Chronicle of Ages

by Traci Harding

  As I had made Tory infinite cups of tea in the past, I did the honours while I awaited her.

  ‘Hello, stranger.’

  I didn’t have to look up to know it was Tory. Her voice was unmistakable. ‘Perfect timing,’ I announced as I finished stirring her cup and stood in greeting.

  For a woman in a high pressure job, Tory looked fabulous. The plain tailored pants-suit of deep purple that she wore was made of a very soft fibre that flowed around her athletic form as she walked. Most in Chailida wore loose, comfortable, hooded clothing as the climate in this part of Kila was quite warm all year round. Her long golden hair was twirled up into a bun and only short wisps that escaped her hairdo danced around her face.

  ‘Don’t you dare get formal with me, Noah Purcell.’

  She motioned me back to my seat, but I remained upstanding. ‘Actually, I thought I’d have a better chance of scoring a hug.’

  Tory’s smile overwhelmed me, as did the tears in her eyes as she approached and gave me a long squeeze. ‘You always score a hug.’ She stepped back and handed me the orb I’d sent her. ‘All that I remember of Maelgwn’s appointment to High King of Briton is on there, along with some additional accounts from others to fill in some of the blanks that elude me.’

  Her prompt response to my request overwhelmed me, I couldn’t think what to say. ‘I didn’t mean to put you to any bother.’

  ‘It was no bother.’ Tory seated herself and took her tea in hand. ‘In fact, it was a rather intriguing exercise.’

  As Tory sipped the tea I had prepared in advance, I backed up to take my seat. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction to let me know the brew was to her liking.

  ‘You still haven’t lost your touch,’ she assured me.

  ‘I forget nothing of our time together,’ I told her, realising I was flirting. I could tell by the amused look on her face that Tory knew it too.

  ‘In your present reincarnation, you mean?’ she added.

  ‘Why, yes.’ Her response puzzled me slightly and my eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

  Tory’s expression became more serious and she placed her teacup aside. ‘When Rhun and I first began working on your past-life memory with you, there were several periods of your incarnation as the sixth century bard, Selwyn, that you’d blocked out completely.’

  ‘Were there?’ I was intrigued to learn this. ‘I don’t recall you mentioning —’

  ‘That’s because we were afraid of making the blockages worse. We knew then was not the right time for you to confront these memories, and we didn’t wish to instil a conscious fear of facing the past once it did come calling to set you right.’ Tory smiled and casually offered me a biscuit, but those deep violet eyes of hers betrayed the sympathy she felt.

  Deep inside, panic gripped my being. ‘So, you’re implying that you think I am at odds with myself?’

  ‘What I’m saying is that there are things about the period of time contained in that orb that you may not want to face. Unfortunately, there are parts of the tale that only Selwyn knows, and those facts are locked in some dark recess of your memory.’

  I sat stupefied a second. Was that why I hadn’t researched this period of history: it wasn’t that I had overlooked it, so much as unconsciously ignored it.

  ‘I would be happy to help you work through the events,’ Tory offered. ‘Other than that, you might try to seek the counsel of Taliesin … he might even respond to a summons from you.’ Her tone became rather indignant; hence I gathered she’d had problems contacting the ascended Master.

  The foreboding in my gut was growing. ‘Do you know what it is I refuse to remember?’

  My question made Tory frown. ‘I could only guess, I’m afraid, and I could be wrong. Selwyn never divulged his secret to me, or anyone, as far as I know. Better that you face your demons, Noah, and discover the answers for yourself.’ Tory shrugged apologetically, and finished her tea.

  ‘Secret, you say?’ I fished for information.

  Tory nodded. ‘The young bard pulled off an extraordinary coup, you see, that saved the day. But, by whatever means he achieved what he did, it saddened Selwyn greatly and drove him to the life of a hermit for many years following Maelgwn’s appointment to High King of Briton.’

  As I sat dwelling on the discoveries that lay ahead, I must have drained of colour.

  ‘Look at it this way.’ Tory sought to pep me up. ‘You ask others to relive the harrowing experiences of their past for the sake of posterity. Now here’s your chance to make a contribution.’

  I forced a smile in response.

  ‘Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’ She encouraged me with a nudge to the shoulder. ‘After all, you asked for it.’

  Back in my study at the Institute, the thought-recorder Tory had returned to me sat idle on my desk. The orb seemed to be taunting me as I pondered what could have driven Selwyn into isolation.

  Years ago, back on Gaia, I was contacted by the part of my higher self that was once Selwyn. The great Druid told me he had left all of his precious histories in the safe keeping of Taliesin — High Druid of Briton — to give to me, Selwyn’s Chosen incarnation. Not one of the documents had mentioned Selwyn’s time spent in isolation, nor what had driven him to it. And where other periods of Maelgwn’s reign were heavily documented, his rise to High King status was not even given a mention. Whatever it was that happened during this time, Selwyn sure didn’t want it remembered — perhaps by me least of all.

  ‘So …’ I reached out and took the thought-recorder in hand. ‘I have been blocking out these recollections since the Dark Ages, hey?’ I sat back in my seat and made myself comfortable. ‘Sorry, Selwyn, it has to be done.’ I activated the play function and opened my mind to its data.

  The recording commenced with an … oratory from Tory that overlaid a visual of a memory of presiding over a general meeting of the allied kingdoms of Briton. The leaders of Gwynedd, Powys, Gwent, Dumnonia, Dalriada and Dyfed were present — all of whom appeared a mite concerned about something.

  ‘The rise of Maelgwn to the status of High King of Briton began during the tenth year of his reign as King of Gwynedd, 529 AD Gaia Time. Aurelius Conan, son of Aurelius Caninus, King of Gwent Is Coed, returned from studying in Italy the same year to assume the crown of Gwent Is Coed.

  That year the Beltaine festival was hosted at Castle Dwyran in Dyfed. All the leaders from the surrounding kingdoms descended upon Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed, and his lovely wife, the Lady Cara, to partake of their hospitality for the duration of the festival that would continue for several days …

  PART 1

  Tales from the Dark Age

  Map of Prydyn 529 AD

  Character List

  KILA

  Author of the Chronicles

  Noah Purcell

  Governess

  Tory Alexander

  Tory’s Head Seer

  Sibyl

  Ascendant Master

  Taliesin

  Rhun’s son

  Asher

  Rhiannon’s daughter

  Ragan (Rai)

  GWYNEDD

  Queen of Gwynedd

  Tory Alexander

  King of Gwynedd

  Maelgwn Gwynedd

  Prince of Gwynedd

  Rhun

  High Merlin of Briton

  Taliesin

  Merlin of Powys

  Selwyn

  King of Dumnonia

  Catulus

  Protector of Dyfed

  Vortipor

  Vortipor’s wife

  Cara

  Vortipor’s daughter

  Bridgit

  King of Gwent Is Coed

  Aurelius Caninus

  Prince of Gwent Is Coed

  Aurelius Conan

  Ruler of Dalriada

  Fergus MacErc

  King of Powys

  Calin Brockwell

  Queen of Powys

  Katren

  Pri
nce of Powys

  Bryce

  Aurelius’ champion

  Leoline

  Vortipor’s champion

  Queron

  King Brockwell’s advisor

  Lamorak

  Lord Bishop of Glamorgan

  Samson

  Brockwell’s scout

  Trwst

  King of the Tylwyth Teg

  Gwyn ap Nudd

  Siren

  Amabel

  Folk of the Otherworld

  Tylwyth Teg

  Tory’s champion

  Ione

  Midwife

  Old Hetty

  1

  The One Begotten Son

  This was to be the last festival that Aurelius Caninus would attend, as his old bones were getting beyond journeying. To the next great meeting of the alliance Aurelius would send his son, Conan. The old ruler expected his boy to return home from Ravenna, the capital of Justinian’s empire in the north of Italy, any day now. Despite Aurelius’ assurances that his son would not fall short of the allied kingdoms expectations, it worried Aurelius’ fellow leaders that Conan was not of the native faith.

  ‘Once he hast witnessed all the wonders I have seen since meeting thee, Dragon, Conan too shall be inspired to the cause of the Goddess,’ Aurelius Caninus assured his allies at the pre-festival conference. ‘How could he not, when our pact has brought my kingdom ten years of peace and prosperity?’ The old ruler became short of breath and broke into a coughing fit.

  Tory, who was the only woman present, rose to pour him a fresh glass of water and then aided him to drink it.

  ‘We all greatly look forward to meeting him,’ she told Aurelius, although glancing around at the other leaders assembled, Tory could tell they did not share her sentiments.

  Aurelius was thankful for the water, but knowing his limits, decided to retire and leave the younger rulers to their agenda.

  As King of Gwent Is Coed, Aurelius Caninus had maintained a good trade between his kingdom and Italy in the wake of the Roman retreat from Briton. Aurelius was particularly fond of their wine. At the time Conan had been born, Aurelius had yet to be acquainted with most of the rulers of his neighbouring kingdoms, with whom he was now allied. Thus, at that time, Aurelius had accepted the advice of his religious advisors to have Conan raised in the Roman faith, as he himself had been. It was arranged that Conan be taken to Ravenna to learn all that a great ruler should.

  Twenty years later, Aurelius realised in retrospect that his son would have been better tutored by the Bards who taught the children of the royal families of Prydyn. Aurelius, raised in the Holy Roman faith, had only re-embraced the Old Ways of his people since meeting and joining forces with Maelgwn Gwynedd. Yet, in converting back to the way of the Goddess, Aurelius had not ostracised those of his kingdom who wished to maintain their Christian beliefs and allowed the Bishops and monasteries to continue to flourish in his kingdom — much as Catulus of Dumnonia had.

  ‘The lad shall be a cocky young upstart disposed toward the Roman faith and their way of doing things,’ King Brockwell of Powys grumbled, as soon as Aurelius had left the room.

  ‘Sounds rather like someone else I met once.’ King Catulus of Dumnonia turned his eyes Maelgwn’s way. ‘Hey, Dragon? Sounds like thee and Aurelius Conan could have a thing or two in common.’

  ‘We were all young and deluded once, Catulus,’ Maelgwn conceded with a smile.

  ‘Conan wast a good lad before he departed for Ravenna.’ Vortipor vouched for Aurelius’ word. ‘Perhaps our fears art in vain.’

  ‘Of course they art,’ Tory emphasised. ‘I feel sure that Aurelius Conan will want the best for his kingdom, as do we all.’

  ‘Aye, but will he recognise what be in the best interests of Gwent?’ Fergus MacErc, the Scot of Dalriada, folded his arms, clearly ill-at-ease.

  ‘I say we drag young Conan up to Llyn Cerrig Bach for an inauguration.’ Brockwell grinned, revealing the dimple on his chin. ‘Let the Goddess decide if he is worthy.’ He raised his brow, his blue eyes sparkling as he relished the thought.

  Ten years a king, and Calin Brockwell was still as mischievous and audacious as ever.

  ‘Calin!’ Tory wasn’t surprised at him, but she made it sound as if she was. ‘Hopefully that will be the last step of the many it will take to right this situation.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Brockwell detected her doubtfulness and sought to exploit it. ‘So even thou dost concede that young Conan could be a threat to the alliance?’

  Tory avoided Brockwell’s vexing question, suspecting that he had an ego-based motive for disliking the soon-to-be king. ‘Why doth thee persist in calling him young Conan, when the man be only a few years thy junior?’

  The question shut Brockwell up, and gave the older members of the council something to chuckle about.

  ‘Thee should praise the Goddess, my friend.’ Catulus, the oldest of the rulers remaining in the room, slapped Brockwell’s back. ‘It will give the rest of us someone new to pick on.’ He ruffled Brockwell’s mass of dark unruly curls, until the warrior cast him off.

  ‘Laugh if thee will.’ Calin was well accustomed to not being taken seriously; he’d been the youngest member of the alliance for ten years. ‘But this kid will be trouble. I smell a battle brewing.’

  The frowns on the faces of his fellow rulers told Tory that most of them agreed with Brockwell’s premonition. Only Vortipor chose to laugh off the comment.

  ‘Stop it, Calin, thou art scaring me,’ their burly host teased, cowering to play scared. ‘Well, I smell a celebration brewing!’ He stood, dispersing the doom and gloom from the room. ‘And if ye girls have quite finished imagining our fate, I would like to get festive.’

  ‘I second that motion.’ Maelgwn slammed his hands down on the table, bringing their meeting to a close.

  Under the guise of an advisor to Aurelius, Conan moved through the banquet room, observing the rowdy pagans that his father had fallen in with.

  He could hardly compare this raucous feast with the Roman banquets he was used to. The music and drunken laughter made any civilized conversation impossible. The orgy of sexual intercourse that would take place all over the countryside tonight seemed to be getting off to a fine start over dinner. And it wasn’t just the commoners who were submitting to their desires in public; the chieftains were openly flaunting their affections also.

  Backward heathens, one and all, thought Conan, seating himself at one of the many long tables laden with food.

  ‘Some mead, sir?’

  Conan turned to find a tall, slender maiden awaiting his word with a large jug of mead in hand. Her smile, so welcoming, took his breath away as he momentarily mistook her for a lady he had known in Ravenna. ‘Please,’ he said finally. The woman looked fragile, yet she had no problem handling the heavy jug and managed to fill his goblet without spilling a drop. ‘Thou dost serve thy mistress well.’ He acknowledged her servant’s skill.

  Although Cara bowed to accept his intended compliment, she couldn’t help but giggle at his misconception. ‘I am the mistress of this house.’ Again she was amused by the bewildered look on the man’s face.

  ‘The hostess serving mead —’ Conan near choked with shock.

  ‘There be no better way to meet all my guests,’ she explained with glee. ‘I am the Lady Cara, and thou art …?’

  ‘An advisor to Aurelius Caninus.’ Conan stalled as he thought up a name for himself. ‘Sir Eldred.’ He borrowed a deceased uncle’s name.

  ‘I am pleased to meet thee, Sir Eldred.’ Cara gave a slight curtsy, although her social standing meant she was not bound to do so. ‘As an advisor to Aurelius, hast thou met his allies?’ Cara motioned to the main table where her honoured guests were seated.

  Conan glanced at the main table in the grip of Beltaine revelry. ‘They appear to have their hands full at present.’ His attention returned to Cara.

  Conan remembered Vortipor from childhood. The Protector of Dyfed had done well for himself. T
he Lady Cara was a vision of loveliness. Dark copper brown curls fell over the milky white skin of her shoulders and down her back in large orderly ringlets. Her eyes of hazel sparkled, full of life, and the luscious lips of her tiny mouth seemed, in Conan’s opinion, perfectly crafted for kissing.

  ‘Hast thou not got better things to do, woman?’ Vortipor grabbed up his wife from behind and hauled her away, squealing and giggling.

  Conan stood, concerned by how the Lady was being manhandled. He watched as Vortipor relieved her of her pitcher and backing her up to the main table, proceeded to seduce her on it.

  ‘Take it outside, Vortipor,’ Tory whacked his shoulder to get his attention, and then referred him to her son. Rhun was eleven years of age and watching Vortipor’s seduction technique with great interest.

  ‘Little dragon, why art thou not in thy bed?’ Vortipor let his wife up from the table.

  ‘I have a headache,’ he announced, and as soon as his mother’s attention was diverted, Rhun grinned broadly.

  ‘Thou art a headache,’ Vortipor grumbled as he watched his wife return to their guests.

  ‘Rhun.’ Maelgwn called for his son’s attention and waved him in close. ‘See that man over there, sitting on his own?’ Rhun nodded in accord. ‘I do not recall ever seeing him before.’

  ‘Shall I find out his identity for thee, father?’ Rhun offered enthusiastically.

  ‘Do that.’ Maelgwn whacked his boy’s behind and sent him on his way.