Chronicle of Ages (2 page)

The statements the thought recorders contained would have to be censored to suit the range of ages
amongst the students who attend the Purcell Institute. A good part of my chronicles is stored on a psycho-kinetic retrieval system, so that as the students age and mature, new chapters of the age-old legends become available for reference. Even so, there are still some periods of human history considered too detrimental to be experienced psychically, and so they are recorded in text only.

 

Two days later I was summoned to Government House to have morning tea with our Governess, the Honourable Tory Alexander.

Sibyl, Rhun's better half, showed me through Tory's office to a balcony that overlooked the lovely parks of the inner island.

‘Our Governess will join you presently,' she informed politely, motioning me to be seated.

Sibyl was numbered among our best Seers, and had become one of Tory's chief advisors. With Rhun and Maelgwn absent from the planet a good deal of the time, the two women had also become close companions.

‘Do you know why Tory has summoned me here?' I probed before Sibyl managed to escape back indoors.

She smiled an awkward smile, knowing I already knew that she was aware of the reason. ‘She's not annoyed at you, Noah.' Sibyl addressed my most pressing fear. ‘Tory is very much looking forward to seeing you. So please sit and help yourself to some refreshments.'

The instruction was pleasant enough to carry out, yet I couldn't relax. I was excited by the prospect of spending a little time in Tory's company. I missed the days of working alongside her on a daily basis as I had back on
Gaia. Her confidence, enthusiasm and determination were an inspiration to all who encountered her, and I was no exception.

As I had made Tory infinite cups of tea in the past, I did the honours while I awaited her.

‘Hello, stranger.'

I didn't have to look up to know it was Tory. Her voice was unmistakable. ‘Perfect timing,' I announced as I finished stirring her cup and stood in greeting.

For a woman in a high pressure job, Tory looked fabulous. The plain tailored pants-suit of deep purple that she wore was made of a very soft fibre that flowed around her athletic form as she walked. Most in Chailida wore loose, comfortable, hooded clothing as the climate in this part of Kila was quite warm all year round. Her long golden hair was twirled up into a bun and only short wisps that escaped her hairdo danced around her face.

‘Don't you dare get formal with me, Noah Purcell.'

She motioned me back to my seat, but I remained upstanding. ‘Actually, I thought I'd have a better chance of scoring a hug.'

Tory's smile overwhelmed me, as did the tears in her eyes as she approached and gave me a long squeeze. ‘You always score a hug.' She stepped back and handed me the orb I'd sent her. ‘All that I remember of Maelgwn's appointment to High King of Briton is on there, along with some additional accounts from others to fill in some of the blanks that elude me.'

Her prompt response to my request overwhelmed me, I couldn't think what to say. ‘I didn't mean to put you to any bother.'

‘It was no bother.' Tory seated herself and took her tea in hand. ‘In fact, it was a rather intriguing exercise.'

As Tory sipped the tea I had prepared in advance, I backed up to take my seat. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction to let me know the brew was to her liking.

‘You still haven't lost your touch,' she assured me.

‘I forget nothing of our time together,' I told her, realising I was flirting. I could tell by the amused look on her face that Tory knew it too.

‘In your present reincarnation, you mean?' she added.

‘Why, yes.' Her response puzzled me slightly and my eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?'

Tory's expression became more serious and she placed her teacup aside. ‘When Rhun and I first began working on your past-life memory with you, there were several periods of your incarnation as the sixth century bard, Selwyn, that you'd blocked out completely.'

‘Were there?' I was intrigued to learn this. ‘I don't recall you mentioning —'

‘That's because we were afraid of making the blockages worse. We knew then was not the right time for you to confront these memories, and we didn't wish to instil a conscious fear of facing the past once it did come calling to set you right.' Tory smiled and casually offered me a biscuit, but those deep violet eyes of hers betrayed the sympathy she felt.

Deep inside, panic gripped my being. ‘So, you're implying that you think I am at odds with myself?'

‘What I'm saying is that there are things about the period of time contained in that orb that you may not
want to face. Unfortunately, there are parts of the tale that only Selwyn knows, and those facts are locked in some dark recess of your memory.'

I sat stupefied a second. Was that why I hadn't researched this period of history: it wasn't that I had overlooked it, so much as unconsciously ignored it.

‘I would be happy to help you work through the events,' Tory offered. ‘Other than that, you might try to seek the counsel of Taliesin … he might even respond to a summons from you.' Her tone became rather indignant; hence I gathered she'd had problems contacting the ascended Master.

The foreboding in my gut was growing. ‘Do you know what it is I refuse to remember?'

My question made Tory frown. ‘I could only guess, I'm afraid, and I could be wrong. Selwyn never divulged his secret to me, or anyone, as far as I know. Better that you face your demons, Noah, and discover the answers for yourself.' Tory shrugged apologetically, and finished her tea.

‘Secret, you say?' I fished for information.

Tory nodded. ‘The young bard pulled off an extraordinary coup, you see, that saved the day. But, by whatever means he achieved what he did, it saddened Selwyn greatly and drove him to the life of a hermit for many years following Maelgwn's appointment to High King of Briton.'

As I sat dwelling on the discoveries that lay ahead, I must have drained of colour.

‘Look at it this way.' Tory sought to pep me up. ‘
You
ask others to relive the harrowing experiences of their
past for the sake of posterity. Now here's your chance to make a contribution.'

I forced a smile in response.

‘Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?' She encouraged me with a nudge to the shoulder. ‘After all, you asked for it.'

 

Back in my study at the Institute, the thought-recorder Tory had returned to me sat idle on my desk. The orb seemed to be taunting me as I pondered what could have driven Selwyn into isolation.

Years ago, back on Gaia, I was contacted by the part of my higher self that was once Selwyn. The great Druid told me he had left all of his precious histories in the safe keeping of Taliesin — High Druid of Briton — to give to me, Selwyn's Chosen incarnation. Not one of the documents had mentioned Selwyn's time spent in isolation, nor what had driven him to it. And where other periods of Maelgwn's reign were heavily documented, his rise to High King status was not even given a mention. Whatever it was that happened during this time, Selwyn sure didn't want it remembered — perhaps by me least of all.

‘So …' I reached out and took the thought-recorder in hand. ‘I have been blocking out these recollections since the Dark Ages, hey?' I sat back in my seat and made myself comfortable. ‘Sorry, Selwyn, it has to be done.' I activated the play function and opened my mind to its data.

 

The recording commenced with an … oratory from Tory that overlaid a visual of a memory of presiding over
a general meeting of the allied kingdoms of Briton. The leaders of Gwynedd, Powys, Gwent, Dumnonia, Dalriada and Dyfed were present — all of whom appeared a mite concerned about something.

‘The rise of Maelgwn to the status of High King of Briton began during the tenth year of his reign as King of Gwynedd, 529 AD Gaia Time. Aurelius Conan, son of Aurelius Caninus, King of Gwent Is Coed, returned from studying in Italy the same year to assume the crown
of
Gwent Is Coed
.

That year the Beltaine festival was hosted at Castle Dwyran in Dyfed. All the leaders from the surrounding kingdoms descended upon Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed, and his lovely wife, the Lady Cara, to partake of their hospitality for the duration of the festival that would continue for several days …

KILA

GWYNEDD

T
his was to be the last festival that Aurelius Caninus would attend, as his old bones were getting beyond journeying. To the next great meeting of the alliance Aurelius would send his son, Conan. The old ruler expected his boy to return home from Ravenna, the capital of Justinian's empire in the north of Italy, any day now. Despite Aurelius' assurances that his son would not fall short of the allied kingdoms expectations, it worried Aurelius' fellow leaders that Conan was not of the native faith.

‘Once he hast witnessed all the wonders I have seen since meeting thee, Dragon, Conan too shall be inspired to the cause of the Goddess,' Aurelius Caninus assured his allies at the pre-festival conference. ‘How could he not, when our pact has brought my kingdom ten years of
peace and prosperity?' The old ruler became short of breath and broke into a coughing fit.

Tory, who was the only woman present, rose to pour him a fresh glass of water and then aided him to drink it.

‘We all greatly look forward to meeting him,' she told Aurelius, although glancing around at the other leaders assembled, Tory could tell they did not share her sentiments.

Aurelius was thankful for the water, but knowing his limits, decided to retire and leave the younger rulers to their agenda.

As King of Gwent Is Coed, Aurelius Caninus had maintained a good trade between his kingdom and Italy in the wake of the Roman retreat from Briton. Aurelius was particularly fond of their wine. At the time Conan had been born, Aurelius had yet to be acquainted with most of the rulers of his neighbouring kingdoms, with whom he was now allied. Thus, at that time, Aurelius had accepted the advice of his religious advisors to have Conan raised in the Roman faith, as he himself had been. It was arranged that Conan be taken to Ravenna to learn all that a great ruler should.

Twenty years later, Aurelius realised in retrospect that his son would have been better tutored by the Bards who taught the children of the royal families of Prydyn. Aurelius, raised in the Holy Roman faith, had only re-embraced the Old Ways of his people since meeting and joining forces with Maelgwn Gwynedd. Yet, in converting back to the way of the Goddess, Aurelius had not ostracised those of his kingdom who wished to maintain their Christian
beliefs and allowed the Bishops and monasteries to continue to flourish in his kingdom — much as Catulus of Dumnonia had.

‘The lad shall be a cocky young upstart disposed toward the Roman faith and their way of doing things,' King Brockwell of Powys grumbled, as soon as Aurelius had left the room.

‘Sounds rather like someone else I met once.' King Catulus of Dumnonia turned his eyes Maelgwn's way. ‘Hey, Dragon? Sounds like thee and Aurelius Conan could have a thing or two in common.'

‘We were all young and deluded once, Catulus,' Maelgwn conceded with a smile.

‘Conan wast a good lad before he departed for Ravenna.' Vortipor vouched for Aurelius' word. ‘Perhaps our fears art in vain.'

‘Of course they art,' Tory emphasised. ‘I feel sure that Aurelius Conan will want the best for his kingdom, as do we all.'

‘Aye, but will he recognise what be in the best interests of Gwent?' Fergus MacErc, the Scot of Dalriada, folded his arms, clearly ill-at-ease.

‘I say we drag young Conan up to Llyn Cerrig Bach for an inauguration.' Brockwell grinned, revealing the dimple on his chin. ‘Let the Goddess decide if he is worthy.' He raised his brow, his blue eyes sparkling as he relished the thought.

Ten years a king, and Calin Brockwell was still as mischievous and audacious as ever.

‘Calin!' Tory wasn't surprised at him, but she made it sound as if she was. ‘Hopefully that will be the last step
of the many it will take to right this situation.'

‘Ahh.' Brockwell detected her doubtfulness and sought to exploit it. ‘So even thou dost concede that young Conan could be a threat to the alliance?'

Tory avoided Brockwell's vexing question, suspecting that he had an ego-based motive for disliking the soon-to-be king. ‘Why doth thee persist in calling him
young Conan
, when the man be only a few years thy junior?'

The question shut Brockwell up, and gave the older members of the council something to chuckle about.

‘Thee should praise the Goddess, my friend.' Catulus, the oldest of the rulers remaining in the room, slapped Brockwell's back. ‘It will give the rest of us someone new to pick on.' He ruffled Brockwell's mass of dark unruly curls, until the warrior cast him off.

‘Laugh if thee will.' Calin was well accustomed to not being taken seriously; he'd been the youngest member of the alliance for ten years. ‘But this kid will be trouble. I smell a battle brewing.'

The frowns on the faces of his fellow rulers told Tory that most of them agreed with Brockwell's premonition. Only Vortipor chose to laugh off the comment.

‘Stop it, Calin, thou art scaring me,' their burly host teased, cowering to play scared. ‘Well, I smell a celebration brewing!' He stood, dispersing the doom and gloom from the room. ‘And if ye girls have quite finished imagining our fate, I would like to get festive.'

‘I second that motion.' Maelgwn slammed his hands down on the table, bringing their meeting to a close.

 

Under the guise of an advisor to Aurelius, Conan moved
through the banquet room, observing the rowdy pagans that his father had fallen in with.

He could hardly compare this raucous feast with the Roman banquets he was used to. The music and drunken laughter made any civilized conversation impossible. The orgy of sexual intercourse that would take place all over the countryside tonight seemed to be getting off to a fine start over dinner. And it wasn't just the commoners who were submitting to their desires in public; the chieftains were openly flaunting their affections also.

Backward heathens, one and all,
thought Conan, seating himself at one of the many long tables laden with food.

‘Some mead, sir?'

Conan turned to find a tall, slender maiden awaiting his word with a large jug of mead in hand. Her smile, so welcoming, took his breath away as he momentarily mistook her for a lady he had known in Ravenna. ‘Please,' he said finally. The woman looked fragile, yet she had no problem handling the heavy jug and managed to fill his goblet without spilling a drop. ‘Thou dost serve thy mistress well.' He acknowledged her servant's skill.

Although Cara bowed to accept his intended compliment, she couldn't help but giggle at his misconception. ‘I am the mistress of this house.' Again she was amused by the bewildered look on the man's face.

‘The hostess serving mead —' Conan near choked with shock.

‘There be no better way to meet all my guests,'
she explained with glee. ‘I am the Lady Cara, and thou art …?'

‘An advisor to Aurelius Caninus.' Conan stalled as he thought up a name for himself. ‘Sir Eldred.' He borrowed a deceased uncle's name.

‘I am pleased to meet thee, Sir Eldred.' Cara gave a slight curtsy, although her social standing meant she was not bound to do so. ‘As an advisor to Aurelius, hast thou met his allies?' Cara motioned to the main table where her honoured guests were seated.

Conan glanced at the main table in the grip of Beltaine revelry. ‘They appear to have their hands full at present.' His attention returned to Cara.

Conan remembered Vortipor from childhood. The Protector of Dyfed had done well for himself. The Lady Cara was a vision of loveliness. Dark copper brown curls fell over the milky white skin of her shoulders and down her back in large orderly ringlets. Her eyes of hazel sparkled, full of life, and the luscious lips of her tiny mouth seemed, in Conan's opinion, perfectly crafted for kissing.

‘Hast thou not got better things to do, woman?' Vortipor grabbed up his wife from behind and hauled her away, squealing and giggling.

Conan stood, concerned by how the Lady was being manhandled. He watched as Vortipor relieved her of her pitcher and backing her up to the main table, proceeded to seduce her on it.

‘Take it outside, Vortipor,' Tory whacked his shoulder to get his attention, and then referred him to her son. Rhun was eleven years of age and watching
Vortipor's seduction technique with great interest.

‘Little dragon, why art thou not in thy bed?' Vortipor let his wife up from the table.

‘I have a headache,' he announced, and as soon as his mother's attention was diverted, Rhun grinned broadly.

‘Thou art a headache,' Vortipor grumbled as he watched his wife return to their guests.

‘Rhun.' Maelgwn called for his son's attention and waved him in close. ‘See that man over there, sitting on his own?' Rhun nodded in accord. ‘I do not recall ever seeing him before.'

‘Shall I find out his identity for thee, father?' Rhun offered enthusiastically.

‘Do that.' Maelgwn whacked his boy's behind and sent him on his way.

‘Maelgwn!' Tory caught onto their game. ‘What art thou asking him to do now?'

‘Nothing,' Maelgwn lied, knowing his wife didn't like him exploiting their son's talents in such ways.

Tory watched Rhun like a hawk as he wandered up to the stranger across the room and struck up a conversation. Conan wasn't very interested in talking to the lad, but that was no matter. Rhun was more interested in what the man was not saying and he only needed to be touching his victim to find out.

After Rhun had annoyed him with a few unimportant questions, the stranger up and left the room, so the young Prince of Gwynedd returned to his father to report.

‘He claims to be an advisor to Aurelius, one Sir
Eldred,' Rhun informed his father, but Vortipor and Brockwell took an interest in the boy's truthsaying as well. ‘He lies,' Rhun announced. ‘He is really the son of Aurelius, Conan, here to assess us.'

Brockwell smiled upon learning of Conan's deception. ‘I would say we art doing a better job of assessing him.' Brockwell ruffled Rhun's hair, well proud of him. ‘Thou art an excellent spy.'

‘One more thing,' Rhun addressed Vortipor. ‘He hast taken an interest in thy wife.'

‘What! How dare he …' The information near sent the Protector into a drunken rage.

‘Vortipor!' Maelgwn stood and grabbed hold of both Vortipor's shoulders to get his full attention. ‘He has done naught but think thy wife attractive, which I am sure many men have done.'

Vortipor saw reason and settled.

‘Well, actually father, he thought —'

Maelgwn clamped a hand over Rhun's mouth to silence the lad and prevent an incident.

‘See why I tell thee not to put him up to these things?' Tory scolded her husband ever so slightly, and Maelgwn nodded to concede that he was in the wrong.

‘Let the boy speak,' Vortipor insisted, until Tory stood to end the subject.

‘The
boy
,' she stressed, glaring her son down, ‘be going to bed, before he starts a war.' She motioned with her eyes for Rhun to take his leave, and he did so without further argument.

‘Well now.' Brockwell slapped his hands together
resolutely. ‘I think I will go find our dear Sir Eldred.'

‘I shall join thee.' Vortipor moved to accompany his ally.

‘Oh no.' Tory blocked the departure of the two stocky warriors. ‘I shall go.'

‘Aw, Tory, thou dost spoil all our fun,' Calin whined.

‘I wast under the impression ye both had better things to do this evening?' Vortipor and Calin couldn't argue with that.

‘I wast under the impression that so did we?' Maelgwn contested her ruling instead.

‘I shan't be long,' she advised them all, turning and fleeing before any could protest.

 

Tory found Conan cringing in disgust at the cavorting masses that were gathered around the Beltaine fires of the outer bailey.

People were dancing and chanting praises to Beli, the Lord of the harvest. Offerings were tossed to the flames in his honour as prime cattle were driven between the fires for purification and fertility.

‘Sir Eldred, I presume.' Tory greeted him warmly, and was surprised when he backed up a few paces, wary of her.

This woman Conan had heard much about. If even half of what his father had told him of the Dragon's queen was true, it was dangerous to be anywhere near her. For it was said that Tory Alexander was the instrument of a Goddess who channelled supernatural power through her. She was also the trainer of a handful of key warriors in Briton who had become known as the twelve Masters of the Goddess, or the Dragon's circle.
Their combined feats over the past ten years and their prowess in battle had become so legendary that even in Ravenna he'd heard the reports.

‘I did not mean to startle thee.' Tory took a step toward Conan, and he again stepped away.

‘Thee did not.' Conan informed, and bowed as an afterthought. ‘Majesty.'

As much as Tory didn't like to judge a book by its cover, she didn't like this man. He had the look of an elitist snob about him. His fair hair, skin and pale blue eyes would have made him rather attractive had he not been sporting such a sour expression. Tory suspected that his face might crack if he smiled.

‘Can I assist thee in some way?' Conan inquired, maintaining his distance.

‘Perhaps.' Tory considered how best to phrase her question. ‘The alliance was informed today that Aurelius Caninus will soon be handing over the rulership of Gwent to his son, Conan. And as an advisor to Aurelius, I thought that perhaps thee might be able to tell us something of our new ally's character?'

A slight smirk crossed Conan's face, believing as he did that the great messenger of a supposed Goddess was fooled.
So much for otherworldly powers
, he thought, looking back to the goings on around the fires. ‘Aurelius Conan will not look kindly upon thy pagan ways, Majesty, that much I can tell thee.'