Chronicle of Ages (41 page)

‘There, now they're open.' Rebecca smiled back at me, mischievously.

‘And what a splendid vision thou art,' said I.

My lover smiled, knowing at once where I'd been. ‘Thou hast been exploring ancient Gwynedd, I presume.' Rebecca played along. ‘Did thee seek my company there?'

I nodded surely in response. ‘You led me to a ring of stones where you seduced me into a meeting with Gwyn ap Nudd,' I advised and her smile broadened.

‘And when you returned to me at the stones, what of then?' A siren mood came over my wife as she began slowly stripping the clothes from my body, kissing my skin as she exposed it.

As pleasing as the seduction was, Rebecca's comment had me a bit distracted. ‘I didn't make it that far … I was interrupted,' I said with a note of accusation.

‘Pity,' she mumbled between kisses, whereupon I couldn't keep the cocky smile from my face.

‘You don't mean to tell me that Kaileah seduced Selwyn at the stones that night?' I couldn't accept the possibility, not from what I'd witnessed of the mysterious holy woman — Selwyn himself had thought her completely indifferent to him in an emotional sense.

‘One of our more erotic past-life encounters.' Rebecca lay herself down on the padded floor of our meditation chamber, urging me down beside her. ‘Kaileah fell in love with Selwyn from the second she laid eyes on him,' she informed me, as our bodies melded into a warm and comfortable union.

‘Is that a fact?' I savoured her familiar contours and embrace, reeling from the wonderful sensation of skin on skin.

Rebecca urged me back a little, so as to look me in the eyes. ‘That has always been the way of it, Noah.'

The sincerity in her eyes unexpectedly brought a lump to my throat, for I was in total empathy. Before I could even think of a heartfelt response, Rebecca had began to recite.

Her beautiful verse left me breathless and speechless, and I wondered if the words had been impromptu.

Rebecca shrugged in answer to my unspoken query. ‘It worked for Kaileah.' She pulled herself up close to me to kiss away my serious expression.

For a man of learning, I had never been very eloquent when it came to verbally expressing my love for Rebecca. This had never really bothered my wife as, through touch, we were physically linked and she knew how I felt well enough. But my apparent reluctance, or perhaps shyness, in expressing sentiment, did bother me. Why did I have this overwhelming urge to refrain from allowing full rein to my true feelings? ‘My soul rejoices in your presence, my love —' I began, awkwardly.

Rebecca kissed my mouth to silence me. ‘It was not my intent to put you on the spot.' She pressed her lips into my neck, then my chest, my stomach, my navel, and before I knew it, I was pleasantly diverted from my quest once again.

T
he remains of the day and that night I spent in the welcome company of my wife. I had planned to resume my investigation into the affairs of sixth century Gwynedd the next morning, but then Rebecca dropped her bombshell.

‘I can only stay one more day.' She stalled my withdrawal from breakfast on the balcony.

‘But I thought we'd have this week, at least!' I protested. ‘And you'll miss the pageant.' I collapsed back into my seat, disappointed.

‘Word has spread about the celebrations here and the poachers are going to have a field day. They know KEPA will be short-staffed for the duration of the festivities. Now I can't very well ask my people to work shifts through their vacation time, if I'm not prepared to
do the same myself,' she appealed. ‘As soon as the festival is over, I'll take a month off … scouts' honour!' She held her left palm up, her right hand over her heart.

I folded with a sigh, having no desire to waste what little time we did have together arguing. ‘Fair enough.'

Her smile warmed with my resolve. ‘You can record the play for me, and we'll watch it together when I get back.'

‘That could be fun too.' I suppressed my disappointment and forced a smile.

The front door chime sounded to let us know we had company.

‘Are you expecting anyone?' Rebecca queried, having not told a soul she was back in town.

‘It could be one of the students.' I went to see.

 

I was surprised, to say the least, to find Rhun standing in the hallway. As he was still attired space fashion, I assumed he'd just returned from his tour of duty. ‘Is this a bad time?' he queried politely, obviously put off by my astonished expression.

‘Heavens no.' I shook his hand as I led him inside. ‘I've just been doing some past-life regression into your reign as High King —'

‘No need for us both to suffer.' Rhun gave me the orb.

The way he said this made me remember that there had been a couple of points of interest that had come to my attention during my short stint back to the past. The first was that King Blain of Powys bore a striking resemblance to Rhun's son, Asher. I was guessing a past-
life incarnation, which could explain why Rhun might have a problem with recording what had gone down between them. Blain's queen, Javotte, bore the same kind of uncanny likeness to Ragan. That I served these two as Merlin of Powys for a great many years seemed to explain why I always felt so disposed towards Ragan and Asher's will these days. But now that I was aware of this karmic behaviour pattern, that would change.

‘Cadwallon did some past-life regression for me, and I've already inserted his footage in the appropriate places, so it's right to go. I would prefer you keep the events on that orb from Asher, until I have had a chance to speak with him myself.' Rhun looked like a man with a mission, although he did not seem to be looking forward to executing his task.

‘Was there some dispute between yourself and King Blain?' The question just slipped out and I wanted to die when I saw how pale his faced turned. The orb in my hand would answer all my queries; there was no need to make Rhun discuss what had obviously been a trying time for him. ‘Forgive me.' I attempted to retract the prying enquiry, but Rhun only shook his head, pretending to be amused.

‘Once a reporter, always a reporter, hey Noah?'

‘That's a polite way of putting it, thank you.' I seized the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Asher stole the lead in our festival pageant,' I announced with good cheer.

‘So Sybil informs me.' Rhun flashed a proud smile.

‘The lad has really found his voice in the last couple of weeks. I feel sure his performance will surprise you,' I
added, as Rhun didn't seem to give Asher his due — not that I was one to judge, having no children of my own.

‘He is a surprising soul,' said Rhun warily, before he straightened up to depart. ‘Do me a favour, will you? Come find me when you've viewed the orb and we'll have a chat.'

‘Of course,' I agreed, more curious than ever, and anxious to get back to the Dark Ages.

 

It wasn't until after I said goodbye to Rebecca the following morning that I found the opportunity to sit down with Rhun's recording.

Determined to reach the end of this chronicle in the one sitting, I locked myself in my meditation chamber where all the sounds of the festival were trapped outside the soundproofed walls.

Rhun's thought recordings were usually rather light-hearted and amusing, which stemmed from the fact that he was always one step ahead of everyone. Still, something told me this experience might be the exception to the rule.

‘Be brave,' I uttered, half in humour, as I seated myself and got comfortable. ‘You're going back to Kaileah … how bad could it be?' I activated the orb to transmit.

 

Rhun entered Castell Dwyran in Dyfed and, as he made haste through the stronghold with his wife, Bridgit, and Prince Bryce of Powys, a voice-over informed me thus:

The last time I remember feeling truly content in Gwynedd was the day before I was summoned to the deathbed of my father-in-law, Vortipor — High King of allied Briton. In truth, it had been my champion, Prince
Bryce, that Vortipor had summoned back to Dyfed and I had a fair idea why.

 

Only the boy, Vortimor, was in the bedchamber with the ailing High King when Rhun, Bridgit and Bryce entered. Vortipor's champion, Sir Queron, who was older than the High King, was with Rhun's party.

‘Praise the Goddess,' Vortipor uttered wearily, motioning them all to approach with one hand and urging his boy forth with the other.

In his hands, Vortimor held parchment and a quill. ‘His Majesty asked me to pen this, so that ye may witness it,' the lad explained, and sliding off the bed, he handed his labour to Prince Bryce.

Bryce, thinking the lad had got his lines crossed, moved to hand the missive to Rhun.

‘No!' Vortipor protested, bursting into a coughing fit as he pointed at Bryce, insisting he read it.

‘I understand.' Bryce moved to reassure the ailing man, reading as he went, but he came to a standstill before he reached the High King's side. Bryce looked to Vortipor, shocked by what he read. ‘Why me, Majesty?' The Prince was moved to tears, which was a rare event — he sounded honoured and bewildered all at once.

‘Thee became the first son of Dyfed that dreadful day,' Vortipor stated and Bryce nodded to concede that he knew of the event to which he referred. ‘I trust thee to see my boy and Dyfed unto the rightful day of Vortimor's rule … and Rhun and Queron be my witnesses.'

The knight, far too old to take on such a responsibility himself, nodded to confirm he understood
the proceedings. ‘I shall be at thy service, of course,' Queron assured Bryce with a slight bow.

Rhun also nodded, well pleased with Vortipor's nominated guardian. For, as the bastard son of Brockwell with three younger brothers, Bryce stood little chance of ever ruling in Powys — especially now Blain had had a male heir, Solomon.

When those present witnessed the signing of Vortipor's last will and testament, the leader appeared far more relaxed about his looming death. He spoke softly with his daughter for a time, urging her to watch over her younger half-brother as she always had. ‘I never really recovered from the death of thy sweet mother,' he told Bridgit. ‘Vortimor's mother, Anissa, eased the pain of her loss for a time, but, when Anissa was snatched from me so quickly, I gave up on love. Had it not been for thy good self and the boy,' he glanced aside to Vortimor, ‘I would have happily packed it in long ago.'

‘Please, do not speak so,' Bridgit wept openly, but reverently.

‘Most of the original twelve Masters have moved on and I
so
wish to join them. I feel in my soul that better things await me elsewhere —' He became short on breath and was silent to recoup his energy.

‘I believe they do too, Majesty,' Rhun stepped forward to advise, knowing something of reincarnation and the legend of the Chosen Ones.

‘Rhun!' Bridgit scolded, barely believing he was encouraging her father to die.

As Vortipor looked to Rhun, he coughed, and drew a deep breath. ‘Thou hast excelled my expectations as a
husband, a father, and a king, little Dragon … thy parents would be as proud as the Gods!' Then the old ruler smiled broadly. ‘The elements will be looking for thee, I suspect.' He began to chuckle and passed away with the smile still on his face.

 

Rhun sat alone in Vortipor's private sitting room, distant sounds of revelry from the great leader's wake filtering through to him from the inner bailey grounds.

Due to telepathic tendencies that Rhun had yet to gain full control of, large gatherings always disturbed him. For below the chatter Rhun heard streams of muffled unsaid garbage, which was usually of little interest and only served to give him a headache.

The large oak door swung wide and King Blain of Powys stood in the doorway. ‘So this be where thou art hiding.' He entered, closing the door behind him.

‘I should like to stay hidden for the next few months, but I do not fancy my chances somehow.' Rhun smiled, glad to have the company of a friend.

‘What!' Blain strolled towards a seat on the opposite side of the fireplace to the lounge that Rhun occupied most of. ‘But one of us shall be High King before long. And either way, it serves us well.' He plonked himself down.

Blain was right about the candidates for High King. Apart from Rhun, Blain was the longest-serving king in the alliance who was still young enough to execute the duties attached to the office.

‘Thou hast my vote,' Rhun assured him, wholeheartedly.

‘Dost thou not want to be High King?' Blain sounded almost disappointed that his major competition didn't want to compete.

Rhun gave him a warning look. ‘I did not want to assume leadership of my Kingdom, let alone most of Briton!'

‘Well, neither did I,' Blain emphasised. ‘But we art quite accomplished at this now and perfectly capable.'

‘Urien could do it.' Rhun suggested an alternative.

‘Urien!' Blain laughed, ‘He be little more than a child!'

‘A very smart child,' Rhun cautioned, noticing that Blain was fiddling with something tied around his wrist. ‘What hast thou got there?'

Blain pulled up his sleeve to show off the braided leather band around his wrist with tiny feathers, bones and stones hanging off it. ‘A talisman. Javotte made it for me, for good luck.' He smiled at a fleeting memory of his wife, before jumping back to the argument. ‘After our time hast past, Urien will have his day, but I doubt very much that he shall prove a threat at this election.'

Rhun fixed his sights on his friend to convey how earnest he felt about his wish. ‘I truly hope the vote falls thy way, Blain.'

‘Thee or me, it makes little difference … we are one.' Blain held up his right hand that still bore the scar of their oath to each other.

Rhun returned the gesture, forgetting that upon assuming his immortal state some ten years before, all his scars had vanished.

‘Thee healed well,' Blain frowned, unable to see a mark in the dim light of the room.

Since assuming the throne of Gwynedd, Rhun had been under orders to keep all of his immortal capabilities hidden. Taliesin, who kept a very low public profile these days, still tutored Rhun, but expressly forbade him to utilise his talent or disclose secret doctrine to anyone of this day and age. Bryce and Selwyn were the only ones with any true idea of what the King of Gwynedd was capable of, although all the lads suspected Rhun could read thoughts with a touch, just as his mother had done.

Rhun gripped Blain's hand before his friend wished to inspect it too closely. ‘Whatever happens —' he began, but Blain withdrew to stand.

‘It goes without saying,' Blain assured him, appearing amused. ‘Lighten up, my friend. All those games we played and dreams we had when we were kids have been made manifest! This be our time to do some good.'

‘Blain,' Rhun frowned, even more worried. ‘Our war games always ended up in an all-out brawl!'

Blain looked a little stumped by the realisation, but held his hands to his heart faking intense emotion. ‘But I still love thee.' He battered his eyelids sweetly and received a cushion in the face.

 

The wake itself lasted for several days, as was to be expected when honouring such a beloved leader as Vortipor. But when the proceedings had finally wound to a close, a meeting of the alliance was called to elect a new head of state.

Assembled in the Room of Court at Castell Dwyran
in Dyfed were Rhun, King of Gwynedd; Bryce, Protector of Dyfed; Blain, King of Powys; Conell MacErc of Dalriada; Urien, King of Gwent Is Coed; Talorg of Alban; Eormenric, ruler of the northern Saxons; Riderich Hael, King of Clyde; Elidyr, King of Reged; Elifler, King of York; and Cadoc, Catulus' heir in Dumnonia. For the old warlord was still hanging onto life, and had sent his son-in-law to cast his vote.

This was one of the rare occasions when the alliance was graced with Taliesin's presence. Selwyn performed the role of Master of Ceremonies, but before his agenda reached the casting of the vote, Selwyn handed Taliesin the floor.

The High Merlin hobbled forth, appearing as old as time itself and just as daunting. He raised his violet eyes to observe the gathering he was to address, and dropped the hood of his robe to expose his silvery hair. ‘Twenty years have come and gone since the first High King wast chosen and I remind ye that this position was not created by this council, but by the Lord of Annwn. Our new High King must ultimately answer to Gwyn ap Nudd, and will undergo the Night Hunter's trial by the elements to prove his worth to the Tylwyth Teg.'

At this point Rhun had a sharp stabbing pain in his heart, recalling Vortipor's dying words. Rhun looked to Bryce, who was staring him back; he'd obviously recalled the comment also. Seated beside Bryce was Blain, who had turned away from the High Merlin and was rolling his eyes back in his head. The performance was for the benefit of Elidyr of Reged's amusement, who also appeared sceptical about the High Merlin's spiel.