion cocked an eye and smiled. ‘I have a few ideas . . .’
‘Well, do share with the other children.’ Morvran led the way out to the corridor and, closing his bedroom doors behind them, he blocked out all the sounds of the jungle, including the screeching of the sirrush that had followed them to the door and was rather upset to be left behind. ‘Wow, it really likes you, Gwion.’ The animal could be heard thumping against the door.
Gwion only smiled at the observation as his mind was preoccupied room-building – which he had been doing all during his tour of the other rooms. What he imagined for himself was quite different to what he’d seen thus far. He took pause before the doors, picturing the space beyond in every detail.
‘Oh, do come on,’ Morvran prompted.
‘Yes . . . the suspense is killing us,’ Creirwy joked in a dramatic fashion. ‘We’ve never had a guest come to stay in Castell Tegid proper.’
‘Morda,’ Gwion reminded her.
‘He’s a servant.’
‘So am I,’ Gwion supposed.
‘No.’ Creirwy grinned. ‘You are a student, Mother’s first . . . apart from us.’
‘Has the King not stayed here?’ Gwion was surprised.
‘They have only stayed in the humble structure most perceive to be Castell Tegid, but not here inside Mother’s realm,’ Creirwy explained. ‘Quite frankly I don’t think his closed little mind could cope with the eccentricities of this place.’
‘I think you underestimate him.’
‘Gwion, stop stalling,’ Morvran jeered. ‘Time for the big reveal.’
‘As you wish.’ With one last sip from his horn of mead, Gwion dismissed it.
It was clear to him now why the doors had no handles, thus Gwion imagined the doors to his room opening and it was so. He was wondering if he could open anyone’s room thus, or only his own, but as his creation was revealed before them, he lost his train of thought, overwhelmed by his own ingenuity.
‘It’s a tower room?’ Creirwy sounded intrigued by his choice as her gaze drifted upward to the glass domed ceiling – through which sunlight was beaming in warmth.
Gwion had imagined an almost completely round tower room with huge long windows – akin to those he’d seen in Creirwy’s room – inset in sandstone walls and granting views far out to the horizon in every direction. Double doors gave access onto a balcony that almost completely encircled the outside of the tower, and Gwion couldn’t wait to get out there.
‘Where is the bed?’ Morvran observed a rounded chair that moulded into the black shiny floor in the centre of the room. ‘Is this marble?’ He stomped in an attempt to discern what the material underfoot was.
‘In a second . . .’ Gwion opened the doors and beckoned them outside.
‘Oh my stars!’ Creirwy burst into a delighted smile as she realised that the clouds were below them.
‘Precisely! It is always summer up here.’ Gwion was thrilled. If the tower were in the middle kingdoms, he imagined it would be quite cold up here, but in his imagination and by his will it was warm and pleasant conditions, always. ‘It is my intention to study the movement of the heavenly bodies.’
‘But how do you even know what it looks like up here?’ Creirwy was overwhelmed.
‘I saw it in a dream, while under the influence of your medicine.’
‘I think that was more than a dream.’ Morvran was also mesmerised by the view. ‘You must have been spirit walking.’
Gwion was suddenly concerned. ‘What is the difference?’
‘When you sleep, your spirit roams Annwn, but when you spirit walk, it roams the middl
e kingdoms,’ Morvran explained.
Gwion was rather mortified to learn this. ‘Are you saying what I saw was real, and not a dream?’
Morvran laughed as he nodded. ‘It is another rare talent; you should be thrilled—’
‘I saw the dragon we let loose circling over Gwynedd,’ he blurted out his fear, so that they might understand.
‘Are you sure?’ Morvran frowned.
Gwion nodded. ‘North-west of the cloud-flow.’
‘Good. I hope he eats Owain.’ Creirwy turned bitter.
‘Is that what might have attracted it there? Food?’ Gwion posed.
‘War.’ Morvran nodded. ‘The beast has an appetite for predators of any kind; to kill an innocent is an abhorrence to him, and Rufus can instinctually tell the difference between prey and the harmless.’
‘And what shall he make of our king and his warriors, do you think?’ Gwion was not consoled. ‘Perhaps it is time someone informed the Goddess.’
‘If Rufus was a threat to your king, we would have known it at the stones when they first met.’ Morvran urged Gwion to calm down. ‘Ours is the defensive side in the battle.’
‘Rufus is on our side.’ Creirwy moved back inside, clearly more interested in exploring the rest of his room. ‘And I did tell Mother.’
‘And?’ Gwion pursued her indoors.
‘And she said Rufus is his own being, and will come home when he is ready.’ She went and sat in the padded pod of a chair in the middle of the room, and placed her feet on its footrest. ‘This is very comfortable, but hardly suitable for sleeping.’
Gwion had lost the mood to show off. ‘Forget the silly games! What of all the damage a dragon will cause?’
‘I just got through telling you that he can only do good out there.’ Morvran was also intrigued by the chair.
‘It spins!’ Creirwy was thrilled as she propelled herself around in circles and laughed like a giddy child.
‘Come on.’ Morvran gently punched Gwion’s shoulder as if hoping to knock his sombre mood out of him. ‘Trust us, and if not us, trust in the Goddess. If Mother is content to leave the creature be, there will be purpose to her reasoning. Perhaps Rufus was even meant to get out; have you considered that? One of the first principles of Cosmic law is there are no accidents. Everything that befalls the middle kingdoms happens by design.’
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