Chronicle of Ages (11 page)

Fortunately, our good Governess had left an open window in her schedule that evening, fully expecting another visit from me.

We sat in the lounge of the Governor's private abode. Tory was sitting down, quietly sipping a cool drink as I fired my questions at her.

‘Conan and Samson's souls are among the Chosen now.' Tory was able to answer one of my many queries, although the rest she was unable to help me with. ‘I warned you, Noah,' she said. ‘I have made known to you everything that I can recall. Maelgwn remembers even less. You could seek out Gwyn ap Nudd, but I have a funny feeling you would not be very well received. So, that leaves only one option.'

I took a deep breath to overcome the butterflies that were fluttering around in my gut. It escaped my reasoning as to how I could so dread a recollection that I couldn't recollect. ‘I'd like to think that I am as brave as the next member of the Chosen.' I tried to express this mysterious reluctance to confront my questions on my own. ‘But I have to tell you, this business makes me very uneasy.'

Only a small part of thy psyche is ill at ease … the part of you that is Selwyn.

Both Tory and I were startled by Taliesin's voice as his spirit form manifested in a blaze of etheric light.

Selwyn was not emotionally mature enough to handle the events of the time you seek to remember. You, as his Chosen incarnation, are emotionally equipped to cope with the memory now. If you are prepared to face the fear, then Selwyn's trauma can finally be confronted and released, then you will both rest much easier.

As my eyes adjusted to the bright illumination Taliesin was exuding, I could make out the vague features of the once High Merlin's form. ‘This is an
honour.' I avoided the issue at hand to express my heartfelt awe of the ascended Master's presence.

‘Isn't it just.' Tory was obviously irked that after waiting so long to make contact, Taliesin hadn't come to see her.

There is a keyword to unlocking the memories you seek.
Taliesin's attention didn't waver.

I blocked my ears, not yet ready to commit either way. ‘Hold on a minute!' I rose to pace out my indecision.

At your leave,
Taliesin assured, granting me a moment to collect myself.

As Tory watched my frustrated movements, she calmly rose and brought me to a stop. ‘It is the past, Noah. The only way it can hurt you now is by holding it in. It is time to set all our minds at rest about what truly happened in the mists that night … let it be known, and let it go.'

Her plea boosted my courage, and thus I gave a determined nod. ‘Alright,' I agreed, moving to fetch a thought-recorder from my bag.

I settled back down into my seat, and having activated the orb to record, I gave Taliesin the all-clear. ‘I am ready.'

Taliesin didn't come out with the password until he had verbally guided me into a deep meditative state. When I was breathing easy, and relaxed, Taliesin instructed:

‘Amabel,' I felt disturbed upon uttering the name. My eyes remained firmly closed as if I were sedated. My head rocked from side to side on the headrest of the chair, although it was not by my will that it did so. ‘Amabel, Amabel …' I mumbled over and over, as the past came rushing at me like a tidal wave, to sweep me up in its momentum and carry me back to the Dark Age.

W
ork progressed slowly at Conan's construction site at Craig-y-Ddinas. The tradesmen and soldiers went about their duties warily, hindered by the heavy mist.

All at the site were greatly relieved by the presence of a druid — someone experienced in otherworldly affairs the like of which they were experiencing. Selwyn felt rather overwhelmed by their confidence in him, for although he was a student of the greater mysteries, he had done far more theory than practical application where communication with other entities was concerned. When he had ventured into otherworldly realms in the past it had always been under Taliesin's watchful eye; this time, however, he would go it alone. Not that
Selwyn was too sure how he was going to seek out the Tylwyth Teg.

The white shroud hadn't lifted from the work site, or even stirred since the first stake of the construction had been driven into the ground. At that fateful moment the mist had manifested out of nowhere and had been taunting all within it ever since.

‘By “torment” you mean the disappearance of thy colleagues?' Selwyn questioned the stonemason who was filling him in on the situation.

‘Some of us have vanished,' the man conceded, chipping away at his stone block. ‘But that hast not been our greatest worry. The mist knows our thoughts, and hast reacted to different men in different ways. It seems to mirror the spirit of the soul it confronts, and threatens or seduces it accordingly. I have never been so thankful to be a man of few desires and good character.' The middle-aged mason gave half a chuckle. ‘Some men have been forced to flee their livelihood here for fear of themselves!'

‘The mist tests thee?' Selwyn clarified.

‘Toys with thee, more like,' the stonemason grunted in agreement with himself. ‘Every man here could tell thee a tale of a ghost, a fear or a desire he hast confronted in the past few months.'

‘Thou hast had such an experience, then?' Selwyn wanted to find out as much as he could about the situation before he sought out the source.

‘Aye, many. I am becoming more used to life in the Otherworld than life in the real world,' he joked, and then shrugged. ‘The key to lifting the spell cast by the
mist seems to be in recognising the fantasy and willing it away.'

What the stonemason said was true enough. Will was the greatest form of expression in the etheric world. Selwyn also agreed with the mason's point that Craig-y-Ddinas felt more as if it was a spirit realm than a physical one at present.

‘Then my will could be more effective here than under normal circumstances?' Selwyn posed. It was just a theory, but anything was worth a try.

Physical teleportation had its limits. Usually you were required to picture a place or a person then will yourself there, which served to restrict the etheric traveller to destinations and people they were already familiar with. Selwyn had no idea what the Tylwyth Teg looked like and he certainly wasn't familiar with any of their main abodes.

‘Not to worry,' he told himself. He always had his faith. He closed his eyes to breathe in the unusual atmosphere that prevailed at Craig-y-Ddinas.
Goddess aid me to aid thee … take me to the closest being belonging to the folk known as the Tylwyth Teg.

 

Upon parting his eyelids, Selwyn knew at once that he'd been teleported elsewhere, for there was no mist. Then the shocking realisation occurred that he was, in fact, in exactly the same place. This was Craig-y-Ddinas; the distinctive topographical features of the landscape were clearly identifiable. And yet, there was no construction or destruction of any sort here. The flora flourished like a well-tended garden, the explosive colours of which
near bowled Selwyn over. There was a distant sun glowing in the sky, but it was not the golden orb he knew; this place was illuminated by a brilliant blue sphere. Every single object, from the leaves on the trees to the finest grain of dirt at his feet, gave off the most brilliant illumination as a result. Selwyn understood why everything here glowed, for the blue rays of this sun felt twice as invigorating as the sunlight he was more accustomed to. This was the ‘Land of the Dead', the ‘Land of Eternal Youth'. Annwn — the Otherworld.

‘So where shall I find the being I wish to encounter?' Selwyn asked out loud, speaking with the Goddess as if she were right beside him.

A gentle breeze brushed over the druid, carrying with it the sound of a distant song.

The harmonious melody was more lovely than any instrument or voice he'd heard before, and more masterfully handled than his fingers would ever be on the harp strings. The dulcet tones beckoned him to seek its source; being a musician himself, how could he not?

The druid wandered down the steep incline and through the vale to the confluence of two rivers. There, on a rock by the water's edge, was a young woman. This was no human female, however, as she sported a beautiful pair of glistening wings that appeared so sheer they were almost transparent. Her additional appendages were not shaped like those of a bird, or dragon, being more akin to the wings of a butterfly. Her body, clothed in a dress of woven flowers, appeared as dense as Selwyn's own, and he wondered if anything that appeared so real could be an apparition.

The song being sung had no words that he recognised, and yet Selwyn could tell from the melancholy vein of it that this being was at odds. As her back was to him, Selwyn cleared his throat to make himself known to her.

The being gasped, alarmed, and turning to spy the druid, she instantly vanished.

‘Nay, come back,' Selwyn appealed to the empty space left in her wake. ‘I mean thee no harm.'

When the being did not return, Selwyn's thoughts turned to the harp on his back, where it permanently resided when he was on the move. Although he couldn't hope to match the talent of the being that he'd startled, perhaps he could set her at ease with a tune.

He removed the harp's skin carry-case and found a fallen tree which provided a seat of good height. Upon resting the harp gently against his shoulder, Selwyn began to play what he recalled of the tune he'd just heard. He found the atmosphere of the wood around him most inspiring. He forgot about keeping an eye out for the being and closed his eyes, absorbed in playing.

A tiny voice came to resonate with his notes, and he opened his eyes to find her, only now the being was no bigger than his thumb and danced around upon the bridge of his harp. The strain of her tune was much more joyful now, thus Selwyn played on. After a little while the being doubled in size and wandered down onto his shoulder, singing all the while. Then Selwyn felt her snuggle up against his cheek. As he turned his head slightly, trying to glimpse her, the winged being took flight.

Her soaring, twirling movements were like a dance, which she performed all around him. Every now and then she would break from her movement to come up close to Selwyn, and by either kissing his cheek or snuggling against it, she expressed her complete rapture.

This went on for some time as Selwyn was afraid to stop playing for fear she would depart again.

Thou art not of Annwn. Art thou of Abred?
she bethought him as she continued to sing her siren song. Selwyn nodded; Abred was the ancient term that referred to the physical realm or the middle kingdoms. ‘I am Selwyn,' he said quietly, whereupon she alighted on the overturned tree beside him and in a burst of silvery light she increased her size to match his own proportions.

I am Amabel,
she advised mentally, her beauteous tune building in intensity to match the size of the form she now entertained.

‘Art thou of the folk known as the Tylwyth Teg?' Selwyn struggled to concentrate on his mission, and not how his heart was stirring in his chest, moved to bursting point by her haunting aria.

Amabel nodded to confirm.
Thou art very beautiful for one of thy ilk, Selwyn.
She referred more to his sparkling aura than his physical form.

Her thought came through to him in the form of a sultry whisper, and Selwyn felt himself blushing — the heat in his face overwhelmed him. The fluttering in his heart induced a stirring in his loins, the like of which he had never experienced in a conscious state. The unexpected stimulation caused his fingers to falter on
the strings, and he noted how close to him the beautiful being was sitting. ‘I am pleased that thou dost not find me offensive,' he replied with as steady a voice as he could maintain.

Dost thou find me offensive?
Amabel's wings suddenly retracted into her shoulders and vanished from view.

Selwyn could hardly believe the question. How could any being in creation not be completely overwhelmed by her beauty? It was not like him to notice the physical attributes of the opposite gender. No woman had ever come closer to perfection in his eyes than the Queen of Gwynedd, but Amabel's loveliness even surpassed Tory's.

Her hair hung in long snowy-white ringlets, and her eyes were a most unusual shade of pale blue-green. The waif-like body of a woman was enfolded in the milky white skin of a young girl, and Amabel's telepathic voice was nearly as sweet as her melodious song.

‘Thou art a vision of perfection, Amabel,' he told her, averting his eyes for fear of succumbing to the desire that was welling within him. Her song was driving him to distraction. Why was he here? What was it he was supposed to be doing?

Then why dost thee turn away?
Amabel swung around in front of him, going down on one knee to look up into his face.
Can thee not feel the energy that weaves around us, urging us to unite?

Selwyn closed his eyes. His tune and her song were racing towards a climax that he feared the consequences of, yet he could no sooner stop playing than hold back
the tide. The desire he felt at this moment surpassed every meaningful emotion he had ever had all put together.

As her lips brushed gently against Selwyn's neck, their duet reached its crescendo, igniting such passion as Selwyn had never conceived of. A moment later it was no longer the harp he gently caressed, but Amabel. His fingers trembled under the duress of his new-found emotion, and as he felt her body rise to press against his, her dress of flowers dissolved away.

 

Selwyn awoke to find himself laying naked in a field of flowers. His robes were draped over him and the beautiful creature asleep in his arms. It was a dream he imagined, for surely such bliss was not possible in the physical world. Thus Selwyn snuggled in to await his return to reality. This came sooner than expected.

The druid's harp, which stood close by, began violently strumming of its own accord, as if trying to alert its player to a pending danger.

Selwyn was far too enchanted to heed it, however, although the harp did rouse Amabel from her slumber.

The nymph snuggled closer to her lover, kissing his chest and neck.
I had never imagined a love so deep and tender as thou hast bestowed on me.

‘Nor I,' Selwyn smiled, brushing her long, soft curls back off her face.

Overjoyed to hear this, Amabel repositioned herself on top of Selwyn to arouse his interest in more love play.
Stay with me in Annwn and thou shalt know this bliss for all time.

As she said this, Selwyn's mission came flooding back, bringing with it a wave of horror. He did not have time to voice his distress nor even sit upright, for the thundering voice of Gwyn ap Nudd resounded through his mind.

How dare thee abuse my hospitality thus!

Selwyn looked up to find the eight foot tall warrior standing over them.

Deceiving whore!
He yanked Amabel from on top of Selwyn, and with a wave of the being's hand she was clothed once more.
After all I have done in pursuit of thy affection, how could thee betray my feelings in such a manner?

Thou hast no claim on me.
Amabel's song burst forth, conveying her anger with the booming strain of a tenor.
I have told thee countless times, I do not love thee!

What could this fragile scrap of a human have that I do not?
Gwyn adopted a more congenial tone to question.

Amabel rolled her eyes as if to say, everything, but she settled on one word.
Sensitivity.

Thou dost think me insensitive!

Amabel placed her hands on her hips to inform the Lord:
Not an opinion but a well-known fact.

At this stage, Selwyn wished that he possessed the talent to block out their thunderous argument or at least turn the volume down. His head was splitting.

Well, I would not want to damage my reputation.
Gwyn reached down and hauled Selwyn up by the scruff of his neck. Fortunately, the druid had managed to throw on his robes during the argument.
Let me see what my
insensitive brain can come up with to crush and belittle the love of thy life.

Nay!
Amabel's tune changed abruptly.
I beg thee, do not torment a spirit of such beauty.

Thou art the one tormenting, and well thee knows it. Begone from my sight, Amabel, before I have thee confined.

Amabel was obviously fearful of his threat, although she still hesitated to comply.
Please —

As much as I adore thee, I strongly advise thou dost not test my love further than thou hast.

Amabel burst into tears as she savoured one last glance at Selwyn, and then vanished.

Right.
Gwyn held Selwyn up by his robes to view him, and the young Druid hung like a rag doll in the God's grasp.
As thou hast partaken of the pleasures of my beloved, so shall I partake of the pleasures of thine.

‘Lord,' Selwyn gasped, the neck of his robe choking him. ‘I have no beloved.'

In that case, thy Lord's woman will suffice. Who dost thou answer to?
Gwyn placed the palm of his free hand to Selwyn's third eye to extract the information. As Selwyn was on a mission for the Dragon at present, this was who Gwyn perceived to be the Druid's superior. As he glimpsed Maelgwn Gwynedd's queen, the overwhelming admiration his prisoner had for her was made plain.
Tory Alexander,
Gwyn announced to the horror of his captive.
Thou dost hold her very dear, I think.