A Queen's Tale Read online

Chapter One

  The pathway had once been a river bed before the earth had moved and the water had run a new course. Having been used as a pathway for years had compacted the river stones down but, as Gwyn was finding out, that did not mean that they were completely steady and locked in place, especially after the rain. After rainfall, the lower land turned into a muddy, sludge-like substance.

  Gwyn fell over as a rock moved one way while her ankle went the other and her leg chose an uncomfortable third direction to travel in. A yelp of pain was followed by some colourful cursing as she went down. Gwyn could feel the backside of her khaki pants dampening from the wet ground as she sat and nursed her ankle.

  It was still a bit tender when she stood and put her weight on it but it would carry her where she was headed and hopefully back again.

  Hopefully.

  This patch of wild forest was bordered by extensive and barely populated farm land. Most people preferred to live in more technologically friendly areas.

  The strong ancient magic of this area played havoc with electronics to the point that there was little reason to even switch a device on. Thus no cell phone signal for Gwyn to even try to ring for a pick-up if her ankle decided it did not want to play ball with her plans.

  Gwyn liked the fact that the area was not technology friendly. It made it a special place, more of a place of true power in a world that had forgotten and bulldozed over most of them. People tended not to visit here unless they truly appreciated the energy and the landscape. It was amazing how few people that was, and how many who might visit would not do so simply because they could not be without cell phone or internet connection for even the few hours that a stroll through this place could take. It meant that Gwyn could commune with her father in relative peace and any that stumbled upon her were generally the type to be pleasant and respectful.

  The trees and bushes had grown up around the hill which contained the ancient spirit of the Hunt, hiding it from prying eyes. Stones of an ancient building that had long since fallen littered the top. The path to the top spiralled around the hill to its peak; a longer walk but an easier incline for Gwyn and her ankle.

  She was nearing the end of the path when she heard the snoring. She creased a brow for a moment, bemused. The sleeping Hunt did not snore. She did not know if that was even possible given the metaphysical nature of their rest and, for that matter, their existence.

  Gwyn’s confusion cleared as she came to the top of the hill and saw the sleeping figure resting in the shade of the half collapsed stone wall. She knew the figure well and held no small measure of affection for him, so she had no qualms in knocking his crossed ankles apart to wake him up.

  “Evening Myrddin.”

  “Morning sister.”

  It was a long running gag of sorts. No matter the time of the day the greeting between them always started with ‘Evening’ followed in reply by ‘Morning’; especially when they had not seen each other in a while. Myrddin and Gwyn were not technically brother and sister but were tied in a similar bond as Children of the Wild Hunt and bonded as strongly as if it was blood. Myrddin was the child of prophecy much like Gwyn was the daughter of the underworld. Both were tied to the Hunt and to the events that were soon to unfold.

  “What brings you here this fine afternoon?” Myrddin asked as he stretched out and tipped his hat back further off his face to look up at Gwyn.

  “My feet bring me here… brought me here, though I am not sure they will take me back again so willingly.” Gwyn lowered herself to the ground sighing as all the weight came off her ankle. She unlaced her sneaker and eased it off followed by her sock, wincing as she did so. The ankle was quite swollen now; the rest of the walk had not helped it much at all, it seemed.

  “Other than your quest to torture your means of transportation, what brings you to the hilltop today?” Myrddin sat up as he spoke and retrieved the cloth bag that had been resting behind his head, or rather that his head had been resting on. From inside he pulled out a yellowed cloth that might once have been white. “Give me your foot, klutz.”

  “I always come here on this day,” Gwyn replied, moving her foot into Myrddin’s lap.

  “Why this day?”

  “It would have been my mother’s birthday; I come to ease father’s pain.” Gwyn explained through gritted teeth as Myrddin began to poke and prod at her ankle. He moved it this way and that. “Would you cut that out? You don’t know anything about healing.”

  “One does not need to be the child of Brighid to know how to check for a broken bone. I have been known in lives gone by to turn my hand to the healing arts from time to time. Oh and I am the child of Brighid too.”

  “I forget sometimes that this is far from your first incarnation.”

  “And it is far from yours.” Myrddin replied not needing to acknowledge her roundabout attempt at an apology.

  “I do not recall much bar glimpses from Blodwyn’s life and no other.”

  “I recall Blodwyn, though my time with her was somewhat brief.” Myrddin looked beyond Gwyn for a moment as if there was far more to his words than he was saying and he was contemplating if he should say more. He remained silent.

  “You knew her…me?” Gwyn asked, an accusing tone lacing her reply. He had never mentioned before that he knew her in any prior life, even when she had spoken of her time with the ancient warriors.

  “Souls do not often travel far from those they are bound to.”

  “And ours are so bound?” Gwyn asked hissing as Myrddin began to wrap her ankle with his discoloured cloth.

  “I have salve at home I will apply when I take you back to share an evening meal. And in answer to your question, yes and no. Our souls have a small crossing of paths but we are both bound to the same souls. This is the closest we have been across our lives.”

  Gwyn sighed at Myrddin’s words. She knew instinctively which of the souls he spoke of. They were the same two souls that had been weighing on her mind more lately, Lance and Adrian.

  “This may be the first life you have ever looked so favourably on me.” Myrddin laughed, running his hand over her foot affectionately. His touch was light enough that he could do so without hurting her.

  “You think I look on you with any kind of favour or fondness?” Gwyn replied with a smile. “I cannot for the life of me think why I would not always be so fond of you and your bad habits.”

  “You did not always trust my actions for the greater good.” Myrddin replied, still smiling but speaking seriously. “And I admit that my attitude towards the fairer sex has not always been so pleasant. I have been driven in many lives to disliking and distrusting your species.”

  “Would you tell me more of our lives?” Gwyn asked, leaning forward in an unconscious show of interest. She chose to ignore the jab at her ‘species’ knowing that her brother only did it to try and wind her up, as always. “I feel like sometimes I am the only one who does not remember these things. It doesn’t really seem fair.”

  Myrddin leaned over and ruffled her hair, making Gwyn swat at his hand. “You are the youngest of us, Gwyn, memory takes time and often comes from triggers; triggers the souls you are bound to will give you. Those triggers are so much harder when you have driven many of those souls away from your side.”

  “I never…”

  “Bollocks. You did and you know it. You drove them from your side in fear, most especially fear of the truths they made you face about yourself.” Myrddin seemed far older than his form as he reprimanded her and Gwyn could almost see another version of him super imposed over his physical body. An old man, long hair and a beard that did not so much flow as fall in tangles from his scalp and face.

  “You see… Triggers can happen at any time given the opportunity.” Myrddin smiled, clearly aware of what she had seen, which helped Gwyn realise that she had not simply been imagining things. “You lament your solitary existence and yet it is of your own creation. I have watched you since you were a youngling Gwynnie and you
have always pushed the souls tied to you most away from you. You ignore the triggers or fear them and you push those who create them away.”

  Gwyn wanted to be indignant at his words, to argue, but she knew that he spoke truth. It might hurt but that did not mean it was not true. She did lament her more solitary existence but she had hurt and pushed away all those she cared the most about except Myrddin.

  “Have there been more than just them that I have pushed away?” The “them” that she spoke of was the two that she was most aware of, of Adrian and Lance, her ex-boyfriend and her ex-fiancé.

  “There have, but opportunity will present itself once more. Even Logan and Isabel, to whom you now tie yourself to, have had parts in your story before. You would do well not to let yourself push them out of your life again.”

  A sneaking suspicion rose in Gwyn. “I might ask what brought you here today but your words do not seem by chance.” He had the decency to look at least a little abashed by her assumption, one he did not need to confirm after that.

  “You will not always listen to me and though you do not in all lives see eye to eye, you have never doubted his wisdom or the truth of his harsh words before, my sweet Gwyn.”

  Gwyn felt the stirring of her father in her mind; it was not often he spoke directly to her and without the aid of dreaming but it was always in this place when he did.

  “Come to know Myrddin better and know that your presence here eases the soul of an old man.”

  “Father you are not-” but his presence in her mind was gone before she could reply. It lingered in the energy of the area and that in itself was of comfort to Gwyn as she sat there in the afternoon sun. Myrddin smiled and was quiet as if he was aware of what was happening and Gwyn had no doubt that that was the case.

  She was the youngest of the Wild Hunt and it seemed at times the youngest was always the weakest. She did not truly mind, she did not know that she even wanted more powers and more responsibilities. She kind of thought that she already had enough.

  “You never did answer me whether you would tell me about my other lives, or at least the ones you know of and have been part of.”

  “I did not and I will not, at least not in the way you wish me too. But perhaps I shall spin a yarn here and there and you will find the truth behind the myth and legend and fairy tale. I have been known, in lives gone by, to be quite the orator. Perhaps I can regal you after dinner.”

  “I never agreed to dinner.”

  “You say that as if I gave you a choice in the matter.” His old man visage seemed to fade as the teasing tone came back into his voice. It seemed the moment for great truths and wisdoms had passed and the Myrddin she was more familiar with had returned.

  “So, you intend to kidnap a helpless damsel back to your abode and force her to eat your cooking and listen to your old man ramblings?”

  “The cheek of youth today,” Myrddin laughed and pinched her ankle, which still rested in his lap. Gwyn let out a noise, half scream, half squeak. “Cripes. I’m sorry, Gwyn. I forgot for a moment.”

  “That is to be expected.” Gwyn drew in a slow breath. “In your advancing years.”

  Gwyn poked her tongue out and let her body sink back onto the ground, arm raised to shield her eyes from the sun as it sat three quarters of the way across the sky. The conversation deteriorated for awhile after that; to petty and juvenile taunts that had both laughing. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, Gwyn decided, in the company of a friend’s laughter. The sun had already sunk and the ruins had become dark before Gwyn realised that time had moved on.

  Gwyn knew the moon would rise soon over them. She had built-in instincts about the journeys of the sun and the moon, always simply knowing when it was the new moon, when the sun would rise, when high tide would be. It was occasionally a useful skill. Tonight the moon was waning but not yet dark and soon it would rise.

  Myrddin helped her to her feet.

  “Don’t worry I’m not going to make you walk all the way to my home.”

  “I would hope not. Especially considering the only home of yours I know of is in Caerfyrddin,” Gwyn said, using the welsh name for the town. “And that is one heck of a hike from here. Even without a sore foot, I very much doubt I’d make it there by dinner. Christmas dinner maybe.”

  “It is to that abode I wish to convey you now but I have cheating means.”

  Gwyn waited for Myrddin to explain but he did not say a word. Myrddin put his right hand in his pocket, his other arm was around her waist supporting her weight. The wind that was blowing across the hill died suddenly and light blinded Gwyn’s eyes. She scrunched her eyes shut and then blinked them and as the brightness abated, she realised they were standing in his kitchen.

  “Nice trick. How’d you manage that and when can I learn how to do it?”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t a magic I can teach you as I am the only one capable of doing it. Plus I can only return to this area.” Myrddin helped her to the kitchen table as he spoke, pulling out a chair for her to sit on. He swung out another for her to rest her foot on. “Beyond that I’m not telling.”

  “Well fine then, play mister secretive.” Gwyn replied laughing. She was not stupid though, she knew of Myrddin’s soul ties to this area; his name gave it away in this life again. It was funny how the same names cropped up across the lives. There were always hints to whom they had been before. It was that thought that sparked something in Gwyn. She always simply thought about being named for her father Gwyn ap Nudd, but for the first time she really thought about it and the hints that had always been there. Gwyn, Lance, Myrddin, it all seemed so obvious… but Myrddin intruded on her thoughts before she could continue them.

  “Perhaps while I cook dinner you can tell me what you remember of Blodwyn.”

  “I have fuzzy and random memories, like dreams, but I guess that’s what memories are like.” Gwyn fingered the edge of the table cloth as she spoke, bringing to mind the things she had seen that she simply knew were true and not some make believe fantasy her mind had concocted for entertainment or lesson.

  “And those memories are?” Myrddin laughed as he started to raid the fridge. “I can’t simply pick these things out of your head myself.”

  “Well that would save a lot of time if you could.” Gwyn shared his laughter. She was not sure which memory to start with; she did not have a time line for them, well other than the ones where she was clearly a child. Memories which clearly were the ones that came before any adult memories. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Start at the beginning and when you get to the end, stop.” Myrddin replied, which only made Gwyn continue laughing.

  “Thank you for the helpful advice, Mad Hatter.”

  “You’re welcome. Now hurry up or I’ll have dinner ready before you’ve even started.”

  “Pushy.”

  “Spill it.” Myrddin growled playfully, pulling a large bowl out of the cupboard to the side of the sink.

  “I remember being married and not to the man I loved. The man I married was angry and cruel to me always; as if he was punishing me for misdeeds I could not recall committing.” Gwyn could almost see the glint in the man’s eyes as she brought him to mind. He had always been so angry as if just the sight of her brought him to anger. He had been rough with her, taking what he wished for, as he was allowed, in those times, as her lord. From what Gwyn knew of those times it was not an uncommon thing, women were to be owned and used in much the same way as another beast, such as a horse. Although in the case of Blodwyn, her husband’s horse might have been better treated and respected.

  “You could not remember them, the misdeeds, and though his anger was in some measure warranted his actions were not. That was a lesson he had to learn, to let go of his hatred and anger and forgive.”

  “Did he?”

  “That is not for me to say.”

  “You’re annoying, you know that?”

  “So I am told, often.” Myrddin smiled. “Contin
ue; I am sorry for interrupting.”

  “I remember being stolen away as a spoil of war. I remember the man who came for me, Bedwyr.” She was not going into the details. She was not sure that Myrddin wanted details. He most likely knew more about it than she did. But those memories were so vivid in her head she did not need to think very hard to bring to mind the details for her own benefit; she could almost feel the ropes that had bound her as she had been taken. “I remember my time with a tribe of women warriors and I remember my escape. I remember finding him again with the priest, healing him with just my presence, the look in his eyes as he saw me again…I mean Bedwyr not the priest.”

  Blodwyn entered the room and saw Bedwyr on the bed, a pale shadow of himself, weak from the fever that had gripped him and for the soul sickness that now held him. “Bedwyr, my love, I’m here. Come back to me, come back to me.” Her tears fell on him as she wept in fear and relief; relief that she had not yet lost him and fear that she might yet.

  As that memory rose in her mind, she looked at Myrddin, she thought about the priest and the way he had acted, spoken, and a new suspicion rose. He had said he knew Blodwyn in passing… She looked at him and Myrddin sensing her gaze turned and winked.

  “What else?”

  “I remember my death and flashes of my childhood though they hardly seem that important compared to other memories.”

  "And how do you remember these things?"

  Gwyn watched as Myrddin put together their dinner and she thought about the answer to his question. How did she remember? He kept working on dinner and did not push her for an answer, though from time to time he would glance back in her direction.

  The cold roast ham he sliced looked so good that by the time the salad was completed Gwyn felt like she hadn't eaten for the better part of a month, she was so hungry. Everything was laid out on the table and Myrddin was sitting before she answered his question.

  "Some things have come to me like day dreams, others like sudden memories rising in my mind. I remembered my time with the warrior woman the night that Lance and I first kissed. I always believed that his soul was the same as Bedwyr. That he was the one I kissed goodbye to save his life from the warrior women. I had never known such complete sorrow before I felt that memory. The grief she felt, I felt..." It was hard to know what pronoun to use, it was her and yet it was not, the memories, though strong, were still removed by time and death.

  Blodwyn broke from her place beside the warrior woman and rushed to him, to her Bedwyr. She spun him around to face her and, pushing up on to her tip toes to bring her face to his, she kissed him. The kiss was to be their first, and their last, and would have to sustain them both until they could meet again in their next lives, if the Gods willed it.

  Tears streaming down Blodwyn’s cheeks, she whispered her confession of her love for him and pushed him away to continue his walk into the dark of the forest. Once he was lost from sight beyond the trees, she fell to her knees and keened for the life and love she had lost.

  Just the stirring of that memory was almost overwhelming in the intensity of its emotion. Gwyn could see the ancient place, the trees at the edge of the village. She could see the man walking away; she could feel the loss, the regret, feel her heart breaking knowing he could not return for it would cost him his life which she was sending him away to save.

  Gwyn snapped out of the memory as Myrddin laid his hand over hers.

  "I did not mean to bring make you cry, Gwyn." She had not even noticed that she was crying until her brother pointed it out. However, it did not surprise her at all that she was.

  "I always do when I remember that night. I guess because Lance is gone too and I know I am the one who caused him to leave."

  "Eat. We can talk of other things until after dinner or you'll end up feeling sick. Emotion and food don't mix well."

  "True." Gwyn could not help but agree with Myrddin, though he had been the one to start the conversation down this path. When she looked up into his eyes while taking a plate from his hand, she knew that he had known that the conversation would take this turn and he was sorry to have upset her.

  Myrddin guided the conversation for the rest of the meal. They kept it as light as possible, the kind of conversations that normal people would have over dinner; harmless talk of movies and music, of work and world events. Myrddin was very interested in Gwyn’s work, which was not surprising as it tied in with the Hunt, or so her father had told her.

  Whitfield Industries, now in the hands of Logan and Isabel Whitfield, had a part to play in the days to come when the Wild Hunt would ride. It would be a time of great turbulence, war, and death; it was all to come and the Wild Hunt would ride. Gwyn would be called to aid the passing of the souls that fell to the Hunt. She was not sure what Myrddin's part was during the ride; she knew he had foreseen it or at least parts of it but his gifts seemed more passive.

  Myrddin had been among those who had placed Gwyn where she was at Whitfield Industries so she would be among the story as it played out. Others were similarly placed; waiting, guiding, and watching. It had been a long time since the Hunt had ridden. The hounds had been out with her father on occasion but so many of the riders had slumbered for decades, since the last of the great wars had touched the planet.

  There were still so many portents and events that had to happen before the Wild Hunt would ride in all its glory. It was not about the number of dead, nor the destruction. There were other factors that were at work to summon the Wild Hunt, and it was for some of those reasons that Gwyn and her fellow siblings of the Wild Hunt were in place doing as they were to ensure that the Wild Hunt would be called and would ride in all its dark splendour. It was an awesome sight to behold but by no means safe; innocents would become tangled within its effect.

  Gwyn found she was talking with much affection about her new bosses and she sent up a silent prayer that they would not be among the ones to fall. Still, a silent prayer would do no good if their time on the wheel turned and they had to move on. It was not often that a story would be changed. However, it never hurt to send out the energy. One never knew who was listening and who would look kindly on such a request.

  Gwyn, though she was caught up in prophecy and knew the Gods to be real, still did not believe that all things were destined and could not be changed. She was very fond of Logan and Izzy, and Izzy’s husband Roen; they were all very kind to her and made her feel part of their world even if she was just a glorified secretary. Gwyn was sure that Roen, being that he was one of the Fae folk himself, had worked out that she was not exactly mortal but still treated her well and had not revealed her secret. Myrddin listened with interest as Gwyn talked about them all, about their lives; taking interest in the fact that Logan was away on a spiritual retreat and the kind of man that he was. Myrddin listened about the romance that had blossomed between Roen and Izzy and their forth coming nuptials so Izzy could inherit her part the company as per her father’s will. Myrddin felt it most amusing to hear that, making jokes that Mr. Whitfield would be rolling in his grave had he known. Gwyn was not sure how Myrddin could pass such a judgement on her recently deceased boss, but his words were accurate.

  Myrddin helped Gwyn to his sitting room after they had finished their dinner. Once he had settled her down on the couch, he excused himself for a few minutes. While he was gone, Gwyn looked around the room, finding very little had changed in the years since she had last visited him here. That visit had been not long after her father had returned to his sleep. The only real difference to the room was the slim silver laptop that sat on top of the large oak coffee table in the middle of the rug. Myrddin claimed he had made the table himself and the rough nature of it lent truth to his words. It was beautiful though, the way the grain of the wood caught the light.

  Gwyn looked away from the table as Myrddin returned with two steaming cups held in one hand and a small round container in the other. He set the cups down on the table and Gwyn knew it was hot chocolate from th
e marshmallows floating in the top of each cup. Myrddin had something of a sweet tooth. He took the lid off the container as he stood beside her legs on the couch dropping it down onto the table top beside him. He then moved to lift her legs, bringing them into his lap once he sat down under them.

  There had been something that Gwyn had thought of to ask Myrddin about while she had been eating but now it was simply gone from her mind. As she inhaled, trying to recall what her question had been, she caught various scents coming from the earthenware container in his hand. Beeswax was clearly the base for the salve and he had most likely made it himself. She was trying to place the other scents; she was never very good with anything other than the basics. She was pretty sure there was lavender, and something, maybe geranium; there was something culinary in there too but right now she could not place it at all. She wanted to say basil, but that did not seem quite right.

  “You should not worry too much on the past, Gwynnie, and stop trying to overthink it all,” Myrddin said, interrupting her assessment of the salve as he started to unwrap the cloth from her ankle. She smiled. No one had called her Gwynnie since she had been maybe eleven, until tonight.

  “Thanks Uncle Merrie,” Gwyn replied. She blinked as something familiar stirred, then she realised it was nothing overly deep or spiritual, just a reference to a series of books she had liked as a child. She was trying to see something in everything right now and there was no doubt that Gwyn was likely to exhaust herself and drive herself mad if she kept it up. That was exactly why Myrddin had just said what he had.

  “It’s hard. I’m curious by nature.”

  “And not overly patient.” Myrddin chuckled, unwinding the last of the bandage from her foot.

  “That too.” Gwyn said. She could admit it. Patience was far from a strong virtue in her, which was all the more ironic for someone who had more time to live than most.

  “Things will come in time and though the memories may aid you in some ways, they should not be allowed to overwhelm you in this life. Do not worry so much about what has happened before or you will miss the point of this existence. You are still going to learn the same lessons with or without that extra knowledge of the past. Well, hopefully learn those lessons.” He winked at her as he dropped the cloth onto the ground beside the couch. He stuck his fingers into the salve, scooping out a generous amount and smearing it on her foot.

  Gwyn let out a slow breath as he began to work it in. There were a few sensitive places but Myrddin was gentle. He massaged her whole foot and the lower part of her calf before he moved on to the other one. Gwyn was near purring before he changed feet.

  “Don’t get used to this either, Gwynnie.”

  “Oh no, now I know you can do this I will expect it every time I visit. That may become more often.” Gwyn giggled.

  “You don’t have anything to blackmail me with into that kind of servitude.” Myrddin chuckled, smoothing his hands down the length of her foot, fingertips working along each toe in turn.

  “I’ll find something.” Gwyn let her eyes fall closed. This was so relaxing, she could not even remember the last time she had had her feet rubbed and like many women she had a weakness for it.