This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  My home, Gwion reminded himself and smiled broadly at the notion.

  Just when he thought the view could not be any more delightful, Creirwy entered through the open portcullis and waved.

  ‘Gwion!’

  ‘My Lady Tegid.’ He descended the stairs, unable to repress his delight. He’d not seen Creirwy since he’d departed with Owain, and he was most relieved to find her in a favourable mood.

  ‘Morvran sent me to show you the best route to the woods.’ She paused in the gateway and waited for him to cross the cobbled courtyard of the inner bailey to meet her.

  ‘Back across the bridge, I assume.’ He pointed to the west, where a drawbridge gave access to a bridge from the outer bailey.

  ‘There is no wishing yourself there, beyond the island, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s probably for the best.’ Gwion had assumed as much. ‘I’ll be needing the exercise in any case.’

  ‘As do I.’ Her smile was also beaming with the delight of seeing him again – he hoped – but Gwion had to remind himself that she was only mirroring his emotion. ‘Shall we?’ She led off.

  Gwion kept pace beside her and drew a deep, satisfying breath. ‘The beauty of this place today—’

  ‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’ The Lady did a twirl and walked on. ‘I told you that you would adore it here.’

  ‘That I do, Lady, that I do.’ His face was seriously starting to ache from smiling – he’d never realised that was possible.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d never emerge from that bath of yours,’ she ribbed him.

  ‘I confess it was only the prospect of being in the company of you and your family that coaxed me out.’

  ‘You genuinely love my monstrous family, don’t you?’ She sounded surprised in a nice way.

  ‘They are the kindest folk I have ever met.’ His honesty nearly brought her to tears.

  ‘Why did we not meet sooner? Before I . . .’ Her query was full of regret, and she evidently thought twice about how to conclude her statement. ‘. . . made so many stupid choices.’

  ‘Please don’t say that.’ Gwion’s aching face got a reprieve. ‘Our land is at peace now, and you played a huge part in that.’

  ‘But I am not at peace, and never shall be.’

  Sadness wrapped about her like a shroud, but instead of falling into sympathy with her – which would only send her plummeting further into despair – Gwion endeavoured to remain stoic. ‘There must be something that makes you happy?’

  ‘Being here,’ she conceded. ‘With you.’ She smiled again.

  ‘Then be here with me, and forget the past for a while. How many days in life do you think we’ll get that are as perfect as this?’ He did a slow spin, eyes closed, face raised to the passing sunbeams, arms open wide.

  Creirwy mirrored his actions. ‘I love that you never try to pry my secrets from me,’ she stated, as they came to a standstill again, still grinning.

  ‘They are yours to keep, and not my concern, unless you wish it so.’ He strolled on, hoping to get them moving before the Goddess started wondering where he was – though she probably knew.

  Creirwy didn’t follow. ‘I’m pregnant. Four months.’

  The news halted Gwion in his tracks, and ripped his guts out before he’d even turned around. ‘The King?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Clearly, she was agitated that he would imply that she might have had more than one lover.

  ‘Forgive me.’ Now Creirwy’s hostile behaviour towards Owain made perfect sense; Gwion had wondered why, when Owain was always fairly civil with the Lady, she was so cold with him. It seemed she was capable of generating her own emotions – perhaps she was more human than even her mother knew. ‘This is why you’ve been so short with him.’

  ‘I was trying to ward him away from destroying any future we may have had.’ She brushed away silent tears and forced a smile. ‘But now I am content to never lay eyes on Owain Ddantgwyn again.’

  ‘You have to tell him, before he weds another.’ Gwion wanted to retract those words so badly.

  Creirwy shook her head in violent objection. ‘I can’t! You don’t remember what he traded with the Night Hunter for that sword of his. I know. Owain’s life will be miserable, and I want no part in it! What’s more, Owain has seen my Otherworldly form and thinks me a monster; he will never make me his queen.’

  His heart broke for her, and yet leapt for joy knowing Owain’s suit would never be forthcoming. Gwion approached and gripped Creirwy’s shoulders to reassure her of his support, inwardly cursing that he could not recall that damn conversation with Gwyn ap Nudd! ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘Only the family and the Night Hunter . . . who has played us all, as predicted. He told me that Owain was not the love of my life and still I led the way into this mess. I should never have agreed to the Night Hunter’s terms.’

  ‘I can’t imagine any man wishing to seek such a deal again after what Owain has just been through.’

  ‘Who shall know of Owain’s peril?’ Creirwy reasoned. ‘The people will only hear of how he bested nine hundred and sixty men with his fiery blade!’

  She was right. Gwion was the only one who knew the true anguish Owain had faced during his trial with the undead. He held great respect for the young king, who, in forgoing avenging his father, had secured a chance for lasting peace for the Cymry. Owain had put his own life and future in question by doing this; it was a shadow that would taunt him all his life.

  ‘Now I am bound to negotiate deals for any man that Gwyn ap Nudd sees fit to toy with, and Owain won’t be the last.’ Creirwy appeared harrowed. ‘How many more perfectly good men will I ruin?’

  ‘There has to be a way to free you from your covenant,’ Gwion posed.

  ‘There probably is,’ she warranted. ‘But I would have to arrange you an audience with the Night Hunter and then you too would become a puppet for his amusement. See how easy it is to be tempted . . . by me?’ Her eyes opened wide to drive home her statement. ‘You must promise never to be enchanted by me. Regard me as a sister, promise it.’

  Staring into her large grey-mauve eyes, her face and hair glowing radiant in the sunlight, Gwion knew he could never vow such a thing and truly mean it. ‘I . . . I . . . that’s a very difficult promise to make.’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ She freed herself from his hold to grip his arms forcefully. ‘I will be the ruin of you.’ She shook him. ‘That’s my job, to ruin the weak of character who don’t have enough faith in their own ability to make their mark . . . to make a difference.’ She let him go and backed up.

  It was a lot to process. ‘I promise you . . . that I will find a means to break your curse without the Night Hunter’s aid.’ Gwion felt his resolution fortifying his will. ‘And Owain shall never hear of this child from me . . . I swear this on my life.’

  Creirwy burst into a smile and tears at once, then ran at him and hugged him tight, which really didn’t help matters. Her embrace was a comfort unequalled by any life had offered to date, for she was near a head taller than him, and his head was cradled against her breastbone, his eyes unavoidably fixed on her cleavage. ‘I need a friend I can trust; you have no idea how much.’ She pulled away to look down upon his face. ‘But—’ Creirwy bit her lip, as if assessing a risk, before pressing her lips to his and kissing him passionately.

  Before Gwion could revel in the moment it was over.

  ‘Just so we are clear,’ she explained her brief detour from the protocol they’d just discussed, ‘I wouldn’t want you wondering where my affections truly lie, or what it might be like to kiss me. And now I don’t have to wonder what it’s like to kiss you either.’ She shrugged guiltlessly.

  ‘Well. I have never had a sister; I had no idea siblings were so affectionate.’ Gwion’s grin was back, and Creirwy was blushing.

  ‘Well, maybe we are more like cousins, step-cousins even?’

  ‘Whatever the case, I am very grateful for your consideration. But as I was taken
off-guard, I feel that may be a poor example of what it is truly like to kiss me.’

  Creirwy appeared tickled by his cheek, and yet she coyly stepped away from him. ‘We’d best get on before I lose you your job.’

  Gwion threw his hands up at the missed opportunity. ‘I guess you’ll just have to keep wondering.’

  Creirwy laughed, and turned a circle in front of him. ‘You are a very fun playmate.’

  ‘For you, my Lady, always.’ Gwion bowed, before giving pursuit.

  Creirwy ran ahead, baiting him with the premise that they must make up for lost time.

  Gwion’s emotions had swung around so many times since exiting the castle that he felt giddy! But whatever kept him in highest standing with his lady was fine with him. He certainly loved her idea of play, yet he understood the Lady’s warning, and until he could break her bond to Gwyn ap Nudd, he needed to be careful not to fall victim to her glamour. For if he did, Creirwy clearly feared there would be terrible repercussions. The Lady still had secrets not imparted, and perhaps she was forbidden to speak of them, but whatever hold Gwyn ap Nudd had on her, Gwion was determined to sever it.

  By sundown the cauldron was simmering over a good steady fire that burned yellow to red like any regular earthly blaze.

  The Goddess’s choice of cauldron was not super tall like the one that had brewed the undead for Owain. This one was rather stout and wide, so that Morda could stir it easily with his long stick without needing to get too close to the warm metal rim where he might burn himself. His stirring implement must never leave the pot, and so had been fashioned like a long metal spoon, with a long wood handle that sat well clear of the hot metal and furnace when set at ease against the cauldron’s rim. If a single drop of the potion escaped, the entire batch would be ruined, and they would have to start over. All the magic of the spell was confined to the first drops extracted from it – the liquid remaining would turn to poison, for this ensured the potion’s graces could not be shared by others. The cauldron stood on its own four iron feet, which raised it up over the furnace and made the job of keeping the fire burning much easier as the heat of the metal pot above aided to dry any moisture from the wood very quickly.

  Gwion stood back with Creirwy and Morvran as Keridwen added the final ingredients for the day while Morda stirred.

  ‘Leave us now.’ The Goddess referred to Gwion and Creirwy. ‘I have incanting to do with my son.’ She smiled warmly at Morvran as he approached her. ‘You both sleep. Gwion, you can relieve Morvran when you awake. And after you have seen to the fire, Creirwy is going to teach you how to read and write.’

  ‘Like the Roman priests?’ Gwion had never encountered such a man, but he’d heard the bards tell of them and their mysterious scribblings.

  ‘Yes, in Latin, to start. But the really ancient works are in cuneiform and hieroglyphics, which are more akin to Atlantean.’

  ‘But most kings, and even bards, don’t know how to read and write our tongue.’ Gwion was daunted.

  ‘And how do you propose we change that?’ She raised both brows in challenge.

  ‘Wha—’ Gwion was winded. ‘Why would we want to? No one is going to get the kings to sit down and study! They have kingdoms to rule, battles to fight. And what good would it do them anyway?’

  ‘There are scripts in my library that are thousands of years old, the wisdom of the ages for my reference. But the text is always biased to the writer’s views and experience. I read the tale of an ancient ruler’s victories, but what of the nations oppressed? Where is their side of the story?’

  Gwion was still frowning, but he was beginning to see Keridwen’s point.

  ‘Many of the legends and history of Cymru died when the Romans near-wiped the druids from the face of this land at Llyn Cerrig on Mon. Our people need a voice that will live beyond the lifespan of any one man – a point of reference when the details of our history become obscured by the telling. The man who is destined to be that voice will want to be able to read and write in as many different languages as he can master. Knowledge is power, Gwion, but it is not wisdom,’ she cautioned. ‘Only you can bring inspiration to your life’s work.’

  Gwion was stunned almost speechless. ‘This is your plan for me?’ he squeaked, his windpipe constricted by panic.

  ‘It is not my plan,’ Keridwen stated matter of factly. ‘It is yours . . . or at least it was, will be? Yours is a tricky destiny, which I do not know the whole of.’ She sounded a might exasperated. ‘But let’s just start your education with Latin, shall we?’

  ‘Of course.’ He would do whatever his mistress instructed, but reading and writing was rather beyond the scope of his reckoning. He should feel honoured that the Goddess felt him capable.

  ‘It will be fun.’ Creirwy took his arm and nudged him, and the next moment they were in the hallway outside their chamber doors.

  Gwion was still so stunned by Keridwen’s command that the change of location did not faze him one iota.

  ‘I think you will make a brilliant scribe.’ She let him go and slowly backed towards her chamber door.

  Gwion frowned and smiled at the same time.

  The word ‘scribe’ conjured a picture of a balding old man with a long white beard, hunched over a desk all by himself, in quarters cut off from the natural world. This was how the bards had described Rome’s priests, who still thrived in various monasteries around what had once constituted Roman-occupied Britain.

  ‘That is not really how I imagined my life turning out.’

  ‘What did you imagine for yourself?’ Creirwy came to a standstill, appearing most curious.

  ‘I . . . I haven’t really imagined anything, beyond getting through the next year.’

  Creirwy rolled her eyes, either not believing him, or disappointed. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you did. Creation cannot deliver on a wish you do not make.’

  ‘That is good advice for you too,’ Gwion bantered.

  ‘Creation did deliver on my last desire, and now I am with child and exploited by the Lord of the Otherworld. Perhaps bumbling through life without a plan is the answer?’

  ‘I don’t bumble through life,’ Gwion faked insult. ‘I flow.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Creirwy smiled as if enchanted. ‘Would you like to flow into my chambers and join me for some supper? I see no point in us both eating alone.’

  ‘I believe I could ebb that way before I drift off to bed.’ He sauntered over towards her in a ridiculous fashion, making her cackle.

  ‘Your wordplay is truly woeful.’ The doors to her room parted behind her. ‘I look forward to the proliferation of your repertoire.’

  Gwion had no idea what she meant, and shrugged. ‘But still, I did manage to get invited to dinner with the most amazing woman I shall ever meet.’ He raised both brows and gave her a cheeky grin as he strolled around her and into her room.

  The Lady, finding herself unexpectedly charmed and absent retort, followed Gwion into her chamber and the doors closed behind them.

  No bad dreams of rotting men or rivers of blood.

  To the contrary, Gwion woke feeling as though the whole of creation was giving him a hug. It was a novel experience to wake warm and cosy, snuggled amid linen, furs and pillows. He was in good health and, briefly touching base with his conscious memory, Gwion grinned broadly as he found no pressing disaster to propel him from his sleepy bliss. This day his thoughts were filled with Creirwy’s captivating smiles and conversation, her embrace, her kiss. The recollection of the way her grey-mauve eyes seemed to devour him when he spoke lit a fire in his chest and his loins.

  ‘No!’ He broke from his happy daze. ‘Creirwy has enough to deal with right now.’ He sat up. ‘And you promised your mistress to be a good friend to her daughter, nothing more! Not yet, at least.’

  A dip in a cold bath proved brutally effective in bringing his surging emotions under control. He refused to blow this opportunity by betraying anyone’s trust. If he was going to win Creirwy’s hand in marriage �
�� which he fully intended to do – he was going to have to work hard to bring honour to her family.

  Once dressed, Gwion quietly requested that exactly what he felt like for breakfast be manifested – this was a little game he’d begun playing with the ethers.

  A large slice of brown bread, toasted and covered in melted cheese, appeared in his hand, and the wafting smell of it confirmed this was indeed exactly what he felt like. Gwion gobbled the morsel down in a heartbeat, and then imagined himself in Keridwen’s sanctum.

  A loud belch escaped his mouth upon manifesting in the workplace, where he found Keridwen stirring the pot. ‘Good morning to you too, Gwion.’

  ‘Pardon, Mistress.’ Gwion thumped his chest a few times, to be sure that was the all of it. ‘I think I ate breakfast a little fast.’ He approached to report for duty. ‘Why are you alone here? Where is Morda?’

  ‘Morda has to sleep too,’ she informed him kindly, seeming in a very fine mood. ‘I sent him off to sleep a few hours ago. Morvran only just departed as I sensed you waking and gave him leave.’

  ‘You sensed me waking?’ Gwion’s cheeks were suddenly burning red and he held his hands to his face to cover them, even though Keridwen’s gaze was focused on her chore.

  ‘No point being embarrassed; they’re just feelings – which you handled very well.’ Still, she did not look to him, but only smiled as she stirred her pot.

  Gwion wanted to curl up and die. How was he ever to be so pure of thought as to stand in the presence of the Goddess and not feel ashamed of his shortcomings? All he could think to do was grab his axe and make himself scarce.

  ‘Relax, lad.’ Keridwen finally looked to him to waylay his retreat. ‘I have known billions of humans in my lifetime and you are the very best of them. You cannot change what you are and I would not want you to. When you love, I feel it; when you hurt, I experience that too and I learn empathy and sympathy from these sensations. You are not the only student in our relationship.’