The King gazed about the roundhouse, at first a little taken aback by the humble dwelling. But when Chiglas grunted, the King’s attention shot towards the barred-off storeroom where the obese child sat painting his naked skin in filth. ‘Oh, dear Gods, what is it?’ Owain caught a whiff of him, and covered his nose in disgust. ‘One of your mother’s creatures?’
‘No.’ Creirwy was enraged, but refusing to state why; her head began to throb.
Tell him, Mother.
‘Leave!’ She pointed to the door. ‘Before something very bad happens.’
Owain’s stunned gaze was now fixed on her. ‘Your nose—’
Tell him, or I will.
Dear Gods, Chiglas knew! He had been reading her mind. ‘You are in danger here.’ She wiped the blood away with her hand, only to smear it across her face.
Or I could just kill him now.
‘Ah!’ The King gripped his head, and his nose began bleeding too.
‘Come.’ Creirwy grabbed hold of Owain’s arm and dragged him back out into the courtyard, where the pressure eased for them both.
‘What is that thing?’ Owain gazed back indoors, a look of utter horror on his face.
‘Don’t ask, just leave and don’t come back.’ She turned him about, unstable on her own feet – these attacks were getting more and more intense.
‘That thing just threatened the life of your king!’ Owain was incensed by the sight of his own blood all over his hands. ‘It must be destroyed.’
Creirwy had thought so many times herself. ‘Go right ahead, if you dare.’
‘With Drynwyn, I am invincible.’ The sword in its scabbard was belted to his hip as it always was and he placed a hand on the pearly white hilt as he made a move for the cottage.
‘By the time you reach him, will you still have a mind left to wield your weapon?’
The suggestion made Owain halt in his tracks, and he returned to her. ‘Why would you allow such a thing to exist?’
‘The question is more why does he allow me to exist?’ Her honesty made her tremble. ‘Why? Because I am his mother, and he is my penance to the Night Hunter for loving you.’
Owain’s eyes were open wide now as he staggered backwards a few steps. ‘He is surely too large—’
‘Chiglas is only four of this world’s years,’ she informed. ‘It was my intention that neither of you would ever know of the other.’
‘That monster is the current heir to my kingdoms . . .’ Owain was mortified.
‘Why are you surprised? You made deals with the Night Hunter that you can’t remember.’
‘But this?’ The King gripped his head, having a rude awakening of his own.
‘The most infuriating part is that the Night Hunter urged me to let him kill the child at birth.’ She gazed into space; purging the truth felt rather good. Perhaps Owain would see it as an act of treason and kill her.
‘Why did you not take that option?’ Owain implored her, yet there was compassion in his voice.
‘Because in the Otherworld the child appeared a perfect angel, I couldn’t see him slaughtered . . .’
‘He was born there, like Morvran?’
She nodded. ‘I, like you in this moment, wanted to defy the Night Hunter. I thought our son might be sweet, as my brother was, but he is not.’
‘Lady.’ Owain placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort, but she nudged it away.
‘It was my mistake and I am paying for it. Chiglas will use me so long as it serves him, and then he shall kill me and come for you.’
‘Then we must do something about him now,’ Owain whispered. ‘While he is young and vulnerable.’
‘In light of what just happened, I now understand that he is neither. He is Gwyn ap Nudd’s creature and he is full of surprises. Face off with him now and you will only speed up the inevitable . . . for both of us.’
‘But there is a chance I may prevail, Creirwy, and you will be released from this curse.’ As always, Owain was optimistic, full of hope and good intentions.
‘You have challenged a caveat of the Night Hunter’s before . . . how did that work for you?’ Her eyes engaged his in challenge, for she already knew the answer.
At first Owain was stunned. ‘Gwion told you of that day?’
‘No,’ she replied – for he’d not told her of his own accord. ‘But I know whatever you did at that time was gallant and challenging enough to earn you Gwion’s undying respect.’
Owain almost roused a smile, but his confidence had waned. ‘Perhaps we could renegotiate—’
Creirwy shook her head, suppressing her rage at Owain’s inability to learn from past mistakes. ‘I no longer have any influence with the Lord of the Otherworld. I have been stripped of my Fey abilities. I am as mortal as you.’
Owain closed his eyes a moment, appearing sympathetic for her loss. ‘Where is Gwion? Why is he not here with you?’
The query cracked her stoic facade, and tears began to roll. ‘The Night Hunter has imprisoned him, for a long, long, time.’
‘Twenty years.’ The King repeated what he’d been told.
‘Even when he returns, he will not be the Gwion we knew, but someone entirely different.’
‘Dear Gods above . . .’ The King appeared more devastated to hear this than any news thus far. ‘What did he do?’
Creirwy felt that she was going to drop, and as the King was staggering also, she invited him to sit on a log bench in the shade. He welcomed the suggestion – nursing sore heads and bloody faces, they were both too overwhelmed to fight any more.
‘Gwion tried to save us from my mother’s conjuring . . . Gwyn ap Nudd made his heroism look like betrayal. I feel he feared Gwion and his association with my mother; he wished to drive a wedge between them, and he did.’
‘Just like us.’ Owain choked on the realisation. ‘You said this day would come, when I would realise the extent of the damage I’d done, and . . . remorse is bitter. I should have listened to you.’
‘So listen to me now.’ Creirwy felt a painful lump of sentiment well in her throat, but she swallowed it. ‘Either we both die today . . . or you forget you came and ride away. I shall hold back the Night Hunter’s requital for as long as I am able.’
The King shook his head, not liking either of those options. ‘I cannot let you do that. It is I who should be taking responsibility for Chiglas—’
‘He will kill you,’ she repeated why it could not be so. ‘You owe the Lord of the Otherworld a debt and he is going to collect. Better to have time to prepare for it than to naively rush in and leave Cymru in turmoil.’
‘I miss Gwion’s counsel,’ the King lamented. ‘He would have an option three and know what must be done.’
‘Exactly why Gwyn ap Nudd has taken him out of the equation, I suspect.’ Creirwy was only just this moment realising this. ‘But Gwion would advise caution, you know he would.’
‘He also warned me away from the Night Hunter.’ Owain’s tears welled, but did not fall. ‘I did not bless this land, I have cursed it!’
‘There can still be prosperity ahead; it does not have to end this day,’ Creirwy reasoned.
‘But it will end.’
Her gazed drifted back to the cottage. ‘The death march has begun for us both.’
‘Just leave with me now,’ Owain whispered in earnest. ‘Leave the abomination locked in there and ride away.’
Creirwy shook her head. ‘He would find a way out, and once he hunted me down—’ She shook her head. ‘Keep friends close and enemies closer; it is better that I stay.’
‘If you ever need—’
‘Please.’ She held up a hand, and looked to him. ‘Do not feel guilty, we are equally to blame.’
‘How can I not . . . knowing that I have reduced you to a life of slavery to a beast!’ The King went down on one knee before her – still conflicted, seeking absolution – and whether she truly forgave him or not, for the sake of their kingdom and people she must persuade him to walk away.
‘It
was my choice to keep him alive. But please know, I had no idea he would be so powerful. I did not seek to use him to take revenge on you, for I bear you and your queen no ill-will.’
‘No, this was the Night Hunter’s doing . . . and I am the one who ultimately invited him into Cymru to wreak havoc.’ The King looked back to the lake where the isle of wonder had once been.
‘You were little more than a child, seeking a means to save all Cymru. Had you not made the choices you did, many of us might not be alive to have regrets. My mother brought down the Night Hunter’s wrath here; you had nothing to do with it. We have all chosen our own paths, Owain, now we must walk them.’ She closed her eyes, not prepared to discuss it further.
‘Please, allow me to at least send Neiryn to check up on you from time to time, and deliver some goods that will make your life a little easier.’
If this would ease the King’s guilt and encourage him to leave, so be it. She nodded. ‘It would serve you well to stay informed.’
‘That is not my motivation.’ The King stood, clearly pained that she always assumed the worst of him. ‘I owe you dearly—’
‘Fortify this kingdom. Be ready to avenge my death when the time comes.’ In her belly burned such fire that Creirwy knew the King must see it in her eyes – there would be no further objection.
Owain nodded, breathing deep to repress his cascade of emotions. ‘Goodbye, Creirwy.’
‘Fair thee well, Majesty.’
As Owain walked away she felt an awkward mix of relief and bewildered resignation. Before now she had been blissfully ignorant as to what her child was really capable of; now that she had some inkling, her future was all the more bleak.
She remained where she was for the longest time, wary of moving back into Chiglas’s sphere of influence, despite Morda’s assurances that the child was perfectly content.
When at last she found the nerve to enter, Chiglas looked up from playing with his collection of animal skulls and her head immediately began to throb.
You are wise, Mother, you live today. Creirwy nodded to acknowledge his message. The pain stopped. No nose bleed. Once again she was ensnared by a trap of her own design and dared not consider what might be done about it in her son’s presence. Full moon was but a day away, and Creirwy could not have been more grateful.
The evening of the full moon, Creirwy awaited Keridwen’s arrival in the courtyard, eager to share all that had transpired since her last visit. This day she thanked the Gods that her mother had not been taken from her, for she was Creirwy’s only hope of salvation.
As always, Keridwen appeared right on supper time, but did not move directly to the door. Her eyes were transfixed upon the lake, and if her sad expression was anything to judge by, she quietly mourned her paradise lost.
‘Mother,’ Creirwy called quietly, so as not to startle her, and gaining her attention, she waved her away from the cottage and towards her.
‘Are we not eating?’ Keridwen was clearly famished, although the child she carried had only been gestating for about fifty days.
‘Come with me to the library,’ Creirwy suggested. ‘The Feasting Crock is there so you can have whatever you desire.’
Creirwy had made use of some of the treasures over the years, but she never brought them out of the library, and made very sure Chiglas never saw her enter. He’d been very young when the entrance to the secret chamber had saved their lives, thus she hoped he’d forgotten all about it. He’d crawled into the annex a few times when he was younger, but hadn’t shown any interest in the void in years. Even if he did recall how to access the antechamber, he needed a family member to endorse his entry to the library proper, and there was no threat in this world that would persuade her to give Chiglas such clearance – not even death.
Thankfully Creirwy had no need to voice her concerns to her telepathic mother.
‘You need protection,’ Keridwen surmised. ‘I can help.’
‘Won’t he who shall not be named object?’ Creirwy accompanied her mother to the crawl space in the rock face and proceeded inside first.
‘Let him,’ Keridwen stated. ‘I do not give two hoots.’
Once inside the library proper, Luna closed the security door behind them. ‘This situation has become life threatening much sooner than expected.’ Keridwen took a moment, turning circles as she contemplated.
‘He will be the death of me, won’t he?’ Creirwy took a seat; she adored it in here away from the woes of the outside world.
‘You don’t have to make it easy for him.’ Her mother headed up the spiralling ramp that formed the mezzanine levels around the chamber, but did not go far before she came to a stop in front of one of the cases. ‘Ah, here it is.’
Creirwy rose and made haste to see what item she referred to. It was a round amulet that hung on a silver torc. There was a very large, lifelike eye on the piece, the iris of which was concentric rings of colour – dark blue at the rim, then black, white, pale blue, and then a black pupil in the centre. ‘It’s a torc.’ Creirwy had never looked at it twice, except to think it ugly.
‘It is an amulet,’ Keridwen enlightened as the piece disappeared from the cabinet and appeared in her mother’s hands. ‘It was fashioned by a great sorcerer for an Assyrian king, to ward off evil.’
‘It looks evil.’
‘That is rather the point.’ Keridwen opened the neckpiece by pushing one half of the torc forward and the other back – there was a hinge hidden behind the link of the pendant. ‘It deflects evil intention back upon the initiator.’ She placed it around her daughter’s neck and then swivelled the halves into place so the piece locked tight.
‘It is not one of my folk’s magic treasures, and has no curse attached when freely given by the owner. The opposite could be said of anyone who steals the relic, for misfortune will surely befall them. As you see, it shall not be easily removed.’
The piece felt rather empowering actually, but Creirwy did have one concern. ‘If it doesn’t work, Chiglas will probably choke me with it.’
‘If he does, use this.’ A dagger appeared in her mother’s hands. ‘This is—’
‘The Blade of Swiftness.’ Creirwy had seen it encased in this library before today.
‘Hide it upon your person. It will never miss the mark. It’s also excellent for carving as it is never blunt, not for a brave soul in any case.’ Her mother served her a smile of reassurance.
‘Thank you, Mother.’ She tucked the sheathed dagger down her cleavage. ‘I am so grateful for your visits.’
‘As am I.’ Keridwen hugged her.
Creirwy could not recall the last time they had embraced each other – it was the most comforted she’d felt since Gwion’s departure.
Keridwen released her and flicked a tear from her eye with her finger. ‘Now where is that crock?’ She headed off in search of supper.
It was not surprising that Chiglas was well behaved that evening; he always was when Keridwen came to stay. It was once she left that the real test of the amulet came. It was quite surreal for Creirwy when her child continued to treat her, not well, but not with utter contempt either. Chiglas did not really seem aware that he was suddenly more kindly disposed towards her, and the extent of his fairness did not extend to the rest of the natural world, to whom he was as destructive and mean as ever. The horses never went anywhere near him, and would go to great lengths to keep their distance. In the warmer seasons, Morda gave up on even attempting to bring them into the stables he’d built for them close by the cottage.
As promised, Owain sent Neiryn to Llyn Tegid every year with a cart loaded full of supplies, furniture, spices, clothes, bedding, wine and mead. She had come to see why Gwion and her mother had looked upon this aspiring druid so kindly – he was very knowledgeable, a great storyteller, a consummate harpist, and he brought news from the outer world.
Queen Ganhumara had still to conceive a child, yet as the kingdom was so peaceful and prosperous, she remained in good stead with her su
bjects and beloved of her king. Creirwy had to admire the young queen’s patience, for she had clearly taken her warning very seriously. More pleasing was news that young Tiernan, who’d only been a child when last she’d seen him, had finally realised his dream to be counted among the King’s personal guard. At this year’s tournament Tiernan had only narrowly missed out on snatching the title of champion from Gilmore. Neiryn predicted that by next year he would realise his life-long ambition to exceed his mentor and inherit the coveted title. Meantime Caswallon’s queen, Meddyf, had given birth to a second son, who had been named Caradoc, but there were rumours flying around that the child was a bastard, fathered by the youngest of the dragon brothers, Cadfer, and not Caswallon. When asked if he believed the rumours, Neiryn chose not to speculate, but he had nothing good to say about the Queen of Gwynedd. He felt her vain, self-serving, ambitious and a terrible mother to the son she already had, who had been named Maelgwn. As Caswallon’s heir, the boy was not as aggressive as his mother desired; Maelgwn had an interest in scholarly pursuits, which Meddyf did her utmost to discourage, through shame and ridicule. Neiryn confessed he felt sorry for the lad, who seemed too good a soul to have been landed in such harsh circumstances, but he feared that the young prince would be forced to toughen up. One thing was for certain: his aspiration to study would not be realised. Scholars were not highly prized among Cymry nobility, only warriors were celebrated – which Neiryn felt was highly illogical during this time of relative peace. But the best news Creirwy had heard in years was that Lady Gladys, after five years of marriage, had finally delivered the twins Creirwy had foreseen all those years ago. The labour had proven difficult and the delivery complicated – Gladys had barely survived and it was likely that she would never give birth again. The proud parents had named their boy child Calin, and his sister Sanan.
In exchange for his reports, Creirwy would recount to Neiryn her adventures with Gwion, whose legend had only grown since his mysterious departure from this world. She completely understood Neiryn’s admiration and fascination with her lost love, for even with all his knowledge and worldly wisdom, Neiryn lacked that magical, winsome spirit that Gwion had always radiated in excess. However, it was lovely to have someone to remember Gwion with, who held him in high regard and mourned his loss as she did.
This Present Past Page 34
