This Present Past Read online

  DEDICATION

  For John –

  my lad,

  my cariad

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  When I finished AWOL – book three of the Timekeepers trilogy – the twelfth book that completed the Ancient Future epic series, I naively assumed the stories of the Chosen were finally complete, and so for fun, I asked my followers on Facebook if they wanted to ask the characters any questions. When it came to asking Taliesin questions, I realised so much of his story was still untold – the story of his origins as Gwion Bach was of particular interest, yet far too complex to be explained in a simple character interview. Thus the idea of a prequel was born.

  Many thanks to my readers for birthing another tale in this time-hopping series, for spreading the word about my work, and your lovely words of encouragement. In the writing I realise there are many other parts of Taliesin’s life and other characters’ stories still to be told, and perhaps one day I’ll write them, too. Still, many unanswered questions from the Ancient Future have been answered in Gwion’s story, and I hope you enjoy discovering the history and legends of these characters as much as I did.

  Thanks to the fabulous team at HarperCollins; my editor, Susan Moran; and my agent, Selwa Anthony, for your continued support, aid and belief in me – after twenty-one books and just as many years, it is still the greatest pleasure to work with you all.

  To my wonderful family, friends, and business cohorts, who have seen me through some big moves this year, you’ve all helped to make the transitions easier; you fill my life with joy and inspiration. Many blessings for your help, patience and most excellent company.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Characters

  Months and Festivals

  The Thirteen Treasures of Britain

  North Wales (Cymru)

  PROLOGUE — FULL DISCLOSURE

  PART 1 — SONS OF THE LONG KNIVES Lady of Mists

  The Living Dead

  The Covenants of Gwyn ap Nudd

  Llyn Tegid

  Dyrnwyn

  PART 2 — A TROVE OF TREASURES Brewing

  Birth of a Monster

  Viroco

  Timeous Traps

  Wish List

  PART 3 — LEX TALIONIS A Dream of Bright Fish

  One Day Every Full Moon

  Beloved of Ten Thousand Years

  The Shining Brow

  Thrice Born

  EPILOGUE — THE COHORT

  Welsh Terms, Place Names and Meanings

  About the Author

  Also by Traci Harding

  Copyright

  CHARACTERS

  THE AGE OF OWAIN

  The Woodsman – Gwion (Bach) son of Gwreang

  King of Rhos, Gwynedd and Powys – Owain Ddantgwyn

  The Lord of the Otherworld – Gwyn ap Nudd

  The Witch of Lake Tegid – Keridwen

  Keridwen’s son – Morvran ab Tegid

  Keridwen’s daughter – Creirwy (Lady Tegid)

  Keridwen’s giant husband – Tacitus (Lord Tegid)

  Keridwen’s assistant – Morda

  King Owain’s champion – Gilmore

  King Owain’s messenger – Madoc

  Madoc’s squire – Tiernan

  Bastard King of Powys – Chiglas

  King Owain’s betrothed – Ganhumara of Oswestry, daughter of Gogyrfran

  Ruler of the Cornovii – Gogyrfran

  Ruler of Gwynedd and Mon – Caswallon – the Dragon of the Isle

  Wife of Caswallon – Meddyf verch Maeldaf

  Son of Caswallon – Maelgwn

  Maelgwn’s squire – Selwyn

  Sister of Owain, Caswallon and Cadfer – Lady Gladys

  Betrothed to Gladys – Cyngen Brockwell

  Son of Brockwell – Calin

  Daughter of Brockwell – Sanan

  Ruler of the Eryri – Cadfer

  Warlord of the Saxons – Hengist

  Hengist’s brother – Horsa

  Young bard at Viroco – Neiryn

  Neiryn’s mentor – Talhaiarn

  Male servant at Viroco – Iolo

  Iolo’s wife – Sain

  Blind maiden – Morwyn

  Keridwen’s horse – Caston

  Gwion’s horse – Moonlight

  Arch-traitor of Cymru – Gwtheyrn

  Gwyn ap Nudd’s sylphs:

  Amabel

  Phrixa

  Sose

  Actaea

  Triteia

  THE AGE OF MAELGWN

  King of Meirion – Gwyddno Garanhir

  Prince of Meirion – Elphin

  Elphin’s wife – Sanan

  Elphin’s daughter – Melanghel

  Keeper of the Floodgates – Seithenyn

  King of Gwynedd – Maelgwn

  Prince of Gwynedd – Rhun

  Queen of Gwynedd – Vanora

  Gwynedd’s champion – Sir Tiernan

  The Old Bard of Llyn Tegid – Neiryn

  Neiryn’s novice – Myrddin

  Maelgwn’s squire – Selwyn

  THE THIRTEEN TREASURES OF BRITAIN

  The Flaming Sword

  The Intelligent Game Board

  The Basket of Plenty

  The Lightning Chariot

  The Thirst Quenchers

  The Great Horse Catcher

  The Blade of Swiftness

  The Heroes’ Cauldron

  The Tunic of Holiness

  The Sharpening Stone

  The Feasting Crock

  The Cloak of Concealment

  The Ring of Invisibility

  PROLOGUE

  FULL DISCLOSURE

  On the threshold of divulging the tale of Gwion Bach, I, Taliesin, confess to having told a few white lies about this period of my life. I have changed names, time periods, and withheld information about my past – for reasons that will become obvious with this disclosure. In truth, I have never told the full story of my origins to any – not even my most trusted confidants. To do so would have put my own existence, and the lives and evolution of others dear to me, at risk. Even I remained ignorant of some of the repercussions of my involvement in these events, until I evolved enough to access the eternal memory of this universal scheme, which in Sanskrit is known as Akasha. It was on the advice of Keridwen, the goddess who had a vested interest in my illumination, that I remained tight-lipped about our time together. This was not out of fear of my own undoing so much as the undoing of all that the Chosen Ones had and would achieve. The backlash that might result from the exposure of such details at that crucial time in our evolution overruled any need for honesty. Yet now, as all the parties involved have ascended beyond any such risk, I do swear to give an honest account of my origins. In so doing, it is my intention to fill some of the voids in the account of my life and add to the insight contained within the histories of the Chosen Ones, recorded for prosperity in the great Chronicle of Ages.

  PART 1

  SONS OF THE LONG KNIVES

  LADY OF MISTS

  In a desolate clearing in the wood she stood sentinel, with no weapon save her majestic appearance and her dulcet voice. The Lady did not avail herself of any words that might hint at her origins, but rather used a mixture of hummed notes and stirring vocal tones. Her song resounded through the chilly silence of the clear dawn, with such majesty that one imagined she was summoning the Gods unto earth.

  The strange, sultry allure of her soulful song ignited a fire in Gwion’s chest and even in his current predicament, her gift commanded calm and awe.

  ‘Be still.’ The words were hissed into his ear as Gwion was held firmly from behind. One huge hand was clamped over his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped about him, restraining both his
arms and his body easily. The man who now held Gwion’s life in his hands must have been massive and his body radiated an extraordinary amount of heat. Despite the chill of the morn, Gwion had not felt so warmed in a long time!

  ‘Just watch.’ The gravelly tenor of his captor’s whisper sent a paralysing fear shooting through the lad and he ceased to struggle.

  Ambush was a new experience; Gwion was usually more cautious, cunning and nimble. He’d been collecting kindling to bundle and barter from the woods outside of Llanfair all his young life. Right in the middle of the lands of the Cymry, his village was about as safe a place as could be found in what had once been Roman Briton. This place had been spared from the eastern raiders, and from the plunder of the folk of the winter isle to the north-west. But hard times made a thief of otherwise good men, so it was his practice to keep his wits about him. Gwion’s father, Gwreang, had taught him how to extract a merchant living out of the mountains and woods along the Afon Banwy, and Gwion had continued to make a livelihood from the forest since his father’s death the previous winter. But this morning, when Gwion heard that beautiful voice, his sensibilities had fled and he’d blindly wandered straight into the arms of a brute twice his size.

  The young woodsman’s heart was racing with such intensity that he could feel it beating in his throat, where it threatened to suffocate him – if his captor didn’t first. Had the Saxon raiders he’d heard tell of finally infiltrated the very heart of Cymru? Was he being held by one right now? Or was his attacker one of the resistance who called themselves the Sons of the Long Knives? He’d been inspired by the stories of their exploits as recently as two days before, when a bard had stopped a few nights in Llanfair.

  The bard’s name was Talhaiarn, and he first recounted a tale from the past that told of the horde of invaders led by Hengist, who hailed from Saxony. This warlord had tricked his way into landholdings on the eastern side of the island by offering peace and his beautiful daughter to a gullible and self-indulgent local ruler. The event was known as the Brad y Cyllyll Hirion – ‘The Treachery of the Long Knives’. All Gwion’s combrogi still cursed the name of Gwtheyrn for leading over three hundred local nobles to Saxon slaughter under the premise of a treaty feast. Only the traitor was spared from having his throat cut. In exchange for all Gwtheyrn’s eastern lands, Hengist permitted the traitor to flee with his wives and children into the lands of his combrogi. Gwtheyrn headed deep into Dyfed, where he built a castle. It was at the new citadel that the traitor met his fiery end at the hands of a local warlord, who was something of a mystery. Emrys Wledig they called him – both words honorific titles that distinguished the man as Cymry royalty, but the double title suggested more that he was the King of Kings. This man led the Sons of the Long Knives, and was so fearless and formidable in hunting down his enemy that he was also known as the Great Bear – or ‘Arth’ as it was pronounced in the local tongue. The bard claimed it was the Arth who had orchestrated Gwtheyrn’s untimely demise to avenge the noble Cymry slaughtered on the night of the Long Knives. The storyteller also averred that the wrath that buried Gwtheyrn’s castle was Otherworldly in origin and it was the Arth who dared bargain a price with Gwyn ap Nudd, Lord of the Otherworld, for his supernatural assistance.

  Gwion loved to hear tales from beyond his tiny part of the world, yet he’d never quite plucked up the courage to venture into territory unfamiliar. Now, restrained by a giant that he’d yet to even catch sight of, Gwion was horrified to realise that the unfamiliar had come for him.

  The dawn breeze lifted and whipped the long silvery strands of the Lady’s hair about her as she sang, and the sight was spellbinding. Her pale complexion was in vast contrast to her long black gown, which fit her slender frame snugly from neck to hips, where it flared wide and fell to the ground. Gwion thought she was the most divine vision his eyes had ever beheld. More than a noble woman or even a queen, this lady had an Otherworldly beauty that he imagined was more akin to a goddess, or a sprite of the Tylwyth Teg.

  ‘Don’t be glamoured by the siren’s song,’ his captor advised, ‘it is a requiem.’

  Gwion was bemused by the warning, and began to suspect his ambush was just a byproduct of a much larger operation.

  Along the treeline on the far side of the clearing, men began to emerge boldly from the cover of the forest – unkempt men, shouting in a foreign tongue and making obscene gestures at the lady in black. Clearly, her opposition suspected a trap, and at first none seemed willing to risk coming forth to claim the beauty.

  The lone songstress was completely unfazed by the threat, and invited the lecherous desires of the men before her, beckoning them and urging them to act on their threats.

  At length a goodly number of the hairy men banded together to venture into the open clearing to claim their prize.

  Once they were closer to her than the cover of the woodland, mist rose from the ground, obscuring the songstress as it spread rapidly across the entire field. The beautiful voice fell silent and an eerie hush fell upon the vale; even the dawn call of the native birds was absent.

  ‘Time to go scare people.’ His captor released him and Gwion was finally awarded a look at the hulk of a man.

  The warrior’s skin was deep red, as if he bled from every pore of his muscle-bound form. His was the face of a monster, with horns protruding from his forehead and eyes as black as a moonless night. Dressed only in trousers and a vest, he was clearly not bothered by the cold. He grinned in parting, revealing teeth pointed and sharp like a canine.

  What was it? And why was it here? Gwion backed away a few paces and would have screamed were he not petrified of drawing more unwanted attention to himself. He feared for a moment that the creature might mean the Lady harm. But his thoughts returned to his own welfare as the forest around him began to stir.

  An army of men crawled silently out from beneath piles of leaves on the ground; they crept from bushes, emerged from shadows, and shimmied down ropes from the trees above.

  It was a Cymry force. Even covered in leaves, dirt and camouflage, their clothes, ornate weaponry, clean-shaved faces, and hair cuts marked them as such – his combrogi took great pride in their appearance, a trait absent in the Saxons. Gwion watched the warriors file past him, paying him no mind as they followed the monster into the whitewashed landscape. From within the mist a din arose: of war cries, weapons clashing, and the blood-curdling shrill of horrified men as they sped towards death.

  As the fighters filed into the haze, the lady in black exited the confrontation she’d instigated, wearing a half-grin of satisfaction.

  ‘Out of the way!’

  Gwion, alarmed by the order that came from behind him, quickly side-stepped towards a large tree.

  An unusually short and stocky fellow went charging past him on foot, propelling a small cart in front of him. The lady in black also stepped aside for him.

  ‘My Lady Tegid.’ The fellow thanked her with a nod on his way past.

  ‘Morda,’ she casually acknowledged him as he ploughed into the mist after the war band.

  As Gwion was now the only man outside the haze, he caught and held the attention of the beautiful lady. What was her perception of him? he wondered. He felt he must have appeared pathetic, standing around, no weapons, no armour, no reason for being.

  ‘Are they yours, woodsman?’

  Gwion was so honoured that she would speak with him that his mind couldn’t comprehend what she’d said. ‘Sorry, my Lady?’

  She was pointing to something on the ground by his feet and looking down he found the bundle of branches he’d gathered earlier and strapped together for transporting home. ‘They are.’ He was rather deflated to admit that he’d only brought kindling to a sword fight. It was green kindling at that, which he planned to store and cure before using it for barter.

  ‘Bring it, and follow me,’ she instructed congenially.

  Once the shock had washed over him, Gwion jumped to the task, grabbing the bunch of branches to follow the Lad
y. ‘What is going on?’ he asked as he caught up and kept pace with her.

  ‘The battle for your homeland.’

  ‘Who are you?’ He’d asked before he’d even realised he’d seized the opportunity.

  ‘I am hired muscle.’ She hinted a grin and led him down a slight embankment into a small protected gully, from which smoke rose.

  Gwion imagined it might be the war band’s base camp – he was wrong.

  There was a witch, old and haggard, presiding over a huge golden cauldron. So large was the vessel that she had to stand on the incline of the rock face behind in order to conjure over it. A green light pulsed within the cauldron, its illumination reflected upon the witch’s face. The fire beneath the pot was the same eerie colour – Gwion had never seen a flame burn green before.

  ‘Mother, I’ve brought you a woodsman.’ The Lady’s announcement drew the witch’s attention to him.

  Gwion froze in fear, for the umpteenth time today – he realised his mouth was gaping in disbelief and closed it. Was it really possible that his beauteous Lady had been birthed by this old hag? Word had it that the Sons of the Long Knives had enlisted Otherworldly aid to drive out the invaders. Gwion had imagined that meant that they’d made offerings to the Gods for the blessing of the Otherworld, not that they’d literally lured some of the Fey into the middle kingdoms! How had Cymry nobles interested these fair folk in the wars of men? However it had been done, it was known that Otherworldly aid was never free and rarely proved to be a simple contract.

  There was a witch fabled to live on the shores of Llyn Tegid in Gwynedd, with her giant of a husband.

  My Lady Tegid. The barrow-man had referred to the lady in black thus earlier.

  If the Lady Tegid was the witch’s daughter, then this was the witch of legend! This must be she! Gwion’s heart began thumping in his chest as he stared at the older woman. This was no ordinary enchantress, for the witch of Llyn Tegid was one of the three Otherworldly goddesses who comprised the Great Mother. She was the crone of the great triad, and her name was Keridwen.