Chronicle of Ages

by Traci Harding

  Festival time was always greatly anticipated by Rhun in his teenage years and thus when he thought of this time it was always the great gatherings of the year that sprang to mind. The sacred feast days of his people meant that four times a year he and his friends were guaranteed a get-together, and with their parents all otherwise detained, the young nobles got to run riot for a week. So many nights of wonder and discovery flitted through Rhun’s mind, bringing a smile to his face and a warm, glowing feeling to his chest.

  ‘Brothers forever.’ His mind settled on one night in particular, when he and the lads had sworn this oath in blood.

  A laugh escaped Rhun’s lips as he recalled Queen Katren’s hysterical reaction upon discovering Blain, Gawain, Bryce, Gareth, Owen and himself, each with a bloody slice through their right hand. As Bryce had been sixteen and the eldest, he’d copped most of the blame for the bloodbath even though it had been Rhun and Blain’s idea. Owen had only been six at the time, but, adamant that he was brave enough to participate in the ritual, he’d cut his own hand. In retrospect, it had been a stupid thing to do, but their friendship was more important than life — this had been their way of proving that.

  ‘How blissfully naive were we,’ Rhun mumbled, transfixed by the fleeting recollections of the strife that lay in wait for their coming to power.

  Rhun had assumed the throne of Gwynedd aged twenty-one. Blain had been inaugurated and crowned the King of Powys at the same time at only eighteen years of age. For ten years the allied kingdoms were under the guidance of Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed — Rhun’s father-in-law. Vortipor had been unanimously voted into the position by the heads of the allied kingdoms in the wake of Maelgwn’s illness and subsequent departure to the Otherworld. But when Vortipor was unexpectedly taken from them, the right candidate to fill the position of High King had not been so well defined. Twenty years to the day after taking their blood oath, Gwynedd and Powys were at war.

  The control panel alerted Rhun to a docking craft. His team had returned from their last surveillance detail for this tour. Hence, it was time to make their way back to Kila and their home town’s fiftieth anniversary celebrations.

  ‘I do love a good festival,’ Rhun announced with cheer, as he made a move to check all went well with his people.

  Most of the six-man crew were going into stasis for the flight home. They were anxious to get there and this made the time pass instantaneously. Rhun and his eldest son, Cadwell, were the only two occupants still up and about.

  ‘I though you’d flake, after all that food you consumed,’ Rhun commented as Cadwell entered the flight deck.

  ‘Nah.’ Cadwell began bounding around practising kicks and strikes. ‘I thought I might do a work-out first.’

  Rhun rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t wait for you to get laid … you’re driving me nuts!’

  ‘This isn’t about sex!’ Cadwell scoffed, continuing to bounce up and down, inhaling deep satisfying breaths. ‘It’s about feeling good about yourself, honouring your body, loving the self —’

  ‘Well, we all know you’re the undisputed master of that,’ Rhun interjected.

  ‘Why don’t you join me?’ Cadwell beckoned him to come and fight although Rhun was viewing the instrument panels, not paying Cadwell the slightest attention. ‘I could use a sparring partner.’

  Rhun just shook his head, showing nil enthusiasm.

  ‘Not in the mood to be beat up, hey?’ Cadwell jeered, but when his father had no witty retort for him, he realised something was amiss. ‘Why so gloomy, pops?’

  Rhun sat back in his chair and rolled his head around to view Cadwell. ‘Don’t call me that … or daddo, pappy, or any of the other stupid variations that Floyd taught you.’

  ‘You’re avoiding the issue,’ Cadwell chanted, but realising he was annoying his father, decided to change his tack. ‘No seriously, father,’ he said in a mocking, yet endearing fashion, ‘what’s up?’

  Rhun cocked his head, debating whether or not he wished to discuss the matter. ‘Asher noticed that Noah’s chronicles are missing the account of my rise to High King of Briton.’

  ‘O-oh …’ Cadwell struggled to suppress his smile so he could appear to sympathise with his father’s predicament.

  ‘There is nothing funny about this!’ Rhun stood, aggravated, feeling he should have known better than to confide in Cadwell, to whom everything was a joke.

  ‘I’m sorry … but you’re always encouraging everyone else to confront and release past fears. The way you have been avoiding the issue of Asher makes you the biggest hypocrite I know.’

  ‘I’m not avoiding the issue!’ Rhun defended. ‘I just don’t want the past interfering with our present relationship.’

  Cadwell really felt the urge to laugh at this point. ‘It already does interfere with your present relationship! Isn’t Asher why you chose a vocation in deep-space exploration, so that the issue wasn’t staring you in the face every day?’

  Rhun was affronted by his son’s accusation and his first reaction was to respond with a flat denial; yet, another moment’s thought changed his resolve. ‘I truly hope not.’

  His father appeared so troubled that Cadwell thought he’d best try to be a little subtler. ‘Asher’s not a boy any more … he’s noticed that the older he gets, the less he sees of you. He wants to know why. He needs to know what you are feeling. He will find out sooner or later — better that the tale comes from you as there was no one more intimately involved.’

  Rhun was deeply bewildered now. He hated to think that Cadwell could tell him anything about spiritual maturity. What’s more, he really didn’t want to go back there, not even in his mind. The position of High King had caused Rhun so much grief that he’d never taken any joy in holding the high office, and yet he’d been as dedicated to his duty as his two predecessors. Rhun closed his eyes, daring to allow his thoughts to drift back to his adult life in the Dark Ages — his dread and loathing of that era hadn’t waned in intensity for all the time and distance he’d put between that place and this.

  ‘I can help you,’ Cadwell suggested, watching the emotional conflict play across his father’s face. ‘I was there, after all.’

  As Rhun was startled back to the present, his eyes opened and he smiled, happy to be there. ‘You weren’t more than ten … you don’t know the half of what went down, Cadwell.’

  ‘But I’d like to,’ he encouraged. ‘I’d like to know things like how much you remember of your elemental initiation with Gwyn ap Nudd?’

  Rhun was shocked. ‘How did you know about that?’

  Cadwell gave him a presumptuous look. ‘You’re not the only one who has been High King of Briton you know … I went through the Night Hunter’s initiation twice. Once in my lifetime as Vortipor and then again when I was elected High King.’

  ‘That makes sense, now that I think about it.’ Rhun arched an eyebrow in curiosity. ‘How did you feel about actually knowing one of your own incarnations?’

  Cadwell shrugged. ‘At the time, I didn’t know I did. Taliesin only enlightened me to the fact many years after Vortipor’s death.’

  Rhun raised his eyebrows, thinking this typical of the Merlin’s way.

  ‘And you’re avoiding the issue again.’ Cadwell leapt back to the subject. ‘Are you going to do this or not? It’s not like we don’t have the time now, is it? I’ll help you through it.’ Cadwell stood to guide his father to a more comfortable seat in the lounge area.

  Rhun refused to be led, however. Having Cadwell to comfort him through the most horrendous time of his life didn’t seem the perfect arrangement. ‘Surely you’re not serious.’

  ‘Yes, I am!’ Cadwell emphasised, managing not to smile this time. ‘We can start with this moment just passed, which could be a good background scene to lead into —’

  ‘Hold on!’ Rhun pulled away. ‘You’re not going to start directing my thoughts. This is my story.’

  ‘I respect that totally.’ Cadwell stepped away, raising his ha
nds in truce. ‘If you don’t want my help —’

  ‘I think I can handle it,’ Rhun assured him, retrieving the orb and making for the lounge with it.

  ‘Well, I’ll be here if you need me.’ Cadwell began practising his fighting skills once again. ‘You might be amazed at the things I remember …’ he called out a final offer.

  ‘Cadwallon is the one I need help from,’ Rhun called back. ‘See if you can get a visual link-up happening if you want to do something useful.’

  ‘But Cadwallon wasn’t there!’ Cadwell protested, just for the hell of it.

  ‘He was, in a past life,’ Rhun corrected, ‘so just do as I ask, will you?’

  Cadwell gave a chuckle, tickled pink that he’d talked his father into finally purging himself of the period in question. ‘Whatever you say, you’re the captain.’

  19

  Diversions

  The day after my resolve to explore the period of the Dark Age missing from my chronicles, I was cornered by a flock of my students, led by Ragan.

  They had been given the go-ahead by the Chailida anniversary celebrations committee to write, direct and produce a play re-enacting the victory of the Chosen at the Gathering of Kings, because it was this event that had secured us all this place in paradise. It was to be performed in the evening, on the final day of the festival marking fifty years since the Chosen first set foot on Kila.

  ‘But the committee will only include our play in the program of acts to be performed for the Governor and Governess if you oversee the production, En Noah. Will you help us?’

  As Ragan managed to put me on the spot in front of forty or so of my students, I was hardly going to say no. Not that I would have refused their request in any case; it was just Ragan’s approach that bothered me. I had thought of taking her aside at the time to discuss my unease at her effrontery, but I assured myself that she was just a young girl excited by her project and so gave her the benefit of the doubt. Still, the line between innocent enthusiasm and premeditated manipulation ran very thin with this girl, for she certainly had an uncanny knack of getting her own way.

  Noting this, I felt Ragan’s little project — which she planned to co-write, co-produce, co-direct and star in — would prove very enlightening in regard to the shadow side of her nature.

  So, instead of pursuing my soul-quest as I’d hoped, my time was suddenly filled with scriptwriting, casting, costuming, set building and mediating.

  The biggest disputes came with the casting. I allowed Ragan a fair say in this, as she had written the script from my chronicles — virtually on her own — and had done a marvellous job if it. As her tutor, I must say she did me proud. Naturally, Ragan had cast herself as Tory, and one of the older and bigger students as Maelgwn.

  ‘But why can’t I play Maelgwn?’ Asher had protested stubbornly.

  Ragan smiled as if oblivious to the fact that he only wanted to play that character so he could play the hero to her heroine. ‘I assumed you would want to play your father.’ Ragan handed Asher his script. ‘Am I right?’

  Asher looked to the script in his hands, perplexed. If he said no then he dishonoured his father, if he said yes then he would not be playing opposite Ragan, and that Neanderthal she had cast would get to kiss her every day at rehearsal instead of he. ‘You’re not playing your mother’s role,’ Asher pointed out, to see what tack Rai used to get out of the same situation.

  Ragan was not worried, having ready her retort. ‘I’d love to play a smaller role, as I have so much to do! But, who would you suggest could do justice to grandmother’s role in my stead?’

  Again Asher was perplexed — by his reckoning Ragan was the best at everything, so there wasn’t anyone who could match her talent. ‘I could play Maelgwn with more conviction than you have ever dreamt of!’ Asher raised his voice to Ragan for the first time ever and, in so doing, seized the attention of everyone in the auditorium.

  My heart broke as the girl began to giggle. ‘Be serious, Asher.’ She stepped back to look the young, medium-sized lad up and down. ‘Zecharia appears much more the part.’

  ‘Appearance has very little to do with character acting,’ I pointed out, to Asher’s great relief. ‘If there is some dispute, then let us audition the actors and then judge who best suits the role.’

  ‘An excellent suggestion, En Noah,’ Asher declared, glaring at Ragan in challenge.

  ‘Alright.’ Ragan inhaled deeply to swallow her pride and let me know that she considered this an unnecessary delay in the proceedings. ‘Let’s audition then.’ She turned from Asher, disinterested in his stand; he was interfering with her schedule and that was not amusing. ‘Zecharia, you first.’ She called the huge, strapping lad, who did look the part, up onto the stage with her.

  As one would expect, Ragan gave her candidate ample support when reading her lines and acting her part, and although a little flat from reading the role cold, it was clear that Zecharia would make a fine Maelgwn. When it came to Asher’s turn, however, Ragan’s reading was flat and despondent. Still, the lad responded with enthusiasm and knowing my texts backward, as Ragan did, he tossed the script away and began to live the role. As Ragan was not to be upstaged by anyone, especially not Asher, she discarded the script also and threw herself into her character.

  The match of wits and zeal was on. Ragan and Asher delivered their lines with gusto, each waiting for the other to slip up, which did not happen. At the end of their little scene, the spell they had cast on their breathless audience lifted and the applause seemed to indicate that we had found our two leading actors.

  Despite the outstanding performance, Ragan was seething in the wake of her defeat. And as Asher approached to congratulate her, she exited the stage without comment.

  Asher was crushed when he realised that instead of impressing Ragan as he’d hoped, she was more infuriated than ever.

  As this seemed a good time, I called a break, whereupon the rest of the cast and crew quickly dispersed. As Asher made his way down from the stage, many of the students congratulated him on his performance — even Zecharia graciously conceded defeat.

  ‘Thank you for the support, En Noah.’ Asher finally made his way over to me, although his eyes were focused on stage right where Ragan could be heard thumping about, venting her annoyance by babbling to herself. ‘Still, I might have done better to accept the role given me.’

  ‘Fortune favours the brave,’ I told him, which served to bring a smile to his face. ‘You were magnificent up there. I feel our Governor will be greatly moved by your performance … I was.’

  The lad’s face filled with utter delight. ‘I am greatly moved that you would say so, En Noah … that’s very encouraging, thank you.’

  ‘The truth doesn’t always have to hurt.’ I slapped his shoulder and sent him off to lunch. The other students had already departed.

  Once the auditorium was empty, I climbed the stairs onto the stage. ‘Ragan.’ I called her out of the wings. She’d gone quiet and was hiding in the shadows.

  The girl trudged out onto the stage as if knowing the extent of the forthcoming reprimand. ‘I realise I didn’t handle that very well,’ she began, reciting her version to me. ‘I know this is a team effort and that I shouldn’t repress anybody’s input or aspirations. I don’t know what came over me, En Noah, but I apologise most sincerely for my behaviour.’

  ‘I accept your apology, Ragan,’ I told her and she appeared most relieved to hear me say so. ‘And if you use those exact words, I feel sure that Asher will graciously accept your apology also.’

  Ragan became notably tenser as she turned to walk away. ‘I will do as you will, En Noah.’

  This was not the reaction I had been hoping for. ‘You recited the wisdom of Tory Alexander very well today, Ragan … but the words mean nothing if you don’t comprehend them.’

  The rebuke shocked the girl back into facing me. ‘I do comprehend grandmother’s wisdom and I live by it,’ she defended herself, proudly.

  ‘D
o you really?’ I persisted. ‘Lead by example … the example you set today?’ I shook my head in the negative. ‘The power of attitude?’ There were at least two of Tory’s philosophies that had slipped Ragan’s mind this day. ‘Or how about … if you haven’t got the courage to stand up and be a king, then never a king were you and never a king will you be. Your best friend made that stand today and you would despise him for it?’ The look on Ragan’s face told me I had made my point, but I drove it home just in case. ‘When this production is over and your moment in the limelight has passed, who will you celebrate your achievement with, Ragan?’

  As tears had begun to well in her eyes, she gave a slight nod to indicate her understanding.