This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  Do this for me. Amabel slinked up to him once more. And I shall be your concubine, yours and yours alone.

  Her nephew was looking more disposed.

  Refuse, and you can send me back to the sub-planes for all I care, I will never be yours.

  The Lord didn’t like being threatened any more than Amabel did. He let her go. I shall think on it. He backed up and looked to Keridwen. Well played, Aunt. He bowed to accredit her scheme.

  ‘Everybody wins,’ she concluded. ‘We need more of that in this world.’

  You’re dreaming! he stated adamantly. We all are.

  ‘Then why not make it a lovely dream,’ Keridwen said whimsically and the sylphs nodded in accord with her vision.

  Because we won’t want to wake.

  ‘Beyond love there is wakefulness,’ she assured him, but her nephew was too disgruntled to be philosophical at present.

  You have until sunset to be back where you belong, the Lord cautioned them all and vanished.

  All stood stunned in the wake of the confrontation, on guard until it became clear the Lord had truly gone.

  ‘You have my deepest gratitude . . .’ Keridwen stood, relieved of the last of her earthly worries. ‘Offering up your own future happiness to save my kin shows enormous emotional maturity, Amabel.’

  Amabel appeared quite dumbfounded herself. I was compelled by your tears, Lady. I felt how imperative it was that I save your kin, and have never known anything with such certainty. Your sweet grandson and I are species a world apart. Her song was a little woeful, but changed to a lighter note. But we can still listen to his sweet tunes. So in truth I have lost nothing.

  ‘You’ve gained a steadfast ally.’ Keridwen assured her with a nod. ‘Between the two of us we might stand a chance of cracking the Night Hunter’s emotional shell.’

  Perhaps our lord does have feelings, if he would give up something he wants so badly for my devotion?

  The notion of the Night Hunter falling in love was amusing to Keridwen, and as she was returning to the Otherworld, she would witness his recompense. The sooner Gwyn ap Nudd developed his emotional body, the easier on everyone life in the middle kingdoms would be. ‘I suspect you may be right, my dear.’ The Goddess turned her face to catch the rays of the last dawn she would ever experience under the golden sun of this world; eyes closed to savour the scents of the wild, dewy scent of the May eve morn. ‘Change is afoot.’

  What her nephew seemed to have forgotten was that Keridwen had old friends in very high places, and soon she would challenge the Night Hunter’s claim to have complete autonomy over the Otherworld and the human reincarnation loop that had spawned the realm.

  ‘We must all evolve.’ Keridwen rose up into the sky and transformed into a hawk to take flight down over the river.

  Amabel and her troop whirled into winds to pursue the Goddess, their happy songs trailing away on the breeze.

  Neiryn sat in the morning light, having come to sit by the river where the mystical encounter had played out.

  He’d been unable to follow everything he’d witnessed, but did manage to piece together what the nymphs were singing about from his mistress’s verbal responses. When he’d seen the child launched onto the river, he’d been forced to make a split-second decision as to whether to give pursuit or stay put. The Goddess had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t wish him to know where her child was bound. Furthermore, Neiryn was no athlete and could never have kept pace with the wee boat under the steam of Otherworldly beings. But when the Night Hunter appeared it shook Neiryn rigid for the duration of the event, yet he couldn’t hear a word of what the Lord was saying.

  ‘Otherworldly beings!’ Neiryn emphasised. ‘The Night Hunter himself!’ He was beyond exhausted, which might have explained why the thought of telling anyone what he’d witnessed made him laugh like a man possessed. ‘A story I cannot tell, indeed . . . even I have trouble believing it.’ But the tales of legends were thus, strange and complex. ‘I alone have borne witness to the intricacies of this saga. And to what end, but to ensure that one day the legend of Gwion Bach will be known . . . and serve as inspiration to our combrogi.’ The bard breathed deep, inspired, but his exhale fell flat upon reality.

  It was all very well feeling honoured and proud, but it was a four-hour walk back through the wilds to the cottage where he’d left his horse. To fall asleep here by the river would be inviting all manner of hungry beast to an easy lunch.

  ‘Back to the real world.’ He hauled himself to his feet and with one last mournful glance down the river, Neiryn turned to commence the long walk back to Llyn Tegid.

  ‘Why tempt fate?’ Elphin yelled back towards his father’s castle – it was easy to be frank now, at the reins of his cart, with no one but the horses to hear him. ‘And on the advice of some old bard, of no great fame! ’Tis madness, right enough.’

  His father – King Gwyddno Garanhir (long-crane) – meant well. But could he not see that, by bestowing on his ill-fated son the drawing of the weir this year, he was only adding insult to injury? Elphin feared they were inviting yet another legendary failure.

  The Prince of Meirion had made the acquaintance of fortune but once in his young life, when the daughter of the great Cyngen Brockwell had agreed to his wedding suit. The day he’d married the beautiful Sanan had been Elphin’s proudest and happiest to date. His father had granted the newlyweds a beautiful seaside estate with a villa in which to commence their married life. This part of the kingdom was known as Maes Gwyddno – the Plain of Gwyddno. Huge floodgates protected these low-lying lands from the sea, and were closed at the approach of every high-tide. On the day of Elphin’s wedding, the gatekeeper, Seitheryn, got so drunk that he passed out. The entire estate had been overrun by the sea and had remained thus since.

  News of the incident had spread throughout the adjoining kingdoms, and had hewed Elphin’s reputation as the unluckiest prince in the whole of Cymru. True enough, he’d been born at an evil hour, when the moon eclipsed the sun, and so it was foretold that luck would never befall him. Sanan, aware of these rumours, was determined to prove them false. For some inexplicable reason she loved him and had faith their fortunes would improve. This made the thought of his homecoming this day all the harder; he didn’t ever want to disappoint her again.

  So it was on this May eve Elphin found himself headed for his father’s weir that crossed the Afon Dyfi further upriver – beyond the bay that now filled inside the sea walls and covered the land of Elphin’s inheritance. A fortune in salmon were usually netted from the weir on this day every year, but Elphin suspected that the flooding of Maes Gwyddno may have affected the efficiency of the weir to trap the large salmon. His father’s wish – to bestow on his son some fortune to begin in the world – in all likelihood would be thwarted yet again.

  Upon arrival at the weir, Elphin saw that it was as he feared. The sea passage had swollen and near swallowed the dam construct completely, bar the tops of the upright poles. The whole of the walkway that usually ran atop the weir, from which nets would be cast, was underwater, giving the large fish a means to escape back into the sea instead of being trapped by the tight-set stakes beneath the walkway that allowed the smaller fish passage but not those ready to harvest.

  The morbid look on the faces of the fishermen who ran the weir for the King said it all.

  ‘There is nothing to fish for this year, Sire,’ the oldest of them confessed, clearly not feeling right about taking the annual alms the King paid them for their service when they could be of no service. Yet equally, Elphin knew, these men and their families relied on the King’s patronage.

  Elphin handed over their alms in any case and asked them to cast their nets from the shore. Clearly, the fishermen felt for their star-crossed prince when not a single salmon was caught in their nets.

  ‘We shall try again, Sire.’

  They’d had a terrible time recovering the nets from the first throw. Elphin saw no reason to repeat what was clearly a f
utile exercise. ‘That shan’t be necessary.’ He was leaving before his embarrassment burned him alive – he could hear the mocking new addition to his legend already. ‘Enjoy Beltaine, gentlemen.’

  ‘Highness!’ One of the men spied what appeared to be a tiny boat floating towards them mid-stream, and directed Elphin’s attention towards it. ‘Should we cast a net?’

  ‘No.’ There appeared to be a pouch within the tiny coracle. ‘We might upturn it.’ Elphin moved to the flooded walkway, and removed his boots and leather vest. ‘I’ll grab it.’

  The Dyfi rushed over the pass with such velocity that white foam waves formed around the pikes Elphin was intending to cling to.

  ‘Sire, no!’ The old fisherman was horrified. ‘Allow one of us to go.’

  ‘Fear not,’ Elphin insisted. ‘I would relish drowning at present . . . and if I desire it, you can almost guarantee it shall not come to pass.’ He handed his clothes to the old bloke who, along with his company, cheered the young prince on as he used the wooden uprights still above water to pull himself towards the centre of the weir.

  ‘Quickly, Sire,’ yelled the eagle eye young man, who was tracking the wee coracle, ‘’tis near upon you!’

  To be honest, Elphin couldn’t see much with water battering his chest and spraying into his eyes; he’d swallowed more water than he ever cared to again. A glance left and right told him he was very close to where he needed to be, and as the basket sped towards him, he prayed to the Goddess he’d not just risked his life for nothing. One arm clinging tightly to an upright, the Prince caught hold of the side of the basket and a cheer from the shore went up. Now was not the time to check the spoils; it would be a struggle enough to get back to shore with only one arm.

  ‘Wait, Sire!’ The old man cautioned the Prince to stay put as all the fishermen formed a chain to reach him and haul him and his catch back into shore.

  The men applauded Elphin’s effort, and it felt good to be the object of goodwill and not pity. He was almost hesitant to open the leather pouch, save his risk proved folly. But as he loosened the strap, light beamed out and the radiance of the babe he saw within made him cry out, ‘tal iesin’; which meant, ‘how radiant his brow is!’

  The Prince showed the sleeping child to the fishermen who were enchanted by the sight of the infant they had all had a hand in saving. They speculated as to where the infant hailed from, but all agreed the boy had been cast off to the fates and was in need of a home, which Elphin was in a good position to provide – or at least his father was. He thanked the men for their fine service this day, and again wished them the best for this eve’s festivities as he took his leave.

  Baby and bag in basket, Elphin sat his catch beside him on the cart. He was bringing home another mouth to feed and a good yarn, but that was rather less than his father was anticipating. King Gwyddno was expecting salmon, and would be chagrined all Beltaine without it, with Elphin the target of his indignation. Crestfallen, the young prince headed back to Caer Wyddno, loath to report on the day’s inconvenient events.

  When the Prince presented his haul to his family, Sanan was overjoyed and took the baby in her arms tenderly, pouch and all, and kissed his radiant brow. ‘This is a treasure greater than any ever pulled from that weir.’

  Elphin’s heart welled with pride in himself that he had pleased his wife so immensely.

  The King hobbled over to take a closer look at the child, and the sight of the babe managed to rouse half a smile from the old coot. ‘Tal iesin indeed! This shall be his name now after.’

  ‘Please say he shall be our ward. I shall take the greatest care of him,’ Sanan appealed.

  His father was fond of his daughter-in-law and when he nodded he received a kiss on the cheek. ‘All well and good . . . but how is another mouth to feed going to bring you fortune?’ The King was no doubt disgruntled that the old bard’s prophecy had proven false. He took hold of the empty basket that had carried the babe down the river and held it upside down to reiterate his disappointment. ‘This evening’s festivities won’t be the same without my salmon. Damn it, I want my salmon!’

  Live, still-wet, salmon began to pour from the basket onto the table, startling everyone as they cascaded onto the floor, flapping about wildly.

  ‘Stop it, Father!’ Elphin backed away from the ever-growing mound, unable to wipe the astonished grin from his face.

  ‘Enough salmon!’ The King turned the basket back up the right way, and it filled with fish, then the flooding subsided.

  All stood stunned a moment.

  ‘This is no ordinary basket,’ deduced the King.

  ‘Agreed.’ Elphin stared at the pile of flapping fish.

  ‘So this . . .’ the King expanded on his premise, motioning to the leather pouch containing Taliesin, ‘is no ordinary child.’

  ‘That is apparent just from the sight of him.’ Sanan took her leave with her bundle, unable to take her eyes off him. ‘Poor little mite must be starving, yet not so much as a whimper. I shall find a wet nurse forthwith, and send a servant to collect our haul.’ She waylaid at the door and smiled back at Elphin. ‘I’m so proud of you, husband. Our luck has returned.’

  Once Sanan had exited the room, the King tipped the fish from the basket onto the pile already flapping about on the table and floor, and turned it upright again. ‘Fresh, ripe, berries.’ The basket filled with an array of different berries. ‘Delicious!’ King Gwyddno announced when he’d tried a few, and he wandered back to his favourite chair to gorge himself. ‘Elphin, we have been blessed by the Gods this day and it was your doing; the bard was right enough.’ The old coot had a chuckle. ‘Good job. Sanan can have the child, but the basket is mine until you inherit it and all.’

  ‘Of course, Father . . . our gift to you for your patience, hospitality and generosity.’ The last thing Elphin had been expecting to do was please his father; it felt rather odd. He was used to skulking quietly from the room after their meetings, but today, for once, he could leave with his head held high.

  The morning after the Beltaine celebrations word came from Maes Gwyddno that the sea had retracted to beyond the sea gates overnight and they had been closed. The tide had truly turned for Elphin, who went from being the most cursed prince to the most blessed, in but one season. As Taliesin grew and prospered, so did Elphin’s fortunes multiply. His lands grew fertile, his people content, and Sanan blessed him with a beautiful daughter, Melanghel, of whom Taliesin was most fond and very protective.

  The radiant child was really no child at all; he looked as a youth, but he spoke and thought as a wise old man. Taliesin loved running wild through nature equally as much as taking lessons in the King’s library. He was full of inventiveness and wisdom that was beyond his years. He composed complex stories expressed in prose as only the finest bards could, including one that told of the day Elphin had fished him out of the river, which Taliesin obviously remembered in great detail.

  The Basket of Plenty served old King Gwyddno all throughout his winter years and his prize never left his sight. Elphin’s praises were sung by his father constantly, but the Prince suspected that the King favoured Taliesin even more than his own offspring. Still, at the hour of the King’s death, it was Elphin alone he wished to see.

  ‘I am not long of this world, my dear boy,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Please don’t say that, Father, you will recover—’

  ‘Shh! Listen. I must tell what I suspect—’ Gwyddno coughed a few times and Elphin gave him water to ease his speech. After a few sips the King waved it away, eager to speak his piece. ‘It was the year Gwion Bach vanished, you were but a babe—’

  ‘From the ode, Gwion Bach?’ Elphin was wide-eyed, having always been fascinated by the legend.

  The King frowned and gave a nod. ‘At that time I met Keridwen—’

  ‘The crone of Llyn Tegid?’ Elphin gasped.

  ‘Aye. Some magic of hers had gone awry and drifted down river, poisoning many of my prize horses.’

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sp; ‘You never said.’ Elphin was amazed the King had never boasted of such a meeting.

  ‘The Great Mother apologised and told me that one day she would compensate me with a great treasure.’

  ‘The Basket of Plenty,’ Elphin deduced.

  ‘Nay!’ The King smacked his arm, urging him to shut up and listen, while he coughed away his annoyance. ‘Over the years, I heard rumour that the Goddess had been spotted with child, but these reports spanned over twenty years, so it would seem it was an unnaturally long pregnancy.’

  ‘You think Taliesin is the son of the Goddess!’ Elphin gasped quietly.

  ‘He is never sick, heals instantly, and is smarter than all in the kingdom put together.’ The King coughed, and violently this time, splattering his spit towel with blood.

  ‘Father . . .’ Elphin didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Protect the boy. Tell no one . . .’ His father drew a deep breath, and fell limp.

  ‘The King is dead . . .’ Elphin uttered, bereaved to be parentless, overwhelmed by his father’s last words and in some small way exalted that the time to be King was upon him.

  There was a mix of emotions swirling within Taliesin as he and King Elphin set off in their cart loaded with gifts, with a small armed force, towards Degannwy in Gwynedd. This would be the farthest he had ventured from his home. So while it was saddening to leave Sanan and Melanghel, the prospect of adventure and discovery were grand. Then again, he felt the reason for their journey a concern – King Elphin felt quite the opposite.

  Elphin had been invited to visit King Maelgwn of Gwynedd, who had heard tell of Elphin’s increase in fortune and fame – he wished to meet the luckiest king in all Cymru. Maelgwn was said to be a very vain king who liked to be praised as having the best of everything – so whether this meeting was going to bring a deeper alliance or a feud was very much in question.

  ‘You are barely of ten and three years,’ Elphin commented aside to his ward, ‘far too young to wear a frown so deep.’

  ‘Something doesn’t feel right.’ Taliesin maintained his scowl.