This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  He’d managed to avoid the Mistress since Morvran’s confession as he wanted to give his friend time to approach his mother himself.

  When he reported for work in the sanctum, only Morda was present and that was a relief. ‘Happy last day in the brew room.’ Gwion got straight to work, stoking the fire.

  ‘Don’t remind me!’ Morda grouched. ‘How will I fill my days? Life shall be even more boring than it is now!’

  Gwion had queried his mistress on why she had not restored Morda’s sight as she had Morwyn’s. She had advised that, sadly, Morda had no eyes left to restore sight to. Had they been living in Ancient Sumer or Atlantean times, she could have obliged, but the resources available to her at this point in history did not extend to re-growing body parts – without turning him into one of the walking dead – thus she could only make him comfortable and keep him amused.

  ‘I’m sure the Mistress has some new employment lined up for you, Morda. Maybe something outdoors? But I shall miss our discourses.’

  Gwion had come to accept Morda’s whining ways, and so rather than frustrating him, the blind man’s complaining made him smile more often than not – Morda turned being a grouch into an art-form.

  Morda gave an uncomfortable harrumph. ‘I know why you are so happy. You are finally off to do scholarly things.’ He whined out the last two words like it was a puerile quest.

  ‘I have to find a way to break the hold the Night Hunter has over the Lady Tegid,’ Gwion replied. If the old bastard wanted to make fun of his aim, he was welcome.

  ‘You ain’t smart enough!’ Morda chided. ‘You know how I know?’

  ‘How?’ Gwion stood to grab his axe, of the mind to leave before he lost patience.

  ‘You think that library can tell you what your lady love swapped Gwyn ap Nudd in exchange for your life,’ Morda hissed.

  ‘Of course I don’t, I simply—’

  ‘Oh shut up, you senseless twit—’ Morda lost patience. ‘You forget . . . I was there.’

  Gwion gasped on the realisation that Morda was attempting to be nice.

  ‘I may have lost my eyes, but my ears were still working just fine.’ The blind old bugger grinned. ‘I wasn’t sworn to secrecy neither. The Night Hunter paid me no mind, I’m just silly old Morda.’

  ‘I feel I am the idiot here.’ Gwion came closer, and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I would be eternally grateful if you would share with me what you heard.’

  ‘For the Lady Tegid,’ Morda clarified, ‘and to put an end to your moping about solving the bloody mystery—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Gwion was bursting to know, and wary of being interrupted before he found out.

  ‘Where is my mead horn?’ Morda stalled to look about for it, so Gwion quickly grabbed it up and placed it in the blind man’s hand. Of course, Morda then proceeded to take several long satisfying swigs – it wasn’t often the old guy had anyone’s undivided attention, so he was making the most of it.

  ‘Morda. Please. I’m dying here . . .’ Gwion appealed as sincerely as he knew how. ‘I need to understand her suffering, her curse, if I am ever to break it.’

  ‘In exchange for restoring your life,’ Morda spoke in a hushed tone now as they both knew that the Mistress would not like them discussing such confidences, ‘Gwyn ap Nudd said that she was henceforth forbidden to seduce the man she loved.’

  Again Gwion gasped, in joy and sorrow.

  ‘At the time,’ Morda pointed out, ‘the Lady Tegid would surely have thought the Night Hunter was referring to our good king—’

  ‘Owain.’ Gwion gripped his head with all his fingers; he’d misjudged Creirwy – for she’d had no inkling of the torture she was exposing them both to and had been willing to exchange her future as Owain’s queen to save his life.

  ‘That is the all of it.’ Morda sounded almost relieved to have that off his chest. ‘Do with it what you will.’

  ‘Thank you, Morda.’ Gwion wrapped an arm around his confidant’s neck and kissed his bald spot.

  ‘Ewww.’ Morda recoiled.

  ‘You are a true friend.’ Gwion had underrated him from the beginning, and he would never do so again.

  ‘If it means you slobber all over me, then no thank you!’ Morda batted him away.

  The information provided didn’t change their sad circumstances, but understanding a problem was the only course to a solution. ‘I shan’t forget this.’ Gwion raised his axe to his shoulder, of a mind to get on out to the barn and get the day’s chores over with.

  ‘Ah,’ Morda waved him off. ‘There’s nothing I want from you, so save it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Well, I’m off to chop wood,’ Gwion announced, but waylaid, remaining perfectly silent.

  Once Morda thought he was surely gone, his scowl melted to a mope. ‘I’m going to miss having the wee idiot around all the time.’

  Gwion grinned, heart warmed and insulted, before he silently vanished to the barn.

  ‘Oh, dear Goddess!’ Morwyn was startled as Gwion suddenly appeared, and she panted, holding a hand to her chest as she recovered. ‘I’m still not used to everyone popping about like that.’

  ‘You need wood? I can split some for you.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she gratefully accepted.

  ‘You are not usually up and about at this hour,’ Gwion made conversation as he chopped.

  ‘Well we have done our last night in the sanctum, so it hardly matters what time we sleep now.’

  ‘True.’ Gwion wondered if Morvran had discussed his little problem with her yet, but was not about to ask.

  ‘Truth be known, we’ve been up talking . . . about today.’ She made this sound like a query.

  ‘Well, it’s a big day for Morvran.’ Gwion played ignorant as he pursued his chore with such speed and vigour that he had reduced the stump to burnable pieces by the time he got the sentence out and began loading them in her bins.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Morwyn assured him. ‘We have discussed it, and Morvran has promised me that he will not be experimenting with that concoction today. He will be in bed, with me, all day.’

  Gwion finished loading the bins and, gripping the handles, stood to deliver them for her. ‘He has informed the Mistress of this?’

  ‘He is informing her as we speak.’ Morwyn appeared concerned, but not at all doubtful. ‘I feel sure the Goddess will respect her son’s wishes.’

  Had Morvran told her that he was mortal? Did she know what she was insisting he give up? Gwion inhaled deeply, unable to conjure up a smile to reassure her. ‘I’m sure you are right. Shall I deliver these to Morvran’s room?’

  ‘Oh no. I can manage.’ She took the loads from him, straining under their weight a little, and then left with them.

  Gwion released some built-up tension in a long exhale. Today was going to be a long day.

  In the sanctum, Gwion and Morda waited out the morning and early afternoon. Morda stirred, and Gwion watched the brew for any sign of the glow that marked the spell’s ignition. Gwion was in two minds about this whole affair, and a knot was quietly forming in his gut.

  If this spell didn’t animate as expected, his dear friend would be assigned to this mortal coil. Morvran’s fate truly lay in the lap of the Gods; now that he was no longer one of them, perhaps he was stalling to see how the Otherworld weighed in on his dilemma?

  ‘Ignitio?’ Keridwen startled Gwion with her presence, and as she asked her query in Latin, he replied thus.

  ‘Nihil Domina.’ He near choked on the report.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ she encouraged.

  Yet she seemed nervous, and he’d never seen her so. It was the way she was squeezing her own hands, as if seeking to reassure herself.

  ‘I know of my son’s . . . condition.’ She forced a smile. ‘This development is a tactical gambit, thrown at us by the Night Hunter at this final moment to test our resolve, I should imagine.’

  Gwion’s heart began beating in his chest; the Night Hunter had been watching an
d testing them all, including his mistress. The Lord of the Otherworld really did have consummate timing and endless patience – but then he lived in a realm where time had no bearing.

  ‘But unless Morvran consumes the spell then . . .’ Keridwen was at a loss as to what to say next.

  Gwion was starting to physically tremble now. ‘Then what, Mistress?’

  ‘Let’s just say, I had not accounted for that probability.’

  ‘You don’t know what will happen?’ Gwion’s mouth went dry instantly; he’d never really considered how precarious Otherworldly service could be, until this instant. He had the awful feeling that the Gods were about to have a family tiff.

  ‘Life’s an adventure!’ Morda suddenly roared with laughter. ‘We are not afraid, Mistress, we are with you all the way . . . right, idiot?’

  ‘Of course.’ Gwion found his spine, and stilled his trembling. Tegid was his home, everyone he loved was here, and if the family Tegid were in danger, he was certainly willing to die in their defence. ‘Did you mention this to Morvran?’

  ‘He will be here, to complete the spell,’ she assured them both. ‘He is just advising Morwyn of our decision to go ahead.’

  That sounded familiar, and rather like Morvran was stalling. ‘What if the spell does not ignite?’ Gwion was starting to hope it wouldn’t. Morvran would be mortal, but better that than risking whatever would happen if he didn’t drink the potion.

  ‘Oh it will animate,’ Keridwen assured. ‘I am very good at my craft. You just keep watch, it will be any time now.’

  ‘What happens if we get rid of it now, before it becomes volatile?’ Gwion’s problem-solving mind was hard at work.

  ‘Volatile, that’s a big word for you, twit,’ Morda spat. ‘We didn’t work all year to destroy the harvest.’

  ‘Calm down, Morda.’ Keridwen raised a brow, perhaps considering it a fair question. ‘I cannot answer that in all surety; it is safer in than out of the pot, I believe.’

  ‘Maybe if we just put the fire out?’ As Gwion turned back round towards the pot, he saw the portal to the Otherworld that ran off this sanctum filling with light. ‘Mistress.’ As he pointed towards the anomaly, they heard a bell ring.

  Keridwen’s frown deepened. ‘Enter.’

  The beautiful siren that had once summoned him to a meeting with Gwyn ap Nudd emerged from the light and floated into their presence.

  We meet again, Gwion Bach, she said without moving her mouth.

  He said nothing, knowing her arrival could not be a good thing, but looked to his mistress to catch her reaction – as did their visitor. But there was nothing to see. Keridwen’s arms had dropped to her sides, still; her expression was completely indifferent.

  The Lord of the Otherworld requests an immediate audience with his dear aunt.

  ‘Now is not a good time for me.’ Keridwen made a shooing motion with her hand to dismiss the sprite.

  The lovely messenger didn’t flinch. My Lord is well aware. But you will come, or I shall bring you.

  Keridwen’s expression turned stormy. ‘This is my realm—’

  Ah! The sprite held up a finger in correction. Perhaps not for much longer. The more you delay, the less likely it will be that you will be able to save your precious piece of physicality.

  The sprite must have been referring to Keridwen’s realm, which she had won fair and square. Why then was his mistress’s dominion now in question? It could be an outright lie, but was Keridwen willing to call the bluff?

  She looked to Gwion. ‘Get Morvran down here; he knows what must be done.’

  Clearly, she was not prepared to outright defy the Night Hunter.

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ both he and Morda retorted at once.

  ‘But what if—’

  ‘Gwion! No what if,’ Keridwen cut in. ‘This is my moment of need. You do this for me.’

  ‘I will not fail you in this,’ Gwion swore to stay the course of their original plan as Morda mumbled something to the same effect. He watched his mistress vanish into the light-filled mist, which retracted on itself and vanished into a stone wall, leaving him overwhelmed. ‘I should go and retrieve Morvran.’

  ‘I can’t see when this brew ignites.’ Morda stepped down off his stirring stool. ‘I’ll fetch the young master.’

  ‘Good call.’ Gwion was thankful for any guidance at present.

  ‘Don’t praise me like you’re in charge,’ Morda remarked snidely as he vanished.

  Gwion took Morda’s place stirring the pot, the contents of which still appeared like boring old stew. He was very tempted to just kick the fire out before the brew destabilised – but this was not his call to make, it was Morvran’s.

  Morda appeared, alone. ‘Morvran is in a mutual delirium with his beloved right now, and will not be coming.’

  ‘Oh, dear Goddess, what do we do?’ Gwion was staring at the fire, ready to kick it out.

  ‘Is there a problem? Where is everybody?’ Tacitus appeared, wearing his smallest bearable form.

  It was a great relief to see the Lord Tegid and high time he was brought up to speed with the events unfolding within his household.

  In this instance, the Otherworldly porthole led directly into the Night Hunter’s throne room, and as he slouched over his throne, he did not look happy. Do you know what happens when great magic is conjured and not utilised exactly as specified? he posed, casually agitated.

  ‘It shall be—’

  Gwyn ap Nudd held up a finger to indicate he did not desire to hear her view. All magic comes at a price! Which, I might add, was not negotiated with me. If it had been, I would have told you that such magic has a byproduct that must be disposed of correctly.

  ‘It turns to poison?’ she asked.

  Poison? He chuckled. That’s a quaint word for it.

  ‘For what?’

  But her nephew was on a rant and ignored her concern. I even sent you what you ultimately wanted! He rose from his throne and threw his hands up in the air. Yet, still you seek to defy me . . . why?

  Keridwen opened her mouth to respond.

  You think I am too hard on humanity, he stated in a sulky manner, mocking her empathy with the species she had aided to create. Your little family experiment is over!

  The statement sent a sharp pain through her body; it was emotion – her own emotion.

  That’s right. Gwyn’s grin did not reassure her. That is what fear and sadness truly feel like. Congratulations, Aunt, your emotional body has activated, thus your time in the physical world must now come to an end.

  ‘No!’ She gripped her chest, for the welling emotions were excruciating.

  But don’t worry, I am going to grant all the wishes of your household as we watch the realm you won from me implode from your own recklessness.

  ‘Why do this?’ Keridwen appealed. ‘You and I have always worked well together—’

  You baby him too much! the Lord snapped.

  ‘Morvran is my son,’ Keridwen appealed.

  Gwion, the Night Hunter clarified.

  ‘This is about Gwion?’ This news made Keridwen uneasy.

  He’s going to betray you, you know?

  ‘No.’ Keridwen knew better. ‘He has carried the soul of our most righteous father through every physical existence humanity had to offer to make it to this point in his evolution; you saw to that! He does not have betrayal in him; his spirit has advanced beyond such desires.’

  As Gwyn’s face was painted dark, his white teeth made his smile appear all the more menacing. Your righteous father . . . who banished me to the Underworld.

  ‘To spare you from falling victim to the same damning additions that condemned the souls of both your parents to a perpetual physical existence!’

  I know Anu did me a favour, the Lord’s tone lightened. Being assigned to an existence I didn’t want and denied the woman I desired did not seem like a favour at the time, I grant. But had Anu not pushed me so low, I would never have risked climbing into the well of souls to e
nd it all, and instead been judged worthy to ascend into a realm that my relatives didn’t even know existed. The moral of this story is . . . comfort and joy is not the path to enlightenment, but great adversity. Anu taught me this and now I shall return the favour.

  ‘Please, let me go back,’ Keridwen appealed. ‘I’ll get rid of—’

  Gwyn was shaking his head as if sympathetic. It’s too late for that, the magic has ignited, so let’s start granting wishes, shall we? Starting with your dear husband—

  ‘No—’

  All he really wants is to return to his people . . . granted.

  ‘Stop!’

  And Morvran, all he wants is to die in the arms of his beloved . . . granted!

  ‘Don’t you dare—’

  Creirwy . . . wants to be fully human and free of my influence . . . granted!

  ‘Please!’ Keridwen fell to her knees, tears welling in her eyes.

  Little Chiglas, he is young at present, but all he will want in the future is to kill the parents who brought him into being and claim the throne of Powys for himself! I think that’s justified . . . granted!

  ‘Stop this—’

  And Morda, well, he just wants his sight back, which he might rather need, if he survives.

  ‘Survives?’

  Which brings us back to your beloved student, who really just wants all the knowledge in the world. But I don’t have to grant that wish, he can grant it all on his own – and when he does, all these wishes shall come to pass, and I expect you to deal with the ramifications.

  ‘What ramifications?’

  You don’t have to worry about that, the Lord mocked. If you are confident Gwion won’t betray you, and he gets Morvran to drink the potion as promised, then all shall be well.

  Keridwen gasped upon realising there was still a hope for her family; Gwion would prevail as he always did. ‘How shall we know what has happened?’

  Oh, when he betrays you, you’ll know. Gwyn returned to his throne to wait it out. Believe me.

  ‘Your family is in peril! Morvran!’ Gwion felt certain his friend could hear him pounding on the locked door and yelling his lungs out, yet there came no response, not even an acknowledgment.