This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  ‘If there is a chance that we can enter the courtroom and the King is not possessed,’ Neiryn appealed. ‘It’s worth a try, lad. You are safe among bards; these men shall never tell of it.’

  Myrddin and Selwyn both shook their heads to confirm this oath.

  Taliesin closed his eyes and focused on his memory of the piece in question, and at the same time he felt the weighty torc in his hands.

  There was a gasp from the men looking on. ‘That is it,’ Selwyn affirmed with excitement.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Taliesin was sorry to disappoint them all. ‘It is just copy.’ He handed it over to Myrddin to confirm. ‘The genuine article will still radiate ill-will until a rite is performed to banish the evil attached to the sub-planes.’

  Myrddin concurred. ‘I feel nothing of Mahaud’s energy upon this.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Neiryn smiled in commiseration. ‘Back to plan A.’

  They regrouped on the road, with Tiernan, the King’s guards, Brockwell and his trusted warriors, who were now brandishing the cloaks and helmets of the King’s guard. ‘We return to the city with the child the King is seeking, found by these bards.’ Tiernan laid out the plan. ‘They can hopefully keep his majesty engaged long enough for Prince Brockwell to snatch the Queen of Meirion away from danger. Then we shall deal with our king’s demons. If we all converge on him at once, then perhaps we can hold him down long enough to pry the torc from his neck.’

  Myrddin began laughing hysterically, then went stone-faced to state with all gravity, ‘That will not work.’

  Neiryn, who was at the reins of the cart, relinquished them to Myrddin and climbed down. ‘Leave the retrieval of the torc to me.’

  Tiernan did not appear comfortable with that. ‘How—’

  ‘You’ll have to trust me, Champion.’ The bard clicked his fingers and Taliesin handed over a heavy sack.

  Tiernan gave Neiryn a nod of confidence.

  ‘Can we go now, please!’ Brockwell was completely exasperated.

  ‘They can go,’ Neiryn advised, ‘but I would ask that you waylay with me, Prince Brockwell.’

  The Prince served the old bard a look that implied he was really pushing his luck.

  ‘Let’s move.’ Tiernan advanced, and looked back to those who waylaid. ‘We’ll be right behind you,’ Neiryn assured their associates.

  Taliesin wasn’t worried, he knew Neiryn’s plan, and if the worst happened, Calin Brockwell, the last hope for the Cymry, would be safe.

  ‘Goddess preserve us all,’ Selwyn whispered as the cart lurched into motion.

  The oppressive energy inside Degannwy had increased tenfold since last Taliesin had been here, or perhaps it was just that his psychic perception had been heightened. More likely the entity was feeding off the death and ill-will accumulating here.

  As Taliesin was led with Myrddin into the room of court by the King’s guard, Selwyn snuck in behind them and stood at the rear of the room, by his harp in the corner, to observe.

  There were no nobles in the court this day; they had all most likely fled in fear of being dispatched as Elphin and Vanora had been. Was Maelgwn aware he was leading his kingdom to ruin? Had he taken on the witch willingly, or by accident? Clearly, he was not of righteous intent before he killed his uncle, if he could have slain Rufus and betrayed the dragon’s trust. And there was that lingering rumour that Maelgwn had murdered his own father to be King. Chiglas would already be planning to avenge the death of his daughter, and civil war was brewing within his own kingdoms; if Maelgwn didn’t wake up, Gwynedd would be lost.

  Sanan sat in the throne that Vanora had last occupied, although she was barely recognisable. Her clothes were the same as ever they were, but she appeared as a soul who had seen too many horrors. All the vibrancy had departed from her being, leaving only a pale husk of a human behind – much as Taliesin felt he must appear. As she laid eyes upon him, recognition sparked in her expression. Sanan shook her head and mouthed the words, ‘You should not have come.’

  On a throne to the other side of the King was Maelgwn’s heir, Rhun. He’d inherited his father’s dark good looks and his forbidding demeanour, yet there was no shroud of evil distorting his actions. This monster had cruelly taken the life of someone Taliesin dearly loved, and only the Goddess knew how many others he’d killed on his father’s behalf. Still, hatred paled to trepidation as Taliesin observed King Maelgwn who, it was now apparent, had more than just a shadow hanging over him.

  The Key of Electra had described a battered priestess who drew many creatures from the sub-planes unto herself by carving a seal into her own belly. Killed with these creatures still attached, the spiritual abomination was renamed Mahaud by the ancient god who had tricked her into this miserable fate.

  Taliesin could now clearly see this creature looming over Maelgwn in spirit – a conglomeration of malefic thought forms, all fighting for precedence within a lucid female frame. It was this thing that was shrouded in shadow.

  Keridwen had once spoken to Gwion of being able to see his spirit body, which was achieved by developing third-eye vision. Taliesin had been seeing an interplay of energy beneath matter all his life, mostly by accident, at other times by extreme focus. Sometimes he saw beautiful colours radiating from people, or shadows hanging around certain parts of their bodies – indicating injury or disease – but he’d never beheld anything like this.

  The dark influence did not appear to extend towards Sanan; she had obviously refused all Maelgwn’s gifts, and the bruises on her face were evidence of his annoyance. The sight of the entity was petrifying to both the selves residing inside Taliesin’s wee being, but it was not him in which the King took an immediate interest, but the bard beside him, who’d yet to be announced by Tiernan.

  ‘Myrddin.’ Maelgwn’s dark eyes bored into the bard brought before him, yet he grinned.

  ‘Mahaud,’ Myrddin replied.

  ‘What did you call me?’ Maelgwn snarled, and motioned to his guards nearest the bard to seize him. The men who responded were in on their plan, as were the guards who held Taliesin firm.

  ‘King Maelgwn does not know me by sight,’ Myrddin challenged. ‘So whom do I address?’

  ‘Someone who sees right through you, prophet!’ The King swung his attention to Taliesin and stood. ‘And you’ve brought me the last heir of Meirion.’

  ‘He is only our ward,’ Sanan stood to combat the King’s intent. ‘Taliesin has no claim—’

  Maelgwn turned and struck her to the ground. ‘Kill them both.’

  Taliesin shuddered when the cold steel of the guard’s sword came to rest against his throat, even though he knew they would not carry through.

  ‘Wait!’ Sanan had risen and grabbed the dagger from the King’s belt.

  This must have been another prize stolen from his uncle, for Taliesin – or rather, Gwion – recognised it from Keridwen’s library as the Blade of Swiftness. The treasure would have been useless to Maelgwn in his sorry state, but it would cut for Sanan, for she was as righteous as a summer day was long.

  ‘I told you, he has no claim!’ Sanan held the blade upright and close to her chest – at arm’s length from the King or anyone else – seeming undecided as to whether she should aim the tip at herself or the King. ‘Let him go!’

  ‘Your obstinance will not be tolerated!’ the King threatened. ‘Your husband was right, you truly are the most beautiful woman in all of Cymru, and as much as I enjoying having you, there are prizes I desire more and you’ve unwittingly brought them all to me.’

  Sanan gasped, and horrified by his claim she ran at Maelgwn, who appeared to turn the blade inward upon his attacker with no more than a wave in her direction. To Taliesin’s eyes, it was the creature that lashed out to aid the Queen to plough the dagger into her own body.

  As Sanan fell, the King turned back towards him.

  ‘Did you think I would leave the loyalty of my guard to chance? They have all accepted coin from me.’ Maelgwn grinned.

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sp; ‘Drop your wages—’ Tiernan yelled, but the guards with swords in hand were not as quick to respond.

  ‘Farewell, Grigorians.’ With the same dismissive wave, sharp steel slid across Taliesin’s throat, and a deadening shock ran through his being as he gargled blood and dropped to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. His eyes were open, for he saw Myrddin drop beside him – their lifeblood running down the cracks in the tiles to mingle on the floor of the King’s court, which flew into chaos around them.

  The attacks unfolded in such fast succession that Neiryn, who was sneaking up behind the King under the cover of the Ring of Invisibility, didn’t know which way to turn. The sight of his slain wards dumbfounded him – they had seriously underestimated the extent of Mahaud’s influence.

  The Queen of Meirion sank slowly to the floor, and Brockwell came out from beneath his invisible cloak as he laid her down.

  Damn it! Neiryn cursed in his mind; Brockwell had exposed himself.

  ‘You acted too quickly,’ he wept over his sister. ‘I would have saved you.’

  ‘Sweet brother,’ she mumbled, grief streaming from her eyes. ‘I have brought war to Gwynedd. Better you were born an only child . . .’

  As she fell dead in his arms, Brockwell’s hateful gaze turned towards his cousin. He withdrew the dagger from Sanan’s body and drew his own sword as he stood.

  ‘You are the last northern prince who can oppose us.’ Maelgwn grinned, drawing his own weapon and giving it a twirl to limber up his wrist.

  Rhun was already up with sword drawn. ‘And that’s one too many.’

  ‘No!’ Neiryn cried and took King Maelgwn by the torc from behind. He pried one side up and the other down, but as he tried to take it from around the King’s neck an electric shock repelled Neiryn backwards into a wall. Upon impact his body shattered and shot his consciousness into oblivion.

  In the light there were streaks of luminescence, swirling as he was towards the peacefulness above.

  Gwion. An impression of Creirwy called, but there was no desire to turn back, there was only a will to rise and escape the dark, repressive abyss below.

  Anu, you cannot leave. Ninharsag’s appeal and all they had striven for could not sway his course.

  Araqiel. A gathering of light-beings appeared around him, and many of these souls were known to him – Brockwell, Myrddin, Rhun, Selwyn, Tiernan, Owain and the possessed King of Gwynedd, Maelgwn. You vowed to guide us. As the King’s appearance transformed into that of Sanan, so did all the beings assume their female forms. So guide us, Grigorian, the multitude appealed as they stepped aside, leaving one shadowy figure opposing. He was laughing.

  All you ever wanted was your eternal memory back! The figure glided closer and out of shadow. It was Gwyn ap Nudd. And you know there is only one way that can happen. But . . . if you wish to escape an eternity at the mercy of the human condition, I am happy to assist.

  The expressions upon the faces of his Grigori brethren appealed for him not to listen.

  They are but an ideal you once had. The Night Hunter spread his arms and made them all vanish. This is what they have become.

  Below them the courtroom was in disarray, dead bodies were piling up, his own corpse among them as king fought cousin, prince opposed champion, and Brockwell’s guard fended off every guard the witch had paid.

  Are they worth eternal sufferance? There is not one redeeming soul among them.

  But there was. In the corner beyond the fray, Selwyn knelt, weeping, as he appealed to the Goddess to forgive his king for his unspeakable deeds against her most esteemed representatives this day.

  Play.

  Selwyn gasped as he heard a voice inside his own mind compel him. But as he attempted to rise, the oddest buzz enshrouded his entire form, his body felt listless and slow to respond. Was he dying? He felt no wound.

  Come, lad. Neiryn was before him, urging him to take position behind his instrument. I’ll teach you a very ancient, very sacred summons.

  Selwyn was back in his childhood, of which he’d lost all memory. The bard Neiryn was there, appearing much younger than the old man with whom he’d been recently acquainted.

  It is known as the Pan call, and must only be played in times of greatest peril, or when healing is needed. Neiryn placed his fingers on his harp. Each element resonates to a different note . . . like this.

  Selwyn did likewise. It was only a four note sequence, which he played over and over again, his fingers plucking strings through no control of his own – he played as if in a dream.

  The Night Hunter was furious as a green mist began to creep into the chaos of the courtroom below them, driven by the tiny light-filled beings of his elemental kingdoms who were drawn to Selwyn’s harp. Never trust a female! This is mutiny!

  No one in the room would have been aware of the calming, healing influence singing along with Selwyn’s harp; it was his playing that brought most in the room to an enchanted state of calm. Only Mealgwn fought on, with Brockwell on the defensive.

  Many beautiful waifs appeared around the Night Hunter, and they did not look happy. You promised us the harpist would not be endangered!

  It is not me who places him at risk. The Night Hunter referred them to Taliesin, and all their angry sights followed.

  You risk his life while you linger? Amabel appealed. Don’t you know who he is?

  Stop interfering, Gwyn insisted.

  The waif’s attention shot back to the Night Hunter. You first.

  I demand our elementals withdraw from Degannwy; this is not our affair. The Lord of the Otherworld stated his terms.

  Release these souls from your glamour and we will be happy to comply, they insisted.

  Souls? His attention shifted to beside him, where he saw Myrddin pressed against the stone wall, reaching towards him.

  To the sound of a harp, Taliesin’s perspective swung from vertical to horizontal, but the view of Myrddin was the same. Their blood no longer stained the floor and his wilder Grigori brother appeared equally bemused to be delivered from death without a mark.

  That part of himself that had eluded Taliesin was foremost in his mind. The realisation of his imperishable nature might have been bewildering, were it not clear that Myrddin was of the same disposition. Was this untamed man also a son of the Goddess? Whether they were brothers in this life or not, they were of the brotherhood of the Grigori, but only Araqiel knew that.

  The musical enchantment ceased as Selwyn collapsed behind his harp.

  The room threatened to erupt back into chaos, until Taliesin and Myrddin rose and the astonishment at seeing them returned from the dead ensured silence prevailed – even Mealgwn and his demon were stunned.

  Most of the key players in this affair were Grigori who had come here to lead mankind out of darkness! Taliesin now understood that Maelgwn had killed his own twin soul in Sanan. They had no doubt been meant for each other, but not like this; somewhere the scheme had gone horribly wrong. Taliesin knew who was ultimately responsible and it wasn’t this demon or any earthly king.

  ‘Primary chief bard I am to Elphin

  And my native country is the place

  of the summer stars:

  John the Divine called me Merlin,

  But all future Kings will call me Taliesin.

  He was in words barely aware of what he was pronouncing; the words just tumbled from his mouth, more eloquent and authoritative than ever before.

  ‘I was the instructor

  to the whole universe!

  I shall be until the judgement

  on the face of the earth.

  I have sat, in the perilous seat,

  above Caer Siddi.

  I shall continue to revolve

  between the four elements.

  There’s not a marvel in the world

  I cannot reveal . . .’

  Taliesin fixed his eyes on Maelgwn, who in his Grigorian life had been his most selfless commander. He wanted to weep for what human existence had done to him.r />
  The creature overshadowing the King hissed, perhaps sensing its own defeat. ‘You’ll not be rid of me easily with so many greedy kings hereabouts . . .’

  Taliesin’s first attempt to steal the torc from around the King’s neck had failed because he’d been focusing on a memory of the piece from before it had been stolen, and hence he had evoked a duplicate of that torc. But now the item was in his line of sight and when he held out his hand towards it, the piece around Maelgwn’s neck broke in half and fell away, throwing the King into a spasm as the demon was forced to relinquish her hold upon the King.

  ‘If any man still holds coin given by the King, cast it off now,’ Taliesin called out, ‘lest you become this demon’s next host.’

  Those in the court in all likelihood couldn’t see the presence, but as the shadow withdrew into an angry ball of fury that began crashing into walls around the room looking for an exit, it was certainly heard and evidenced in the great indents it left in the walls. Coins soon began dropping to the floor.

  The King, as if waking from a long sleep, looked around him and when he saw his beautiful cousin slain on the ground he dropped his weapon and fell shaking onto his throne.

  The evil presence was still sweeping around the room, seeking refuge and stirring up hatred; the air was electric with agitation.

  ‘Now I tell Maelgwn what his fate will be,’ Taliesin continued.

  ‘No, my friend,’ Myrddin touched Taliesin’s shoulder to calm him, only to be repelled with great force and little effort.

  Taliesin’s youthful form aged before the eyes of everyone, and they shrank away in fear of his great magic and the unseen foe charging around the great hall.

  ‘You . . . from my youth!’ Maelgwn’s eyes opened wide in recognition. ‘You told me we would meet at this time.’

  They had never met before Taliesin entered this room with Elphin less than one week before. Taliesin thought these might be the fearful ravings of a man who expected to be killed, but Taliesin didn’t need to strike a deathblow here. The King was already ill. Without the witch hanging over him, keeping his disease at bay, symptoms were already beginning to manifest – Maelgwn was shaking and sweating profusely.