The Cadwaladr Quests

by S L Ager

  ‘The gift of Instinct,’ he answered patiently. ‘Though, not all Cadwaladr descendants277 are born with Instinct, Claire.’

  ‘Are you Rebecca’s “uncle” too? Does she have a gift?’

  ‘No, and she will never earn the true Cadwaladr name.’

  ‘The true Cadwallader name, what exactly do you mean?’ she asked, ruffled278.

  Gwilym reached over and picked up something from the dresser. He put a notepad down and wrote ‘Cadwaladr’.

  Claire picked it up.

  ‘You’ve written that wrong,’ she said flippantly279, pointing to it.

  The man’s features softened.

  ‘This is how the Welsh write your surname, Claire, and it means “battle leader”. Your present spelling heralds from280 the true word but is a derivative281. Only when you have earned it, and only if you are knighted as a Knight Hawk, can you take our authentic282 version of Cadwaladr.’

  ‘Battle leader?’ She shook her head, mouthing the surprising translation283. ‘Really? Battle leader. Is that what my name means?’

  ‘Yes, Claire.’

  ‘Me being a knight. Are you lot human?’ Claire asked, the thought jarring her.

  ‘Yes. We are mortal, though we do tend284 to live a long time. We are rare.’

  ‘I’m rare?’ she asked, screwing up her face.

  ‘Yes, Claire, very.’

  For a short while, nobody spoke. Claire fiddled with the notepad on the table, looking at the way he’d printed her supposed285 name.

  ‘So, if I do have this Instinct thingy, what does it mean?’ she asked.

  ‘You have an innate286 flair287, although its benefits288 are not infinite289 or free. You are born with the potential of Instinct, but you alone must earn it; we cannot train you.’

  ‘Not free?’ she asked. ‘If you can’t train me, how do I get it?’

  ‘By being brave and defending290 what is right. True Instinct, good Instinct, can only be used in defence, never to provoke291 or attack,’ said Gwilym, stressing292 the word never.

  ‘Provoke an attack?’ she asked, raising her voice. ‘I don’t like the sound of this.’

  ‘Your Instinct will evolve293 and thrive294 if you work for it and deserve it, but moreover295, when you need it. One day, you might become a Knight Hawk and use the authentic spelling of our great name: Cadwaladr. True Instinctives are kind, loyal296 and must possess profound297 integrity298. But most of all, we are brave. You could have refused to come today, but you didn’t.’

  Gwilym’s voice tailed off, his expression distant. Claire waited, wondering where his thoughts had strayed. This all sounded preposterous299, yet she wanted to believe him, although she’d already had enough of being brave for one day.

  ‘Gwilym,’ said Gladys, nudging him from his reverie300, offering him tea.

  He eventually picked up his mug and returned his gaze to Claire, who now couldn’t contain herself. ‘What could I do if I get this Instinct thing? Fly?’ she asked, grinning. But Gwilym remained sombre301.

  ‘I cannot foresee302 your capabilities303. What is it that you would realistically304 like to achieve? What would you improve, Claire, given the opportunity305? To a young Instinctive, talents are usually limited306 to two or three elements307; we are not superheroes. If we strive308 for knowledge309 and proficiency310, we advance. That is all I know.’

  ‘How’s my sister involved in all this?’ asked Claire, remembering what had brought her here in the first place.

  ‘I will come to your sister shortly.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ she said.

  ‘Hundreds of years ago, commanded by Prince Llywelyn, I was a young, valiant311 knight tasked to discover the legend’s truth. I led the quest to find the elusive312 Welsh gold that, if proved true, would empower313 the Gwalch Gem.’

  Enthralled314, Claire leant towards him; good stories captivated her. Only this wasn’t a story.

  ‘Suffering immense315 losses, we located and extracted316 the gold for Llywelyn, who crafted317 it into the bracelet that still holds the Gwalch Gem today. The extensive318 power of the bracelet quickly became apparent319.’

  ‘What can it do?’ asked Claire, intrigued.

  ‘Well,’ said Gwilym, ‘it initiated320 our powers of Instinct, and we became the Knights Hawk, but moreover, and more significantly321, it enabled322 the user to manipulate323 time.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Claire. ‘Change time – that’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Llywelyn used it wisely, for only virtuous324 deeds325. However, he suspected certain courtiers326 coveted327 it for their own avaricious328 gain, and he feared even some of his most trusted allies were plotting329 to steal the bracelet, to profit330 from its power.’

  Gladys leant over, topping up their mugs.

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Claire declined331, putting her hand over the top of hers.

  ‘Llywelyn governed332 fairly, but palaces harbour333 traitors334. Whilst away hunting one day, he entrusted335 his wife and younger brother to tend336 his son and guard the bracelet, which they knew was hidden in his son’s chamber337. Traumatised338 at having killed Gelert, the prince didn’t notice the theft immediately. He called to his wife, but alas339, she did not come. He cried out to his brother; still no one came. In the ensuing340 silence, Llywelyn realised the enormity of the betrayal341 and agony he would endure342. The Gwalch Gem bracelet had gone. Just two people knew it had been tethered343 around his son’s thigh. The two people whom Llywelyn had trusted with his life: his wife and his brother.’

  Again this gruff344 man paused, wistfully345 searching an unknown yonder346. Claire was desperate to intrude347, to question him, but she bit at her lip, knowing she shouldn’t interrupt until he rejoined348 the present and resumed349 his tale.

  ‘The prince cried as he kissed Gelert’s lifeless head, inhaling the scent350 of his dead friend before it faded forever. The people he loved and trusted most had lured351 a wolf into his baby’s chamber to distract Gelert, knowing he would protect the baby and bracelet with his life, and this he had done.’

  As tears welled352, Claire swallowed hard, trying her utmost353 not to downright blub354. She’d never owned a pet, but she adored Jack and Thomas, and had fallen in love with the pony who’d brought them here.

  ‘Llywelyn’s wife fled with his brother, choosing power and greed over her husband and child. Had they planned for Llywelyn to return and see Gelert covered in blood, mistaking his dog’s heroic355 deed? Had they intended such hurt for Llywelyn, or was the killing of Gelert a harsh356 twist of timing and unintended357, a young father’s impulsive358 and volatile359 temper leading him to lash out360 without thought? The truth may remain undetermined361. The one part of this legend that is wholly362 factual363, however, is Prince Llywelyn never smiled again.’

  Blinking back tears, but keeping her eyes on Gwilym, Claire wiped her cheek on her grubby sleeve.

  ‘Dark years ensued. Prince Llywelyn’s brother and wife used the bracelet’s time-changing abilities for selfish364 and malevolent gain. I pledged365 I would not rest until I returned the bracelet to its rightful366 keeper. When at last it was, Llywelyn avowed367 that it must never fall into untrustworthy368 hands again, that it be sequestered369 and isolated370 from temptation371. Together with my Knights Hawk sisters, Gladys and Anwen Cadwaladr, I must ensure it remains forever under lock and key, segregated372, shut away from the hands of unscrupulous373 individuals, so none will ever be tempted by its powers again.’

  ‘So, what exactly is a Keeper?’ Claire asked, getting the gist374 of things but still lagging375.

  ‘Cadwalladers born of potential Instinct, who then earn and develop it, help keep the gem safe; it is our duty.’

  ‘How has Rebecca got anything to do with this?’

  ‘Ah, yes, Rebecca,’ Gwilym replied, sighing.

  4. Hidden in Plain Sight

  Class 10J were chattering loud, raucous1 nonsense and fidgeting incessantly. Boisterous2 and impossible to control, they chucked rubbish
and messed around as the ancient school bus limped along with the rush hour through town. Disobeying3 numerous4 cautions5 to put away their phones, they sniggered at photos and texts, hiding them from view. They were en route to a museum, supposedly to help with their history exam, but to them, the study part would be no fun.

  Rebecca Cadwallader’s mouth opened and closed like a feeding fish. She chomped shamelessly on a piece of prohibited6 gum, surrounded by her gang of doting7 admirers. They hung on her every word as she gossiped and whinged, criticising8 the trip. Next to her slouched9 the source of her ill-placed arrogance10, a smiling youth11 named Josh Drane.

  In constant trouble and regularly suspended12 from school, Drane revelled13 in the fear he instilled14 in his contemporaries15, enjoying the effect he had on them. He skulked16 in school corridors, shrouded17 in hoodies, taunting teachers. He wore banned designer18 trainers, knowing he’d be sent home, and smoked openly in the grounds, enticing19 the younger kids to join in. There were rumours20 of worse. Other schools refused to take him, so for now, he went unchecked21. Despite many ugly traits, he radiated22 an odd attraction23 to which Rebecca had recently become inexplicably24 drawn.

  ‘Do you want a Snickers, Becca?’ Drane asked. ‘I nicked two from the shop before we got on the bus. He’s a right old dodderer25, that shopkeeper. Dead easy to pinch26 from,’ grinned the boy.

  Rebecca nodded an enthusiastic yes at him. Repulsed27 by her, he felt his skin crawl as she gnawed28 her grey gum then blew a bubble. Her pathetic29 bovine30 expression reminded him of a cow chewing the cud31.

  Such a gullible fool, he thought smugly32, hiding his contempt33 for this girl.

  He’d easily wrapped this one around his finger to do his bidding34. He’d practised for years, and his master had taught him well; this dumb girl would do whatever he demanded of her. He ground his teeth and flashed her another fake smile. She beamed back.

  ‘Ta, Josh,’ tittered35 Rebecca, batting36 her mascara-caked lashes.

  ‘It’s gonna be, like, soooo boring today,’ she said, fluttering her spidery lashes again. As if oblivious37 to his disdain, which bordered38 dangerously on hatred, her vacuous39 eyes gazed an adoring look into his.

  ‘Yeah, rubbish,’ he lied, curling his lip, pretending to agree.

  Staring out of the window, he silently mocked40 her banal41, tedious42 remarks. Compassion43 and sympathy44 were alien to him; all his actions were a calculated45 means to an end. He had planned the day with meticulous46 precision, and failure was not an option. He would allow nothing to interfere47 with his preparation48; he admired his master too greatly to fail him.

  Using Rebecca Cadwallader had been Drane’s idea. She would be their insurance49 policy50. The Mal-Instinctives suspected the other sister, Claire, may have Instinct, and having a Cadwallader as a hostage51 would make it difficult for the knights to save the gem and easier for his master to steal it. The Knights Hawk protected their own.

  Sentimental52 old idiots, he thought, spitting onto the floor.

  The museum exuded a quaint and parochial53 atmosphere54, and although it was large and housed55 some unrivalled56 antiquities57, its tired veneer58 needed investment59 and modern refurbishment60.

  The Gwalch Gem bracelet lay in a low-key glass case, its resting place for many years. This innocent home was a perfect disguise for its dazzling61 supremacy62, the power it granted its wearer recognised by only a rare few.

  To the average spectator63, the bracelet passed as a pretty piece of gold and emerald jewellery. Nice but nothing special or, indeed, priceless64, its real value and power deliberately65 concealed. The Keepers engineered it this way, intending minimal66 attention to be drawn to their secret force. They shunned67 bulletproof glass and laser-beam protection, and purposely stowed68 the gem in an open, public place. There they could guard it, and no one could wear it.

  Mostly it was local schools and pensioners69 who visited this museum. A lack of modern installations70 did not attract the masses71, but rather just a meagre72 trickle of local people and hordes73 of bored schoolkids. This humble museum, tucked away in an inconspicuous74 part of town, proved the perfect resting place for the Gwalch Gem bracelet.

  ‘Come on, you lot, look lively! Switch off your phones, and if anyone’s chewing gum, please refrain75 by getting rid of it in that bin over there,’ ordered Mr Hollie.

  Mr Hollie taught 10J history, and Josh Drane didn’t faze76 him. No, indeed. Hence77 the school consenting78 to Drane’s presence today. Mr Hollie had assured79 the headmistress he could handle him, so she had relaxed the rules, hoping the gesture80 of independence81 might improve Drane’s attitude82 and, moreover, his behaviour. Mr Hollie had decided that if it came to it, he would flex83 his authoritative84 muscles today. This group was infamous85 for its notoriously86 challenging behaviour. The headmistress was often called in to monitor87 tricky lessons. Today she had entrusted him to take this problematic88 class on the field trip, and he was determined89 to impress her.

  Drane, Rebecca and their dubious90 cohort91 reluctantly92 trudged93 after their teacher. They spat out gum and threw drink cans into an overflowing bin at the museum’s unremarkable94 entrance. Drane’s haughty95 swagger and lack of interest hid attuned96 senses97 that operated on high alert. His tense limbs, his brain adhering98 to his mental list, his animosity99 towards Rebecca: all concealed an acute100 efficiency101 simmering102 beneath his brash103 exterior104. He glowered105 with blatant disrespect106 as the unsuspecting teacher briefed107 his class.

  ‘Right, you’ve got your notepads and pencils, so actually make some notes. We’re meeting the curator108, Mr Evans, in five minutes. As we’re part of the local community109, he’s graciously110 offered to give us a guided tour, which, I might add, is a privilege111 not offered to everyone. I expect exceptional112 behaviour, not impudence113, and show some gratitude114, will you?’ lectured Mr Hollie to his mostly disinterested115 pupils. ‘Mr Evans is no amateur116; he knows his facts inside out. I suggest you make the most of it and listen. You’ll be writing this up in our next lesson,’ he continued in his long-winded117 way. Mr Hollie was not known for being pithy118, often appearing to overly enjoy the sound of his own voice.

  As Mr Hollie paused, Josh Drane inhaled a resoundingly119 noisy sniff, then let out the loudest, longest burp he could muster120. All eyes turned to him and then back to Mr Hollie. Looking incensed121, the teacher whirled round as if to chastise122 Drane but stopped abruptly123 as a short, slight man clothed in a fusty124 dark suit appeared and extended125 his hand.

  ‘Hello. You must be Mr Hollie from Chorlton High. I’m Robert Evans, the curator here. A pleasure to make your acquaintance126,’ he said to the obviously fuming teacher.

  Mr Hollie glared at Drane, quickly switching to an affable127 smile for Mr Evans. ‘Um, hello, Mr Evans,’ replied Mr Hollie, flustered128. ‘Yes. And thank you so much for agreeing to give us a guided tour of your museum today. Meet my history pupils.’ He waved an imperious129 gesture at the now-silent kids. ‘Oh, and this is Miss Malik, my assistant,’ he added with a dismissive wave.

  Josh Drane watched them, welcoming this attention, precisely130 as planned. He intended all eyes to be levelled131 his way for as long as possible. If they were too busy worrying what he was up to, they wouldn’t catch anyone else, would they? Drane had spotted Evans’s baleful132 eyes watching him from the moment he’d entered the hall. Couldn’t the Knights Hawks produce a superior133 shield for their precious bracelet, rather than some decrepit134 old intellectual135? This task would be easier than he’d thought.

  ‘Follow me, please,’ said Mr Evans through barely visible136 lips and crooked yellowing teeth. ‘We have our cinema, where we show visitors an introductory137 film of the museum’s history and its resident138 pieces. It also highlights the pertinent139 safety aspects of today’s visit. Come this way,’ he continued, leading Mr Hollie and his pupils through the exhibition hall and towards a tired-looking side room.

  Josh Drane bent down, pretending t
o tie a lace on his forbidden140 trainers; he knew he wouldn’t be sent home today for rule-breaking. Standing up slowly, he patted his pocket, the flick knife he’d concealed safely stowed away, its blade retracted141 for now.

  ‘Come on, Becs, you’re sittin’ with me,’ he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the back row.

  As the rowdy142 kids filed143 into the cinema, squabbling over seats, no one noticed a nondescript144 boy peel off from the back of the line and walk away. They were all too preoccupied145 with Drane and his giggling girlfriend.

  No one noticed the tall, suited man slip into the museum as the security guard nipped to the loo to check messages on his phone.

  No one noticed the soot-black cat slink silently through the entrance, weaving its way amongst the maze146 of glass showcases scattered throughout the exhibition hall.

  In the stale-smelling cinema, Mr Evans had started the film. It creaked and whirred into life. From the tiny screening space, the exhibition hall remained fully visible; it allowed only one way in and one way out. The boy Drane would be clearly seen if he left the cinema.

  The teachers and pupils finally settled down to watch the film – that is, all except one.

  ‘Here, Becs, have some of this; Hollie won’t see,’ said Drane, furtively handing Rebecca a can of drink.

  ‘Ta, Josh. Don’t care if he sees it, anyway,’ she replied, guzzling147 the drink.

  ‘Yeah, too right,’ he replied, smirking a grin of encouragement148.

  The powder Drane had poured into the can was completely tasteless.

  5. Worse than Cross-Country

  Whilst Rebecca and most of the class were ensconced1 in the museum’s cinema, Claire was sitting in the cosy kitchen in Anglesey, the true reason for her being there about to unfold.

  ‘Ah, yes, Rebecca,’ replied Gwilym, sighing.

  Claire knew Gwilym’s story would inevitably2 lead to her sister. Biting her lip, she searched Gwilym’s face for clues, dreading what he might say next.