Envisioning the interior did not gain Gwion access as Morvran had locked everyone out.
‘We are all going to die if you don’t get to the sanctum at once!’ Gwion gave up banging as both his hands were throbbing from the fruitless effort. ‘I fear Gwyn ap Nudd is holding your mother captive . . .’ His yelling trailed to an utterance as he turned about and leaned on the door, to catch his breath. ‘Perhaps he holds you captive too?’
Whatever the case was, Morda was right: Morvran was not coming out.
Upon Gwion’s return to the sanctum, he found Tacitus and Morda staring into the cauldron – their faces bathed in the indigo light that was emanating from within it. ‘It has animated?’
It must have, as Morda had withdrawn his stirring implement.
‘Just like magic.’ Tacitus grinned as though he didn’t wish to be impressed by his wife’s conjuring but was all the same.
Morda was fascinated with the anomaly and he couldn’t even see it! All magic was glamorous – clearly, even a blind man could feel its magnetic promise of power.
Gwion approached to see for himself.
Within the pot the whirlpool of boring stew had been replaced by a spiralling vortex of indigo light. ‘Ye gods!’ Gwion was mesmerised by the sight.
‘A whole galaxy in one little pot,’ Tacitus commented.
‘What is a galaxy, Lord?’
‘A nursery for stars,’ he replied. ‘This little creation rather resembles the universe’s own way of seeding consciousness . . . Keridwen has never attempted magic like this before, at least not so long as I have been with her.’
‘So do these galaxies expire?’ Gwion was curious.
‘Everything expires eventually.’ Tacitus gave a heavy sigh, and moved away from the attraction.
Gwion pursued the Lord. ‘And what happens when they expire? Do they just peter out?’ he posed hopefully.
The Lord’s expression was one of deep concern. ‘I am afraid not. Time I had a word with my son.’
‘What does happen?’ Gwion implored an answer but the Lord was gone. ‘Morda, your job here is done, you should get to safety now.’
‘I told the Mistress—’
‘You would be here until the end, and this is it.’ Gwion approached him to insist, kindly. ‘Someone needs to ensure the Lady Tegid’s safety. Do not tell her we are in crisis, as under no circumstance can she come onto the island. You understand me, Morda?’
The old bloke nodded. ‘You are not an idiot, Gwion. You’re a bloody miracle worker . . . so use those smarts now, ya hear.’
‘Don’t praise me like you are in charge.’ Gwion was trembling again, but kept his humour as what else did he have left? His mind was blank. ‘Now go!’
Morda retrieved his horn and vanished.
It was strangely relieving to be alone with the anomaly; if something happened now, his was the life most at risk and perhaps the family would survive him.
The room was deathly quiet, bar a slight bubbling sound that was emanating from within the cauldron.
Standing at a distance from the pot as he was, it was clear the fire beneath was diminished. He’d been instructed to cease feeding the furnace once the brew had activated. So why was it boiling when it should have been cooling? The swirling coloured light once contained inside the pot began to rise and swirl above it like tentacles of smoke.
‘No, stay in the pot!’ he expressed his desire, which came out sounding like an order.
To his astonishment, the phenomenon retracted into the pot, which then boiled even more furiously.
Had the spell just reacted to his command? It was sounding a lot more agitated now.
‘I meant that in the nicest possible way,’ he calmed himself, in case the magic was reacting to his emotions rather than his words. ‘Everything is absolutely fine . . .’ Gwion grabbed Morda’s stirring implement and used it to remove the embers of the fire from beneath the cauldron, which put Gwion in rather close proximity to it. When there was nothing but ash beneath, he rose to find the glowing brew bubbling so furiously that he could see droplets being cast close to the rim.
If a single drop of the potion escaped, the entire batch would be ruined, so Gwion grabbed up a goblet – if a drop escaped he would capture it.
As if in direct response to his resolve, the cauldron spat forth a couple of glowing indigo drops that flew right over the rim. Reaching out with the vessel he caught the first drop, but the second landed on his finger and burned into his flesh. ‘Ouch!’ He placed the wounded finger in his mouth.
‘Nooooooo!’ Tacitus had arrived to see the event.
All the magic of the spell is in the first drops. Gwion regretted the absent-minded reaction in the same instant his lips closed around the wound. What happened if the spell was administered to someone whose blood did not match that of the elected recipient? The burning drop rolled onto his tongue and his perception whited out in a flood of light from within his own mind, which felt like it was expanding to infinity. Gwion’s perception suddenly snapped back to normal, in time to watch his earthly form fall to the ground before him. The world around him seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace, as if time was being stretched out and distorted.
‘G . . . w . . . i . . . o . . . n!’ Tacitus’s voice droned slowly, several octaves deeper than usual. The Lord reached Gwion’s defunct form, seemingly unaware he was being observed. But a rumbling sound from within the belly of the pot drew the Lord closer to it.
Leave! I’m dead, thought Gwion, with no means to convey the advice.
But the Lord of Tegid was again fascinated by events unfolding in the cauldron.
A blackness wove itself through the beautiful indigo light, as if trying to smother it. But instead the magic began to beam out through gaps. ‘It’s going to blow—’
Light burst forth with a force that thrust aside everything in its path; Gwion’s body was swept across the floor and under a large iron work bench. Tacitus took the full force of the blast – he hit the wall so hard the indent upheld his shattered form as blood began to stream from his ears, eyes, nose and mouth. The blast burst through the ceiling, shattering the glass overhead, and the sanctum was bombarded by water, debris and sea life.
The earth-shattering boom sent Creirwy rushing to the large cased opening in the back wall of her cottage that overlooked her childhood home. She pushed the shutters aside and beheld an explosion of light and water that rocked the earth beneath their feet and rattled the walls around them. The sight of the blast was blinding, forcing her to shield her eyes and close them tight. ‘I knew there was something amiss. Today of all days, I should have known!’ She blinked in the wake of the visual assault. As her sight returned she observed Morda, eyes wide open and blinking. ‘Morda, you have eyes!’
‘I can see! Sort of . . .’ He blinked away tears. ‘But how? Why?’ He touched his closed lids to feel sockets now filled instead of hollow.
A crack, so loud it sent a paralysing shock wave through her entire body, drew Creirwy’s attention back to her vista as the shattered remains of Castell Tegid crumbled into the lake.
‘This can’t be . . . Gwion! My family!’ She turned to exit her house but Morda, still clearly half-blind, blocked the hallway to waylay her.
‘I cannot let you go, Lady.’ Tears were streaming down his round-hewn cheeks – his heart was breaking just as hers was. ‘I promised Gwion—’
A rumble preceded another quake, snatching her attention back to the window as the entire island sank into the lake and the water level began to rise.
‘No, no, no, no, no!’
The horses, yet to be put in their stables, bolted across the bridge from the island, hitting the mainland as the bridge collapsed and was engulfed by the rising lake.
‘We need to get to higher ground.’ She rushed to the crib to gather up Chiglas, who, despite the noise and chaos, was chuckling merrily.
As they sprinted into the courtyard the thundering sound of water came rushing up behind t
hem. Creirwy’s heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it would explode right through her ribcage. There was no time to climb – Morda could barely focus, and her arms were filled with her oversized child.
Library.
The underground vault, constructed with the ancient technology of her mother’s people, had survived for thousands upon thousands of years; it would survive this – she hoped.
Without missing a step, Creirwy led to the crawl space, shoving Morda in ahead of her. ‘Go first, I’ll hand Chiglas through to you.’ As Creirwy crouched down, she glanced behind them to see the water rise up behind her cottage and spill over the retaining walls. Out of time, she kneeled and hugged her babe to herself with both arms. The water hit, propelling them through the crawl space and inside the larger antechamber, and she braced for impact. But Morda stood firm against the rushing water on the other side, and he caught them up, acting as a buffer between herself, the baby, and the inner stone wall.
‘Are you well, Lady?’ Morda yelled over the sound of water gushing into the enclosed space.
She looked down to Chiglas, who, after a few splutters, continued chuckling madly.
‘Hold him.’ She passed Chiglas to Morda, and strained against the incoming flood to reach the tree root lever, only to be knocked back. She gave up on the direct route and moved around the wall.
‘Hurry, Mistress!’ Morda was holding high the babe and barely keeping his own head out of the water.
With a mighty push off the wall Creirwy launched herself at the root and grabbed hold, her bodyweight pulling the lever down. The resulting clank was the most heavenly sound she’d ever heard.
The stone slid back to grant entry and she was sucked into the inner chamber on a rush of water and slammed against the stone wall of the landing.
Once the water hit the top stair of the staircase within, the library’s outer defences activated and the entrance block closed. Water ceased battering her against the stone, and drained away down the stairwell.
Creirwy’s breath was stifled and a heated panic rose within her as she rolled onto all fours and vomited water, managing to inhale enough air between bouts of coughing and gagging to keep herself conscious. Once her breathing stabilised, she sat back on her haunches and looked around. Morda and Chiglas were nowhere in sight – had they made it inside before the door slammed closed? ‘Morda!’
‘Down here, Lady. Your babe is safe and well.’
Creirwy breathed a sigh, unsure if it was relief or disappointment; she was a horrible mother. Yet, she had instinctually saved his life. Sadly, this was not an act of love – leaving the wee beast to die would be like admitting the Night Hunter had been right, and she would never give the Lord of the Otherworld that satisfaction.
‘We rode the wave all the way down the stairs, didn’t we, young master?’
Chiglas was heard to screech in exultation.
‘I think he wants to do it again!’
‘And you, Morda?’
‘No, once was enough for me. I have a few bruises and scratches but I’ll live.’
‘Same.’ The event had left her more depleted than childbirth; she couldn’t bring herself to stand just yet. Head throbbing, she lifted her hands to support it when she realised she had wounds. Upon applying her healing touch to the abrasion, Creirwy was shocked to discover that it still stung and bled with a vengeance. I am not healing. ‘I’m human,’ she whispered, in awe of what this might mean. When she sang a note of her elemental summons it sounded more like a cat being strangled and the harshness of it made her laugh out loud. ‘I am Gwyn ap Nudd’s creature no longer!’ This notion filled her with joy only for a second, then she realised the man she’d wished to free herself for was most likely dead in the lake with the rest of her family. The clenching pain around her heart made her howl in agony as she endured her own undiluted emotions for the very first time.
PART 3
LEX TALIONIS
A DREAM OF BRIGHT FISH
There is fear in the darkness, cold and nebulous. I float, yet the identity that was me is absent, as are my limbs. But there is form, swaying gently as I drift in the void. Eyelids blink away grit to perceive the presence of light seeping through from above. A feeling of calm descends and I propel upward towards it.
As I rise, I become but one component of a larger mass, instinctually connected and moving as one – flashing silver in the streams of light penetrating the murky green depths. In daylight and darkness we move, feed, flee and hide. There is freedom being ever-present in the moment, moving with the flow of nature as a tiny but integral part of a much greater force.
But this little fish is living a half-truth – I could belong here, yet my consciousness breaks from the instinctual stream guiding me, and all perception of my watery world drifts away into a half-light.
There are faces here, unrecognisable, some attractive and others repulsive. And although they speak in sounds incomprehensible, I feel the pull of creation calling me elsewhere. Before now, this all-consuming distraction would pass, but today a face of unearthly beauty emerged from all the others. She made no sound, yet the vision of her strikes fear into my being and the shock disperses the shoal that has been surrounding me; they rush away as I grow and transform.
The faces and voices again rush through my consciousness, instances sad and beautiful, joyful and horrifying. These are the memories of Gwion son of Gwreang upon which I wish to linger.
Then, light – intense – inside my mind and inescapable. I try to resist the force, attempting to stretch my consciousness beyond bearing. But the more I fight, the greater the pressure becomes. It is only when, exhausted from the struggle, I submit and open myself to the expansion that I find I can bear it. I hear sounds of people calling various names in different tongues – they are all calling me, from distant times, and in this moment I understand and recognise them all.
But one call becomes louder than the others as the light in my mind fades into shadow.
Araqiel.
This name is mine in a universe of darkness, yet with it comes a feeling of wholeness I have not known since – a belonging not unlike a shoal of fish, huddled for survival in the darkest depths of existence. I am Grigori. The knowledge makes my chest well with pride as I recollect the grey-skinned faces of my Grigori brothers, whom I shall always recognise as kindred. For my soul-mind took a different route into the human consciousness stream to that of my brothers, thus it is that I am the only Grigorian with memory of the dark universe from which we all sprang. I am the unifier.
Anu.
This name delivers me to a grand octagonal chamber with six huge windows that look out upon vastly different worlds. I am Nefilim, I feel nothing, but wish to awaken that part of me that is Grigori, to feel as I once did. But at this time, in this universe of light and shade, there is but one avenue to emotional awakening.
The one who is here with me is Ninharsag, the perfecter of the human forms that my soul will soon inhabit, my eldest daughter. You cannot leave us!
Of course, she objects, believing my intention to be a fate worse than death.
Who will head the Pantheon in your wake? There will be war.
There will be war regardless. To bring an end to war is why I go. My fate was decided before I ever brought our people into being. At heart I am Grigori and I must lead them, for I am the only one who remembers our quest.
Stop saying that. The notion clearly repulses her.
Here I was, Nefilim, the mighty ruler of the most perfect species that this universe had yet spat forth. There was no race that could match our immortal state of being, our splendid appearance, technologies and intellect – we were perfectly superior in every way, in our esteemed opinion. But in truth there were very few good seeds among my Nefilim offspring. In the absence of emotion, they were a brutal, selfish, destructive lot, and if they were ever going to develop beyond this compassionless state, they were going to have to be led.
It is the simple truth, I endeavour t
o reason. I have already summoned Kur to fetch me to Irkalla for judgement.
But you appointed Ninazu steward of Irkalla, against his will. He will be embittered from his stint in the Underworld and will not look kindly on your cause.
Only the mighty creatrix, Tiamat, can ultimately deny my will. I will enter the well of souls and leave the rest in the hands of the Sovereign Integral and your good self.
But if your soul merges into the human consciousness stream you will be lost to us forever.
No. You will find me again among your human progeny—
Oh dear heavens— She holds a hand each to her mouth and her stomach, revolted that I should choose to join the evolution of species considered less valuable than cattle.
And maybe when you do, you will look kindly on me and offer me guidance, for which I will have great need.
How shall I know you once you wear the skin of another? You speak madness.
I knew this was illogical to her, but even the cerebral Ninharsag would activate her emotional body one day – she must; there was no other way out of this universe for immortals and mortals alike.
You have an inner knowledge that the Grigori, already developing human consciousness from within, will aid you to discover once you perfect their mortal bodies and minds – which you will.
Her mouth wavers open, reluctant to agree to our parting, but as Kur’s dark mist envelopes me, she withdraws, along with the reality I have endured for an eternity.
As a creature of Tiamat, Kur – guardian of the Underworld – knows my need to rejoin my brothers. Upon the dragon spectre’s back I plummet into the netherworld, feeling my body torn away from my soul. With the suspension of physical existence, I soar alongside my guide of my own volition.
I am spirit, and I know no bounds. I feel sensations long dead to me – joy, freedom, purpose.
There is one beacon of light in this place of utter darkness, and this funnels up from the centre of the fortress built by my daughter, Ereshkigal, to harness the well of souls incarnating in this universe. It is a wonder I have not ventured to behold, before now.
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