Chronicle of Ages by Traci Harding

replaced with a frown of caution. ‘Thou art the devil, sent to test my faith.’
    Again, the contrived beliefs of mortal men override thy better judgment.
    â€˜Show thyself for who thou art,’ Samson demanded.
    It shall be a great disappointment to thee. The ghostly figure took on the physical presence of Gwyn ap Nudd.
    â€˜Another deceit,’ accused Samson, having his own ideas on what a devil should look like. The being before him looked more like an angel minus the wings than a hideous demon.
    True, my realms art of chaos, but that does not make the inhabitants evil. For we dwell in the great scheme of things a level closer to the divine than ye of the physical world.
    â€˜Art thou implying that thou art an angel?’ scoffed Samson.
    The Lord of the Night shook his head, amused. Here thou art, accusing Maelgwn Gwynedd of weaving falsehoods to suit his own ends, when in reality he hast a far greater idea of the universal picture than thou dost. But then, one only despises another for that which one despises about one’s self. Could it be perhaps that deep down thou dost envy the Dragon’s open mind and capacity to comprehend?
    â€˜Nay!’ Samson blocked his ears in a fruitless attempt to block out the demon’s tutorial. Why was he listening at all? Why were the words ringing true for him and playing on the strings of his heart? This test of temptation was truly confusing.
    Thou art being tested, Samson, but not how thy head would have thee believe. Ask thyself what thy heart holds to be true and just. Hast this been an eye opening experience … or a mind closing one? Gwen ap Nudd began to fade and the sun began to rise. The rest of thy life can be a wonder or a farce, Samson, the choice be thine.
    As the first rays of dawn filtered through the mist and onto his body, Samson stood dumbfounded. The Bishop found himself wondering why, if the apparitionhad been the devil, had he left him feeling so inspired and at peace?
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    As the night shadows faded and the morn brought some light to see by, Vortipor realised he had reached the bay at Aberdaugleddau. Even here, there was not a breath of wind and the heavy mist shrouded the waterway from his sight.
    Hungry, tired and tormented Vortipor climbed from his horse to walk along the water’s edge. What was he to do now? To continue this pursuit would surely be a foolhardy indulgence with his kingdom in peril.
    â€˜Nay, I must not believe that.’ He adjusted his attitude. ‘I have come this far in blind faith.’ The Goddess will provide . Vortipor began to look around for a means by which to continue his search when up ahead he spied a small rowboat that had been dragged up onto the bank.
    â€˜Not exactly what I had in mind, but beggars cannot be choosers.’ The Protector tied his horse to a tree to graze, and made a move to drag the boat into the water. As he grabbed hold of the stern, he noticed a couple of bodies curled up together within. Tears filled his eyes when he realised it was Bryce and Cara.
    â€˜Dear Goddess.’ He came around the boat to crouch down beside his sleeping wife. Her angelic face was so badly beaten that he began to openly weep. ‘What hast happened to thee?’ he muttered softly.
    Bryce’s eyelids parted and upon spying Vortipor the Prince eased himself out from beside the Protector’s wife, holding a finger to his lips so as not to wake theailing Lady. The lad climbed silently from the boat with the aid of the older man, and walked a little way with Vortipor to speak with him of the night’s ordeal.
    The young Prince had never imagined he could ever see the great Vortipor so broken and consumed by grief as he was upon receiving the news Bryce bore.
    â€˜Thou dost have my deepest gratitude until the day I die, Bryce. I shall not forget what thou hast withstood this night for the sake of my kin.’
    Bryce backed up at this point, rejecting his gratitude.