Gwion felt instantly better about the situation, yet it was no less daunting. ‘Then I shall endeavour to remain in good spirits and pure of thought.’
‘Mmm.’ Keridwen didn’t seem too excited about that suggestion. ‘That might get a little boring, don’t you think? From what I gather from your reaction to the idea of learning to read and write, you are not quite ready for a monk’s life just yet.’
‘I just fear causing offence to my hosts—’ Gwion was honest.
‘I know your fears.’ Keridwen smiled to reassure him. ‘I also know that your intentions and conscience are pure. That is what sets you apart from your fellow man, Gwion. You do not cause me offence; you bring all of us here at Castell Tegid great joy.’
It was heartwarming to hear his mistress say so. ‘Except maybe Morda.’ Gwion pulled an awkward face. ‘He doesn’t seem to like me at all.’
The Goddess looked back to her chore. ‘He wants to be you. But the next best thing would be to be held in high regard by you.’
He hadn’t been ignoring Morda yesterday; he’d just been distracted by other things.
‘He is blind, Gwion,’ Keridwen reminded him. ‘He doesn’t see your distractions, he only knows how long you’ve been in the room.’
Gwion conceded that he had been a little slow in acknowledging Morda when he’d entered yesterday. ‘I shall do my best to make amends.’
‘Good. I want my team working in harmony. Now . . .’ Her attention turned his way, yet she continued to stir. ‘You had something you wanted to tell me.’
‘I did actually.’ Gwion had tucked the thought in the back of his mind, but it had to do with something Owain had said when facing down Hengist: By the Goddess I serve I swear. ‘I have reason to suspect that you are the Arth, the great bear and the king of kings. You aided the Sons to bring down Gwrtheyrn, and in return the Sons all swore allegiance to you.’
‘That’s a very good theory.’ She smiled broadly. ‘Can you prove it?’
‘Well . . . no. I—’
‘Maybe once you learn to read, you might find evidence to support that claim,’ she teased. ‘Meanwhile, don’t you have wood to chop?’
Gwion smiled at her little dig about his education; he would take up her challenge and find evidence to support what he suspected.
‘You do that,’ she encouraged. ‘Now off with you, and hurry back. I cannot be on stirring duty all day – I have ingredients to source and prepare.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ Gwion was inspired and couldn’t wait to have his chores done so that his education could begin.
BIRTH OF A MONSTER
To his great surprise, Gwion took to learning like an otter to water. He discovered a passion not for Latin so much as the history it spoke of. He was not yet adept enough to read complex text, but Creirwy would read to him, pointing to the words and explaining their meaning. Quite often he found himself entranced by the telling more than the reading, for there was nothing any of his combrogi loved more than being told a good yarn.
Still, history the way the bards told it had always seemed like a fairytale, mysterious and surreal. But in Keridwen’s library were scrolls containing histories dating back hundreds of thousands of years, all magically preserved by the mysterious forces that enshrouded her tiny summer land between worlds. Of course, the old texts were written in ancient hieroglyphics, but Gwion aspired to learn as many languages as he could, in order to study these strange lands and cultures, and draw from their knowledge. He’d not actually seen the library yet – Creirwy chose texts and brought them to Gwion to study in the sanctum. But one day soon – when he was adept enough at reading to appreciate the library – Keridwen had agreed to show him her treasure trove of knowledge and allow him to visit with Tacitus for the tour of his quarters.
Keeping a blaze burning under the cauldron would have been a woefully boring job, were it not for his lessons with Creirwy, who had proven to be an excellent teacher, but a terrible flirt. It seemed the rounder her tummy became, the greater the urge she felt to tease him. Still, it was a good test of his stoic ability.
Take this morning, for example. Gwion was in the barn, reciting the Latin alphabet as he split wood. ‘Arr. Bae. Kay. Dae. Ay. Ef. Gae. Ha. Ee. Kar. El. Em. En. Oo. Pae—’ He sensed he was being watched, and looked up from his chore to find Creirwy, leaning in the doorway.
‘Quo, Rr, Es,’ she continued his chant for him and strolled inside.
‘Am I late for lessons?’ He imagined himself less sweaty and smelly, and it was so.
‘No. I just enjoy watching you chop wood.’ She grinned mischievously as she circled round him. ‘And I like the sweat; it smells delicious!’
Gwion repressed a grin, and retrieved another log to split. ‘I feel exploited and emotionally transgressed.’
Creirwy returned his grin, slinking around him like a female cat in heat. ‘But at least your vocabulary is infinitely more stimulating.’
Gwion was amused. ‘My Lady, do you know how difficult you make it to regard you as a sister?’
Creirwy immediately turned her siren off. ‘Even like this?’ She rubbed her hands over her swollen belly.
Gwion nodded surely, smiling all the while. That was what this was really about, reassurance. ‘You are the most alluring, beautiful woman alive . . . so please spare me the torture.’
She grinned broadly, seemingly overjoyed by his torment, and slumped to a seat on a bale of hay to take the weight off her swelling ankles. ‘This child cannot come soon enough for my liking. I’m tired of carrying this weight, and I’m hungry all the time!’ She wished herself up a piece of fruit loaf, and devoured it.
When the child came, Creirwy would not have as much time to teach him, or tease him. The latter was no doubt for the best as once the Lady was not carrying the child of his king in her belly it would be ever so much harder to resist her charm.
‘Enjoy the calm before the storm, cousin; the tempest will arrive soon enough.’ Gwion placed the split wood in the large copper buckets he used for transporting. ‘I must get on.’
Creirwy waved him forth as she had her mouth full.
‘See you at lessons.’ Gwion took hold of the handles of his wood buckets and envisioned Keridwen’s hearth.
‘Good morning, Morda, you are up early.’ Gwion noted him stirring the pot, and the wee man jumped.
‘Don, mother of gods!’ he cursed. ‘Don’t be sneaking up on me like that!’
‘Sorry, my friend.’ Gwion smiled as Morda complained no matter what he did. ‘I was just surprised to see you here this early.’
‘The Mistress had business to attend, so here I am. Do you have a problem with that, pretty boy?’
‘Not at all.’ Gwion began feeding the fire, and gave Morvran a nudge – the young lord was sitting on the floor, dozing against one of the huge upturned stone blocks that supported the equally stout stone mantelpiece framing the huge chimney. ‘You can retire, I am here.’
‘I have to check the horses,’ he mumbled. The horses could be fed with a thought, but Morvran liked to give them a little attention and a check over each day. Plus a grooming every week.
‘Done. They are as happy as this summer day.’
Morvran grinned, his sights still blurry from sleep. ‘Many thank—’
‘Happy as this summer day . . . even the animals have it better than me,’ Morda grouched as he stirred.
Gwion looked to Morvran, and they seemed to share the sentiment that Morda was just painful at times. ‘Could you keep watch on things just a little longer?’
‘Sure.’ Morvran leaned off the wall and rose to follow Gwion as he headed for Morda.
‘Come with me.’ Gwion grabbed hold of Morda’s arm as Morvran took the stirring stick from him.
‘What? Where are you taking me?’ he grouched, resisting.
In the next moment they were standing in the inner bailey, looking towards the west, where the bailey wall ran down around the hillside to make the most of the views of the
lake. The sun was rising before them and Morda gasped with the pleasure of feeling the sun on his face and the warm summer breeze gently blowing his hair about. The poor man had been working the night shift since they had begun this project.
‘Do you know where we are?’ Gwion queried as he let his captive go.
Morda smiled for the first time in their acquaintance. ‘West side of the bailey courtyard looking down at the lake.’ He breathed deeply, and turned his face up to the sun.
‘I can bring you here every day before your shift if that would make you happy?’
Morda for the first time appeared lost for words. ‘I appreciate the thought, but I can bring myself,’ he said proudly.
‘Then why don’t you?’ Gwion appealed.
‘I have work to do for the Mistress; it’s not proper to be lazing about!’ He took one last deep breath, and vanished back inside.
Gwion rolled his eyes, exasperated. ‘Great Mother, give me patience!’ he appealed to the heavens.
The sound of a woman’s laughter drew his attention to Keridwen, who crossed the bailey with a large basket in hand, having returned from a foraging trip over the bridge. She’d also picked some apples from the trees that her little isle was covered in. ‘Have you not realised that grumbling is his way, Gwion? Morda was a grouch even before he lost his eyes. He is also a compulsive worker as that feeds his need to whine all the time. You don’t have to try to make Morda happy; he is happiest when he is complaining.’
‘Oh damn.’ Gwion rolled his head. ‘So we’re just stuck with it.’
‘Think of it as a lesson in acceptance,’ she suggested. ‘All negativity stems from a resistance to the way things are. Just accept Morda the way he is, and he’ll stop annoying you. Elementary really.’
Gwion ticked his head to one side.
‘You think that is easy for me to say when I have no emotions,’ Keridwen gave voice to his thoughts. ‘I may not understand human emotion completely, yet . . . but I do understand how energy works. I may not experience emotion of my own, but I can see how your feelings play upon the energy field of your spirit body.’
‘Whoa!’ Gwion felt his brain expanding to fathom it. ‘You can really do that?’
‘You can really do that,’ she informed him. ‘With proper training. The capability for third-eye vision . . .’ she pointed to her forehead between her eyes, ‘is something your people inherited from your spiritual forefathers. I was granted such sight when I sought asylum in the Otherworld many aeons ago.’
‘Asylum? From whom?’ Gwion queried, fascinated.
She hesitated a moment, but then confessed. ‘My deranged family.’
‘And where are your family now?’ Gwion ventured further. He’d heard the bards telling stories of the Gods, but from his own experience the tales would be nothing like the truth.
‘Scattered, among the stars.’ Keridwen raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘They all have growing concerns in different quadrants of this galaxy.’
Gwion was completely dumbstruck.
‘We keep in touch . . .’ she looked to him to advise, as though she had not just uttered the most incredible sentence to ever meet his ears. ‘I rest much easier knowing that they are all star systems away from here, or restrained, or stranded in remote locations where they can do no mischief.’
‘Except Gwyn ap Nudd.’ Gwion wondered how such a troublemaker had ended up as Lord of the Otherworld.
‘It is not the Night Hunter who makes the trouble. He is an impartial judge, that’s why my father chose—’ Keridwen gasped on her sentence. ‘Enough history for today.’
‘I do adore it,’ Gwion appealed, hoping he had not pried too far.
‘I know you do.’ Her concern melted into a proud smile. ‘But if you wish to learn about the true history of my family, then you’ll need to learn to read the cuneiform.’
Gwion had no idea what cuneiform was, but he would certainly find out. ‘You have lived out among the stars!’ He had to say it; it was blowing his mind.
‘I was born out there.’ She delighted in making him gasp with excitement.
‘Are there humans out there?’ Gwion flung an arm high to refer to the sky.
‘Some,’ she conceded. ‘But I am not human.’
‘You look human.’ Gwion meant this as a compliment.
‘You have never seen my true form.’ She retrieved a fresh apple from her basket and, taking a bite, she grinned at his awestruck state and vanished.
‘Great Gods!’ Gwion had to sit down; his breathing was shallow from shock and it was making him dizzy. Perhaps his mistress was spinning yarns, but if she was telling the truth . . . Gwion gazed up at the near-cloudless blue expanse above, feeling that he was surely the most fortunate scholar ever to walk the earth.
Over the next few weeks Gwion took charge of bumbling his way through reading the manuscripts Creirwy brought to the sanctum; it was slow going at first but the more he persevered on his own the more he understood, and it was exciting to think that he’d be able to continue to read even when Creirwy was not leaning over his shoulder. It had only taken him since the month of shoots-show – five months before – to learn enough to decipher the scribble of the Romans. As it turned out, he was smart – all the family Tegid agreed.
On the first chilly, windy day of seed fall, Creirwy finally went into labour. Keridwen was attending her daughter in the Lady’s chambers, but her cries of agony could be heard in every corner of Castell Tegid – even in the sanctum, where Gwion fed the fire, absent of thought for anything but his lady’s suffering.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much, lad,’ said Morda. ‘’Tis nothing compared to how her mother sounded giving birth to her.’
Gwion snapped out of his melancholy daze – was Morda attempting to be nice? Perhaps his blind friend was more worried than he was letting on?
‘GWION!’
The harrowed screech got Gwion to his feet, but he did not have the family’s leave to go to Creirwy. If they needed him there, they would ask. And what use could he be in any case? He knew nothing about birthing babies.
‘Gwion! Get him! I . . . need . . . Gwion!’
Could those harsh screams be coming from his lady?
Morvran appeared before him. ‘She is asking for you.’ The pale skin of his Fey form looked paler than usual.
‘I heard.’ Gwion felt a little queasy, wanting to go to her and yet dreading what he would find. ‘How does she fare?’
‘Mother is worried,’ Morvran confessed, grief shadowing his face. ‘I can’t lose her.’
‘Nor I.’ Gwion’s resolve hardened.
‘Nor I,’ Morda added, inspiring a brief smile from them all.
‘Mother—’
‘Where . . . is he!’ Creirwy screeched.
All three flinched in fear of the demands thundering through the walls; after so many hours of hearing it, they were nervous wrecks.
‘—requests your presence,’ Morvran concluded. ‘Good luck, brother, you are going to need it.’
‘That is most comforting.’ Gwion paused to steel his nerves.
‘Would you like some armour?’ Morvran proffered. ‘Or an invisible cloak, perhaps? We have one of those around here somewhere.’
‘You do?’
‘GWION!’
‘We will discuss that cloak later.’ Gwion hated that he always had to leave when a conversation was getting interesting.
‘Father will know where it is,’ Morvran deferred as Gwion visualised Creirwy’s chamber door.
Closer now, the laboured cries of the Lady Tegid made Gwion’s gut twist into knots – life without her in it was a notion too godawful to contemplate – and using only one knuckle he knocked gently at the door.
‘No, Mother! Don’t leave me!’ Creirwy begged, as one of the doors opened and Keridwen stepped into the hall to brief Gwion.
‘The child is too large,’ she advised quietly. ‘If I do not cut the baby out of her, then we will lose them both.’
> Gwion was rocked to his core – Keridwen was a mighty Goddess with aeons of knowledge and magic at her disposal, yet her prognosis seemed to indicate that there was no way of saving Creirwy. ‘There must be a means to spare both their lives, surely?’
‘There is.’
Keridwen’s claim filled Gwion with hope briefly.
‘But my stubborn daughter won’t allow me to take her into the Otherworld.’
‘Her Otherworldly form is more fluid.’ Gwion saw the wisdom in the solution.
‘But she knows that if her child is born perfect in the Otherworld then . . .’
‘It will be cursed in the physical realm, as Morvran is.’
Keridwen nodded.
‘What do you need from me, Mistress?’ Gwion was obviously biased towards saving Creirwy, but it was her mother’s decision to make.
‘I do not wish to lose any family members this day.’ Keridwen may have been devoid of emotion, but she was as attached to her children as any parent.
‘We are agreed.’ Gwion would attempt to convince Creirwy to save herself. ‘Even if we must defy her will?’
‘You are charming,’ Keridwen posed. ‘Make sure we don’t have to.’
He dipped his head to accept the mission.
‘GWION!’
The doors to Creirwy’s room opened and he entered with haste. ‘I am here.’ He’d expected to see the Lady Tegid looking harrowed and bloodied, but her bed was as white and clean as ever; even distressed as she was, Creirwy would not appear less than perfect.
She reached out to him and, grasping both his hands in hers, she went to say something, but was forced to pause. The Lady gritted her teeth to breathe through her agony. This served to allay her only for a moment, for she threw her head back and let out a fierce guttural wail of defiance. ‘This child is killing me.’ There was no drama in her tone, just acceptance.
‘Yes, I know.’ As her pain gave her reprieve, Gwion gazed deep into her eyes, and gained her full attention. ‘That is why you must let us take you into the Otherworld.’
‘You know what will happen if I do.’
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