The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  ‘Gwyn, get cleaned up, but on pyjama bottoms to hide those cuts, and say nothing about this to anyone, you keep your mouth shut.’ His father ran sooty fingers through his hair. ‘Say nothing to anyone. You too Anwen. The fire brigade will be here soon, pray it’s not too soon.’ They both did as their father instructed while he watched his barn begin to blaze, biding his time before he dialled 999 and hoping his neighbour hadn’t woken to see the flames and called the fire brigade before him. He needed the body to burn.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sunrise was long in coming. The volunteer firemen from the neighbouring town arrived to a blaze in full fury. They could do nothing but contain the blaze and stop it reaching the stand of pine trees behind the farm. Anwen and Gwyn had been ordered out of the house and they stood next to the fire engine wrapped in a blanket looking frightened and tired, their father stood behind them with his hand on each of their shoulders watching the firemen labour.

  Once the flames were extinguished, all that remained of the barn were blackened, charred timbers standing upright from their foundations like rotten jagged teeth. Black tendrils of smoke rose from the ashes of the interior, curling up into the lightening sky as dawn gently approached.

  ‘Well, Dafydd, I’m parched,’ exclaimed the soot smeared figure of Trevor Edwards as he approached the fire engine, his boots dragging across the cobbles as he walked. Trevor was another of the Chosen, his family had farmed in the valley since time immemorial.

  ‘Gwyn and Anwen will make tea and breakfast if it’s safe to return to the house?’ A gentle squeeze from their father roused them from their stupor.

  ‘Yes, yes, all safe,’ replied Trevor, ‘a bacon and egg butty would fill the hole in my belly a treat!’

  Anwen looked up at her father and he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Both of you go and make breakfast, enough for everyone.’ He gave them a gentle push and sent them into the house.

  ‘I need to open the hen coop and let Bara out of the car if that’s okay Trevor?’

  ‘Oh yes, all’s safe now, I’ll come with you, the lads have everything under control, it’s just a matter of tidying up now.’

  They made their way to the battered blue Land Rover from where a shaking Bara was keen to escape, she threw herself out of the door as it was opened, whining and licking her master as he patted her back reassuringly, then onto the hen coop with Bara leading the way sniffing and snorting through the grass as they went.

  A call from the barn caught their attention so they skirted past the hen coop and walked back to the ruins of the barn. ‘What have you found?’ Trevor asked the fireman poking about in the ashes.

  ‘I think it’s a dead dog, sir. A big dog.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Trevor climbed among the ashes and poked a smouldering lump with the toe of his boot. ‘Your dog, Dafydd?’

  ‘No, I’ve only got Bara.’ Dafydd scratched at his head. ‘How the hell did it get in there?’ He feigned confusion. The real question, thought Dafydd, is where the hell is the Druid?

  ‘A big dog that, Dafydd, any idea who it belongs to?’ Trevor lifted an eyebrow, he knew there was only one breed of dog that huge.

  ‘No,’ Dafydd answered bluntly, ‘I’ve had no visitors at the farm recently.’ He met Trevor’s stare.

  ‘I’ll make some enquiries then, see if anyone is missing a dog.’ Trevor shrugged his shoulders indifferently, but Dafydd understood the connotation; Trevor would be contacting the Druids, he was ever the snitch, always trying to scramble his way higher up the Chosen ranks.

  ‘Do that,’ Dafydd replied equally indifferently, and then he allowed his frustration to surface. ‘Let me know if you find out why there is a dead dog in my smouldering barn, because I’ll be damned if I can explain it.’ Dafydd turned his back on Trevor and walked into the house.

  Anwen and Gwyn jumped as their father hurried into the kitchen, pushing the door closed behind him. He sat down heavily at the table, rubbed his eyes and spoke softly. ‘They’ve found a dead dog in the barn. They think it’s a stray.’ Anwen placed her hand over her mouth at the news. ‘Anyways, I told them it’s not ours and we don’t know how it got there, didn’t wake up until Bara started barking in the early hours, we smelled smoke, saw the barn, dialled 999. Nothing else, we didn’t see a dog, but I suppose the smoke was too thick to see anything, and that’s all there is … Gwyn bring the tea out when you’re ready. Anwen hurry with the breakfast, I want everyone gone as soon as possible.’ Without another word he stood and left his children busy in the kitchen. ‘God preserve us,’ he whispered.

  The rest of the morning came and went in a blur. The local policeman, James Mallard, not a local man, but decent enough, arrived and left with statements and a few Polaroid shots of the barn and its carbonised occupant. The body was finally removed mid morning, zipped in a black bag and taken away for disposal.

  By midday the smoke had vanished leaving behind an acrid stench that enveloped the entire farm and parched the throat.

  Anwen was curled up on the sofa with a crocheted blanket covering her from neck to toe and Bara was nestled at her feet snoring softly. Gwyn and his father were sitting together in the kitchen nursing hot tea in their hands.

  ‘Dad …’ Gwyn began, but his head ached and his throat felt raw.

  His father sighed deeply, shook his head and, holding eye contact with his son, he began to explain something he should have told him sooner, only he’d wanted to spare his son the burden for as long as possible. Gwyn wouldn’t come of age for another four weeks; he’d hoped he could have waited until then, but events had overtaken him, and so he began:

  ‘We come from a proud heritage Gwyn. Our surname carries great pride and tribute. Our family has shaped history, has kept the spirit of Wales alive, our ancient lineage has brought great honour …’

  Gwyn screwed up his eyes, his head felt full of wool, his father was talking in riddles, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

  ‘Damn it, listen to me Gwyn, this is important!’ His father thumped the table with a clenched fist bringing Gwyn back to full attention. ‘Gwyn, you will be twenty-one soon, this changes everything, everything. What you think you know about life will be turned on its head and what you did last night …’ His father faltered trying to find the right words, but he was damn well exhausted and his temper was starting to fray. ‘By god, Gwyn,’ he blurted, ‘you killed a Druid!’

  Gwyn was feeling light headed and he wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much at the pub last night. Everything felt dreamlike, maybe it was a dream, or perhaps he had banged his head when he fell in the yard, but whatever the reason his father’s voice came in and out in waves and Gwyn could not make sense of any of it, and for some reason he felt a smile split his face and he began to snigger.

  His father felt a fury rising in his belly. Usually slow to anger, his father’s face flushed red and he grabbed Gwyn by the nape of his neck, dragging his head forward.

  ‘This …’ his father rasped in his face while pulling a chain from under his shirt and holding it up to Gwyn’s eye, ‘… is a key to secrets beyond your imaginings. We are Chosen, Gwyn, our family is one of The Chosen and you damn well better accept it!’

  Gwyn tried to focus in on the gold shape thrust inches from his left eye. It was a small amulet in the shape of a Triskele.

  Gwyn leaned back in his chair as his father released his grip. They sat in silence until Gwyn gave a mumbled apology. He watched his father rise and stretch his back, Gwyn’s eyes followed him across the room and watched as his father knelt in the corner of the kitchen’s quarry tiled floor. He heard a small click followed by another smaller click and his father returned to the table carrying a small rectangular shape wrapped in black velvet.

  ‘This will explain everything far better than I ever could Gwyn.’ His father handed him the small parcel and Gwyn carefully unwrapped the outer coverings to reveal a small leather bound notebook. Looking up expectantly to his father, the book gently held between his two meaty ha
nds, Gwyn was confused and a little frightened.

  ‘In your hands is everything this family knows about the Bwy Hir, the Druids and our role as Chosen. It was written by your grandfather and passed down to me.’ He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Take it upstairs with you, read it and then get some rest. I’ll answer any questions you have when you wake. Oh and Gwyn, keep it hidden from your sister, she does not need to know any of this.’

  Gwyn stood on shaky legs, gave one last confused look to his father before slowly making his way up the stairs. His father waited at the bottom of the stairs until he heard the bedroom door click closed, checked his daughter was still sleeping soundly in the living room, Dafydd grabbed his flat cap and left the house.

  Judging by the sun it was well past noon, he’d lost all track of time and desperately needed a nap but he had no time to sleep. Flipping his cap onto his dishevelled hair he trudged down the lane away from the house and began to cut across the fields heading straight for the ancient oak tree in the distance.

  Once he’d passed the oak he made a sharp turn towards the pine trees beyond. He cast a glance at the base of the tree, remembering fondly the Summer days spent daydreaming under that very tree in his youth. He noticed the trampled grass beneath its heavy boughs and absently wondered whether the sheep had found a new sleeping place.

  He cut between two holly trees and followed a small track into the forest. Dried pine needles littered the floor, ancient low boulders covered with lichen marked his path as he progressed down the track. The air here was cooler, nothing stirred the shadowy undergrowth and the gentle breeze stirring the tops of the pines looming far overhead was the only sound to accompany him deeper into the gloom.

  As he approached the centre of the forest, sharp beams of sunlight punctured the canopy and spilled onto the path ahead, he could see a clearing ahead of him. In the centre of the clearing was a solitary standing stone. Its weathered face, mottled and ancient, stood upright in a shaft of perfect golden sunlight.

  The stone stood taller than him and at his head height was a perfect spiral carved into its face. He ran his hand over the spiral, tracing its path with a finger before turning away and sitting on a tree stump to the right of the clearing to wait. The standing stone was called a Cerdd Carega, the rough translation meant “music stone or here and there stone,” but it meant far, far more than that and this was where he’d find help.

  As he waited his eyelids began to droop, he shifted position and willed himself to stay awake but his resolve was not strong enough and he began to doze.

  When Awel stepped into the clearing she smiled at the sight of him. His head sagging forward, the rise and fall of his chest as he gently snored. How she’d missed this little man, as much as she still missed his father before him. She smiled at the memory of the little bird-man that used to wait by the Cerdd Carega, hopping from one foot to the other as he twittered his questions. They had formed quite a bond, she had looked forward to their little meeting, and then he had died.

  Dafydd had visited much more seldom than his father before him, after the death of his wife he came hardly at all. Awel thought it was a shame. The Bwy Hir had become increasingly distant from the Chosen over the years and she blamed the Druids as much as herself for allowing it to happen. Awel missed the company of the Morgan men. She wondered if Gwyn would become a frequent visitor to the forest once he was initiated. She sincerely hoped he would.

  Stealing silently to stand in front of him, she gave one last smile before folding her arms under her breasts and yelled, ‘Well, this is a fine way to greet a Bwy Hir and member of the Pride!’

  Watching his eyes shoot open and falling off his perch nearly lost Awel her stern expression, but she schooled her face and glared down at him sprawled among the pine needles.

  ‘For god’s sake, Awel!’ He dusted himself down and retrieved his gap.

  ‘Your god, not mine, Dafydd ap Morgan,’ she snapped.

  ‘My apologies, Awel, I forgot myself.’ He bowed and gently took her hand before kissing it gently, his stubble brushing against her skin. She allowed the contact a moment longer, enjoying his touch before withdrawing her hand.

  ‘How are you, Dafydd, it has been a while has it not? Word came to us as soon as it happened. What did actually happen Dafydd, I’d like to hear your version of events.’ She motioned for him to begin walking away from the Cerdd Carega and into the cover of the forest. She towered over him as they walked; his head barely reached her shoulder.

  ‘I woke up in the middle of the night … Gwyn was outside, practically naked, lying on his back with a shotgun in his hand … he says to me, “he tried to kill me!” pointing to a heap in the yard. It was dark, and so I grab the heap and turn it over and I saw this.’ He fished in his pocket and pulled out a fist. Awel staggered as he opened his hand to show a round silver medallion. It was decorated with an oak tree on the top half, the tree roots mirrored on the bottom half with a gold Triskele in the centre.

  ‘Why was a Druid on your land and why does your son believe he was in mortal danger? This makes no sense.’ Awel sounded concerned.

  ‘I don’t know what happened Awel, I swear it, all I know is I had a dead Druid in my yard and my barn was alight!’

  ‘The Druid torched your barn?’ Awel’s voice raised an octave.

  ‘Yes, I mean no, no I mean yes. He was aiming at Gwyn’s head!’

  ‘The Druid used derwydd yn tân?’ Awel grabbed at Dafydd’s arm. ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Yes, I saw the hole punched through the barn wall, I heard the roar before I heard the gunshot. Gwyn shot in defence.’

  Awel tried to make sense of what she was hearing. To use derwydd yn tan except as the last line of defence was anathema, no Druid would dare. Yet she knew her old friend and knew he wasn’t lying. So why would a Druid attempt to kill one of the Chosen, especially one on the cusp of initiation?

  ‘So you let him burn in his own fire, deservedly so, but the Druids will not take kindly to one of their own being murdered, and it will be your word against theirs. You know the penalty for killing a Druid. You and your son are in great peril. Has a member of the Council arrived yet?’ Awel resumed their walking.

  ‘No, that’s just it, no-one has come, I expected a visit hours ago. It’s like the Druid didn’t exist, Awel, only I saw him and the fire and I have the amulet! Trevor Edwards, you know him?’ Awel nodded and he continued, ‘Him and his lot found the body in the ashes, only it wasn’t a man’s body, it was the remains of a big dog. Trevor says he’s “going to make inquiries.”’ Dafydd shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Dafydd Morgan, the dog is one of the Helgi: a Druid Hound.’

  Dafydd was getting very confused. ‘Awel, I know about the Helgi but what about the Druid, where’s the Druid?’

  Awel held up her hand. ‘Calm yourself and listen. The Helgi aren’t born, they are created ... when a Druid dies he becomes a Helgi and joins the rest of the pack, a Druid doesn’t truly die until the Helgi dies.’

  Dafydd opened his mouth but Awel forestalled him. ‘No more questions for now, Dafydd, maybe I shouldn’t have told you about the Helgi, but what’s done is done. Go home Dafydd, deny any knowledge of Druids and Helgi on your lands, you must claim it is all a mystery to you.’

  Dafydd opened his mouth to disagree but she held a finger to his mouth. ‘Trust me Dafydd, I can’t protect you unless you do as you are told. Someone sent a Druid to your farm and I need to discover why. Go home, keep your family close, especially Anwen and I will be in touch, and throw that amulet away, you do not want to be caught with that.’

  He nodded once and she turned back towards the Cerdd Carega. He watched her leave. Should I trust her? Can I trust any of the Bwy Hir? Dafydd thought to himself. And why keep Anwen especially close instead of Gwyn? Anwen saw nothing. He stared at the amulet nestled in his open palm and drawing back his arm he hurled the thing as far away from him as possible before retracing his steps and returning home with more quest
ions than he came with.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Anwen woke to a silent house. She dragged her tired body to the kitchen and put the kettle on the Aga. What she needed was a strong cup of coffee. Bara raised her forlorn head from her latest sleeping place by the back door. ‘Dad gone out without you huh, Bara?’

  She called up the stairs, but there was no answer so she presumed wherever her dad had gone he’d taken Gwyn with him. Waiting for the kettle to boil she busied herself with preparing dinner. The clock on the kitchen wall showed just after four thirty; Gwyn was always starving by five. Opening the fridge she pulled out some fresh minced beef before retrieving carrots, potatoes and an onion from the bottom cupboard.

  She swapped a pan of cold water for the kettle once it had started to boil and whilst slurping her coffee she chopped, fried and mashed up a perfect shepherd’s pie. Glancing at the clock again she noted the time and sighed. Gwyn would have to wait an hour for his meal and that was that.

  The rattle of the back door and a happy bark from Bara announced the return of her father and she smiled as he popped his head in. ‘No Gwyn?’ he inquired.

  Anwen looked confused. ‘No, I thought he was with you?’

  ‘I sent him to bed earlier, make us a cuppa while I go check on him?’

  Anwen replaced the kettle on the hotplate as her dad paced up the stairs to Gwyn’s room. He knocked once and opened Gwyn’s door. Gwyn was sitting up in bed, his head lolling on one shoulder, fast asleep. The leather bound book was resting on his outstretched hand. Dafydd gave him a tender shake.

  Slowly Gwyn opened his eyes and stared blankly at his father for a moment. Gathering his wits he grabbed the book and closed it, shoving it under his bedclothes with a nod of approval from his father. ‘Dad, is it true?’ Gwyn asked gravely.