This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  ‘Mistress?’ She looked up to see Neiryn’s smiling face.

  ‘I told you not to come,’ she grouched, though she was grateful to be supported in her effort to get indoors to the bed. She could have teleported there, but when enduring extreme pain it was better she refrained from using magic, lest she lose control of her focus and end up heavens knows where.

  ‘I am a bard, I must know the end of the story.’

  ‘It is one you can never tell.’

  ‘Unless the subject should enquire one day. Creirwy claimed that he would seek my future guidance.’

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘You never asked.’ He eased her to a seated position atop the mattress, and raised her feet onto the bed to spare her the effort.

  ‘How is it you are so charming and still without a woman?’ She was actually pleased to see him.

  ‘I have you, Mistress.’ He smiled broadly.

  She laughed at his flattery, until a contraction killed all her amusement.

  Her cries sent Neiryn into preparation mode. ‘It has been a while since I’ve done this . . .’

  ‘I am doing the doing,’ Keridwen advised through gritted teeth. ‘All I need is some mead . . . and a cool cloth for my brow.’

  By the time he organised her requests, the contraction had backed off and she settled calmly back to enjoy her drink. ‘Tell me your news. Where have you been since Owain’s death?’

  ‘Owain’s death . . .’ The bard raised both brows as he reflected on this, and poured himself some mead. ‘No one actually saw him die, and by the time I could observe the bloody ground where he fell, he was no longer there. The King vanished with a strange bard no one had ever seen before. Powerful too. No man on the field could prevent him taking the King’s body, and Drynwyn, to the Night Hunter in the Otherworld. I, myself, felt I was held captive by his will.’

  This news made Keridwen smile, although she’d already heard the story from the King himself. ‘I can confirm that report.’

  Neiryn ticked his head sideways. ‘Our friend?’ His sights gestured to her belly.

  ‘Who else?’ Sipping her mead was difficult with a proud grin on her face.

  ‘Well, as fate would have it, Owain’s was not the only body to go missing that day.’ Neiryn was hesitant to continue but a long gulp of mead made him braver. ‘My novice, Myrddin, also vanished and has not been seen since.’

  ‘Agh!’ Keridwen placed her goblet aside as the next contraction intensified. But in her mind she was focused on seeking the whereabouts of the missing bard. A vision of a young man presented itself in her mind but she could not immediately convey what she perceived. ‘I see a young dark-haired man sleeping inside a tree.’

  ‘Sleeping, so he yet lives?’

  ‘In a state of suspended hibernation.’

  ‘How? The Night Hunter?’

  She shook her head as the pain again ebbed away. ‘It’s Cadfer’s demon witch, Mahaud, who has done it. A prophet would prove very problematic to her plans.’

  ‘Not any more. Chiglas rules in Powys and is building a new capital at Arwystli. He claimed Queen Ganhumara as his property in the wake of Owain’s defeat and raped her until she finally conceived. He kept her alive only long enough for her to give birth.’

  ‘Chiglas has an heir?’ Keridwen had a great grandchild she didn’t even know about.

  ‘A daughter, Vanora. Whom they say is as evil and powerful as he is.’

  Keridwen held out her goblet to have her mead refilled. ‘And Cadfer? Did he steal the throne of Gwynedd from Caswallon?’

  ‘Only briefly.’ Neiryn paled, and toyed with his goblet as he considered his response. ‘There are mixed reports about what happened there. Some say Cadfer killed Caswallon when he took Degannwy during an unnatural storm, and then claimed Meddyf as his queen, declaring Caradoc the rightful heir.’

  ‘And Maelgwn?’ She wondered what had become of the true heir of Gwynedd.

  ‘Caswallon had him hidden away in a monastery, the location of which was known only by Caswallon’s sister, Gladys. When Maelgwn received word of what had happened, he cast off his monk robes and took up arms. He rallied forces from the south, and those men still loyal to his father and took Degannwy back, slaying his uncle and mother. Caradoc escaped to the Eryri, and sought refuge with Chiglas. Caradoc had boasted of keeping King Caswallon in chains; if this was true he was not alive after Maelgwn took back the castle.’

  ‘You think he murdered his own father to be king?’

  Neiryn shrugged. ‘He has gone through several wives already.’

  Something about the story seemed off to Keridwen. ‘But how did Maelgwn overcome the witch?’

  ‘Some say he didn’t, that Mahaud swapped sides to play the kings off against each other, and that she will now do the same between Maelgwn and Chiglas.’

  ‘And who do you serve in all this?’

  ‘I see no point in taking sides when both are equally power hungry. I have been north of the wall, from where Cunedda’s bloodline hails; the rulers there are far more noble and accommodating.’

  It worried her that her homeland was falling into chaos and there was nothing she could do about it. Her grandson was at Degannwy; had he survived the turmoil there? ‘So you will just give up on your combrogi?’

  ‘It always pays to have allies in unexpected places, Mistress,’ Neiryn explained the reasoning behind his sabbatical. ‘I am just biding my time until our friend arrives to redress the balance.’

  He had a way with words this one; she could never regard him with contempt. ‘And what of the Cloak of Concealment?’

  ‘I have brought it here to return to you at Owain’s request,’ Neiryn advised. ‘He left it with me before the battle—’

  Neiryn took the goblet from her hand as she moaned in protest of another contraction. They were speeding up now.

  The birth was swift. This babe was more than eager to be born and came into the world the day before Beltaine eve, gasping for breath, without cry or protest.

  More beguiling than even his son had been, light appeared to radiate from the infant’s brow, proclaiming his divinity. This was the being Keridwen had been waiting for; her father’s soul-mind had finally escaped the incarnation loop, to be born immortal in human form. With skin so pale and hair snow-white as Creirwy’s had been, the extraordinary pale violet of his eyes held your attention and appeared to stare straight through you.

  Neiryn was appearing a little shaken in the aftermath, and was recouping his sensibilities with drink.

  ‘You did well.’ Keridwen nursed the babe at her breast, admiring how beautiful he was – he literally lit up the room with his presence.

  Neiryn’s eyes were still boggling. ‘I had never before conceived of seeing light beaming from such a place.’

  Imagining his perspective of the birth tickled Keridwen’s funny bone.

  ‘It’s funny now, I grant.’ He grinned. ‘But you are a goddess after all; I thought you might be giving birth to a SUN, rather than a son!’

  Keridwen was laughing so hard, her face began to hurt. ‘Ah,’ she gasped for breath, ‘I shall miss human humour so much.’

  ‘Is there no humour in the Otherworld, Mistress?’

  ‘Only Gwyn ap Nudd’s dry cynicism, which is usually only amusing to himself.’ Keridwen lay back a moment, exhausted from the birth and her mirth. ‘Speaking of whom, you should depart.’

  ‘I will not.’ Neiryn was most insistent.

  ‘When you again meet our friend,’ she completely ignored his protest, ‘tell him about the plight of your novice; he will be able to assist you to retrieve him.’

  ‘I am not leaving you.’

  Keridwen had never seen the bard thus. ‘Defiance becomes you, but we have this situation well in hand.’ She kissed her babe’s brilliant forehead, and then climbed out of bed, all signs of a birth vanishing from the cottage and the Goddess herself. ‘Let’s get you dressed.’ A wave of her hand saw him swathed in linen, wool
and tucked securely in a fur-lined leather pouch.

  ‘Are you going somewhere, Mistress?’ Neiryn placed the drink aside and stood as Keridwen took the babe in her arms.

  ‘Just a little walk.’ She strolled towards the door and it opened before her.

  ‘Can I not accompany you?’

  She stopped and turned about. ‘These are my final hours in this world, I should like to spend them alone with my son. It is best that no one knows where he is bound.’

  Neiryn teared up, clearly disappointed. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Still,’ she slowly moved off. ‘As a bard must know the end of the story; I cannot stop you following at a safe distance.’

  Neiryn was exhilarated by her allowance, and so grateful. ‘Fair thee well, Mistress!’

  ‘Until next time,’ she called back.

  This is madness. The notion of pursuing the Goddess into her feud with the Night Hunter was so exciting that Neiryn had to consider his own eagerness a little disturbing. Was this how Gwion had felt when he’d first braved Otherworldly situations?

  ‘This day is not one I shall soon forget,’ he warranted, pulling his robe on over his bloodied clothes and pursuing Keridwen into the night.

  A cloudless sky under a huge full moon made for excellent visibility through the wilds. Neiryn wisely employed his Ring of Invisibility as there would be predators out seeking food this perfect spring night – there were many hungry newborns to be fed this time of year. This was one of his many concerns for the child Keridwen was abandoning somewhere, yet she seemed very certain he would reach a safe haven.

  They’d been following a southerly course for about four hours. The dawn was not far off as they rounded the foothills of Mawddwy peak – the largest mountain south of the Eryri proper. On the eastern slopes of the mountain was Creiglyn Dyfi. This small lake was the source of the Afon Dyfi that flowed south-west to a convergence of rivers, and from there flowed through Meirion, a lesser kingdom of Gwynedd, and on to the sea. Full from the winter thaw, this was the time of year when the river was most dangerous; Dyfi was derived from the Cymry word for ‘dark’. Surely Keridwen didn’t mean to set the babe afloat on the river?

  To Neiryn’s relief the Goddess merely sat by the shore where the river began to flow smoothly through the Dyfi valley – she appeared to be waiting for something, or someone.

  Neiryn found a large tree to sit and rest his back against, hidden in the long shadow cast by its trunk from the light of the setting moon.

  A moment later his heart shot into his throat as a concentrated ball of wind went rushing past him and startled him witless. The entity disturbed its surrounds as it moved, yet was otherwise undetectable to the human eye. Then another such turbulence shot past his tree with several others, all heading in Keridwen’s direction. Neiryn was petrified out of his mind. What were they? He had to get closer.

  At the riverside, a whirlwind announced the arrival of the Night Hunter’s wraiths, but Keridwen carried no weapons, so they were bound to present themselves in their more beautiful and benevolent forms.

  These nymphs of the air – sylphs – were Gwyn ap Nudd’s major source of information; they relayed the reports and observations of all the more slow-moving elementals of earth, water and fire. They, like other elementals, frequented the etheric world that existed between the middle kingdoms and the Otherworld, interpenetrating both. As a species they were striving to evolve a four-fold nature – that was an understanding of their fellow elementals – for each element had talents and wisdom the others did not. Of all the elementals, those of the air were the most cerebral – they had speed, discernment, communication, transformation and language skills. What they lacked and craved was an understanding of emotion; they could be empathetic but not sympathetic. They too had glamour and would use it to seduce humans, but when threatened or betrayed their bloodlust could leave an entire kingdom void of a living soul.

  Now Keridwen had not been completely idle during her seemingly short stays in the Otherworld, for she had learned that Gwyn ap Nudd’s favourite sylph had a little secret. Her name was Amabel, and it was bound to be her that the Night Hunter sent to collect her babe.

  The whirlwind broke apart and several scantily clad, glowing nymphs took physical form.

  The Night Hunter has sent us to collect the babe, and you must follow into the Otherworld by nightfall this day. Amabel’s words echoed through Keridwen’s mind, yet to the ear she was singing a heavy song, not in words but in notes. She strode forth to collect the infant, but was immediately enamoured by him.

  ‘So much like my grandson,’ Keridwen noted. ‘Like father, like son.’

  Amabel was suddenly furious. This child is Selwyn’s?

  ‘No, no, no,’ Keridwen laughed. ‘You have it the wrong way around.’

  Amabel’s eyes were wide open now. That’s not possible.

  ‘Anything is possible when you love someone as much as Gwion adored my daughter. Time is not linear.’

  Humans do not know that any more, Amabel stated, yet she also seemed to suspect Keridwen’s claim was true.

  ‘He knows,’ Keridwen announced with a warm smile. ‘That is why he glows. That is why your lord fears him. But I don’t think that is the Night Hunter’s only motive to want this child dead.’

  Amabel withdrew to pace, and her comrades – all female – moved in to dote on the babe.

  Yes, Gwyn ap Nudd’s favoured nymph was enchanted with her harp-playing grandson. These elementals operated as a hive mind – if one was partial to the cause, all were.

  But if our Lord kills this child then . . .

  ‘My grandson shall cease to exist,’ Keridwen concluded.

  Amabel was enraged, and her horde were distressed to find themselves at cross purposes to their mission.

  ‘But without you ladies . . .’ Keridwen manifested a small coracle, ‘Gwyn ap Nudd shall have to personally walk the earth to find this child.’

  Amabel looked back to Keridwen with a look of defiance and mischief on her face. What child?

  The resolve appeased her company, and the sylphs watched, fascinated by Keridwen’s tears as she kissed her babe’s forehead and lay him, pouch and all, in the wee round boat. ‘I shall see you when you have grown.’ She didn’t know how or when he would find a path back to her, but their futures were entwined, just as their pasts had been; in that she did trust. Keridwen pushed the coracle towards the river.

  Allow us. Amabel looked to her troop. Phrixa, Sose . . . see the child swiftly downriver, and into the hands of carers worthy of such a blessing.

  The nymphs selected were overjoyed and vanished again into the wind, then the wee boat was blown onto the water, and glided down the Dyfi as if floating on air.

  Keridwen watched until the vessel floated beyond sight, and then collapsed to the ground to quietly mourn.

  Amabel came to crouch beside her and, catching some of the Goddess’s tears, gasped in empathy with her loss. Fear not, he is safe with us. The waif rose up in the air and the bottom half of her turned to vapour. Come Actaea, Triteia, we must report to our lord that the child drowned in the river.

  Drowned in the river . . . really? Gwyn ap Nudd appeared to challenge Amabel, and she returned to a fully physical form to respond.

  Apologies, Lord, but in our eagerness to be the ones to bring you the child, his little body got torn apart, and a few pieces ended up in the river. Phrixa and Sose are just chasing them up now. We shall bring you the remains presently.

  The Night Hunter looked to Keridwen, and when he saw that she was suitably distressed he looked to Amabel’s company. Is that what happened?

  Actaea and Triteia said nothing, but nodded furiously to the affirmative.

  Splendid. He clapped his hands together, seeming rather too cheery for comfort. I shall return to the Otherworld and await your return. He backed up a few paces, eyeing them all.

  When at last he vanished, all present breathed a sigh of relief, only to gasp it back in again as
the Lord reappeared.

  Strange there is no blood on any of you? His polite observation set them all on edge again.

  It washed off, said Actaea.

  In the struggle, added Triteia.

  You wouldn’t lie to your lord, would you, ladies?

  Never.

  No.

  Of course not. Amabel sidled up to him, and when their lord did not recoil, her sisters joined her, caressing the Lord to sooth his concerns.

  Well. He lapped up their attentions for a moment. There is one simple way to find out the truth.

  How is that, Lord? Amabel asked seductively.

  If the babe is truly dead, then your harpist shall have vanished from existence. So, before I check . . . The Night Hunter cast them off, Would anyone like to confess anything?

  All three waifs floated together shaking their heads, and the Night Hunter was enraged! I should send you all back to the wee flower sprites from which you came! How dare you challenge my authority?

  As her nephew lost his temper, the three beautiful nymphs turned to demons, more hideous and threatening than her son Morvran had ever appeared. Their bladed teeth and sharp claws exposed, they snarled at the Lord.

  Here in the middle kingdoms we are your power! Amabel hissed, and the Night Hunter backed up and held his hands up in truce.

  Easy, ladies . . .

  In the blink of an eye all three nymphs were on him, their teeth and claws poised to tear him apart.

  You lied, you said the child was a threat to us!

  The child is a threat to us, Gwyn insisted.

  Fancy the Lord of the Otherworld threatened by a harpist! Amabel screeched with laughter as the wraiths drew away.

  You mock my feelings, Gwyn stated indignantly

  You have no feelings, Amabel scoffed, returning to her more comely appearance, along with her company.

  You know I do.

  Then show me one now, Amabel challenged, toying with one of her long blonde ringlets. Show me compassion, by forgetting the child and the harpist.

  The Lord of the Otherworld was resistant.