Physical teleportation had its limits. Usually you were required to picture a place or a person then will yourself there, which served to restrict the etheric traveller to destinations and people they were already familiar with. Selwyn had no idea what the Tylwyth Teg looked like and he certainly wasn’t familiar with any of their main abodes.
‘Not to worry,’ he told himself. He always had his faith. He closed his eyes to breathe in the unusual atmosphere that prevailed at Craig-y-Ddinas. Goddess aid me to aid thee … take me to the closest being belonging to the folk known as the Tylwyth Teg.
Upon parting his eyelids, Selwyn knew at once that he’d been teleported elsewhere, for there was no mist. Then the shocking realisation occurred that he was, in fact, in exactly the same place. This was Craig-y-Ddinas; the distinctive topographical features of the landscape were clearly identifiable. And yet, there was no construction or destruction of any sort here. The flora flourished like a well-tended garden, the explosive colours of which near bowled Selwyn over. There was a distant sun glowing in the sky, but it was not the golden orb he knew; this place was illuminated by a brilliant blue sphere. Every single object, from the leaves on the trees to the finest grain of dirt at his feet, gave off the most brilliant illumination as a result. Selwyn understood why everything here glowed, for the blue rays of this sun felt twice as invigorating as the sunlight he was more accustomed to. This was the ‘Land of the Dead’, the ‘Land of Eternal Youth’. Annwn — the Otherworld.
‘So where shall I find the being I wish to encounter?’ Selwyn asked out loud, speaking with the Goddess as if she were right beside him.
A gentle breeze brushed over the druid, carrying with it the sound of a distant song.
The harmonious melody was more lovely than any instrument or voice he’d heard before, and more masterfully handled than his fingers would ever be on the harp strings. The dulcet tones beckoned him to seek its source; being a musician himself, how could he not?
The druid wandered down the steep incline and through the vale to the confluence of two rivers. There, on a rock by the water’s edge, was a young woman. This was no human female, however, as she sported a beautiful pair of glistening wings that appeared so sheer they were almost transparent. Her additional appendages were not shaped like those of a bird, or dragon, being more akin to the wings of a butterfly. Her body, clothed in a dress of woven flowers, appeared as dense as Selwyn’s own, and he wondered if anything that appeared so real could be an apparition.
The song being sung had no words that he recognised, and yet Selwyn could tell from the melancholy vein of it that this being was at odds. As her back was to him, Selwyn cleared his throat to make himself known to her.
The being gasped, alarmed, and turning to spy the druid, she instantly vanished.
‘Nay, come back,’ Selwyn appealed to the empty space left in her wake. ‘I mean thee no harm.’
When the being did not return, Selwyn’s thoughts turned to the harp on his back, where it permanently resided when he was on the move. Although he couldn’t hope to match the talent of the being that he’d startled, perhaps he could set her at ease with a tune.
He removed the harp’s skin carry-case and found a fallen tree which provided a seat of good height. Upon resting the harp gently against his shoulder, Selwyn began to play what he recalled of the tune he’d just heard. He found the atmosphere of the wood around him most inspiring. He forgot about keeping an eye out for the being and closed his eyes, absorbed in playing.
A tiny voice came to resonate with his notes, and he opened his eyes to find her, only now the being was no bigger than his thumb and danced around upon the bridge of his harp. The strain of her tune was much more joyful now, thus Selwyn played on. After a little while the being doubled in size and wandered down onto his shoulder, singing all the while. Then Selwyn felt her snuggle up against his cheek. As he turned his head slightly, trying to glimpse her, the winged being took flight.
Her soaring, twirling movements were like a dance, which she performed all around him. Every now and then she would break from her movement to come up close to Selwyn, and by either kissing his cheek or snuggling against it, she expressed her complete rapture.
This went on for some time as Selwyn was afraid to stop playing for fear she would depart again.
Thou art not of Annwn. Art thou of Abred? she bethought him as she continued to sing her siren song. Selwyn nodded; Abred was the ancient term that referred to the physical realm or the middle kingdoms. ‘I am Selwyn,’ he said quietly, whereupon she alighted on the overturned tree beside him and in a burst of silvery light she increased her size to match his own proportions.
I am Amabel, she advised mentally, her beauteous tune building in intensity to match the size of the form she now entertained.
‘Art thou of the folk known as the Tylwyth Teg?’ Selwyn struggled to concentrate on his mission, and not how his heart was stirring in his chest, moved to bursting point by her haunting aria.
Amabel nodded to confirm. Thou art very beautiful for one of thy ilk, Selwyn. She referred more to his sparkling aura than his physical form.
Her thought came through to him in the form of a sultry whisper, and Selwyn felt himself blushing — the heat in his face overwhelmed him. The fluttering in his heart induced a stirring in his loins, the like of which he had never experienced in a conscious state. The unexpected stimulation caused his fingers to falter on the strings, and he noted how close to him the beautiful being was sitting. ‘I am pleased that thou dost not find me offensive,’ he replied with as steady a voice as he could maintain.
Dost thou find me offensive? Amabel’s wings suddenly retracted into her shoulders and vanished from view.
Selwyn could hardly believe the question. How could any being in creation not be completely overwhelmed by her beauty? It was not like him to notice the physical attributes of the opposite gender. No woman had ever come closer to perfection in his eyes than the Queen of Gwynedd, but Amabel’s loveliness even surpassed Tory’s.
Her hair hung in long snowy-white ringlets, and her eyes were a most unusual shade of pale blue-green. The waif-like body of a woman was enfolded in the milky white skin of a young girl, and Amabel’s telepathic voice was nearly as sweet as her melodious song.
‘Thou art a vision of perfection, Amabel,’ he told her, averting his eyes for fear of succumbing to the desire that was welling within him. Her song was driving him to distraction. Why was he here? What was it he was supposed to be doing?
Then why dost thee turn away? Amabel swung around in front of him, going down on one knee to look up into his face. Can thee not feel the energy that weaves around us, urging us to unite?
Selwyn closed his eyes. His tune and her song were racing towards a climax that he feared the consequences of, yet he could no sooner stop playing than hold back the tide. The desire he felt at this moment surpassed every meaningful emotion he had ever had all put together.
As her lips brushed gently against Selwyn’s neck, their duet reached its crescendo, igniting such passion as Selwyn had never conceived of. A moment later it was no longer the harp he gently caressed, but Amabel. His fingers trembled under the duress of his new-found emotion, and as he felt her body rise to press against his, her dress of flowers dissolved away.
Selwyn awoke to find himself laying naked in a field of flowers. His robes were draped over him and the beautiful creature asleep in his arms. It was a dream he imagined, for surely such bliss was not possible in the physical world. Thus Selwyn snuggled in to await his return to reality. This came sooner than expected.
The druid’s harp, which stood close by, began violently strumming of its own accord, as if trying to alert its player to a pending danger.
Selwyn was far too enchanted to heed it, however, although the harp did rouse Amabel from her slumber.
The nymph snuggled closer to her lover, kissing his chest and neck. I had never imagined a love so deep and tender as thou hast bestowed on me.
‘Nor I,’ Selwyn smiled, brushing her long, soft curls back off her face.
Overjoyed to hear this, Amabel repositioned herself on top of Selwyn to arouse his interest in more love play. Stay with me in Annwn and thou shalt know this bliss for all time.
As she said this, Selwyn’s mission came flooding back, bringing with it a wave of horror. He did not have time to voice his distress nor even sit upright, for the thundering voice of Gwyn ap Nudd resounded through his mind.
How dare thee abuse my hospitality thus!
Selwyn looked up to find the eight foot tall warrior standing over them.
Deceiving whore! He yanked Amabel from on top of Selwyn, and with a wave of the being’s hand she was clothed once more. After all I have done in pursuit of thy affection, how could thee betray my feelings in such a manner?
Thou hast no claim on me. Amabel’s song burst forth, conveying her anger with the booming strain of a tenor. I have told thee countless times, I do not love thee!
What could this fragile scrap of a human have that I do not? Gwyn adopted a more congenial tone to question.
Amabel rolled her eyes as if to say, everything, but she settled on one word. Sensitivity.
Thou dost think me insensitive!
Amabel placed her hands on her hips to inform the Lord: Not an opinion but a well-known fact.
At this stage, Selwyn wished that he possessed the talent to block out their thunderous argument or at least turn the volume down. His head was splitting.
Well, I would not want to damage my reputation. Gwyn reached down and hauled Selwyn up by the scruff of his neck. Fortunately, the druid had managed to throw on his robes during the argument. Let me see what my insensitive brain can come up with to crush and belittle the love of thy life.
Nay! Amabel’s tune changed abruptly. I beg thee, do not torment a spirit of such beauty.
Thou art the one tormenting, and well thee knows it. Begone from my sight, Amabel, before I have thee confined.
Amabel was obviously fearful of his threat, although she still hesitated to comply. Please —
As much as I adore thee, I strongly advise thou dost not test my love further than thou hast.
Amabel burst into tears as she savoured one last glance at Selwyn, and then vanished.
Right. Gwyn held Selwyn up by his robes to view him, and the young Druid hung like a rag doll in the God’s grasp. As thou hast partaken of the pleasures of my beloved, so shall I partake of the pleasures of thine.
‘Lord,’ Selwyn gasped, the neck of his robe choking him. ‘I have no beloved.’
In that case, thy Lord’s woman will suffice. Who dost thou answer to? Gwyn placed the palm of his free hand to Selwyn’s third eye to extract the information. As Selwyn was on a mission for the Dragon at present, this was who Gwyn perceived to be the Druid’s superior. As he glimpsed Maelgwn Gwynedd’s queen, the overwhelming admiration his prisoner had for her was made plain. Tory Alexander, Gwyn announced to the horror of his captive. Thou dost hold her very dear, I think.
‘Nay, Lord, I beseech thee, there must be some way I can pay for my own offence.’
Oh, thou shalt pay for it, druid, Gwyn assured. And thy beloved queen shall pay with thee.
Grief-stricken, Selwyn sat pondering his misdeed from within the darkness of a hollow tree trunk. This was serving as his prison cell whilst Gwyn fetched Tory to his trial. The Druid had tried willing himself out of his entrapment to no avail; Gwyn ap Nudd must have enchanted the tree somehow.
He worried for the King and Queen of Gwynedd, whose blissful married life was to be destroyed on his account. The Dragon had sent him to appease the Tylwyth Teg and Selwyn had only served to offend their Lord even more grievously than Conan had. He didn’t feel he could contest the charges, for in truth he could not say just who had seduced who. Still, had he known she was the object of the Lord of the Night’s affection, he would never have allowed the affair to take place — or so Selwyn would like to have thought.
The trunk of the old tree parted, allowing the light from outside to flood in and blind him momentarily.
‘Selwyn!’
His heart sank at the sound of Tory’s voice. Gwyn ap Nudd had succeeded in taking her prisoner. As his sight returned he came to focus on the Queen of Gwynedd, dressed in a beautiful gown of flowers that had her rooted to the spot.
‘Let me out of this thing!’ she demanded, as she pulled at the train.
Beyond his Queen was a small army of winged beings, amongst the ranks of which he spied Amabel. Gwyn ap Nudd was conversing with Tory in another language, so Selwyn failed to follow a single word that passed between them. His Queen appeared most confused, and kept looking to him for answers. Selwyn wished with all his being that he had some explanation, some comfort, or a means to rescue her from this unjust situation. Gwyn was appearing most pleased with himself as his attention turned to Selwyn.
Be this the woman who means more to thee than any other in thy world?
The way the God had phrased the question served to maximise Selwyn’s humiliation. The tears he’d struggled to contain, feeling he did not deserve such a release, overflowed to trickle down his cheeks. ‘I have failed thee, Majesty.’
‘Nay, there must be some misunderstanding.’ Tory jumped to his defence as she had always done, whereby Gwyn ap Nudd waved his hand and the neckline of the Queen’s dress grew to smother her to silence.
Just answer my question, Bard? Gwyn roared. I know she be the one. I just want to hear thee declare it.
Selwyn glanced quickly from Tory to Amabel, before lowering his sights, unable to look either woman in the face. ‘Aye,’ he conceded stubbornly. ‘This be the woman who means more to me than any other in existence.’
The Lord laughed with satisfaction. ‘Enough,’ he decreed, holding a hand to Tory’s third eye, whereupon she began to fade into a ghost that glowed a bright shade of violet.
‘Hey! Hello! Where did everybody go?’ Tory looked down at herself, and noting the colour change she looked up to the sun. ‘Ultra-violet light,’ she uttered with delight.
The Queen’s enchanted gown of flora allowed its restraint to lapse and she began to wander around aimlessly in search of the assembly, as if they had vanished instead of she.
‘What hast thou done to her?’
The Otherworld hast many subtle levels, druid. Gwyn replied. No need to worry for her safety.
As Tory wandered aimlessly into the woods and out of sight, Selwyn chanced a glance in Amabel’s direction. Her expression was nothing short of crushed in the wake of him professing his undying devotion for the Queen of Gwynedd.
‘Damn thee, Gwyn ap Nudd. I do not care if thou art a God, thou hast no right to toy with the emotions of others in this fashion.’
I did not do the toying, druid, I only exposed it. But I shall avenge thy deception after I see to the travesty that began at Craig-y-Ddinas. Denizens of the Otherworld prepare for battle. Gwyn excited the winged masses to riot, whereupon they cried out their acknowledgment and vanished, Amabel with them. Thy queen will be my victory dance, when I have taught thy kings a lesson in otherworldly relations. Gwyn brought his hands together, whereby the tree trunk enclosed Selwyn in his dark prison once more.
Alone in the silent darkness of the tree, Selwyn’s weeping seemed amplified, and despite his desire to calm and focus himself, the tears just wouldn’t stop. Everyone he’d ever cared about was in peril and he could do naught to aid them. I am a complete and utter failure. He bowed his head, defeated, when the ground suddenly dropped from beneath him and Selwyn found himself sliding at an amazing speed down into the underground.
The druid skidded to a stop in a dimly-lit subterranean cave. The light therein was provided by several large glowing fireflies that danced about Amabel’s glistening form.
My love, art thou alright. She flew to his side, her siren song conveying her deep concern.
‘I am not thy love!’ Selwyn pulled away from her and rose. ‘Why did the
e not tell me about thy connection with Gwyn ap Nudd?’
I do not love him, and I have never done anything that would lead him to believe otherwise, I swear it.
‘I have failed in my mission here, betrayed my king and country, and offended the Gods because of thee!’ Selwyn accused, suddenly unburdening his anxieties. ‘I do not know much about thy kind, Amabel, but thou art able to perceive the thoughts of others. Thee must have known I had a greater purpose in Annwn. Why did thee cause me to forget it?’
The only answer Amabel had seemed very selfish in retrospect. She had not expected to fall so deeply in love with her patsy. ‘I shall help thee make amends,’ she proffered in her defence.
‘Thou hast helped enough,’ Selwyn declined coldly, closing his eyes to wish himself elsewhere. I must get back to Craig-y-Ddinas in Abred at once. As the ethers enfolded him, Amabel’s haunting song transformed into a wail of anguish. But Selwyn had shut his heart off to her influence. Thus her cry moved him not.
The mist over Craig-y-Ddinas was heavier than ever and an eerie silence now prevailed. All the sounds of men at labour were mysteriously absent.
The first thought that occurred to Selwyn was that he’d manifested at the wrong location.
‘Hello!’ The druid moved off, taking small, cautious steps. He shuffled along, avoiding obstacles that his feet encountered, when he heard a strange sound, like that of a large bird swooping in to land, heading in his general direction. Selwyn threw himself to the ground as a huge beast passed overhead, stirring up the mist in its wake.
Now the druid beheld the blanket of corpses on which he lay and screamed out his horror as he scrambled over the mass of body parts to a patch of unbloodied ground. As he paused to collect his shattered sensibilities, he began to tremble uncontrollably. ‘The Goddess hast abandoned us,’ he uttered, leaning down to inspect a couple of the corpses more closely. The body closest to him was that of the mason who had been so helpful earlier, and Selwyn was shocked to discover that he’d fallen victim to his own masonry tools.
Chronicle of Ages Page 12
