by Sarah Mussi
Gran looks at him. ‘Yes, Sior,’ she says, ‘you will need your axe before we see the end of three days.’
1 The Coraniaid are a race of beings from Welsh mythology. (Coraniaid appears to be related to the Welsh word corrach translated as ‘dwarf’.) They appear in the Mabinogion. They are characterised by a sense of hearing so acute that they can hear any word the wind touches, making action against them impossible.[back]
2 There have been many stories of ghosts at the sixteenth-century Black Boy Inn in Caernarfon. One of the spirits is known as ‘the strangler’; it is said to manifest itself with a feeling of hands being placed around the throat. Some claim to have seen a nun walking through walls. While others say ghosts sit at the bar to drink and eat ghostly victuals.[back]
TEN
‘Three days?’ I say. I don’t get it.
‘Three is a very magical number. If you can’t get a full coven, three witches can cause a lot of trouble.’ Gran starts counting on her fingers, a perplexed frown drawn tight across her brow.
‘Like in Macbeth?’ says George.
‘But you said three days, not three witches?’ I say.
‘Well, it’s twenty-one days, including yesterday, from when they cast the spell – until the 20th of March and the vernal equinox. You must be always sure to count in that magical Leap Year day, the 29th of February, for without that day they could not have struck at all,’ Gran nods her head to herself. ‘And remember a witches’ day is not the same as ours for it only gets going at sunset and will not end ’til sunrise.’
‘But twenty-one days is three weeks, Gran, still not three days.’
‘Ah ha – but the witches have sped up time! They use magical numerology to do it. They take the number 21 and weave a spell around it. They slice and boil the numerical values down; compress them, they convert the 21 to 2+1 which equals 3. It’s their dark formula to condense time; three weeks thus becomes three days.’
I stare at her, trying to see the logic in that.
‘That’s how it works,’ says Gran in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Well, usually. It could be three hours, or three seconds, magic has its own symmetry, but if it were three seconds, we’d already know. Besides, they too need a little time to plan their work.’
‘But what are they planning?’ asks George. He’s got his bit of copper piping angled like it’s a cigarette. He raises one eyebrow as he catches me watching, whispers, ‘I know: debonair.’
Gran gets down a calendar from the wall and starts doing little sums in pencil on the edges of it.
I start to panic. Only three days? That can’t be right. We’ll never work out a way to find Henry and defeat Oswald in three days. We don’t even know what breaking the High Magick means.
‘Can you explain again about why we’ve only got three days?’ I say. My head is suddenly pounding. I feel sick.
‘In the everyday world, free of witches’ curses, the days will flow as usual, twenty-one of them, one after the other – but for us, those of us caught up in the witches’ spell, we’ll only get three true calendar days, I’m sure of it. I think they will probably appoint the first and the tenth and the nineteenth as the days of the calendar, they intend to make count – that’s if I know my magical numerology … ’ muses Gran. ‘1+10+19 adds up to 30 – see! And 3+0 = 3.’ She waves the calendar at us and points to her scrawled sums.
Look on the bright side, I tell myself, swallowing down my panic. Though things are really bad: HENRY IS FREE.
‘With a gap of nine unmagical days in-between each of the chosen days that they will designate to be enchanted … ’ Gran scribbles some more figures down. ‘Nine, I see it now! 9 = 3x3. Oh, yes, very, very cunning. They’ve thought this through, you know. They’ve woven everything very tightly around that number 3. There is no way we can undo it, time will be sped up and we must therefore act immediately.’
‘I have to find Henry.’ I say. Then I really panic. If Henry were free he would have found me by now, wouldn’t he? That means something is definitely wrong.
‘Don’t worry if you don’t understand it,’ Gran consoles us, putting the calendar down. ‘That’s the thing with magick, it follows laws of it’s own. They hardly ever correspond to the logic of our world. Just remember: three days – that’s all we’ve got.’
‘I’m not trying to understand it,’ says George. ‘I’m trying to get Ellie to pay me some attention.’
Lots of things are wrong. Obviously. There’s a dead girl stuck right over Henry’s heart crystal, for a start. How has that affected him?
Gran sighs. ‘Try to contain yourself, child,’ she says. ‘Henry is not dead, you cannot kill dragons easily.’
I look into the flames. I look at their blue centres, at the flickering yellow and orange. He hasn’t found me, though. And he could be hurt, or trapped – and I may never know, may never see him again … and dragons can die … And Oswald is out there, trying to kill him.
Gran smiles kindly at me. ‘Hold yourself strong,’ she says. ‘We have other work to do. With Henry’s fate unknown, we must assume that Oswald will be hard at work. We can guess what it is that he is after, and if I am right, then we are all in serious danger.’
George leaves the arm of the sofa, comes round next to me, pushes my knees up, sits down beside me and says, ‘I give up. If you won’t notice me, Ellie, I shall have to be more noticeable.’
I try to give him a little smile. It seems to do the trick.
He leans forward. ‘So give us the worst, Nan,’ he whispers through his pipe. ‘Don’t pull your punches. We can take it.’ He raises his eyebrows at me in quick succession and flexes his biceps.
‘I do not know exactly what happened when they opened up the chamber at Dinas Emrys, destroyed the spell and went against the will of Merlin, but I can see that one thing has happened – they have unleashed the forces of magic under the mountains, that is why Glyder Fawr can shake his crown of rocks and cause landslides, and all the other things that we have already seen.’
Gran pauses and gives a nearly spent log a poke. Embers fly. A blue flame sprouts out the side of the piece of wood.
‘And with the Olde Deepe Magicke on the loose, we can be certain Oswald is fast at work securing allegiances from all the monstrous creatures who are now waking up.’ Gran places a fresh log on the blue flame. ‘He will be directing them, if he can, to destroy Ellie and to take over Snowdonia.’
‘So what are we to do?’ I say. ‘What can be done? If there is anything to do, I’ll do it.’
‘Not without me,’ says George, grabbing his axe. ‘If anyone tries anything with you again, they’re going to have to get through me first.’
‘We will need your courage, Sior,’ whispers Gran, ‘but put away your axe, and give me your teacup.’
‘Teacup?’ I say.
‘Keep calm and drink tea,’ whispers George.
‘The teacup is mightier than the axe,’ I whisper back.
‘Both teacups,’ says Gran, irritated. ‘And hurry up.’
‘Just give them to her.’ George takes my cup from me and passes it to Gran with his own.
‘We need to read the leaves and plan what to do next,’ says Granny Jones.
‘Go for it, Nan,’ says George. ‘Tell us what they’re after.’
‘Shush!’ she says, holding the teacups up. ‘I’m thinking of the critical question.’
‘Like will Ellie ever love George?’ asks George, making puppy eyes at me.
Gran tips the remains of the two cups into one. She swishes the cup to the left three times, holds it in her left hand. (It’s one of those huge cups.) She holds the saucer firmly in her right. (It’s one of those huge saucers.) She turns the cup upside down on the saucer. She tilts the saucer slightly over the hearth and allows the liquid to drain out into the grate. She rights the teacup, mumbles a few words, clears her throat. Then with her left hand, she turns the cup three times to the left.
The curtains shiver, as if the wild wind racing around the cottage ca
n blow straight through walls.
The fire suddenly rages. A single yellow flame surges up the chimney.
Gran holds her hand on the cup in that position, seems deep in thought, then slowly counts to nine.
She turns the handle of the cup to point at me.
She lifts the cup free of the saucer.
My heartbeat shoots up.
It’s just tealeaves on a saucer, I remind myself.
‘Tell us what they mean,’ says George.
Gran straightens herself in her seat, lifts the saucer towards her. ‘Well, here,’ Gran points at the area between the centre of the saucer and the rim. ‘These zones represent either the distance or the weight of the omens. Images nearer the centre will come sooner, while the images nearer the rim come later. In addition to that, images at the centre represent heavier omens – nearer the rim they are lighter or more joyful.’
I peer closely at the dark spread of tealeaves.
‘This big clump here augurs trouble on its way. These drops of liquid tea that didn’t come off with the draining represent tears. They indicates future sadness, great sadness.’
Gran stares into the fire deep in thought.
‘Just tell us, Nan,’ says George. ‘How bad can it be?’
‘Well,’ says Gran, ‘there are some things I don’t understand, but I will tell you, because later on, it may be of use.’
‘OK,’ I say.
Gran peers at the saucer and says, ‘I will tell you of the images I see. Remember them well and let them advise you.’
My heart starts thudding. I bite my lip, hold my breath.
‘This anchor, at the rim, means stability, constancy in love.’
‘That’s me,’ whispers George. ‘I’m your anchor.’
I breathe out.
‘Maybe,’ says Gran, ‘as here is an axe – which means you have the power to overcome difficulties.’
‘Definitely,’ says George.
‘Here’s a bag – a trap; if open – as it is here – it means a trap from which you can escape, if you think clearly. The bat here is a situation calling for alertness and caution.
‘This crow or raven is an ill omen, a warning, or an ambush. And this cat – an untrustworthy friend.’
‘Ha!’ I say. ‘I know who that is.’
‘But look another cat sits over here,’ warns Gran. ‘These dashes and dots indicate many setbacks, which may cause wasted time. This exclamation mark means pay attention; beware of impulsive actions. These lines mean a journey and as they are wavy, the path is uncertain. And this snake – someone who does not deserve your trust.’
‘You can always trust me though,’ says George blowing me a kiss through the piping, which actually sounds like he’s blowing off.
‘This triangle shows you are involved in a three-way relationship; and this wolf means you will be challenged or betrayed by someone. While these very small tealeaves and this huge one tell me that you can trust the tiny and the very big … ’
‘And this – ’ Gran stops, blinks rapidly.
‘Yes?’ says George.
Gran sighs. ‘This tangle of dragon and crown and throne and wand below these stars under this mountain,’ Gran points at a pile of leaves near the centre that are curiously mountain shaped, ‘can only mean one thing,’ she says.
‘What?’ I catch Gran’s worry. A cold sweat breaks out down my back.
‘It means a dragon – Oswald, of course – seeks ultimate power. This crown with the throne means it must be the Golden Throne of Arthur that he seeks, long hidden by Merlin under Snowdon.’
The Golden Throne? I try to rack my brains, to see if I can remember anything about Arthur’s Golden Throne. Nothing jumps to mind. ‘What if he does?’ I ask.
‘Whoever sits upon Arthur’s Throne will be all powerful,’ announces Gran.
‘And?’ says George. ‘You mean like in real life – or is this just in a myth?’
Gran runs a hand across her face. ‘It is said that the Hours of the Golden Throne will bring about a time when myth and magic meet with mankind,’ she says. ‘For so it was when the Throne was wrought in the olden days when Arthur ruled the land – and so it will be again when the hours of his kingdom shall come to pass.’
I try to take that in. Like real magic, in real time – the second coming of King Arthur – and all that.
‘But Oswald knows, only too well, that he cannot find the Throne or sit upon it, unless he defeats those who protect it from falling into the hands of such a one as he.’
Oh crikey – rewind – strike through the second coming of King Arthur and read the first coming of King Oswald!
‘And the Throne’s greatest defender is the Red Dragon. For he has sworn to fight Oswald in his dragon form, to match dragon fire against dragon ice, to strike claw for claw, tooth for tooth for all eternity.’
But where is Henry?
‘Though, I see no sign of the Red Dragon in these leaves,’ says Gran, as if reading my thoughts.
On no … Henry isn’t there!
ELEVEN
Gran lifts her piping to her lips, ‘Take courage,’ she reminds me. ‘Though we know not the fate of Y Ddraig Goch, there are other defenders of Wales and the Throne too; there is St David and Owain, and most important of all, the Cave of the Sleeping Knights.’
‘The Cave of the Sleeping Knights,’ I say, careful to use my piping too. ‘But surely that’s just a King Arthur fairy story?’
‘This very mountain, Snowdon, is the place where Arthur died,’ Gran says. ‘He was shot down in Bwlch y Saethau above Cribau – you know that.’
Actually I didn’t, or if I did, I’d forgotten it.
George kindly strokes my arm. ‘It’s because you didn’t go to junior school here.’ He’s practising a new technique of speaking into the pipe sideways. ‘We had to do it in Class Three: Le Morte d’Arthur, shortened edition. We all got a trip to Crib Goch and ate Marmite sandwiches.’
‘Everybody ate Marmite sandwiches?’
‘Everybody who mattered,’ whispers George.
‘What’s the story then?’ I ask.
‘Arthur’s final battle is said to have taken place on Snowdon.’ George angles his piping so that I can feel his breath on my cheek. ‘One story says that he died at Tregalan, where he was brought down by a hail of enemy arrows at a pass. Oww, ouch and all that.’ His breath tickles so I push the piping aside.
‘To this day that valley is called Bwlch y Saethau, or Pass of the Arrows. Anyway Arthur’s knights covered his body with a cairn of stones. It used to be known as Carnedd Arthur or Arthur’s Cairn. Are you getting the picture?’
Like, obviously. I know this mountain, every inch of it. I know Bwlch y Saethau even better than George does. I just never knew the full Arthur bit, and anyway, Carnedd Arthur – the cairn – isn’t there anymore. So ner.
‘After his death,’ continues George, now deliberately blowing through the pipe all over my face in swirly patterns, ‘all Arthur’s knights, who were pure in heart, sealed themselves in a cave below the summit of Y Lliwedd, where to this day they slumber, fully armoured, ready to fight at their king’s side when he awakens to save Wales in her hour of greatest need.’
‘OMG!’ I hiss. ‘A whole cave full of fit, pure, lovely, lush, strong, brave, sexy men … cripes! Does Sheila know?’
Sheila’s my friend who is not my friend. Remember? She is a cow not at all considerate when it comes to boys. She thinks every male from Llanberis to London belongs to her.
‘I don’t know what this thing is between you and Sheila,’ says George, ‘she seems like a very nice girl.’
I know George is trying to wind me up. He knows very well how Sheila tried to stitch me up (however much she protests her innocence). Plus he knows she’s always had the hots for Henry. And come to think of it: any boy I’ve ever looked at. Which obvs is V annoying.
George looks at me, all sugar-sweet and wide-eyed.
Why she has never made a play for Geo
rge, I’m not sure. Maybe because she knows she’d fail. Sheila doesn’t like to fail.
‘Well,’ says Gran, really softly into her plumbing, ‘the Sleeping Knights will never let Oswald take the Golden Throne from their cave.’
So, it’ll all be OK?’ I ask.
‘Only if we act,’ hisses Gran. ‘For we are part of the great puzzle of the future. I have consulted the tealeaves and I trust them more than anything. I could consult the Oracle – the Menhir of Mawr, but it will only show me visions of what might be, if we don’t take any action.’1
Gran pulls her shawl closer around her. ‘But one thing we must face is that it’s possible the Sleeping Knights will never be able to defend the Throne, because Oswald plans to kill them while they sleep.’
George exhales loudly. ‘News, bad news and more bad news, and you haven’t finished yet, have you, Nan?’
Gran sighs. She goes across and checks the windows yet again.
‘I think,’ she whispers slowly, so that her breath coming out of the piping sounds like the wind sighing, ‘that now Oswald knows about Ellie, he fears the power of her love. He fears that she will find a way to rescue Henry, and he is determined to act before that happens.’
And Gran is so right.
‘But he has acted, hasn’t he?’ blows George. ‘He’s got the help of some pretty powerful witches to break Merlin’s spell on Dinas Emrys.’
‘So,’ Gran ignores George. Instead she continues through her pipe, ‘he has planned well.’ She yanks the curtains even tighter against the cold outside. She flicks on her old record player and the strains of her fave, Rod Stewart, croon out. ‘It’ll help to cover our conversation. More things might be listening than just the Coraniaid,’ she says mysteriously as she draws back to the fire.
Good thinking Gran. Any self-respecting troll or goblin would have to be mental to want to listen to Rod’s warbling for long.
‘On 20 March it will be the vernal equinox – the first day of spring and a day of great power,’ continues Gran. ‘It’s the time when things can renew themselves; grow strong after a winter of dying back. And this is a leap year, as well. If Oswald can raise an army, he will attack the Cave of the Sleeping Knights at the first ray of sunlight on 20 March – at the very moment darkness gives way to light.’