Chronicle of Ages

by Traci Harding

  I had obviously said more than enough on the matter, and so, with an encouraging smile, I took my leave.

  ‘En Noah,’ Rai called after me, with a sniffle.

  I paused and turned back to hear her woes.

  ‘I hope this incident will not damage your opinion of me too much … I respect you more than any of my tutors and I want you to know that I shall do better.’

  ‘You’re doing a marvellous job, Rai,’ I responded light-heartedly. ‘You’re young, that’s all … you haven’t yet learnt the dangers of allowing your personal affairs to interfere with your professional commitments.’

  Ragan frowned, seemingly confused by my reply. ‘You think I was trying to make Asher jealous?’ she scoffed and laughed at once.

  This had not been my thought, but Ragan’s accusation seemed to betray her true feelings for the lad. ‘Taking your friendship for granted was more what I meant, but each to his own,’ I allowed.

  Upon realising she had betrayed herself, Ragan folded her arms, frustrated.

  Young love, I thought to myself as I left her to brood. Who can figure it?

  To me, the production that was eating up all my free time seemed trivial in comparison to the work I should have been doing. But to the students involved in the project it was an invaluable bonding experience and a chance to explore the past and live the lives of the legends that they had so long admired.

  My personal spiritual exploration flew straight out the window when every evening I arrived home completely exhausted from teaching classes through the day and working on the production in the early evenings. My weekends were also sacrificed and only when the play was ready to perform did I find any peace whatsoever. Still, I was not on my own in that regard; just about everyone in the city had been working double time leading up to the festival.

  It was a bright sunny morning that marked the beginning of the week-long celebration and holiday period in Chailida. From now until the big day, arts, crafts, tournaments, healing, feasting, family and friends would rule in our fair city. All of the Chosen Ones would return home before the week was out to commemorate our prosperous existence with kin and kindred souls.

  Myself, I greatly looked forward to seeing my wife and sharing this well-earned rest from all duties. I expected her return at any time now, but Rebecca liked keeping the exact time of our reunion as a pleasant surprise; I liked this arrangement also.

  I had actually spent the night at our private abode. This was a lovely sunny apartment located on the circular central island of Chailida. Our balcony overlooked the canal that separated the government island from the first island ring where the Purcell Institute and all the establishments for learning were located. Rebecca and I had been granted residency on the central island, as I was the historical advisor to the Governor. More often than not, when Rebecca was away, I slept in my chambers at the campus. Waking up in my marital bed this morning, I truly knew I was on vacation.

  As this day represented my first leisure time in over a month, I had vowed to spend it taking my long awaited journey into the past. A fruit breakfast in the sun put me in a suitably calm frame of mind from which to embark upon my quest of discovery.

  ‘Right.’ I slapped my hands together in an attempt to raise my weary carcass from the clutches of my extremely comfortable outdoor setting.

  A glorious laidback mood had descended upon the city. Many were still lazing about on their balconies in the late morning, and those who had managed to make it out and about strolled at a far more leisurely pace than usual. There did appear to be a fair amount of activity out on the fourth island ring, where the marketplace, harbour and docks were located. The faint sound of music wafted forth on the warm summer breeze and the tune seemed to capture the relaxed mood of the moment. In fact it was such a lovely day here on Kila that it seemed a crying shame to waste it in a meditation chamber, reliving a life in the Dark Ages of dismal old Briton.

  Your devotion to duty is overwhelming, I lectured myself sarcastically. As difficult as it was to drag myself out of the sun and into the shade and quiet of indoors, I made for our meditation chamber with an orb in hand.

  It took some time for me to settle into a deep meditative state, but when I had, the past-life regression function of the chamber activated automatically. This program guided my mind via subliminal suggestion, back to the time I desired to relive — I had nominated the day Rhun had been crowned High King of the Britons.

  Evidence of festive merriment bombarded my senses. The smell of a great feast filled my nostrils, as the riotous chatter and laughter of the gathering around me increased from a murmur to a roar. The taste of spicy mead hung on my taste buds and the heart in my chest felt light and aflutter. The darkness behind my eyes rushed away and I joined Selwyn as he raised a goblet to toast the new High King of the allied kingdoms.

  ‘So be it!’ Selwyn responded in accord with all those surrounding him and drank down a good portion of the mead in the goblet he held.

  ‘I have never known thee to have such a thirst, merlin,’ Cai, the youngest Prince of Powys, commented in an aside to his tutor.

  ‘Drink inspires bravery, so they tell me … I could do with a little courage at present.’ Selwyn did not look to his novice; his eyes were fixed on Kaileah, the Druidess of the Pictish warlord, Talorg. The Druidess was across the room, eyeing him with a solemn look of interest on her face.

  ‘Maybe she fancies thee,’ Cai jeered his mentor, for the woman in question was greatly feared, and something of a mystery.

  ‘I hardly think so.’ Selwyn emphasised his conclusion, having had some dealings with the woman in question. Kaileah was a good ten years younger than himself and seemed to have an agenda that was not of this world. Although tiny in stature, the holy woman projected such a dark and ominous presence that everyone bar her Lord remained wary of her, and Talorg liked it that way. Even in the midst of all this revelry, she seemed completely removed from it.

  A cloak of raven feathers fell from her shoulders to the floor. The glossy blue-black colour of the unique garment intensified the depth in her ebony eyes. Her hair, darker still, fell in a multitude of black braids, which were bound in a ponytail that fell past her knees. The holy woman’s lips were painted black as night, adding to her ominous appearance. But her defining feature was the tattoo over her third eye. This depicted an eye, its pupil a perfect black orb with a white crescent moon as its iris.

  ‘Well, thee could do the polite thing and go and inquire after her curiosity,’ Cai suggested.

  ‘I suspect her restraint doth not stem from formality.’ Selwyn poured himself another drink. ‘If she wishes to speak with me, she shall seek me out.’

  ‘Seek thee she dost.’ Cai alerted Selwyn to the raven-feathered woman’s approach.

  As the Druidess neared the Merlin and his novice, she bowed her head slightly to Selwyn in acknowledgment and continued on past. ‘In a moment, druid, come and find me,’ she whispered, so discretely that Selwyn wondered if he’d imagined her instruction. When she had gone, he looked to Cai to confirm his perception. ‘Do my ears deceive me?’

  Cai shook his head, unable to smother his astonished grin.

  ‘Curious,’ was all the Merlin could say, perplexed by her approach. Why was a secret meeting required? Cai’s overactive imagination was way off the mark in Selwyn’s opinion and therefore the Magi’s precautions could only mean one thing — that there was trouble afoot.

  Selwyn bided his time before exiting the banquet hall at Castell Dwyran, Dyfed’s capital city, where the crowning of the High King had taken place. He observed the main table where the leaders of the allied kingdoms were seated, in an attempt to assess any dis-ease around those gathered.

  The main feasting table had increased in size over the past ten years to accommodate all the new ruling dynasties that had joined the alliance. To prevent overcrowding or offence at these large gatherings of leaders, the old rectangular table had been replaced by a large round one, with room to
spare for newcomers. The new allied kingdoms had emerged from the territory to the north of Gwynedd that had once been known as Cumbria. This area had been only sparsely populated since Roman withdrawal, but with unoccupied land being a precious commodity in the known world at this time, the territory was slowly but surely being claimed. The native Britons did not number enough as a race to occupy and hold their entire island. Therefore, forming trade relations with emerging Kingdoms was the best option the allies had for maintaining the lands they had secured.

  These new landowners all claimed native descent, and were distant relatives of the royal lines of Powys, Gwent and Gwynedd; like King Elidyr of Reged, the kingdom directly to the north of Gwynedd, whose forefathers claimed to have descended from Cunedda the Great.

  This legendary warlord had migrated from the Firth of Forth in Alban and, along with his nine sons, Cunedda had pacified and settled much of the western coast of the isle of Briton in the wake of Roman withdrawal.

  When Elidyr had joined the alliance, two of his long-time allies, Elifler, King of York, and Riderch, King of Clyde, had come to the party with him. With their combined territories, the largest portion of the Isle of Briton ever to be brought under the control of the alliance was realised. This meant greater trade, protection and peace of mind for all.

  Not that there weren’t battles being fought. Large numbers of immigrants were arriving on the eastern and southern coasts of the isle to escape the strife and overcrowding on the continent. Up until recently the immigrants had not had the numbers to be of any threat to the allied territories and so had lived and thrived in peace. But now, as their towns became crowded and room for more farming was needed to feed their refugee kinsmen, these new settlers had begun to turn warlike. Eormenric, King of the northern Saxons, and Prince Cadoc, son-in-law of Catulus of Dumnonia, had been fighting back King Cynric of Winchester from their borders for years now. A peaceful resolution to the conflict had proven impossible. Cynric was of the mind to expand his Kingdom across the lower island, and having plenty of reinforcements back home on the continent to draw upon, the Saxon warlord was determined to see his vision realised.

  But war was not the order of this day. The new High King was chatting merrily with Prince Bryce of Powys, who’d been appointed guardian of Dyfed in the wake of the Protector’s death. Vortimor, Vortipor’s son via his second marriage, was the true heir apparent, but as he was only six years old, it had been his father’s dying wish that Prince Bryce become guardian of his son and his Kingdom.

  In vast contrast to the general mood of the celebration, Prince Bryce’s younger brother, Blain, King of Powys, was appearing rather solemn. He’d spent his life in the shadow of Rhun’s achievements, and now his childhood friend and rival had finally succeeded to the rank of High King. Inwardly, Blain must have envied Rhun more than ever before, but by all appearances, he had accepted the decision of the allied council graciously.

  Aurelius Urien of Gwent had forged a firm friendship with his neighboring ruler over the years, and was attempting to raise Blain’s spirits in his own light-hearted and endearing fashion. In Selwyn’s opinion, if the young King of Gwent had been a little older, Urien may well have been High King of Briton at present and would surely be at some future time. He was well liked by everyone within the alliance and his people adored him above all his predecessors. Born a king, Urien had begun to assume the responsibilities of leadership at the age of ten under the guidance of Samson, the Lord Bishop of Glamorgan, and Taliesin, High Merlin of Briton. Schools and places of worship for both the old and new faiths of the people of Gwent had been established within the kingdom. With these reforms encouraging a mutual tolerance for the beliefs of all, the civil unrest that had plagued Gwent since Roman times was quelled.

  Conell of Dalriada, son of Fergus, was attempting to brush off a serious conversation with Talorg, who was seated alongside him. Whatever grievance the Pictish warlord had, he did not appear willing to drop the issue.

  Which got Selwyn to wondering if Talorg’s woes might have something to do with his Druidess’s strange request for an audience?

  Selwyn exited the Great Hall and a thought found him walking beside the Druidess, Kaileah. She had made her way around to the rear of the outer bailey grounds well away from the commoners’ merrymaking, to a quiet and shadowed place.

  The Druidess seemed impressed as Selwyn appeared alongside her. ‘I envy this talent, druid.’ She cast an eye about to check for possible voyeurs. ‘And wonder if we might make greater use of it?’

  ‘My skills art at thy disposal.’ Selwyn couldn’t deny feeling rather gallant as he held out his hands to the mysterious woman. ‘Name thy destination.’

  Kaileah did not hesitate to take hold of his hands. ‘Take me to a sacred crossing,’ she bid him.

  Between Bangor and Degannwy, a circle of stones marked one such sacred crossing. Selwyn was familiar with the place and willed them to the location on the edge of the moors, south of Penmaenmawr.

  The raven woman’s eyes parted wide in awe, as the blue-white light of the ethers blurred the night shadows with a celestial illumination.

  The etheric blanket of light dispersed into the darkness, leaving the two holy people standing out on the open moonlit moor as a wild, chilly wind whipped across the open landscape.

  Kaileah let go of Selwyn’s hands, seeming perplexed. ‘We came forth through Annwn?’

  ‘That we did,’ Selwyn confirmed.

  ‘Then why can thee not reside there?’ Kaileah questioned to satisfy her curiosity.

  Selwyn frowned. What information had the Druidess obtained about him to prompt such a query? And how, or from whom, had she been enlightened? ‘I offended Gwyn ap Nudd once and although he still grants me passage through Annwn, I am only permitted to disembark in his realms at the Night Hunter’s express invitation.’

  ‘That explains it.’ She was gratified by his answer and the smile she gave herself seemed to indicate that her curiosity stemmed from a longer-standing mystery than just her recent observation.

  ‘I am afraid I do not follow thee?’ Selwyn, feeling a little vulnerable, urged her to state her reasons for this meeting.

  ‘The Night Hunter wishes an audience with thee,’ the Druidess explained, pulling from the folds of her cloak a tiny pot with a stopper in the top. ‘Drink this,’ she instructed, whereupon Selwyn backed up a few paces.

  ‘No offence to thee, but I am not the Night Hunter’s favourite person,’ he explained, reluctant to comply. ‘How do I know that dost not contain poison?’

  Kaileah appeared perturbed by the notion, but in order to fulfil her duty to her Lord, she lifted the little pot and poured the contents into her own mouth.

  As she moved toward Selwyn, he was transfixed by the expectation of what the Druidess meant to do next. Close now, Kaileah reached both her hands up behind Selwyn’s head and, gripping hold, she drew his lips to her own. The sweet herbal brew flowed forth into Selwyn’s mouth — although he barely noticed, lost in the kiss of the transfer. His body began to tingle all over, his head felt light and even a little dizzy.

  Druid?

  Somewhere in the far off distance, beyond the sound of his heart pounding ten-to-the-dozen in his chest, Selwyn could vaguely make out someone calling.

  Druid!

  The call for attention was much louder this time, and Selwyn recognised the voice with a shudder.

  The Merlin opened his eyes to find Kaileah and the darkness had departed. The stone circle was lit by the radiant life force in the landscape of Annwn, and Gwyn ap Nudd stood opposite Selwyn.

  Sorry to distract thee from indulging my disciple, druid … the Night Hunter placed his hands on his hips to lecture. It seems every time we meet thou art accosting one of my women.

  ‘Perhaps if my Lord would stop directing his womenfolk to seek me out, this would not be the case.’ Selwyn brushed off the disappointment of his change in circumstance.

  A physical affinity with a human of the oppo
site gender was an unprecedented incident in the Merlin’s forty-eight years of life. The Druidess, Kaileah, had been proving a distraction to him of late; that, he couldn’t deny. Selwyn felt it a great shame that her kiss had not come from the heart.

  ‘Thy disciple, Kaileah, said thee wished an audience, and I feel sure that there was a good reason,’ he prompted, in a not so friendly tone of voice.

  A conspiracy of silence spreads itself through the courtroom of my newly appointed High King. Gwyn captured his guest’s full attention with the statement. Good enough?

  ‘This very night!’ Selwyn exclaimed in disbelief — everyone at the celebration had seemed so joyous, except … ‘Talorg.’ Selwyn took a wild guess at the identity of the instigator.

  Even drunk, thou art still observant, merlin. Gwyn smiled his devilish smile. There exists another claimant to the Pictish throne, Bridei, who hast now come of age and will challenge Talorg’s leadership.

  ‘But these art civil matters of Alban and no concern of —’

  Do hush, merlin, and listen. Maelgwn Gwynedd had a Pictish grandmother who came to settle in Gwynedd with her husband, Einion Yrth, son of Cunedda. Her sister stayed in Alban to beget the sons of their royal line, as ascendancy to the crown passes through the female line of the Pictish and not the male line as with the Britons.

  ‘Art thou saying that this … Bridei, be kindred to my Kings?’ Selwyn jumped to the conclusion.

  That I am … but to my High King, he means so much more than this. Gwyn moved closer to the Druid to speak more intimately and, so as not to tower over his guest, the Night Hunter crossed his legs and seated himself on the ground. Selwyn sat also. It is imperative that my appointed one meets with Bridei before Talorg persuades the council to support him in his battle against the rightful heir.

  ‘But the High King will always seek a peaceful resolution before declaring war —’

  Not if most of his allies support Talorg. And they will, to keep Rhun and Bridei from ever meeting. Talorg knows that the pair will form a very powerful bond should either become aware of the other’s existence.