VIII – What Was and Never Should Have Been #3

As Narg drew near, she hurled the bundle at him. He swept it aside with his left arm and, before it struck the ground, with the back of his right hand—with all the force of his fury—he struck her across the face.

The lights went out for Celtión for a moment, and when she came to, sitting upon the floor with her hands cupped around her face, she hid her tears and the stinging pain that burned her cheekbone.

A trickle of blood ran through her fingers.

The silver ring—the heads of ravens on either side—had opened a gash running from her forehead to her right cheekbone.

Celtión began to laugh madly.

'Oh, yes! The king has made himself respected. Thank thee, Father, thou hast disfigured me; now the young man will not desire to wed me.'

Narg froze; his breath caught in his throat as he beheld her bleeding.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind: that fire knotting his insides, the trembling in his limbs, his blurred vision.

He swallowed hard to pull himself together, for Celtión, still upon the floor, continued to laugh and taunt him.

'If I cannot compel thee to wed, thou shalt devote thy life to the gods. Thou shalt be my greatest offering. I shall place mine own heart in Frey’s hands, for thou shalt espouse our youngest deity.

Thou shalt become a priestess and, thus, serve thy people.

Dost thou desire to roam free through the fields?

Thou mayest do so once thy initiation is accomplished. '

He turned so that he was standing sideways to the young woman and, looking at her over his shoulder, added:

'But it shall not be here, Celtión; thou shalt not set foot in Old Minister again until thy life meaneth something to this kingdom. This night thou shalt depart for Lepontia; Marzota shall look after thee, she shall be thy shadow. This is the word of Narg, king and lord.'

Gwion waited in the stable. He desired to speak with his brother, yet he could not discover him.

He was surely in the tavern, as he had been each day since the sun began to set.

Silently, he gazed toward the great window on the second floor of the castle’s west wing and prayed to Freya to keep her in ignorance.

A short figure, cloaked in a thick cape that covered their head and reached down to their feet, entered the stables.

Tower, in the farthest stall, let out a whinny that not only alerted him to the presence but made them both shudder.

The young Gerinson turned his back on the skylight overlooking the castle and gripped his hilt.

'Only the royal counsellors are permitted to be here,' he said in a firm voice.

'None has the power to stay my course. This realm is as much mine as it is my grandson’s.' Windar uncovered her head, and the faint moonlight streaming through the portico illuminated her white, braided hair.

'Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not recognise you.'

'I know what you are waiting for here, Gwion Gerinson.'

He cast his eyes toward the casement and, perceiving that the candle therein was no longer alight, turned again to the grandmother queen, who made a sign for him to take his ease upon a bench of straw that was wont to be occupied by the watch.

Gwion stood with his back to the chamber of his beloved, and therefore beheld not that the lamp therein had now been kindled.

'Celtión is impulsive, yet she possesses great strength. Her thoughts are not clear; she is unaware of the harm her stubbornness might cause; yet you, my boy, are well aware of it. You have sworn eternal love to one another, but love in times of war brings naught but death.'

Gwion hearkened attentively. He esteemed her, for she, as a complicit grandmother, had covered up many of their mischievous deeds—Celtión’s, Maed’s, Cheas’s, and his own. Windar took his hand; it was ice-cold, her face pale, and terror in her gaze that was visible despite the gloom.

'I know you have planned to escape together, but what do you think will happen when Narg rules all of Móntria? There will be no hiding place where you will not be sold for a few coins. You will not repay him with betrayal, I know. You love Celtión, but you also love your king.'

A clamour in the courtyard seeped through every crack and crevice. The door burst open and Gwion, instinctively, drew his sword. 'Am I capable of killing my comrades just to save my own head?' he thought, paralysed. A soldier, unaware of his presence, entered and opened the stalls for each horse.

'It is not so serious,' quoth he, beholding the lad with blade in hand. 'It is but a family quarrel that shall be done by tomorrow’s toast. Come, the princess cannot have strayed far.'

Gwion turned in surprise towards the old woman, who did not seem surprised.

Another entered, tilted his head from side to side and halted when he beheld them.

It was Owin, who drew near until he stood directly before him and, without uttering a word, gazed into his eyes before embracing him warmly.

Gwion, not comprehending, stood stiffly, with both arms hanging at his sides.

'I am glad to see you here, my friend. The king is looking for you,' he said, clearing his throat.

Owin appeared troubled and somewhat agitated. Gwion took two steps back to free himself until his back bumped against the wall.

'I am sorry, but he desires to behold you forthwith in the Crown Hall. Keep him not waiting; he is in a temper that would make Woden himself tremble.'

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind.

He imagined Death whispering in his ear; the cold steel of his king’s singing sword tearing out his ribs one by one until it opened the wings of the eagle his body would form, whilst he strove not to make a sound so that, upon his death, the gates of Valhalla would open to receive him.