Dedication
TO SUE
FOR SHARING THE DREAM
ALL THESE YEARS
CONTENTS
Cover
Dedication
Characters of the Dark Age
Prydyn, 519 AD
Britain, 519 AD
Degannwy
Aberffraw
PART ONE • TIME
1 The Stones
2 Time Shifts
3 The Pact
4 An Arranged Marriage
5 The North Tower
6 The Second Prince
7 The Magician
8 The Storms of Gwynedd
9 Death of a King
PART TWO • SPACE
10 Inauguration
11 The Quest
12 Union
13 Winds of Change
14 A Winter Solace
15 Full Moon
16 Samhain
17 The Five Dark Days
18 Anger to Avenge
19 Burgeoning
20 Beltaine
PART THREE • REALITY
21 Secrets from the Stones
22 Dissolution
23 Where is Home?
24 The Visit
25 Awakenings
26 Tylwyth Teg
27 The Returning
Bibliography
References
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Traci Harding
Copyright
CHARACTERS OF THE DARK AGE
Heroine
Tory Alexander
Prince of Gwynedd
Maelgwn – ‘The Dragon’
High Merlin
Taliesin Pen Beirdd
King of Gwynedd
Caswallon
Queen of Gwynedd
Sorcha
Brother of King
Cadfer
Sister of King
Lady Gladys
Brother of Maelgwn
Prince Caradoc
King of Powys
Chiglas
Princess of Powys
Vanora
King of Dumnonia
Catulus
Ruler of Dyfed
Vortipor
King of Gwent
Aurelius Caninus
Ruler of Dalriada
Fergus MacErc
Ruler of Merica
Ossa
MAIDENS AND LADIES
Tory’s maid
Katren
Mute from Aberffraw
Ione
Vanora’s maid
Malvina
Maiden at Aberffraw
Alma
Head maid, Aberffraw
Drusilla
Head maid, Degannwy
Fenalla
Rhys’ wife
Jenovefa
Cedric’s wife
Mabel
Proprietor of whorehouse
Old Hetty
Chiglas’ crone
Mahaud
KNIGHTS AND ADVISERS
Maelgwn’s Champion
Calin Brockwell
King’s Champion
Tiernan
Maelgwn’s messenger
Cadogan
Maelgwn’s keeper of records
Madoc
Maelgwn’s watchman
Vaugnan
Maelgwn’s cook
Jeven
Red-headed knight
Cedric
King’s accountant
Percival
Trainer of armies, Aberffraw
Gilmore
Maelgwn’s adviser
Rhys
Maelgwn’s knight
Angus
Maelgwn’s squire and musician
Selwyn
Maelgwn’s second squire
Tadgh
Vortipor’s Champion
Queron
Brockwell’s son
Bryce
Maelgwn’s son
Rhun
Rhys’ son
Gawain
Prydyn, 519 AD
Britain, 519 AD
Degannwy
Aberffraw
PART ONE
TIME
1
THE STONES
As evening cast its shadow across the horizon, Tory secured the last nut and replaced the hubcap. She tilted back on her heels to admire her work when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the back tyre was also losing air. ‘Goddamn hire cars,’ she cried, kicking the dying tyre with her steel-capped boot. ‘I don’t believe it!’
It was difficult to see how bad the puncture was as the old country road was poorly lit. Tory drew back her long hair and sighed, kissing goodbye to any chance of making it to her aunt’s in Oxfordshire by dinner. Disheartened, she turned and lent on the car to mull over her problem.
The difference between a good situation and a bad one lay only in one’s perception. The voice of her Sensei came into her thoughts.
It wasn’t as if she was afraid to be in the countryside at night, for she was more than capable of protecting herself. Only a few months back she’d achieved her second Dan grade (black belt) in Tae-kwon-do. She’d also trained in kickboxing, a sport her brother, Brian, had encouraged her to pursue.
Brian had been Tory’s driving force, her fiercest competitor and closest friend. Her recollection of the events that led to his death continued to plague her, though two years had passed since the tragedy.
On the final day of their first Dan grade competition, Brian and Tory had competed against strong opposition to secure the title in their respective weight classes. Brian had sustained a couple of bad strikes to the head, but the doctor who examined him afterwards gave him the all clear to go home. The next morning Tory found her brother dead. An autopsy determined the cause of death to be a subdural haematoma, which is swollen, bruised tissue that leads to a build up of pressure on the brain. The doctors compounded her family’s distress by explaining that if this had been detected at the time of the injury, Brian might have been saved. Tory never competed again, and from then on she regarded the medical profession with considerable scepticism. Brian was gone and her family had to live with the knowledge that it didn’t have to happen.
Tory’s father Renford, a Welshman born and educated, was a professor of British history and language. He travelled the world lecturing at universities and was often called upon to investigate archeological finds. Tory’s mother, Helen, was a classical harpist of some merit, and was forever flying off to perform with one orchestra or another. These professional obligations sent her parents abroad soon after Brian’s death. Tory had insisted on staying at home in Sydney as she wanted to finish her year at university. She spent most of her time on her own anyway, studying history, mythology, music, philosophy, metaphysics, and the like. Her father’s knowledge of ancient languages had also ensured that Tory had a firm grasp of Brythanic (ancient Welsh) and Latin, in addition to the other languages she’d studied at university. Her parents had never pushed her into the workforce for they were well off and ardent students themselves.
Renford and Helen hated having to leave Tory on her own most of the year. So, out of fear that she would wind up a hermit, they suggested that a change of scenery might do her good. As her father’s passion for his heritage had rubbed off on her over the years, Tory thought it high time she investigated Britain’s historical sites for herself.
Tory glanced up at the encroaching night sky. She remembered seeing an inn on the corner as she’d turned off the highway, however that was quite a way back. She looked down the road in the other direction, but as there weren’t any houses nearby, she considered the fence beside her.
The property was bordered by large trees, and as Tory approached them he
r heart began to pound in her chest. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she uttered, as she saw a large circle of stones in the field beyond. She was tempted to investigate so she retrieved her backpack, shoulder bag and saxophone case, and locked up the car for the night.
The circle appeared to be at least a thirty metres in diameter, and Tory guessed there were about seventy stones. Some were much larger than others; the elements and humankind had taken their toll over the centuries of the circle’s existence.
As she reached the perimeter of the circle a strong presence came over her and she stopped in her tracks. How strange that I should find myself here tonight. She was a little scared by this thought, for tonight was the summer solstice. When Tory recalled tales of Wiccan and Druidic practices traditionally held on this night a shiver ran over her.
She knelt down to retrieve her black leather jacket, the only possession of her brother’s she had wanted to keep. Well known as Brian’s lucky jacket, it was reinforced at the elbows and bore a large-winged Harley Davidson emblem on the back. It was also two sizes too large for her and very comfortable. As Tory felt the familiar safety of the jacket, she assured herself that it hadn’t been fear that made her shiver, just the cool evening air.
She reached out to one of the taller stones and ran her fingers over its rough surface. She recalled stories of how these stones would go down to a brook to bathe at midnight on New Year’s Eve … Or was it All Hallow’s Eve? It didn’t matter, as for the Celts of old both days fell on the same date, October thirty-first, and were celebrated with a festival known as Samhain. Another story of how a witch had turned a king and his men to stone brought the name of the circle to mind, ‘The King’s Men, of course!’ Tory turned to look out across the field behind her. Beyond she knew that there should be another small gathering of stones called ‘The Whispering Knights’, but they could not be seen from this distance. Across the road from the car, no doubt hidden by bushes, she would find the ‘King Stone’, set on a ridge looking to Long Crompton. This represented the king’s wager with a witch that he could see the village from the ridge. It must have been bad weather because he obviously lost. The witch then turned all the knights to stone before turning herself into a tree. Well, at least I know where I am now, Tory thought.
Turning on her torch, Tory set about sorting through the clothes, books, sheet music and toiletries in her backpack in search of something to eat, rummaging amongst her CD Walkman and its speakers, her headphones, camera, spare film and batteries. It was a good thing Tory wasn’t big on fashion as there was scarce room for any clothes. What she really felt like was a hamburger with fries and a Coke, yet all she managed to dig up was a half-eaten health slice, a bottle of water and a packet of unsalted cashews. It wasn’t much but it was better than starving.
Tipping the last cashew out of the packet into her mouth, Tory stuffed her things back in her pack. She leant against a large rock and lit a joint that she’d rolled for the trip. ‘Here I am getting high, at what some would consider a sacred site, on the night of the summer solstice, at …’ She strained her eyes to check her watch, ‘…quarter to midnight.’ Tory smiled, this was definitely not what she’d imagined she’d be doing this evening.
As she stood to face the circle again, she thought of all the celebrations that would be taking place tonight at the more public sacred sites like Glastonbury and Stonehenge. People would be performing old rites, dancing, singing and paying homage to the Goddess, that is, Mother Earth. Oddly enough, the atmosphere surrounding the stones no longer perturbed her. On the contrary, it seemed to welcome, even beckon her towards the centre. So she ventured into the middle, dragging her belongings along with her. ‘Close enough.’ Tory dropped her things where she stood and took off her boots. The potent energy of the place intrigued her, so she sat on the ground in the lotus position. The back of her hands rested gently on her knees and her thumb and middle finger met to form a circle, aiding the circulation of energy around her body. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths, to achieve a relaxed, peaceful state.
Her attention was drawn to the sounds of little night creatures. She inhaled progressively deeper, focusing her thoughts on the hooting of an owl close by. Tory had become so engrossed with this sound that she did not notice the light around her growing steadily more intense. This often happened when she meditated; colours would emerge in her mind, intense colour at times, but never before had the light been so white for so long. She continued to breathe deeply, imagining that she was inhaling the brilliant white light throughout her body, and it filled her with a sense of strength and wellbeing.
The owl stopped hooting and Tory became aware of a faint humming, like the buzzing in your ears after a rock concert, only this was more melodic. It gradually increased in volume to the point where it bothered her and she was compelled to open her eyes.
The white light she thought she had imagined, truly surrounded her and appeared to be exuding from the ground within the circle. The mist rose towards the sky to form a large billowing cloud. From within the largest stone, a ball of blue light, no bigger than a coin, made its way towards her.
What is it? A fairy perhaps? She’d never actually seen one, so she couldn’t dispel the possibility.
In her study of these stones, Tory recalled that scientists had documented sightings of this light phenomena. Some said it was caused by geological and electromagnetic factors, but the energy involved was so exotic that it was not yet understood. Others suggested that it could relate to consciousness itself, considering consciousness as a field effect; like actually seeing the equivalent of what the Chinese refer to as Chi energy.
The sound of laughter then began to filter through Tory’s head and it sounded suspiciously male. This irked her and she looked around for its source. ‘Is this some kind of elaborate hoax?’ she asked.
The laughter rose again, only clearer now.
Tory drew herself up straight. ‘Show yourself. I am not afraid.’
The light was still for a moment. Then in the blink of an eye it darted towards her, almost touching her forehead. Tory’s limbs froze, and she began to feel faint as the light penetrated her skin.
2
TIME SHIFTS
Tory woke the next morning, bathed by the warmth of the sunshine. She squinted at the blue sky above, shielding her eyes from the glare, then stretched to relax the kinks in her body after sleeping on the hard earth.
The ball of light! She sat up so abruptly her head spun.
All her bags were accounted for, and as far as she could tell she hadn’t been harmed in any way. ‘Was that for real?’ She rested her head in her hand, recalling the previous night.
Tory felt a gritty paint smeared on her brow and looked at her fingers that were smudged with blue. ‘What the hell is this?’ She pulled a small mirror from her backpack. Stamped on her brow was the image of a dragon. In Celtic mythology this symbol represented the guardian spirit of Ancient Britain. Why had she been marked with it? Tory decided that although it was rather cute, the dragon had to go. She began rummaging through her bag for a tissue when she remembered that they were in the glove compartment of the car. ‘It’s time I got moving anyway.’
It wasn’t until Tory stood up that she realised there were a few things amiss. ‘What’s happened to the car?’ She ran towards the road that was now nothing more than a dirt track. ‘Where’s the fence, and the road for that matter? What the hell’s going on here?’ She looked about her noticing that although the landscape was more or less the same, the landmarks had all changed. The trees not only differed in height and location but also in species, and there were many more of them.
‘Stay calm,’ she told herself. ‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.’ But when Tory turned back towards her bags she was dumbstruck.
The stones, which had been crumbled and broken the day before, now stood over two metres tall and were fewer in number. The peace of the field enveloped her, there was no distant rumbling of
traffic, no power-lines, planes, anything! Tory’s mind went blank; she couldn’t even begin to fathom the possibilities of what might have befallen her.
She became aware of a growing rumble. The ground beneath her began to vibrate before any sound reached her ears. In the distance she spied eight men on horseback, racing down across the open field towards her. She snapped out of her daze and pulled a cap from her bag to cover the mark on her forehead.
The men drew their horses to a halt outside the circle and were all, rather curiously, dressed in authentic suits of armour. I knew the Poms were old-fashioned, but this is ridiculous, she thought. ‘Hey there, what’s happening?’ She waved in greeting as she walked casually towards the perimeter of the circle. Her greeting was not met with any reaction from the group, it was as if they hadn’t understood a word she’d said.
‘By the Goddess,’ one of the knights exclaimed with playful delight. ‘It be a woman.’