‘Do you think Morvran would prefer to be handsome, or to have his mother and sister?’
His query gave her pause. The answer was obvious, for Morvran could live in the Otherworld free of pain, care, or blemish upon his beauty if that were what he wished.
‘It is an impossible decision, I cannot make it. How can I weigh my life against my child’s future happiness?’ She lay back exhausted, tears silently streaming down her face. ‘My babe will be cursed for life.’
‘As I will be, if I lose you.’ Gwion couldn’t let her give up. ‘Please, my Lady, let me take you.’
‘No!’ She pushed him away. ‘I won’t let you see me like that.’
Gwion was annoyed that her vanity would get her killed. ‘How many times must I tell you . . . you can assume the form of a bloody dragon for all I care! So long as you live tomorrow. So, we are making this call for you.’ He stood and scooped Creirwy off the bed, for she was too depleted to argue any more. She weighed a tonne, but Gwion imagined she weighed the same as a bag of feathers and his load lightened.
‘You will stay with me?’ The Lady rested her head under his chin for a change.
‘The Night Hunter himself will not drag me away.’
‘To the sanctum,’ Keridwen directed and vanished.
They hurried through the under-lake workroom where Morda and Morvran were still keeping a watch on the potion.
‘What is happening?’ Morvran approached them to check on his sister.
‘We are taking her to the Otherworld,’ Gwion advised as Creirwy began to moan in his arms.
‘Tell me I am doing the right thing.’ She reached out to Morvran, who took hold of her hand and kissed it.
‘There is no doubt in my mind, dear sister.’ He stroked her face, hoping to comfort her.
‘If this child is anything like you I shall feel blessed,’ she wheezed, and then groaned once more.
Keridwen had approached the only section of stone wall in the round room that was clear of clutter and pressing herself up against it she uttered a chant under her breath.
A segment of the wall vanished into mist, leaving an open archway spewing Otherworldly vapour into the room.
That was why Keridwen had been inspired to put her sanctum down under the lake, for this was where the gateway to the Otherworld was located.
‘This way.’ She beckoned and disappeared into the vaporous void.
Inside was dark. Gwion had to feel out every step he took. He imagined a floating orb of light before him. A light did appear, but it was some distance away and not at all what he’d envisioned. Interesting. He could not influence matter here as he could in Keridwen’s little realm; strange then that Creirwy’s form had not started weighing heavier in his arms? The mist grew thicker the closer to the light they drew, obscuring the exit. The Lady went quiet in his arms, but as she was still wriggling, he was not alarmed.
At the light-filled opening, the mist thinned out and he glimpsed the vibrant wooded vale beyond, pulsing energy and colour beneath a twilight sky.
‘Nearly there.’ Gwion looked down to find himself carrying a black shadow of a creature, with large, intense eyes. The rest of the facial features were less distinct. A large head fed into a bulging body, sporting many long tendril-like legs that hung languidly in piles over his arms where Creirwy’s legs had been.
In the blink of an eye the vaporous tentacles reached out and latched onto an overhanging branch, then she drew the rest of her form up into the trees – Gwion was left holding only a bloodied dress.
‘You don’t have to hide from me.’ He could hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, but he felt it was more from excitement than fear.
The opaque vaporous shadow scrambled over branches, swung between them, and then soared and tumbled about in the air, as if seeking a way to be comfortable and finding none. Instead of wailing, the creature hissed – scaring away any of the air elementals who had taken an interest in her suffering.
‘I cannot assist you if you do not come down.’ Keridwen gazed up, arms folded.
Creirwy swung herself into a tree then slithered down the far side of it where Gwion couldn’t see her. Keridwen walked behind the tree and out of sight also. ‘Excellent,’ she reported loudly. ‘Now we have progress.’
Gwion breathed a small sigh of relief, but they were not out of the woods yet.
What do you care? It’s not your child . . . or your woman.
Gwion was startled to find Gwyn ap Nudd standing by him.
The Night Hunter grinned. She’ll never be your woman.
It took only a second for Gwion to gather his wits and go into observer mode. He knew that Gwyn ap Nudd would be following his every thought; he must reveal nothing. ‘If you say so, Lord.’ Gwion smiled as the hissing sounds from behind the tree intensified.
The Night Hunter’s eyes narrowed. Nice emotional control, Bach man, but we both know you are bluffing.
‘If you say so, Lord.’
‘Gwion!’ A shadowy tentacle came round the tree, the end of which beckoned and felt about for him.
Your friendship is required. Gwyn granted him leave to answer his lady’s summons.
Gwion approached and took hold of Creirwy’s outstretched appendage; it felt moist, smooth and squishy – like a soft, smooth sea sponge, just slightly more dense than air. He could feel the pressure of it gripping his hand, and yet it did not pain him like the fully solid object might. It did, however, leave a slimy residue all over his hand that was slowly drizzling down his wrist.
Admit it, this creature disgusts you.
Gwion felt Creirwy’s grip on him loosen a little, but he gripped tighter, which only caused more ooze to drip down his arm. ‘How could you even think such a thing?’ Gwion’s tone inferred he was quite insulted by the query. ‘She still has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.’
Eyes that will never burn with desire for you, the Night Hunter taunted.
‘You are quite obsessed with the possessive,’ Gwion noted curiously. ‘When we both know all of this is an illusion.’
He heard Keridwen chuckle at this.
It is all going to feel very real to you, boy, once you return to your lot. The Lord of the Otherworld gave a huff, and with a wave of his hand, a child’s cries were heard.
‘It’s a boy.’ Keridwen sounded a little disheartened by the fact.
The Night Hunter smiled broadly. A bastard heir to the kingdom of Powys.
‘No one need know, for his parents will never wed.’ Keridwen had swaddled the new babe in linens, and with a wave of her hand he was clean, quiet, and happily sucking his thumb. Clearly, the Goddess had plenty of influence in the Otherworld, as well as her own little realm.
Gwyn ap Nudd wandered over to view the child. What a perfect little angel he appears. His smile was menacing. But the fact remains that this little bastard is the only heir Owain Ddantgwyn shall ever spawn, the Lord stated, as if it were a known fact; was it only Gwion who wondered how the Night Hunter could be so sure of this? Technically the child belongs to me.
‘What would you do with a baby?’ Keridwen scoffed, admiring the bundle in her arms.
Kill it, stated the Lord, as if it were the obvious solution.
Keridwen turned away to put herself between him and her grandchild.
Before he can wreak havoc on the perfect peace we have secured.
‘No!’ Creirwy pulled herself over the exposed roots of the tree she’d been hiding behind.
It is entirely your choice, of course. The Lord held up his hands in truce and backed up. But take this child back to the middle kingdoms and I promise you that you will wish you had not. This sweet little being will grow to be anything but, and will disgust you in every way. He will divide the Sons and bring more dread to the Cymry than they have known from any invader for a thousand years!
‘You exaggerate, surely.’ Keridwen wasn’t to be swayed, any more than her wailing daughter, who was too depleted to fight.
I wish it was so. My foresig
ht extends further than yours. He was looking to Keridwen. I am right.
‘Who should rule in Powys when King Owain is gone?’ Keridwen was curious.
Brockwell and his line, he replied surely.
Cyngen was a good man, Gwion considered, and a choice that Owain himself would agree with as both their lines traced back to Cunedda.
‘Make your kings as you will; my child shall have no part in it for he will never know the identity of his father,’ Creirwy announced, sounding decidedly more determined.
The bastard will find out, the Lord assured her.
‘His name is Chiglas . . .’ the Lady snarled and rose up on her tentacles until she stood taller than the Lord.
Then I imagine in the future that will be a name synonymous with tyranny, the Lord posed. Is that what you want?
‘I want whatever you don’t want,’ she said bitterly – her mouth appeared more pronounced when she spoke and vanished when she went silent.
But I want only your greatest happiness, Creirwy, he said, as if he truly meant it. A future in which you are free from impediment and have some chance of not dying a lonely old spinster, deeply ashamed of her son’s deeds and twisted desires—
‘Enough!’ Keridwen felt he had crossed a line.
But I didn’t even get to the worst part. The Night Hunter sounded baffled by her reprimand and backed off. I was just trying to aid you to a well-informed decision. After all, it was not taking my advice that led us here.
‘No future is set in stone,’ Keridwen argued.
True, the Lord allowed. Destiny is fashioned by decisions, like this one. And understand this . . . there will be no reversing this child’s curse in the middle kingdoms, ever.
Creirwy turned her dark shadowy gaze Gwion’s way, seeking counsel.
‘No one can make this decision for you.’ Either way the price she would pay was dear. It angered Gwion that she had to face this decision alone – Owain should be here, shouldering some of the burden, but Gwion could hardly blame the King when he had no knowledge of this child.
Creirwy looked to her mother, and then down upon her perfect little babe; eyes of soft mauve and tiny wisps of hair, white as Creirwy’s own, sprouting from his head. ‘Whatever the outcome, the circumstance surrounding his birth is not his fault; why should he pay?’ The Lady released a long, high-pitched note and was instantly engulfed in a whirling mist that carried her off towards the porthole that led to Castell Tegid.
When the mist cleared, Keridwen was left with empty arms.
Upon observing this, Gwyn ap Nudd raised his brows, unfazed. So be it then. But you cannot say I didn’t warn her. The Night Hunter melded into a tree and disappeared.
From beyond the porthole they heard Creirwy scream in horror, and Gwion fled after Keridwen to the cavern that led back home.
The idyllic life at Castell Tegid, of work, study and creation, turned to chaos and torture overnight.
The newborn sucked Creirwy of her youthful beauty in less than one turn of the moon – crying for attention and food incessantly. If Chiglas was made to wait, objects would start flying around the baby’s room, and on a few occasions heavy items had hit Creirwy. Her beautiful eyes were bloodshot and had dark rings beneath them. Lack of self care had left her looking and feeling wretched, for she had no time for vanity any more. The worst part was that she endured this abuse from a child she could not even bring herself to look at.
Gwion had to admit that Chiglas was a most unusual baby, and like Morvran his physical world appearance bore no semblance to his Fey manifestation. The most obvious deformity was that the child had no neck to speak of, just a roll of fat, thus his head appeared to join his body to make a long egg shape that sprouted arms, legs and genitals in the regular places – but all were very chubby. He was completely bald, with tiny grey eyes that were too close together. His nose was twisted as if it had been broken and this caused him to snort a lot. His thin lips were a dark purple colour, and the babe licked his tongue over them like an insatiable lizard.
None of this would have bothered Creirwy – she had long learned to look past physical appearance. But, unlike Morvran, Chiglas not only looked like a monster, he was a monster! The babe radiated malicious malcontent and a disdain for everyone, including his grandmother, who used magic to sedate the child in order to give her daughter and the rest of the household some reprieve from the constant screaming.
Initially Keridwen had cast a cone of silence over the room, but the baby seized the opportunity to harass his mother while no one could hear her scream. Of course everyone could have put cones of silence around themselves as they slept, but they all wished to keep an ear out for Creirwy. The Goddess could not deny anyone the ability to access the mystical benefits available within her realm. She could conceal its secrets from visitors, but once discovered, the only way to prevent someone creating whatever they desired was to dispel them from the island. Keridwen could not bring herself to suggest such a thing to her exhausted daughter.
Gwion knew his lady was already regretting not handing the child over to be slaughtered at birth. Was she so proud that she would risk death before admitting the Night Hunter had been right? If he suggested killing the babe, he knew Creirwy would defend her offspring as she had been. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ she would say. ‘He’s just a baby.’
But when Creirwy entered the nursery one day to find a bird torn to pieces in the infant’s crib and Chiglas, happy and content for once, she knew that within the supernatural sphere of Castell Tegid, Chiglas was going to prove too much for her to handle. Now the babe realised that he could wilfully influence the world around him with a thought, he could do untold damage to anyone.
‘I must take him away from here,’ she wept, holding the remains of the mutilated bird in her quivering hands as she conveyed her sad findings to Gwion and Morvran, who were both on duty in the cauldron room. ‘I don’t want to leave my home, but clearly I must.’ She collapsed into a heap before the hearth fire and allowed her tears to flow silently.
A baby born with a taste for blood and torment was a rare and terrible thing. It was not a lack of love or attention that had caused the child’s compulsion, so it stood to reason to assume that no amount of love and attention was going to sway his nature to destroy. Still, Gwion knew this was his lady’s only hope at creating a happy life, and avoiding the fate that the Night Hunter had described.
‘Come, come.’ Gwion took the bird’s remains from her gently and placed them aside. ‘You don’t have to leave the Tegid valley. Morvran and I will build you a roundhouse just beyond the bridge.’
Morvran looked to Gwion, forcing a smile. ‘In our free time . . . of which we have none.’
‘Maybe your father can help?’
‘Father never goes out there,’ Creirwy informed despondently.
‘I’m sure if we mentioned that peace would quickly be restored in the castle, he might be more motivated.’ Gwion cocked his head to suggest.
‘That is an unforeseen bonus,’ Morvran agreed, probably more on his own behalf than his father’s. For all at Castell Tegid were looking a little dark-eyed – Chiglas had lungs that were second to none.
The Lady Tegid’s decline in wellbeing had been of concern to the entire household but no doubt denying the child superpowers would give Creirwy a fighting chance of not killing, or being killed by, the child.
Relocation would only be a temporary fix, Gwion feared; what would happen as the child grew and matured was going to be a far more difficult hurdle.
Once Morda began his shift, and the fire was blazing steadily, Gwion and Morvran headed over the drawbridge into midday in the valley – to scout for locations.
The breeze was a little nippy, but sunlight filtered through the trees and nature all around could be seen and heard rejoicing in the tranquil splendour of the mild day. Seed fall would soon be over and the darkest depths of the year upon them. If they were going to build Creirwy a house, they had to begin imme
diately before the snows of the cold time made the project impossible.
‘I’ve had a brilliant thought.’ Morvran was leading the way up the mountain directly in front of where the drawbridge ended and the road turned to cut along the lake.
‘If you do say so yourself.’ Gwion scaled the mountain after him. There were easier ways to reach this peak, but Morvran had just chosen the most direct but difficult route.
Despite being due some sleep, Morvran didn’t seem at all weary. He did love his sister dearly, and like everyone else, he wished to see Creirwy restored to her happy, vital self. Gwion feared those lovely days of study, dreaming and flirting were gone for good. His lady had no time or inclination for any of that now. Nor did he, truth be known – how could he entertain selfish desires, knowing his lady was suffering? What he wouldn’t give to just take her away from her curse for a few days – so that she might have time to rest, heal, and gather her thoughts. Gwion shuddered to think what life would be like for his lady after she moved out of the castle, with no supernatural power at her disposal. He couldn’t even suggest that they hire some help for her as Creirwy was adamant that no one know about her child. Still, once Gwion completed his project with Keridwen, he intended to aid Creirwy as much as he was able.
‘Just up here is some flat land . . .’ The Lord pointed up. ‘A stream runs close by.’ Morvran motioned right around the hill they were climbing – Gwion couldn’t see the water source, but he could hear it trickling. ‘And . . . if we build here, Creirwy will have access to the castle via Mother’s library.’
‘Whoa!’ That news stopped Gwion in his tracks. ‘There is a secret entry to the castle, up here?’
‘Only secret if you don’t know how to access it.’ Morvran grinned and kept climbing. ‘Has no one taken you to the library yet?’ He reached down and offered Gwion a hand up.
‘Everyone has been a little preoccupied.’ He took hold of Morvran’s large beastly hand, and practically flew up to standing on the plateau beside his friend. ‘My . . . it is a lovely view from up here.’
‘And you can see everything going on in the castle and courtyards below.’ Morvran furthered his choice.
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