by J. D. Oswald
‘This place is filled with strange magics, Your Majesty, but I think we can trust our eyes here.’ Usel had not left her side to go and eat with the others; no doubt he had felt Sir Conwil’s suggestion too and was equally able to resist it. For himself, the dragon merely waited patiently, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side like an indulgent parent.
‘I must feed my son first,’ Iolwen said, then noticed another less pleasant aroma wafting up to her nose. ‘And I will need to find somewhere to clean him.’
‘Of course. There are facilities just here.’ The dragon waved his other arm and Iolwen almost jumped. Where before they had been standing far from the nearest wall, now there was one immediately beside her, a door half open just a few paces away. She stepped over to it, peered in and saw basins, towels. There was a scent of rosewater and soap about the place and a cleanliness that only reminded her of how grubby she was. Turning back to the dragon, Iolwen gave him a nod by way of a curtsy, the best she could do while carrying Prince Iolo.
‘Thank you, Sir Conwil. Your hospitality does you credit.’
‘The least I can do after the trauma my kind have inflicted on yours.’ The dragon returned Iolwen’s curtsy with a bow. ‘And now I must go, I fear. There is much to do. Please eat, rest. You will find all you need here. I will return as soon as I can.’
Iolwen opened her mouth to speak. There were so many questions she didn’t know where to start. But before she could say anything Sir Conwil simply vanished.
It wasn’t easy preparing and cooking a fish without any tools, but the Grym was powerful in this magical place and Errol found he could tap it with an ease he had never known before. It took a while to persuade Nellore to collect dry wood and pile it up, her complaining all the while that they had nothing with which to light a fire. Only once they had a decent stack did Errol reach deep into the lines and draw out the power from them, directing it to the nearest branch. He had seen warrior priests and the elder quaisters produce flame with a click of their fingers. It wasn’t something he had ever been taught how to do, but somehow it seemed obvious here and now.
Soon the wood was blazing away merrily. They used a broken stick sharpened on a rock to first gut the fish and then spear it through. It sizzled over the hot coals, giving off a smell that rumbled Errol’s stomach long before it was ready to eat. And when it was finally done they both fell upon it with hungry fingers. For long minutes the only sounds were the ripping of flesh and the sucking of bones, and over them the soft sigh of the wind.
‘He’s really not coming back, is he?’ Nellore asked as she reluctantly tossed the last few bones and scraps of skin into the flames, wiped fish scales and grease on the hem of her skirt. Errol huddled close to the fire, more for its light than its warmth. The night was chill now, but he reached out with barely a thought, tapped the Grym for warmth, felt the energy of it fill him.
‘Gog? I don’t think so. It was strange when you covered up the last jewel. It was as if the world stopped for a moment, then started again.’ He looked up at the stars spread overhead like grains of sand strewn across a black cloth. There was something about them that was bothering him, but he couldn’t say what it was.
‘So how’re we going to get back then? Seeing as we don’t even know where here is.’
Errol shrugged. ‘I could try walking the lines. I did that to get here, after all. But I don’t really know where I’d go, and that’s a good way to get lost. I’ve never taken anyone with me either. Don’t even know how that works, really.’
Nellore moved closer to the flames too. Unable to tap the Grym, she would be feeling the cold now despite being better dressed than him. It would probably be a good idea to keep the fire going all night if they could, which would mean searching in the dark for more wood. If the moon rose then it would be easy enough, but for now there was only starlight to guide him.
‘The stars!’ He stood swiftly, taking a couple of steps back from the fire as he tilted his head and looked up.
‘What about them? Stars is stars, int they?’
‘No. Well, yes they are. But I recognize these.’ Errol walked around the fire to where Nellore still sat, crouched down behind her and pointed up. ‘See there, those five stars close together? They form the shape of a wolf’s nose and ears? That’s the first of Blaidd Rhedeg. And over there’s the Shepherd’s Crook. I know these stars.’
‘So?’ Nellore shivered and turned her gaze back to the fire.
‘I didn’t know the stars back in your village. I wasn’t there long, but it bothered me at the time. Walking north to the mountains too. Some of them seemed to be in the right place, but there were some missing. This is the sky I remember from growing up. These are the stars I learned as a boy. And we were taught about them at Emmass Fawr as well.’
‘Still don’t know why that’s so exciting.’
‘It means I’m back in my own world. Or it means there aren’t two worlds any more. Maybe that’s what I felt when Gog withdrew. Maybe the spell they wove, him and his brother, maybe that’s gone now and Gwlad’s whole again.’
Nellore stared up from the fire at him, her face worried. ‘Sure that fish only bit you on the foot?’
Errol just laughed. He dropped back down on to the sand beside her and held his hands out to the flames for warmth. ‘You remember what I told you when we were walking through the forest. About Gog and Magog and how they’d split the world?’
‘I thought that was just a story. Like my dad used to tell when I couldn’t sleep. Thought you were just trying to take my mind off the walking.’
‘But you met Gog. Well, you met his remains. And I know Magog existed too. And this is where the two of them were hatched, where they grew up. There’s the ruins of a palace on the other side of the pool. It goes on for ever, far as I can see.’
‘So how do we get home then?’ Nellore shoved her hands into her armpits and hunched closer to the fire. ‘Don’t even know where home is any more.’
Errol could think of nothing to say to that. He reached out and touched Nellore’s shoulder. When she looked around at him he could see tears in the corners of her eyes, shiny in the light of the flames.
‘We should probably try and get some sleep. I’ll go see if I can find some more wood for the fire. Keep it going through the night.’
Nellore sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Ain’t you cold? Just wearin’ that nightdress?’
‘Not really. The Grym is everywhere here. It’s almost like I have to work to keep it out, not draw it in. I’ll have to find something better to wear, but we can worry about that in the morning.’
He left Nellore trying to find a comfortable position on the sandy beach to sleep, and headed away from the pool around the back of the tall rock. The stars didn’t cast much light, and he groped around in the darkness looking for firewood. The Grym was no help, even though the lines were easy to see here, pulsing with life and power. They overwhelmed his other senses, and besides it was dead wood he was after.
Nellore was fast asleep by the time he had collected as much as he could carry and taken it back to the fire. Errol stoked up the flames a bit, put the rest of the wood to one side and set out again for more. By the fourth trip he reckoned he had enough to see them through until the dawn. He settled down by the fire, then lay flat on his back and stared at the familiar sky. He knew he should have been tired, but he was buzzing with energy now, his whole body jittery as if the Grym was pouring into him. He cast around, looking for the source of it, and his gaze fell immediately on the rock.
It speared up towards the Guiding Star almost as if it were the fulcrum around which the heavens turned. Jagged and tilted slightly, it would be easy to climb, and the view from there might give him an idea of the lie of the land. He might be able to see deeper into the pool now that the sun wasn’t glaring off the water’s surface. Maybe see if Magog’s bones really were still lying in the depths.
Before he knew really what he was doing, Erro
l had stood up, dusted the sand off his legs and walked across to the base of the rock. Without effort, his aethereal vision came to him, layering over the mundane and the bright, swirling mess of lines that was the Grym. Together they showed a clear route to the top, not an easy climb but neither so hard as to present too much of a challenge. In the darkness any lingering fear of heights was lessened too, and soon he found himself near the top. The wind ruffled the hem of his nightshirt and chilled his shaven head, but he pushed on, reaching a flat area strewn with bits of nest and bird droppings. Stepping carefully to the edge, he looked down.
Starlight reflected in perfectly still water, speckling the surface like a sky in reverse, the pool took the shape of an enormous eye, staring up at the heavens in eternal vigilance. Errol stood, transfixed by the sight of it, oblivious to anything else as he gazed deep into that blackness. It felt like the pool was a hole in the world through which the Grym welled up and flowed out across Gwlad, giving life to everything.
‘It is magnificent, isn’t it.’
Errol startled at the words, quiet but so close they could have been whispered right in his ear. Standing at the edge, he might have fallen had he not grown accustomed to hearing such voices. Instead of spinning round, he turned slowly, stepping back towards the centre of the flat area at the top of the rock. As he expected, there was no one there, but when he focused on the Grym he could see shapes swirling and pulsing up from the patch of sand where Nellore had buried the jewels earlier.
‘This was your hatching place,’ he said to the air. There was no response, and he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Still, it was peaceful up there on top of the rock, so he sat down, warmed by the power rising out of the pool, and stared into the night.
If he slept, Errol couldn’t have said, but time passed and he thought of nothing. Shapes began to form from the darkness, distant monsters lining up to attack. As the dawn pinked the sky, they transformed into trees much closer than he had expected, a familiar range of mountains far distant. Benfro had carried him high into those mountains, and the two of them had walked down the other side into the Llanwennog Northlands.
‘Errol? Where’d you go?’
This time the voice was real, and anxious. Looking down at the beach and their fire, Errol saw Nellore stretching, yawning and looking around. The fire had almost gone out, the pile of wood he had worked so hard to collect in the dark still sitting to one side unburned.
‘Up here.’ He waved as he shouted, waiting until Nellore had seen him. Her face was still red with the after-effects of Gog’s possession, her hair awry and her clothing shabby.
‘What you doing there?’
‘Just looking. I can see the forest and the hills. Reckon I know just about where we are.’ He stood up, peered over the edge, looking for the way down. And that was when he realized the mistake he had made. Climbing in the dark had been easy, using his aethereal sight to find hand- and footholds. He had no sense of height, no fear of the drop. Now he could see just how steep the rock was, how tiny the cracks he had used on the way up. Getting down without falling would be tricky. He walked slowly around the edge of the flat top, looking for alternative routes. None presented themselves save one, and it was a somewhat extreme idea. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The pool was deep, that much he knew from his impromptu swim the day before. He wanted to dive as far down into it as he could anyway. If this truly was the hatching place of Gog and Magog, where Benfro had first found the red jewel, then at the bottom of the pool there should be bones. If he could retrieve one, even just a tiny fragment of one, then they were one step closer to freeing Benfro of that malign influence.
Errol recalled all too well the fall from the rock at Jagged Leap. This was higher, but not enough to be dangerous. And he wasn’t going to be tumbling half-stunned by a blow to the head this time. No, he would go in feet first and with a lungful of air.
‘Build up the fire, Nellore. I’ll be down in a moment.’ He shouted the words as much to give him the necessary courage as to make himself heard.
And then with a deep breath he stepped forward into nothing.
18
Once the arbiter of justice throughout the whole of Gwlad, the Council of Nantgrafanglach has dwindled in importance over the centuries and millennia since my once-beloved’s self-imposed exile at the top of his high tower. Gone are the times when the leaders of nations would bow before it, accept its judgments and depart peacefully after decades of war. Gone are the times when scholars would seek its wisdom on matters of the subtle arts. Gone are the times when the most skilled and powerful of dragonkind would deem a place at its table the greatest of all honours.
Much as our kitlings have left the great palace, abandoned the ways of civilized dragons and returned to our feral roots, so has the Council of Nantgrafanglach become something far less than it was. Now its members convene but rarely, discuss inconsequential things and leave the running of the palace to the men who were once their most humble servants.
And so with heavy hearts I have left my seat empty these past few hundred years. There is no answer to be found in dry discourse that can explain the sickness that has afflicted our kind. I go out into Gwlad to study, to gather information, and yes, to heal those who will accept that gift. I can only remember the glory that once was, and hope that in the future it may once more come to be.
From the journals of Myfanwy the Bold
They wanted for nothing. Doors opening from the great hall led to washrooms, bedrooms and smaller reception rooms. There were clothes for all of them, correctly sized though perhaps not in the latest fashion. Whenever they needed food, it was there. If a towel was left crumpled and wet on the floor, it would be replaced with a clean folded one the next time she went into that room, although Iolwen never once caught sight of a servant. She even found a small nursery with a crib and everything an infant could possibly need, but there was no getting away from the fact that their small band were prisoners.
It was a comfortable jail. Usel found a small library filled with books written in dragon runes that filled him with unreasonable delight as he set about teaching Predicant Trell how to read them. The young man’s hand had given him a lot of pain until the medic had found yet another room filled with herbs and poultices. Iolwen could have sworn she had already explored that corridor to its end, and yet no sooner had Usel mentioned how much easier it would have been to treat wounds if he had just a small selection of medicines than a room filled with the tools and ingredients of the healer’s trade had appeared. It was as if the great hall could read their moods and provided what it thought they needed.
Lady Anwen seemed content to wait upon Iolwen and help her look after young Prince Iolo. Mercor Derridge and his grandson Beyn had set off on the first day, intending to explore the great hall, only to return a couple of hours later from the opposite direction having seen nothing at all. After that they had kept to the small rooms they had chosen for themselves, coming out only to eat a couple of times a day.
At least Iolwen assumed it was a couple of times a day. There were no windows in the hall, just the huge crystal chandeliers high overhead. The rooms were lit by smaller lanterns that came on by themselves whenever someone entered a room. There were spaces on the walls where windows should have been, but the shutters would not open, and nor did they let in any light through cracks. Were it not for the predictable regularity of Prince Iolo’s demands to be fed, she would have had no way of measuring time at all.
By that unconventional reckoning at least three days had passed and they were all sitting at the table at the edge of the cavernous, empty hall, picking at a breakfast that was the equal of any banquet Iolwen had eaten but which might as well have been dry biscuits.
‘Have you found anything to help us out of here in those precious books of yours yet, Usel?’ she asked. The medic had brought one with him to the table, something he would never have dared to do in the presence of royalty before
they had been thrown together like this.
‘Alas, no, Your Highness. There is a lot of ancient history, some treatises on magic, or the subtle arts as dragonfolk call them. But I’ve yet to find any clues as to the building of this place.’
‘Such a book would be beyond your understanding, Usel of the Ram. And as far as I am aware, no such work has been undertaken as yet.’
All heads turned at the words, even though Iolwen recognized the deep tones and slightly strange pronunciation of the Saesneg language. Sir Conwil stood a few paces from the table, though she could have sworn he had not been there an instant before.
‘You are rested?’ he asked. ‘You have had all you require?’
‘Apart from our liberty,’ Iolwen said. At her words the dragon dipped his head in something half agreement half apology.
‘It was necessary, I am afraid. For all its size, Nantgrafanglach has a small and dwindling population, both dragon and man. Your thousands have swelled our ranks more than tenfold, and you have come at a time when we have suffered a grave loss. The Old One would never have allowed the needy to be turned away, but it takes time to assess them all and decide what to do with them.’
‘The Old One?’ Iolwen asked.
‘The father of us all, really. This is his great city. From here he commanded the whole of Gwlad once, or so it seemed. Events of late have led me to re-evaluate that particular version of history.’