Gwion peered over the edge of the hill they’d just ascended. ‘It’s a little precarious for raising a child though, don’t you think?’
‘The worst can be walled off, and the incline is fairly gentle both sides.’ Morvran shrugged. ‘Build on the flatland and she’ll be covered in snow all winter and flooded come spring.’
There was no arguing with that and the block was a good size. There was a rise where the block met the mountain; above that ran a gully, funnelling the run-off from the mountain towards the stream just to the right of the block. ‘We could put the back of the house here, at the edge of the drop, with a window overlooking the castell. Then the cottage itself would block the most precarious parts of the block.’ Gwion was pacing out the size of the clearing between the drop-off and the cliff behind, and stopped about halfway between the two, facing the cliff. ‘If the front door was here then we could create a courtyard between the cottage and the cliff. With a storage shed for wood and tools, and gates leading out to the pathway up from the castell—’ he motioned left ‘—and to the stream.’ He motioned right.
‘Good plan. That settles that. I’ll be off to bed.’ Morvran headed for the steep path down.
‘Wait up.’ Gwion folded his arms. ‘Did you not say something of a secret entrance?’
‘Ah yes.’ Morvran pulled himself up and turned about. ‘But I didn’t say that I would show you where it was.’
‘But my education has been stunted since—’
‘Teasing.’ He chuckled. ‘You are way too easy to bait.’
‘Not at all . . . I just enjoy making you feel superior.’ Gwion grinned, happy to be made privy to what was undoubtedly one of Castell Tegid’s greatest secrets.
Morvran detoured to the rocky rise to the rear of the block, where two rocks met to form a small pitched cave entrance. They both needed to crawl inside, but then the cavity opened up and squared out into a little annex – still barely big enough for Morvran to stand in.
Gwion joined him inside, and once his eyes adjusted to the darker space, he observed rock walls to all sides and above – by all appearances the annex was a dead end. The only features within were several large tree roots that protruded into the annex near the ceiling. Gwion checked the walls and all felt solid.
‘So ask?’ Morvran prompted.
It was entirely possible his friend was pulling his leg about a secret entrance, but if there was a way into the castell here, it had nothing to do with magic, as Keridwen’s little realm ended on the bridge.
Awarding Morvran the benefit of the doubt, Gwion reached up, grabbed the smallest tree root and pulled at it. A loud metal clang, succeeded by the sound of stone sliding against stone, sent a heated bolt of trepidation through his being as he hoped the floor was not about to drop out from beneath them. But to his relief a long upright rock to the right side of the annex slid backwards, creating an opening just big enough to squeeze through. Gwion’s fear turned to excitement in an instant.
‘You were doubting my word for a moment there.’ Morvran took the lead and disappeared through the cavity.
‘You wouldn’t lie about something that truly matters to me.’ Gwion was expecting to walk into darkness but, beyond a railed platform, stone stairs wound down around a bright light source that shone up through the centre of the stairwell.
‘Aye, ’tis true. I do not find cruelty to be at all fulfilling.’ Morvran headed straight down the stairs.
As Gwion stepped onto the first step – concerned to have left the secret passage open in their wake – the large stone block slid back to conceal the entrance. ‘Ha.’ Curiosity denoted that he step back up onto the landing, just to see if the stone shifted to open the exit once again, which it did not. However, stepping onto the second step, then back up to the first, did open it, and Gwion chuckled in delight. Stepping back to the landing, and then onto the step, he closed the door once again. ‘So much to learn.’
‘You don’t have all day, Gwion; you’ll need to get back to the sanctum to check on the furnace soon.’ Morvran urged a speedy pursuit down the stairs and the temperature dropped as they descended, but the air and walls were unusually dry.
‘What is that?’ Gwion slowed towards the bottom to observe the central pool in amazement – it was like staring up into the sun from beneath a watery surface on a clear blue morning.
‘Liquid light,’ Morvran replied. ‘Don’t ask me how it works, I was never very good at bio-physics.’
‘Pardon?’ Gwion frowned, wishing he understood.
‘It’s something to do with the fusion of light and matter between two mirrors, blah, blah, blah.’ Morvran stopped at the bottom of the stairwell to gaze at the pool, and Gwion moved past him to approach the edge, eager to take a closer look.
The glowing pool of undulating light was calming and fascinating to observe, and it was covered by a sheet of glass. ‘Can I touch the glass?’
‘You can.’ Morvran grinned.
Gwion reached out and then hesitated, looking back to the Lord. ‘Is it safe to touch the glass?’
‘Of course!’ He forced a laugh of offence. ‘What kind of a friend do you take me for?’
Gwion looked back to the light, and when he touched his fingers to the glass, tiny streams of light shot up to meet his points of contact, serving him a harmless prickle that was enough to shock him into backing away. ‘Mother of Gods!’
Morvran doubled over with laughter. ‘The look on your face . . . priceless . . .’
‘And you wonder why I don’t trust you?’ Gwion was annoyed only for a moment before he returned to see what happened if he held his fingers to the glass for longer. ‘It tickles.’ He smiled broadly as he ran his fingers in circles, watching the tiny streams of lightning track the movement.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘This is the technology of the Old Ones.’
‘Is it Atlantean?’ Gwion recalled Keridwen admired an ancient culture by that name.
‘Before any time yet known to you . . . ancient!’ The Lord approached a wall of dark solid rock, beneath which a clear, covered channel of the liquid light flowed. ‘Do you wish to see the library? Or shall we stay in the antechamber all day?’
If the antechamber was this fascinating, Gwion couldn’t imagine what wonders awaited him within the library. ‘So you have no inkling how old this place is?’ He dragged himself away from the pool.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I believe even Mother has lost count over the ages. But this edifice is the reason my parents chose to stake their claim here on Lake Tegid . . . for in truth my mother has had this hideaway since before humankind ever settled in these parts.’
‘Dear Gods!’ Gwion was near hyperventilating with the expectation.
Morvran motioned Gwion over. ‘Stand here.’ He pointed to the glowing glass channel where it met the wall.
‘Why?’ Gwion was wary.
‘Because I need to introduce you to Luna so that you can come and go as you please in future.’
‘Luna?’ Gwion frowned as Morvran gripped both his shoulders and shifted him into the said spot. The light-mist beneath the glass surface began to pool at his feet, intensifying in colour to white.
‘Did I fail to mention that this substance is not just a light and power source, it is also a guard. Luna is sentient and telepathic. You are being read right now . . . your thoughts, your intentions, your right and reason to be requesting entry.’
Gwion’s eyes widened in dismay, hoping he would not be found wanting and foil his chance of being granted admittance.
Morvran then stepped onto the light channel with him, and light likewise pooled at his feet. ‘I am now endorsing your request and . . .’ He directed Gwion’s attention to an archway forming in the barricade before them.
The solidity of the wall within the formation dissipated and the channel of light continued on through a passage into the dimly lit cavity beyond.
‘You now have permanent access, unless some member o
f the family terminates your permission to ingress.’ Morvran led the way through into a tall dome-shaped chamber of massive proportions.
Sleek columns curved inward as they rose to meet the slant of the walls. The columns supported mezzanine levels that spiralled up from the right and around the tower-like room. The liquid light channel in the floor split into three directions at the entrance to the library – it ran to the left and right to illume a duct that encircled the room’s perimeter in front of the columns, and also continued ahead through the centre of the space. As the blue light raced past each column, round glass features inset in them began filling with the glowing blue substance – the liquid light was being sucked from the channel up inside the columns, filling each clear, bulging orifice as it went. Similar features on the desks, walls and ceiling lit up in turn until the entire chamber was illuminated.
Gaze darting all over the place, Gwion trembled in awe at the impossible architecture – it was even more unfathomable in appearance than Castell Tegid proper, and yet Morvran claimed this place was archaic! The stark white moulded material the walls were fashioned so seamlessly from was a complete mystery to him, but the black material underfoot had a metallic ring to it. Lining the mezzanine walls were transparent display boxes filled with artefacts, scrolls, jewellery, weaponry, ancient maps, tools, and many items that Gwion couldn’t identify. But the item that drew his interest right away was on a stone plinth between two desks, in the study area at ground level.
It was a chequered game board of gold, nine by nine squares, that featured ornately embossed knotted circles in each corner square and in the centre. This set was somewhat larger than a usual game board would be. Sixteen dark crystal crows stood in sets of four on all four sides of the board, three to the back and one centre front, all facing inward. In each of the corners stood a silver king and, in the centre, a large golden king, with another four smaller silver kings positioned next to him in each cardinal direction.
Gwion had only seen this game played in the dirt with coloured stones. It was an ancient divining game of druids and kings that was said to predict the course of battles – but lay men played just for amusement and sport. The crows represented the will of the Otherworld, set against the intention of the silver kings and the high king of gold. There were only six rules to the game, which Gwion could not recall as he’d never had time for play, but he did know the object of the game was to get the high king to the corner without him being surrounded by crows. ‘Is this—’
‘Gwyddbwyll . . .’ Morvran cut in. ‘Indeed, it is. The very set that Mother used in her infamous bout against the Night Hunter to secure her little piece of the Otherworld in the middle kingdoms.’
‘Goodness!’ Gwion was scared to even breathe in its presence. ‘I’ve love to learn how to play.’
‘There is no need with this particular set,’ Morvran informed him. ‘It was largely chance that Mother won her challenge as once each player makes their first move, the game is set in motion and plays itself. The outcome is the will of the divine – no skill, argument, or cheating required.’
‘That rather takes the fun out of it,’ Gwion considered.
‘True,’ Morvran granted, ‘but it does come in very handy for solving disputes.’
‘But would not a certain amount of skill be required to decide that first move?’ Gwion couldn’t take his eyes off the treasure.
‘Indeed. But this set could teach you all the moves; all you have to do is observe.’
Gwion moved one of the kings, and then one of the crows, and was rather disappointed when nothing happened.
‘It has to be set to play correctly,’ Morvran enlightened.
‘Is it not?’ Gwion put the pieces back where he’d found them. ‘Show me.’
‘You don’t have time—’
‘Gosh, yes,’ Gwion considered they had been gone a while. ‘The fire will need tending soon.’
Directly opposite the game plinth, on the other side of the common area, was a large chunk of squared-off rock, which didn’t have anything at all on it. ‘Has an item gone missing?’
‘No, the stone is the treasure; it is the Hogalen of judgement.’
Gwion gasped and moved closer to observe the large whetstone. ‘I’ve heard tell that it sharpens the blade of a fine warrior and will draw blood if a man is brave, but a coward’s blade will be rendered dull and useless.’
Morvran’s face scrunched. ‘Well, that’s almost correct. But then most don’t know this treasure’s real worth.’
Gwion shrugged – indifferent about it. ‘Such a thing is of little use to a scholar.’
‘Ah, that’s where you’d be wrong,’ the Lord advised. ‘This whetstone is far more useful when dry, like this.’ The Lord paused. ‘Mother probably wouldn’t want me pointing this out so early in your education as it might make you lazy, but . . . The legend actually states that a man who sharpens his weapon on the stone can draw blood if he is brave. But not all weapons are made of steel, are they, my friend?’
‘I don’t follow?’ Gwion appealed for him to expand on his rationale.
Morvran looked around for the closest parchment he could find and, looking the text over, he decided, ‘This will suffice.’ He approached to show the script to Gwion.
‘What language is that?’
Morvran shrugged. ‘I have no clue, but it’s not Latin.’
‘Agreed.’
The Lord took the parchment and laid it, script-down, on top of the stone block. He then placed his hands on either side of the large whetstone. ‘Latine.’ After removing the parchment from the top, Morvran waved Gwion over to see the result, and there was an imprint of some Latin text on the stone. It looked like it was embossed there, but running a finger over it Gwion felt the stone was still smooth, and the text under his finger vanished, leaving a blank streak through the text displayed.
‘It has translated this document into text you can read,’ Morvran clarified as Gwion was stunned. ‘Do you see? Your weapon is—’
‘My mind.’ Gwion looked about at all the ancient texts and tablets herein, the words of which might take him several lifetimes to decipher, but with this tool he could have access to them now! The prospect was so thrilling that all the possibility made him feel overwhelmed and slightly nauseous. ‘What a treasure!’ Gwion hugged it. ‘I cannot think of anything that could be more precious.’
‘What about a chariot that will take you anywhere you wish to go?’ Morvran challenged.
‘The Lightning Chariot is here?’ Gwion gawped, letting go of the rock.
‘I didn’t say that, only that it might be a treasure to be considered equally precious. But the catch with that particular treasure is that you can only visit places or people with which you are familiar.’
‘How do you know that, if you don’t possess the said item?’ Gwion suspected the treasure was hidden here somewhere.
‘I read.’ Morvran remained tight-lipped on the topic.
‘Really, I have not observed that.’ Gwion grinned; he’d have the truth out of his friend eventually. ‘But I shall certainly devour more reading matter now . . . I think you’ve just created a monster! I want to live in this chamber.’
‘You probably could as there are items here that can supply sustenance—’
‘What are you two up to?’
The query made both Morvran and Gwion jump – it was a male voice, but not Morda.
‘Father.’ Morvran began breathing again.
How could the giant have entered without being seen? Gwion wondered, when the man in question walked out of the shadows from an entrance directly opposite the one through which they had entered. It was Tacitus, but he stood no taller than Morvran.
‘My Lord, how—’ was all Gwion could say – considering they were outside of Keridwen’s semi-Otherworldly realm.
‘We are a shapeshifting family,’ he explained. ‘This ability was not granted by the Night Hunter; it is inherent.’ He placed the scrolls in his hand as
ide on a table. ‘To assume a tiny form is very . . .’ he wriggled his body as if it were trapped in a confided space, ‘uncomfortable. I just employ it to access my reading matter.’ He grinned in conclusion. ‘Why are you two here?’
‘I was showing Gwion around—’ Morvran began, but Gwion cut in, seeing an opportunity.
‘We are looking for instruction on how to construct a sound roundhouse,’ he stated, and Morvran smiled at his tactic. ‘Creirwy is desperate to move herself and her baby beyond the castell’s supernatural influences. So Morvran and I volunteered to build her a house just beyond the secret entrance to the library.’
‘Move the baby out of the castell, you say?’ The Lord seemed particularly interested in that part.
‘Aye,’ Gwion confirmed, and Morvran suppressed his glee. ‘It might take us a year or two—’
‘A year or two!’ Tacitus objected.
‘Well, we are both caught up with the Mistress’s brewing most of the time—’
‘I could have it done in a few days!’ he boasted. ‘You leave it to me.’
‘That is fantastic news!’ Gwion was truly thankful. ‘Creirwy will be overjoyed and most relieved.’
‘Won’t we all.’ The old man grinned. ‘We could surprise her.’
‘A splendid idea, Father.’ Morvran was relieved to be able to release his mirth. ‘We shall assist, in whatever way we can.’
Tacitus waved to reject the offer. ‘You’ll just get underfoot. And I don’t want your mother getting out of sorts with you both for neglecting your duty.’
‘My duty!’ Gwion gasped. ‘I have to go!’ He made haste towards the entrance they’d entered through, when Tacitus whistled. Gwion waylaid and turned to see what the master of the house wanted.
‘That way is faster.’ Tacitus pointed back towards the passage he’d entered through. ‘Once you step through the door at the other end you can will yourself to the sanctum directly.’
‘Thank you, Sire!’ Gwion hazarded a bow on his way back past them.
He felt quite irreverent running down the corridor alongside Luna’s illuming strip, and he didn’t have to slow down as the doors at the end opened wide upon his approach.
This Present Past Page 19
