This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  On one such hunt, Gwion came across a large, slender volume that was bound with steel and locked shut. It was sealed inside a clear, cubic cabinet that appeared to have no way in.

  ‘Best steer clear of that one, lad,’ Tacitus called up from the lowest level of the library, startling Gwion.

  ‘What is it?’ Why did this text require so much security?

  ‘Nothing good,’ was all the Lord would say.

  ‘It looks very old?’

  ‘From around the time of the great deluge,’ Tacitus replied. ‘About nine to ten thousand years.’

  ‘Whoa! Who wrote it?’ Gwion left the item and began to wander down the spiralling walkway of mezzanine levels towards the open ground level where Tacitus presently dwelt.

  ‘One of my wife’s relatives . . . and not one of the nice ones either.’ Tacitus shook his head, his expression grave. ‘It is a dark tale, containing dark magic, that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands . . . in any hands!’ he emphasised.

  ‘Then why keep it?’

  ‘It is impossible to destroy. So, it is here where it can do no harm.’ Tacitus watched Gwion return to ground level and approach. ‘You must never open it for any reason.’

  ‘That goes without saying, Sire.’

  ‘It is not one of the sacred treasures we have collected and hidden among this lot; it is anything but sacred to anyone who is pure of heart.’

  ‘I understand,’ Gwion assured, and Tacitus gave a satisfied grin and grunt.

  ‘Good lad.’ He returned to shuffling through scrolls.

  ‘You know this library better than any,’ Gwion ventured. ‘Are there any texts herein that pertain to Gwyn ap Nudd?’

  ‘The Night Hunter,’ Tacitus said warily. ‘No, not directly. He has always kept to worlds Otherworldly, and no one remembers enough about encountering him to record any information of merit.’

  ‘But how did he become Lord of the Otherworld?’ Gwion wondered. ‘I mean, someone must have appointed him to that position?’

  Tacitus was wearing an odd smile. ‘I don’t believe that tale has ever been recorded, and that was a bit before my time. But my wife would know; he is her nephew, after all.’

  ‘Nephew?’ Now that was something to go on.

  ‘Yes, the Night Hunter is the son of the God of Death and the Queen of the Underworld, both of whom have had various names through the ages.’

  ‘So he might have inherited the position, as it were?’

  ‘It is my understanding that the Otherworld and the Underworld are very different places. The Underworld is where the souls of the dead go to be judged, and I believe he did spend most of his youth there. The Otherworld, however, is where souls go to dream and be reborn. Back at the time of his birth, the Otherworld was unknown to my wife’s people – for it is an emotional plane of existence, and their emotional bodies are very underdeveloped.’

  Gwion found it most interesting that Tacitus referred to emotions as a body, but did not interrupt.

  ‘Gwyn was the first of his kind to master his emotions in order to venture into the Otherworld. As to how he became psychopomp to humanity, I do not know. There are plenty of texts in here that tell tales of the Lord’s family, but you’ll need to learn to read cuneiform.’

  Gwion frowned.

  ‘Ancient Sumerian,’ Tacitus enlightened. ‘You’ll know this text when you see it as it looks like a bunch of little arrows all stuck together to form glyphs.’

  Gwion had seen some of this strange text; in fact there was some engraved on the dark volume that had captured his interest just now. ‘Perhaps when I discover enough about the Night Hunter, the precarious honour of writing his origin story shall fall to me.’

  ‘Precarious is right,’ Tacitus warranted. ‘Gwyn ap Nudd is a harsh critic and you sure don’t want to offend him.’

  ‘You sound like you speak from experience,’ Gwion noted with good humour.

  ‘I crossed him once, and look what happened to me!’

  Gwion was unsure of the Lord’s meaning, for he seemed perfectly content. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m still here!’ he emphasised. ‘I wanted to be with Keridwen but I had no idea that vow would last eternity, at least it seems that way. I may seem immortal, but in fact my people just have very long lifespans compared to yours. Mine has been extraordinarily long – even for one of my ilk. Don’t get me wrong, I still love her, but I serve no real purpose here any more, I’m too big for this world.’

  ‘But your children—’

  ‘Have given me a new distraction for a time, but they too need me less and less.’

  ‘I had no idea you were discontent.’ Gwion was stunned.

  ‘I try not to be.’ Tacitus regained his smile. ‘Things have certainly been more interesting around here lately. But my true kindred are light-years away and I long to see them again. Perhaps one day, I will convince my wife to leave this backwater rock of a planet and return home.’

  ‘Oh!’ Gwion had misunderstood. ‘You meant “you’re still here”, as in this world.’

  ‘Well of course, what did you think I meant?’

  ‘Help!’ Morvran entered the library from the secret entrance side. ‘I think I have cracked Morwyn’s enchantment with me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Gwion frowned.

  ‘She seems genuinely mad at me.’ He smiled, pleased by his progress.

  ‘What did you do?’ Gwion felt his friend was being quite the idiot.

  ‘Nothing! I can’t tell her about the work we are doing, and she takes that to mean I don’t trust her.’

  ‘You don’t trust her,’ Gwion pointed out.

  ‘I do, I just don’t want her to know I do.’

  ‘So you no longer believe she is under a spell? Is that what you are saying?’ Gwion rubbed his head, frustrated.

  ‘Whether she is, or is not, she deserves to be with a man who can truly make her happy.’

  ‘But what if that man is you?’ Gwion posed, frustrated. ‘I would give anything to have what you two have, and you are just pissing it away!’

  ‘I think what Gwion is trying to say,’ Tacitus placed a calming hand on his shoulder, ‘is that who Morwyn chooses to love is not your call.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Gwion whole-heartedly agreed.

  Morvran was perplexed. ‘You do not agree that I am doing the right thing by letting her leave?’

  ‘No,’ both Gwion and Tacitus chimed at once.

  ‘Wait . . . she’s leaving?’ Gwion was alarmed. ‘It’s the middle of bloody winter and she has nowhere to go!’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Morvran was pleased to have been right about something. ‘But she insisted she was leaving anyway.’

  Gwion rolled his head and eyes. ‘Only so you would chase her and declare your undivided love.’ He slapped his friend over the back of the head. ‘Idiot!’

  ‘Hey!’ Morvran was offended until he looked to his father to see him nodding in agreement with Gwion.

  ‘Well how was I supposed to know?’ Morvran was immediately panicked.

  ‘Well don’t just stand there,’ his father prompted. ‘Go get the girl before she freezes to death.’

  Morvran looked to Gwion with a pleading face.

  ‘I’ll come help look.’ With a slap to the huge man’s arm, they both high-tailed it back to the surface.

  ‘Good luck, lads,’ Tacitus called up the hollow as they scaled the stairs two at a time.

  As they emerged from the cave into the clearing, Morvran went charging straight off down the path. ‘She went this way.’

  Gwion, who paused to look around, noted footprints in the snow leading back up the path and across the courtyard towards Creirwy’s cottage door. ‘Then whose tracks are these?’

  Morvran turned about and noted the fresh trail, following it back up to the clearing as Gwion strode directly to the door and knocked on it. It was easy to play it cool when it was freezing out, but inside he could not deny how excited he was just to h
ave a reason to see Creirwy.

  Creirwy opened the door, but not wide in a welcoming fashion. She appeared tired and sombre as she pulled her shawl tighter around herself, having nothing to say to him.

  ‘Is Morwyn here?’ he asked without so much as a hello. If she needed him to be contemptible in order to abide him, then contemptible was what he would be. Ironic that this was the same stupid game he’d just reprimanded his friend for playing – but it was what it was.

  As Morvran came to stand by Gwion, Creirwy opened the door wider to reveal Morwyn standing in the hallway beside her.

  ‘I am still going,’ she told the young lord. ‘I only wished to say goodbye to your sister and wish her well. My Lady.’ Morwyn curtsied to Creirwy on her way past. She smiled at Gwion, but the look she served Morvran on her way past was doleful.

  ‘Wait! You cannot go.’ Morvran pursued her across the snow-covered courtyard.

  ‘What is the point of staying, when you won’t let me in?’ She waylaid to turn about and challenge him.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Morvran obviously took this to mean Morwyn had found out about Castell Tegid’s other persona. ‘Your entry is not my call.’

  ‘That you won’t let me get close to you? That you won’t tell me anything? You sleep most of the day, and leave me alone all night while you are off doing . . . what?’ she appealed to know once again.

  Morvran, however, seemed relieved she had not found out about his mother’s realm. ‘Oh, that’s what you mean?’

  ‘Wrong answer.’ She turned about and continued towards the path down the hill and out of the valley.

  ‘This is not going very well.’ Gwion could hardly bear to watch and as he’d left his cape back in the sanctum, he was shivering like crazy!

  ‘But Morwyn, I . . .’ Morvran tripped on something under the snow. ‘L . . . o . . . v . . . e y . . . o . . . u!’ The huge oaf went tumbling down the path past her, to land flat on his face in a pile of snow.

  ‘Morvran!’ Morwyn ran to his side, and Gwion and Creirwy pursued to the top of the path to check he’d not been grievously injured. ‘Are you hurt?’ She held his head between her hands as he rolled over.

  ‘Only that you are leaving.’

  ‘Not if you truly love me, I’m not.’ She kissed his lips, and both Gwion and Creirwy took a step back at once, feeling it was time to leave them be; yet Morvran’s form began to change.

  ‘Creirwy.’ Gwion gripped her by the sleeve and pulled her back.

  She gasped. ‘Oh, my holy ancestors.’

  ‘Did you suspect this?’ Gwion queried as the lover’s kiss ended, and Morwyn saw the true form of the man she was in love with.

  ‘Morvran?’ Her eyes were wide in wonder and she beheld the handsome stranger who had emerged from their kiss.

  The Lord was looking over his hands, then ran them over his face and hair. ‘I am me!’ His excited sights turned to Morwyn. ‘Surely, only the truest love could have done this.’

  ‘What have I been trying to tell you?’ The maiden cried tears of relief and joy. ‘I really don’t care what form you are in, I don’t care what your secret business is, just as long as I can be with you.’ They kissed again, and the situation became distinctly uncomfortable to watch, especially with Creirwy beside him.

  ‘My dear, sweet brother has truly earned such happiness.’ Creirwy turned and headed back towards her cottage as Chiglas had begun to wail.

  ‘Gwion, look!’ Morvran was up, and struggling to hold onto the monster-size trousers and vest he’d been wearing. Morvran’s Fey self was nearly as tall as his cursed persona, but he was nowhere near as brawny and thus had suddenly lost quite a large measure around his girth. ‘My bloody ancestors . . . it’s cold!’ He began hopping around, as he always went barefoot.

  ‘You should go inform your mother of this happy event.’ The cold was biting through Gwion’s being, and he smiled broadly even though his friend’s salvation made his own unhappiness all the more pronounced.

  ‘Yes, quickly, we must get you back inside.’ Morwyn ran with him, laughing as he struggled with his huge clothes.

  ‘Our time will come.’ Gwion took himself back to the library to seek solace from the chill and find something beneficial to read at work.

  Upon Morvran’s transformation into his true form, Keridwen finally welcomed Morwyn into her realm. She would have done so sooner, but Morvran’s only chance to break his curse was for a woman to love the monster without ever seeing the prince within.

  This meant Gwion got his observatory bedroom back. The sirrush was very pleased to see him, and Gwion was beyond grateful to have his hot bath back to defrost in after splitting wood in the barn every day – extra of which he always delivered to Creirwy’s little storehouse in her courtyard, without ever calling in.

  The grand house seemed empty and quiet without his lady living in the next room. Since his transformation, Morvran spent every free waking moment locked in his bedroom with Morwyn, so Gwion only really crossed paths with him between shifts. Morwyn had taken to keeping her lover’s hours and, having been given the full tour of Castell Tegid proper, had been introduced to the sanctum and made privy to their work there.

  At first Morwyn was happy for her love to be blessed with additional supernatural power. But as the time to harvest their brew grew closer, she had begun to express concerns to her beloved.

  Gwion bore witness to one such exchange as he came to relieve them from duty one morning.

  ‘But what if the brew changes you?’ Morwyn posed.

  ‘It won’t.’ Morvran didn’t seem at all concerned.

  ‘But if you become all-knowing, and all-seeing, you are surely going to think me fatuous.’

  ‘When you are pregnant, maybe?’ Morvran hazarded a response.

  ‘Fatuous means silly and pointless,’ she advised, kindly. ‘I know because my father called me this many times.’

  ‘See, I need more smarts,’ he appealed. ‘At this point I’m just a pretty face.’

  ‘But I love your pretty face, and your simple, sweet mind.’

  It seemed Morwyn’s concerns were wearing Morvran down as only days before the brew was due to be ready, Gwion was visited by Morvran in the sanctum, in the middle of the day, when the Fey Lord was usually sleeping like a baby.

  ‘You are alone, excellent,’ Morvran noted as he appeared.

  ‘Morda is sleeping and the Mistress is inspecting her apple trees.’ Gwion stoked the fire and sat on his stool alongside it to take pleasure in the warmth as he stirred the pot. ‘You need me for something?’

  ‘Advice.’ Morvran pulled up Morda’s stool and sat down.

  ‘What could I possibly advise you on these days?’ Gwion couldn’t imagine. Morvran was so handsome and beaming with vitality it made his eyes hurt to observe him too long. In his heart, Gwion envied his friend’s new-found happiness deeply.

  ‘All is not as perfect as it seems.’ Morvran looked suddenly downcast, and a little guilty.

  ‘How so?’ Gwion couldn’t imagine what could be amiss.

  Morvran reached out and, grabbing a blade from the bench, he cut into his finger and proceeded to bleed all over the floor. ‘You see?’ He watched the blood drip. ‘I’m not healing.’

  ‘You’re mortal!’ Gwion gasped.

  ‘Shhh!’ Morvran urged, wrapping his bloody cut in his shirt. ‘I can no longer shapeshift either.’

  ‘Oh my gods, I am so sorry.’ Gwion felt bad for being so flippant in thinking a handsome demigod could have no woes.

  ‘It’s not so bad.’ Morvran shrugged. ‘I would rather live and die in my lover’s arms than live forever alone. Should it come to that. You see, the brew has my blood in it, my immortal blood—’

  ‘So when you take it, your powers might be restored.’ Gwion caught his drift.

  ‘So may my curse,’ Morvran added.

  ‘Which Morwyn would lift again.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not?’ Now Morvran clearly had doubts. ‘What
if this is a test? What if this is creation’s way of challenging my greatest wish?’

  ‘To be human and know love.’ Gwion knew this.

  ‘Is this enough for me?’ Morvran posed. ‘Or do I go for broke and risk ending up back where I started?’

  ‘Whoa!’ Gwion let out a deep exhale, and pulled his hair back with his free hand to consider his response.

  ‘Morwyn doesn’t want me to take the potion, but then she doesn’t know I am a mere mortal now. And, on the other hand, my mother has gone to all this trouble, we all have, so that I might be brilliant, and if she finds out I’m mortal, I feel sure she will insist I take the brew. What do I do?’

  ‘Seriously, Morvran, this is a life-altering question for you, I cannot weigh in on—’

  ‘What would you do?’ Morvran rephrased.

  ‘Oh, dear Goddess.’ When Gwion considered immortality versus a mortal life with the woman he loved, there was no competition.

  ‘You don’t have to answer.’ Morvran grinned. ‘I know what you would pick. I truly wish I could give you that choice, Gwion. You are the best of men, and I can’t think of anyone more deserving of my sister’s love.’

  ‘I appreciate the thought.’ He swallowed down a sentimental lump in his throat that felt like an arrowhead made of stone. ‘But my situation is very different to yours. My mother is not an immortal goddess. We cannot keep this from her . . . she’s going to know the second she looks at me.’

  ‘I know.’ Morvran forced a grin. ‘I must come clean with both the women I love, yet ultimately, I am going to have to choose.’

  Today was the day! The last full day Gwion would ever work on Keridwen’s commission. Tomorrow he would wake to a new life, filled with learning and research, that would continue until he freed Creirwy from the Night Hunter and beyond.