Laura stood open mouthed for a moment. What had she ever done to this weasel of a man to make him hate her so much and be so consistently rude to her? How Anwen could stand living with such a creature was beyond her. Seething silently, she trudged through the mire, back to her car and sped away, vowing to approach the farm from the woods next time. And only to knock on the door when she was certain Glyn was well out of the way.
By the time she arrived back at Penlan the children were playing football in the yard. The murky cloud and rain of the previous day had lifted, leaving no bad weather to speak of, although the mountains themselves were still veiled in mist. Laura was pleased that the boys were able to enjoy being outside, but was secretly disappointed there was no sunshine to show off the house at its best. She was proud of her new home, and it was important to her that Steph and Angus like it, too.
She carried the heavy newspapers and milk into the house.
“I’m back,” she called out. “Wake up, you lazy lie-abeds. There are hills to be walked out there.”
She stopped short with a sharp intake of breath at the sight of Rhys standing next to Steph in the kitchen.
“We have a visitor,” Steph said unnecessarily.
“I brought you some more veg and some eggs,” said Rhys with an innocent smile.
“Oh, that’s great. Thank you.” Laura put down her shopping and made a show of looking in the box Rhys had left on the table.
“It’ll be the last this year, I’m afraid. Just a few carrots and sprouts and onions.”
“I’m impressed,” said Steph, handing round mugs of coffee. “Organic veg and free-range eggs delivered to your door. And at the weekend, too.” She smiled as she spoke, but Laura could see her scrutinizing Rhys, weighing him up. Laura knew she could easily give herself away. What had made Rhys come? She had told him they were expecting visitors. He must have known this could be awkward. She was glad Dan and Angus were still asleep. She was determined to have Rhys gone before they came downstairs.
“I told you we had some nice neighbors,” she said lightly.
“You didn’t tell me about this one.” Steph raised a questioning eyebrow.
Laura felt horribly trapped. She wanted Rhys to leave, but could hardly tell him to do so. Mercifully, at that moment there came a wail from outside.
“That’ll be Hamish,” Steph said as she headed for the door. “Trying to play football with two left feet, poor lamb.”
The second they were alone Laura rounded on Rhys.
“What on earth are you doing here? I told you we had people coming. Steph is my oldest friend. Have you any idea how difficult this is for me?” she hissed.
“I’m sorry, I had to see you.” He stepped toward her, but she turned to the sink, plunging cups into soapy water. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Please, don’t be angry with me. It’s OK. Don’t worry so much. I wanted to meet the boys and bring you the eggs, that’s all.”
She was spared the trouble of responding by the sound of voices as Dan and Angus came down the stone spiral staircase.
“Hi.” Rhys stepped forward to greet the men.
“Rhys brought us some more veg, Dan,” she said. “Wasn’t that kind? I’ll just put them away.”
“You see, Angus? Top neighbors up here. You won’t get people dropping in with your homegrown carrots in Islington now, will you?”
Laura left the men talking and took the vegetables into the little pantry. She found having Rhys and Dan standing together in her kitchen, making small talk, deeply unsettling. She realized she simply did not know Rhys well enough to trust him. He could say anything, do anything, at any moment. She had to steel herself to return to the kitchen. She was dismayed to see Dan making a fresh pot of coffee. The children had come inside demanding drinks. Laura was surprised to see Rhys taking such an interest in them. He squatted down to their level, looking directly into their eager little faces as he listened to them.
“We’re going on a mountain walk,” Hamish told him. “Right up there.” He gestured toward the sky.
“Are you now? That sounds great.”
“Ah, Hamish.” Angus ruffled the boy’s hair. “Slight change of plan, laddie. It’s misty today so we thought we’d try our walk tomorrow, give the weather a chance to clear, eh?”
“Aw, Dad!” both boys protested.
“I want to go today!” William whined. He turned to Rhys for support. “I’ve got proper hiking boots, look,” he said. “And a backpack with things in case of emergencies.”
“We want to go on the mountain today, Daddy.” Hamish was pink with indignation. “You said we could. You promised!”
Dan stepped in. “But you haven’t heard the good news yet, guys. Today we’re going to Llangorse Lake to do some sailing. How about that? And your mum will come with us—you know you can’t keep her out of a boat.”
Hamish was just about convinced this was a fair deal, but William was on the verge of tears of disappointment.
“I want to go on the mountain,” he said in a very small voice. “I’ve got everything all ready.”
Rhys put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him.
“You sound like a true mountaineer, my little friend. I bet you’re strong walkers, too, the pair of you.”
“I am! I am!” cried Hamish.
“Not as good as me,” said his brother. “I can walk for miles and miles and miles.”
“I’d like to see that,” said Rhys.
“You can come with us if you like,” William told him.
“Oh, well, you know I’d be happy to be your guide, but it would have to be tomorrow. I’m busy today.”
Laura saw him shoot her a glance and prayed no one else had noticed.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” said Dan. “With you along there’s a good chance we won’t spend all our time getting lost.”
“As long as I’m not gatecrashing.”
Dan put his arm around Laura’s shoulders. “What do you reckon, Laura? Do you think we should let him tag along?”
“Are you sure, Rhys? The children have to go quite slowly. It won’t be the sort of walk you’re used to.”
“It’ll be a pleasure,” he said, smiling brightly. “I’d be pleased to help. I can’t wait to see these budding mountaineers in action.” He stood up, winking at William as he spoke.
“That’s settled then,” Dan said smiling. “Tomorrow morning you girls can sit about and gossip. We men are going to climb a mountain! How perfect is that?”
“Perfect,” said Laura. “Just perfect.”
Once the others had set off for their trip to the lake Laura decided to take the chance to look at the spell Rhys had given her. She sat at the kitchen table with a fresh mug of coffee and smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper which she had kept hidden. She had glanced at it only once, there being little time alone with the house so full. She sipped her coffee and began to read the spell written out so beautifully in Rhys’s elaborate hand. As she read it she wondered how many women longing for children had scanned these same words hoping for a little magic. Rhys had written a note at the top of the page.
This is an ancient Celtic fertility spell, my love, so you have to say the incantation in Welsh. You can use one of the eggs I brought you, as my hens are the right type. Ideally it is supposed to be cast in a waxing moon, though it doesn’t have to be done at night. You’ve got a couple of days before the full moon, then it’ll be waning. Choose a place that means something to you, and make sure you are alone. Good luck, my lovely Laura, R. xxx
Laura glanced down at the incantation and read it aloud, struggling with the unfamiliar sounds: “Boed i’r rhai hynny sydd â’u henwau’n ysgrifenedig yma gael eu gwahanu a’u cadw oddi wrth ei gilydd am byth bythoedd.” She had no way of knowing what the words meant, but that only added to the mystery and strangeness of the spell. She turned back to the instructions, which were in English:
Take an egg from a black hen and boil it in urine. [Yuck!] Let it
grow cold, then cut through with a clean blade. In black ink inscribe the names of both the man and the woman for whom the spell is designed. Dig a hole no more than one hand’s depth and plant the egg, keeping the halves separate. Cover with earth and a stone, then walk around the spot chanting the given words for six circles clockwise and six circles counterclockwise.
“Wow,” Laura said to herself. She stared at the piece of paper in her hand. It occurred to her that giving her the spell had been a generous gesture on Rhys’s part, as it would be helping Dan as well as herself. Unless, of course, he had intended her to use his name in the spell and not Dan’s. No, she couldn’t do that. As she realized this, she recognized that she was actually taking the thing seriously. How desperate would she have to be to give it a try? The idea began to thrill her. She had all the ingredients. The moon was waxing, and the others wouldn’t be home for a while. She should be painting, painting, painting, but the thought of Penny’s incredulity at someone being too busy to work because they were casting a spell made her laugh aloud for the first time in ages. That decided it. She got up and rattled through the cupboard for an old saucepan. She dropped her jeans and quickly peed in it—feeling more than a little ridiculous—then set it on the stove. She plopped in one of Rhys’s eggs, her hand over her mouth as the vile smell of boiling urine began to fill the kitchen. She opened a window, and found a black marker. Fifteen minutes later she had severed the egg and carefully written her name on one half and Dan’s on the other. She put the pieces in a tub, snatched up the paper with the spell on it, and hurried down to the woods. She already knew where she was going to cast the spell. “Choose somewhere that means something to you,” Rhys had written. She made straight for the glade by the sloping oak. Once there she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was not observed, then chose a patch of ground without too many roots. The earth was soft after the recent drizzle, and she did not have to dig very deep, so she was able to scoop out a hole with a stone and her hands. She settled the eggs into the soil, packing it gently between them so that they did not touch. She covered them as instructed and found a smooth, flat stone to go on top. She stood up, brushing mud from her hands, and took the spell from her pocket. She frowned at the incantation, wishing she had paid more attention to Rhys’s reading of Welsh poetry and made more of an effort with local place names. Slowly she began to walk in clockwise circles, chanting self-consciously as she went. By the sixth circuit, she had grown more confident and spoke the words a little louder. She paused, then started on her counterclockwise circles. She had only two more to do when a shout from the trees startled her so much she dropped the piece of paper as she wheeled round. Anwen came striding toward her, her face thunderous with fury.
“What is this madness?!” she demanded, her features almost unrecognizable they were so distorted by rage. “What wickedness! What treachery!”
“Anwen, you made me jump. I was just…” Laura let the sentence trail off, unnerved by the state of her normally friendly neighbor, and at a loss to understand why she should be so angry. “It’s just a harmless fertility spell. I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“Harmless! Harmless, you say!” Anwen snatched up the paper, reading quickly through narrowed eyes. “Who gave you this … this evil thing?”
“Does it matter?” Laura was beginning to feel irritated by Anwen’s reaction. She felt foolish enough being caught doing something so bizarre as casting a spell in the first place. She really did not need to have such a fuss made.
Anwen glared at her. “It was Rhys, wasn’t it? I warned you,” she said, hurling the piece of paper to the ground.
“He was only trying to help. Hey! Stop that!” she cried, as the old woman used her walking stick to knock away the flat stone. But Anwen was intent on what she was doing. She dug her stick into the disturbed ground again and again, eventually exposing and crushing the egg halves.
She turned to Laura now, a stubby finger wagging in her face. “You never, never, never cast a spell if you do not know exactly what the words mean. You are playing with the very fires of the underworld, my girl, and its heat will consume all those you love if you persist along this path.”
Before Laura could think of how to respond Anwen spun on a heavy heel and stomped away through the woods. She watched her go, shaken by her reaction, and disturbed by what she had said. She picked up the piece of paper and all but ran back to the house, determined to find out just exactly what it was she had been chanting over that damned egg.
* * *
MEGAN HURRIED INTO the boys’ bedchamber, the sound of Huw’s tearful cries unmistakable even over the noise of the tempest outside. The flame of the candle she carried spluttered and shrank as thin winds snatched at it through the shuttered windows. Megan cupped her hand around the wick and continued on. She found Huw trembling on his bed. He stretched his arms out when he saw her.
“Oh, Megan, I heard dragons fighting on the roof of the castle, I swear it!”
“Hush now, Huw,” she said as she sat beside him, her arm around his slender shoulders. “It is only the wind.”
“I never heard such a noise before. It will surely blow the castle down!”
“No, it will not,” she said, though she could well understand his fears. The evening had begun with a wet wind moaning through the castle walls like a restless spirit, but now the storm had gathered strength and force. It was as if it chased around the high mountains until even they could contain it no longer, so that it came crashing down the valley, breaking on the castle like a giant wave at sea. The heavy rain of the preceding week had been swept away by the gales, the clouds dispersed like the seeds of a dandelion clock. Another blast flung open the shutters of the bedroom window. Huw shrieked as Megan struggled to close them again. It took all her might to shut the little wooden doors against the tumultuous air and refasten the latch.
“There,” she said, returning to Huw. “The wind belongs outside—let him stay there.”
The noise had awoken Brychan, whose own fear had finally conquered his pride. He trotted across the room and climbed into bed with his brother.
“Please, Megan, tell us a story. I can’t bear to listen to that fearsome noise any longer.”
“Oh, yes.” Huw brightened at the thought. “A story Megan!”
“Very well. Which one shall we have?”
“Pwll in the Underworld!” cried Brychan.
“You always choose that one,” Huw complained. “I want the one about the people turned into harvest mice.”
The boys began to clamor and argue.
“Hush now, children—you will frighten away any story that might be waiting to be told.”
They became quiet at once and sat attentive, ready to listen.
“I will tell you the story of Gelert, the noble hound whose loyalty knew no bounds.” Megan set down her candle in a small nook in the wall, tucked the boys under the covers, and curled her feet up on the bed beneath her. As she told the tale she watched the boys’ faces, seeing in them the lives of the heroes played out in the widening of a young eye or the pursing of incredulous lips.
“Once, in a land very like our own,” she began, “save for the bigger mountains and the deeper rivers, of course, there lived a fine young prince named Llewelyn ap Iorweth. He was loved and held in high regard by all those who knew him, for he was brave and honest, a man to be relied upon in times of trouble, a man to be trusted. He had fought many battles to protect his village and his people, and when he was not fighting he enjoyed his sport, in the main hunting with his beloved hounds. These were fine animals, descended from a line of dogs known for their keen noses, swift legs, and fearless hearts. And the best of these was called Gelert. Gelert was the prince’s favorite. He was a hand taller than any of the others, with strong shoulders, grizzled grey fur, and a kind eye. He had fought wolves and bears and brought down the greatest boar in the forest, even when its tusks ripped into his side.
“Prince Llewelyn loved this hound mor
e than any other and even took him to battle with him. More than once he saved his master’s life, though the arrows and swords whistled about his ears. Some years passed, and Gelert became slower and his legs a little stiff. Still the prince kept the animal by him, though he was too old to hunt now.
“It happened that Prince Llewelyn took a wife, and very soon they had a child. The baby was all the world to the prince now, and whenever he could he would spend time with the boy, playing with him, even taking him riding with him on occasion. His wife joked that Gelert would be jealous, but Prince Llewelyn laughed at this. ‘The old hound knows I am forever in his debt,’ he told her.
“A few weeks later the village was attacked. In the battle the prince’s wife was slain. Soon after, the attackers fled. Near mad with grief, he swore to avenge his bride. He placed the baby in its crib and set Gelert to stand beside it. ‘Guard him well, faithful hound, for he is all and everything to me now.’ So saying he rode away.
“That night, with the village all disturbed and the men away, wolves came to see what was to be had. They even stole into the room where the baby slept. Gelert stood his ground. Though old he would not let the wolves approach. He fought them all, though they inflicted grievous wounds upon him. At last he chased them away. Fearing they might return, he went to the crib, and took the blankets between his teeth. With great care he lifted the infant out and carried it to a safer place where he could hide it. Then he took his position once more.
“Hours later Prince Llewelyn returned. He hurried to see his child and was horrified to find only an empty, bloodstained crib. In a fit of panic and rage he turned to Gelert, and seeing the animal covered in blood and thinking it to be that of his child, he raised his sword and cut down the poor animal. ‘You evil hound! Your jealously has made you murder my son!’ But even as Gelert lay dying a servant came running forward with the babe in his arms. ‘Master, look, the child is safe! Gelert drove off the wolves.’ Realizing too late that he had wrongly accused the faithful dog the prince fell to his knees. ‘Gelert, my most loyal friend, forgive me!’ Gelert stretched his neck out and tenderly licked his beloved master’s hand before death carried him away to the other world.”
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