This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  ‘This entity wishes to distract me.’ He sat down, determined not to be baited into acting without insight. ‘Read on.’

  THRICE BORN

  It was decided they would travel overland back to Degannwy as, despite taking longer than by Taliesin’s shapeshifting means, that meant that Neiryn could accompany him. Their route would take them by the scene of Owain’s last battle, and as Myrddin had faced off against the crone before, his insight would prove valuable.

  As the old bard no longer kept any horses, Taliesin had sent Neiryn to bed with a bridle from the treasury that Morvran had called the ‘Great Horse Catcher’, while Taliesin continued to read.

  A few hours later Neiryn returned to report that he’d awoken from his snooze to find Gwion’s horse, Moonlight, in the bridle strapped to the end of his bed.

  ‘Fix her up to your small cart, we should get moving.’

  ‘So you’ve discovered a weakness?’ Neiryn supposed as Taliesin banished the volume back to its locked case.

  ‘The entity cannot exist without a host, and that host must possess some trinket that binds them. Remove the trinket, and the entity will lose influence over her earthly concubine,’ he enlightened as he rose to get them moving. ‘Unfortunately the host often suffers as a result of that separation as continued exposure to an entity of such low vibration is unhealthy for the body, mind or spirit of any living thing.’

  ‘I should rather not leave Gwynedd without a ruler,’ Neiryn informed. ‘His son, Rhun, would inherit, and as the son of the King’s many mistresses, he is of lewd disposition and will do anything to please his father and gain favour.’

  The heir of Gwynedd had not been apparent among the gathering at Degannwy, but Taliesin trusted Neiryn’s instincts completely.

  ‘I believe we have little choice but to trust that the Goddess guides our path forward,’ Taliesin was as reassuring as he could be. ‘Why else would she have brought us back together, or brought us together at all?’

  Neiryn nodded, more determined.

  ‘We have the insight to take down the evil entity casting its shadow over Degannwy at least, but finding the means is another matter.’ Their faith was to be further tested yet.

  Only a fraction of Gwion’s consciousness stream – that kept playing in random spits and spats in his head – was making sense to him. The part of him that was Gwion, the part that was Taliesin, and another abstract part that belonged to the lives of neither, were all still fragmented from each other and needed to be drawn together for true understanding. Without the time or opportunity to go peacefully within to reconcile these puzzle pieces, Taliesin remained poised on the precipice of a breakthrough that was inwardly maddening to delay.

  ‘This is the place.’ Neiryn pulled Moonlight to a halt. ‘This is where Owain fell.’

  Gwion had fond memories of Owain, and just as he thought to regret not being there for his friend in the end, Neiryn added, ‘You came for him, you know? And took him to Llyn Tegid to return Drynwyn to Keridwen.’

  Taliesin felt a little flash in his mind, but it was not sparked by a memory. ‘Gwion came for him?’

  ‘No,’ Neiryn climbed down from the cart. ‘You, Taliesin, came . . . at least, an older version of you.’

  ‘But how could I possibly, unless . . . nay, ’tis not possible, even for the Gods!’ Taliesin laughed off the notion. ‘How could any person have recognised me as an old man, back before I was even born? That is crazy talk.’ He jumped to the ground. ‘Did I announce who I was?’

  Neiryn shook his head. ‘But no one but Gwion knew about Owain’s covenant with the Night Hunter.’

  ‘You know,’ Taliesin argued.

  ‘I became friendly with Keridwen and Creirwy in the wake of Gwion’s leaving—’

  ‘Friendly?’ Taliesin asked, with more jealousy in his voice than he’d ever conjured before.

  ‘Not intimate,’ the bard reassured. ‘I periodically brought alms for them from King Owain, and so was made privy to certain secrets that, as Owain’s spymaster, I needed to know. The Lady Tegid also claimed that you visited her, one and twenty winters ago.’

  ‘Pardon?’ His heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. ‘She told you this?’

  Neiryn smiled as the lad was not so sceptical now. ‘That’s why I stayed at Llyn Tegid, for you foretold of your own return.’

  ‘But how could you be so certain that the Lady had not imagined Gwion’s return?’ Taliesin felt the bard’s vigil was a great act of faith.

  ‘The Lady, despite her trials, was of very sound mind,’ he insisted, seeming very nervous suddenly.

  ‘We shall speak more on this.’ Taliesin sensed Neiryn was holding something back, but as time was of the essence, he moved on. ‘We need to find the oldest tree.’

  Neiryn began comparing trees, looking upward to spot the largest and most expansive. ‘Will that be the one he’s trapped in?’

  ‘Doubtful that an abomination would have given it that much thought.’ Taliesin was being drawn towards one tree in particular. ‘But the elder is fed sustenance as well as information by all the kindred trees within its stand—’ Taliesin wrapped his arms about the trunk and closed his eyes, dropping his voice to a whisper ‘— and so will be able to tell us which tree your novice is in . . . and perhaps even encourage that tree to spit him out.’

  The sharp crack startled Neiryn, and he whirled about to face the source of the fracas that persisted as the tree unbound at the trunk to reveal its sleeping captive. ‘Myrddin.’ The old bard hobbled up the hill, but Taliesin beat him to the tree.

  A sallow husk of a lad lay within, wild long hair of blackened ash. His frozen expression was not that of a soul at peace, but one tormented.

  ‘He’s barely older than me.’ Taliesin gently urged the tree to unfurl a little further, and then reached in to grab the occupant. It was a bit of a squeeze, but lanky lad that he was, Taliesin managed to get hold enough to pull the similarly framed fellow out.

  ‘He hasn’t aged a day . . .’ Neiryn looked Myrddin over and moved to check he was still breathing.

  ‘He’s alive.’ Taliesin dragged his new acquaintance straight towards the cart. ‘He’s going to be famished when he wakes.’

  ‘Yerrrah . . .’ moaned Taliesin’s luggage.

  ‘See.’ Taliesin waited by the cart for the old bard to catch up and give him a hand to load his ward on the back.

  ‘The King . . .’ Myrddin wheezed, dry of mouth, ‘is in peril. We are . . . bewitched . . .’

  ‘Twenty years, nothing has changed.’ Taliesin climbed up on the cart as Neiryn upheld his novice’s dead weight – then dragged him on board. The old bard climbed in the back to tend to their patient, and Taliesin took the reins.

  Not an animal sound to be heard, nor even an insect to speak of – they were close to their destination and proceeded with less speed and more caution. Neiryn had been advising Myrddin of everything that had transpired in his absence as the patient passed in and out of consciousness, so how much of the tutorial he was comprehending was hard to say.

  ‘You are right about this place,’ Neiryn shuddered. ‘It feels forsaken.’

  ‘Damn,’ uttered Taliesin under his breath as they turned a bend in the track.

  Up ahead, just before their trail hit the main thoroughfare, the road was blocked by the King of Gwynedd’s soldiers.

  ‘I forgot they were looking for me.’ Taliesin dipped his head and quietly transformed into Gwion’s form.

  Neiryn gasped, before melting into a smile. ‘Good to see you, old friend.’

  The soldiers ahead were battle-ready; armoured, armed and helmeted.

  When the question of their business arose, Taliesin boasted of having the famous bard Neiryn to entertain the King.

  ‘The King is in no mood to be entertained right now,’ the guard replied. ‘Down from there. Come with us.’

  Both Taliesin and Neiryn were seized and dragged from the cart.

  ‘What about the unconscious one?�
�� a guard queried.

  ‘Is he a bard?’ The man in charge directed the query at Neiryn.

  ‘A prophet, actually,’ the old bard answered honestly, unsure whether it was to Myrddin’s favour or not. Kings usually respected bards and prophets.

  ‘Same deal.’

  Myrddin was dragged mumbling and moaning into the bushes as well.

  As the ward of a royal household Taliesin hadn’t been in a life-threatening situation – at least in human form – since Elphin had fished him from the river. He’d only just gained some insight into his sordid past, thus as he was dragged into the bush by a wretched king’s thugs, he could only beseech the Goddess that they did not plan to beat him mindless.

  ‘Finally!’ the head guard called ahead. ‘Success! Bards!’

  The King’s champion, Tiernan, and Sanan’s twin brother, Calin Brockwell, were in deep conference by the river. There was also a fair-haired young man with them, who had not donned a warrior’s attire – just simple spotless robes – and appeared rather out of place.

  ‘Oh, dear Goddess,’ Neiryn uttered as he eyed the fair young man ahead.

  ‘What is the matter?’ Taliesin queried his companion being dragged along beside him.

  Neiryn served him an exasperated look. ‘I cannot imagine.’

  ‘Gwion?’ The King’s champion made a move towards him, clearly unable to believe his eyes. ‘Neiryn! Unhand these men at once!’ Tiernan was running now. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you both! And Myrddin too.’ He reached them and was able to look over the body his men had dropped on the ground. ‘Did my men do this?’

  ‘No, Lord—’ Neiryn attempted to answer.

  ‘And how has he not aged a day in twenty years?’ Tiernan was bemused. ‘I was younger than him once, and you too, Gwion!’

  ‘Why are you not at court?’ Taliesin perceived this gathering in the wood to be a little suspect.

  ‘My cousin has gone mad!’ Brockwell stormed forward to brief them, his long, dark curls flying on the breeze, and a look of anger on his face such as Taliesin had never seen. His uncle may have been short for a warlord, but what Calin Brockwell lacked in height he made up for with tenacity. ‘He has murdered my brother-in-law and his own queen! Both poisoned by a meal that the King was fortunate enough to delay from partaking in. That might have been an unhappy coincidence, but he sent his son, Rhun, to rape and murder my niece so that Maelgwn may wed my sister and take her kingdom, unencumbered . . .’

  ‘Chiglas will declare war.’ Neiryn was mortified. ‘All the chieftains will.’

  By the time Brockwell stood before the bards, Taliesin’s disguise had faded away, and his young body was trembling to contain his fury and despair. ‘Elphin and Melanghel are dead . . . I delayed too long, this is my fault.’

  ‘Taliesin?’ Brockwell was mortified. ‘I had no idea it was you I was addressing; I would not have had you learn such news so unkindly.’

  Tiernan had taken a step away from the lad, bemused by his transformation. ‘What is this trickery?’

  ‘No trick,’ Neiryn informed. ‘Taliesin and Gwion are one and the same.’

  ‘That’s how he knew the name of the dragon . . .’ he uttered. ‘Is he quite well?’

  No, Taliesin was not well. The pressure of containing his agony and angst was making him tremble violently and he fell to the ground to endure it. If he lashed out with this violent ill-will he would be feeding the entity he wished to destroy, for there was nothing evil loved more than hatred and pointless destruction. If he held it in, it would eat away at him from the inside, distort his decision-making and make him ill.

  ‘Don’t fight it.’

  The voice that whispered in his ear was husky, compelling and passionately eccentric.

  ‘Earth yourself.’

  Taliesin’s arms were prised from across his chest, and his fingertips forced into the dirt.

  ‘Envision the fury going to ground.’

  The tension that made him quiver so violently stopped swirling and building within him and flowed from his fingertips into the earth.

  ‘The Great Mother soothes all ills,’ said the voice. ‘But there is only one remedy for grief . . . you must accept it.’

  Taliesin resisted, wanting to hold on and to wallow, but it was one of Gwion’s memories that made him stop struggling and try harder.

  Do you still think that what we are doing here is just a silly game? It was Morvran. What is happening in the middle kingdoms is the silly game, my friend, and unless you can learn to disentangle yourself from it, you cannot hope to aid your fellow man. You shall only add to the chaos.

  Taliesin opened his eyes to see numerous faces standing over him, the closest of which was Myrddin.

  ‘Boom.’ The wild man ceased restraining him and sat back on his haunches.

  Taliesin’s shaking had subsided to a slight twitch and he buzzed as if he were numb all over.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss, nephew.’ Brockwell withdrew. ‘I must act now if I am to save Sanan from our tyrant cousin.’

  ‘I can dismiss the crone,’ Taliesin yelled after him, drawing deep breaths to sustain a stoic focus. ‘I need only to know what trinket binds him to her.’

  ‘I believe I know what the object is.’ The fair young man who had been talking with Tiernan and Brockwell before stepped forth as Taliesin sat up and Brockwell returned to the parlay.

  ‘This is the King’s squire, Selwyn,’ Tiernan introduced him to the newcomers.

  ‘There is a torc around my king’s neck,’ the squire explained, ‘that he bequeathed from his dead uncle, who in turn claimed it was given to him by the Lady Tegid.’

  Taliesin was back on his feet and looked to Neiryn – for he had no recollection of his lady wearing such a torc, but he remembered the item encased in the library.

  ‘It is true, she wore a torc of protection in later years; it bore a pendant depicting an eye—’

  ‘Aye,’ Selwyn nodded. ‘That is the one.’

  ‘So we just need to make him take it off?’ Tiernan surmised.

  ‘That will be no easy thing.’ Myrddin was rocking on the ground, arms crossed around his knees.

  Brockwell scoffed. ‘I shall take off his head. Simple.’ He stormed towards his horse.

  ‘I cannot allow you to kill the King I am duty-bound to protect,’ Tiernan threatened.

  ‘Our king is not himself!’ Selwyn appealed more gently for Brockwell to show mercy.

  ‘He’s never been right in the head,’ Brockwell argued. ‘That is exactly why we kept my sister away from him.’

  ‘It was Queen Meddyf who invited this evil to take root here, not my lord,’ Selwyn disagreed politely.

  ‘And it shall be me who sends it packing,’ Brockwell assured them all.

  ‘Your rage only makes you open to being manipulated.’ Myrddin stood to challenge the impetuous prince. ‘These fools will just make matters worse!’

  ‘Who are you calling fool, you feral fruitcake?’ Brockwell diverted from his course in Myrddin’s direction.

  ‘You, fool.’ The wild bard stood his ground, chest puffed out, eyes wide and crazed. ‘You are more easily baited than a dog to a bone.’

  ‘Please, Uncle,’ Taliesin intervened before Brockwell reached the prophet. ‘We must confront this adversity as one united force.’

  ‘I would hate to have to kill the only truly noble prince left in Cymru,’ Tiernan seconded that appeal.

  ‘So be it.’ Brockwell scowled. ‘But we must act now.’

  Myrddin visibly shuddered at the prospect. ‘Guard your fears and weaknesses, for Mahaud will exploit them all! And whatever you do . . . do not lose your temper, or this she-devil will have you right where she wants you.’ Myrddin’s eyes came to rest on Brockwell.

  ‘You ask the impossible.’ Brockwell was still seething. ‘My niece was only of ten and two years—’

  ‘If your lad of a nephew can manage his grief then so can you,’ Myrddin maintained, whereupon Br
ockwell clenched his jaw and withdrew to his mount.

  ‘I cannot vouch for how well I shall fare either.’ Taliesin’s emotions were very raw. ‘I fear one more tragic realisation will send me over the edge and into madness.’

  Myrddin placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder, and his energy was as calm as the earth beneath their feet; even though the man had lost twenty years, his king and the kingdom of Powys that had been his home since Owain had come to rule. ‘The same could be said of every man here . . . all good souls. This gathering of force is no accident, of that we can be certain.’ He let go and began the trek back to the cart, and Taliesin moved to follow.

  ‘May I accompany you?’ The King’s squire came after him.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Taliesin waved him on, noting Neiryn staring at him, stunned. ‘Are you coming, old friend?’

  The old bard snapped out of his daze. ‘I am as embroiled in this as any.’ Neiryn pursued Myrddin back to the road.

  ‘Were you really Gwion Bach?’ Selwyn had caught up to him and matched his speedy pace.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I heard tell of your legend, and have beseeched the Goddess very often to return you from wherever you had vanished, and here you are!’

  Gwion had always hated that damn legend, yet here it was inspiring the next generation. ‘Then I thank you for your invocation.’

  ‘And my plea for a wise bard in the court of Gwynedd has been thrice answered.’ Selwyn was clearly excited and relieved. ‘We shall surely prevail this day with you all here.’

  Taliesin felt the squire was in complete denial. ‘When light and darkness clash, there is shadow. All men can fall prey to desire, nothing is assured.’

  ‘He is wise, this little one.’ Myrddin spun around and walked backwards to address Neiryn briefly and award Taliesin his due. ‘Heed the warning,’ he encouraged Selwyn, ‘for no one knows the truth of it better than I.’

  ‘Wait!’ Neiryn returned to Taliesin to speak with him quietly. ‘Could you will the torc to you? As you did with the evil text?’

  Myrddin and Selwyn were both curious about Neiryn’s query.

  ‘I may have just conjured a copy.’ Taliesin resisted the idea of demonstrating any supernatural talent in front of an audience.