The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  ‘Oh how revolting!’ Awel’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Clever, bordering on forbidden, but clever. Still, incredibly disgusting!’

  Mab’s voice was intense. ‘Tell me, the potion – were there any side effects? Rushes of anger, pain or sickness, memory loss?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Taliesin hadn’t considered the possibility of side effects until now. ‘I just felt … right, good. My love for Anwen was increased by the potion. I wanted to love her, protect her, share myself with her, oh, I don’t know!’ He threw up his hands in frustration as Awel and Mab shared a look that conveyed surprise and possibilities.

  Mab’s mind was rushing with suppositions and conclusions. Could my son have created an ateb: a potion of our own, one that would lessen the sway the Druids held? She marvelled at the possibility as she waited for her son’s obvious question. Taliesin came right out with it: ‘How did my potion cause Anwen to carry my seed? Have I discovered a superior ateb?’

  Awel sat stock still while she waited for the secret to be spilt. A secret she had long harboured and bitterly regretted. Mab answered her son. ‘Tali, your potion obviously aids your virility, but not your ability to reproduce. The answer to your question is a complex one, and one that must remain a secret ... Anwen Morgan of Ty Mawr carries a drop of Bwy Hir blood in her veins.’

  Taliesin tried to make sense of what his mother had just told him, swinging his head toward Awel she turned away from him, jaw clenched shut. Swinging back to his mother he saw she too was tight lipped. ‘Is someone going to tell me how that is even possible?’ Taliesin turned his head left and right.

  ‘No,’ his mother replied simply, ‘and neither will you find it written in a stuffy Druid library. Do not push this Tali, you are in trouble enough. You must tell your father none of this, not one word. You may have changed our world, maybe for the better, but you will not breathe a word of it, not yet.’

  He nodded solemnly. Awel roughed his hair and smiled kindly at him before cuffing him across the back of his head. ‘We must study your ateb, Tali, everything you have on it, so you will leave every drop of that potion here when you go, and stay away from the girl from now on, she is in enough danger already!’

  ‘I’ll miss you too, Awel!” Taliesin rubbed the back of his head.

  ‘You take care of yourself boy.’ She hauled herself to her feet and made her way to the tent flap. ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Come join the celebration once you’ve said your goodbyes but be quick about it before Oli-Gin drinks us dry!’ Awel lifted her hand to her mouth and mimicked guzzling too much alcohol.

  They both laughed at Awel’s parody. Oli-Gin was a nickname for a very beautiful amber-eyed Bwy Hir named Olwyn, who had an unusual affliction; she was always thirsty and was notorious for her excesses with drink, especially alcohol.

  Mother and son sat in silence, lingering over their last few moments together. Taliesin was first to break the silence. ‘Mother …’

  ‘Yes Taliesin, I have already arranged to have her shielded. Even while I sleep I will watch over her as I watch over you, but Tali, you must stay away from her, for her safety. The Bwy Hir may not spill Human blood, but the Druids have no such sanctions. If anyone suspected you were the father to her child she would be either killed or used. The child is in danger too; the ramifications of what has happened are beyond measure. I cannot see a happy ending whichever way this plays, Tali.’

  Taliesin dropped his head and embraced his mother, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘I promise to stay away from her, but to abandon her, especially when–’

  ‘You are not abandoning her.’ His mother pulled away from his embrace so she could look in his eyes. ‘You are keeping her safe until I regain my power in Spring.’

  ‘Early Spring!’ He mimicked Awel’s voice.

  ‘Early Spring.’ A smile played on her lips. ‘She will be near full term when I wake. Until then, stay away, Tali.’ She kissed him again on his cheeks and with one last lingering look he left his mother alone, making his way to the edge of the Summer Realm where the Cerdd Carega stood.

  Merry music drifted to him from the hollow, the sound of laughter and song pulled at his heartstrings. Feeling forlorn with a sick, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, he lifted his hand to the Cerdd Carega and felt the familiar tingling through his hand as the stone came to life, the engraved spiral at its top glowing soft blue. He closed his eyes and vanished.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Anwen had felt brighter as the day had progressed. She’d finally gone downstairs, washed the greasy breakfast dishes, dried and put them back where they belonged. She’d made tea and sandwiches for the men working in the yard and even found time to do some baking, delivering freshly baked biscuits and cakes outside for afternoon tea before cleaning the house, banishing the remaining smell of smoke from every room.

  She busied herself around the kitchen preparing the evening meal, a hearty thick stew to ward off the approaching evening chill. Next she stocked the wood burner ready for the nightfall, crunching up old newspaper, lying on a handful of kindling before piling thick cured logs on top and closing the glass door.

  Listening to the sound of vehicles chugging back down the lane, Anwen gauged it time to set the table. She met her father and brother in the hallway and sent them to wash their soot streaked hands and faces while she cut the bread and pulled out a jar of pickled cabbage. Finally she poured two glasses of a thirst quenching beer to wash down their meal, choosing water for herself.

  Pink faced and suitably scrubbed, the men took their seats at the table and devoured every last morsel. Belching his thanks Gwyn excused himself to watch some television while Anwen and her father washed and dried the dishes between them. ‘You’re looking brighter,’ her father commented, as he rubbed a fork in his tea-towel before depositing it in the cutlery drawer.

  ‘I feel it too.’ Anwen lifted her head from the sink and smiled. Once the kitchen was straight they joined Gwyn in the living room and Anwen lit the fire. Her father perched his glasses on his nose, picked up the book he’d been reading and settled down in his favourite armchair. Gwyn was engrossed in his television programme and so Anwen dug out her sketchbook and pencil box and began to idly sketch. She became more and more absorbed in her drawings, sketching and shading, using her natural ability to transfer her imagination to paper.

  Dafydd looked over at his daughter more than once, watching her stick out her tongue as she worked, furiously scribbling and rubbing as she tutted and hummed to herself, lost in a world of her own. He looked over at Gwyn who sat sprawled on the sofa, lazily scratching his stomach and occasionally picking his nose. Two siblings, Dafydd thought with affection, could not be more different from one another.

  Gwyn was an ox of a young man, his wind-flushed cheeks always rosy. He was strong, hardworking and none too bright, but he had a stout heart and an infectious smile, he was a good boy.

  Anwen on the other hand was slight of build, bordering on skinny. Her pale grey-blue eyes appeared too large for her face and her thick red hair was streaked with blond, almost white strands. She was cheeky, devious and puckish, but she had a kind heart, a quick wit and was the apple of her father’s eye.

  ‘What you staring at?’ Anwen asked her father without looking up from her sketchbook.

  ‘Your ugly face!’ her father replied, as he closed his book and slipped his feet back in his slippers.

  ‘People say I look just like you!’ Anwen teased, sticking her tongue out at him. With a chuckle he heaved himself out of his chair. ‘Tea anyone?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes please!’ his children chorused. Shaking his head he passed Anwen and glanced at her sketchbook.

  ‘Good god, Anwen, what is this?’ His finger pointed to the fanciful creature drawn at the bottom of the page. It was a tall, muscled black hound with penetrating eyes and pointy ears, its thick tongue protruding from its mouth, licking a sharp pointy fang.

  Anwen laughed. ‘Calm down dad, he’s just a drawing
of my imagination. I think I’ll call him Gwyn.’ Her brother ignored her.

  ‘And this?’ He pointed to the sketch at the top the page. This drawing was much finer in detail, every feather illustrated to perfection, a gleaming beak and a beady eye almost jumped from the page.

  ‘It’s a raven,’ Anwen pointed out mordantly, ‘can’t you tell a raven when you see one?’

  Dafydd shook his head as the telephone rang. He knew a raven when he saw one, he also knew a Helgi when he saw one too. Feeling rattled he grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. ‘Hello?’

  Once he’d hung up, he popped his head back into the living room. ‘Gwyn, give me a hand with the tea.’

  ‘Get Anwen to do it,’ Gwyn whined.

  ‘Anwen’s done enough today and I asked you.’

  Huffing and grumbling Gwyn followed his father to the kitchen. Anwen could hear her father’s muffled voice from where she sat. Gwyn’s in trouble, she thought. She heard the door to the front room open and for a moment her curiosity was piqued. The door was closed again so she resumed her sketching unbothered.

  All respectable homes in the valleys had a front room. No-one ever used it, it was there purely for show. This room held all the best furniture and all the best ornaments and fine china sitting on lace doilies, showed off in display cabinets and sideboards. All the front rooms throughout the valley were almost identical, right down to the oak framed full height mirror taking pride of place. Anwen presumed it was a long lost tradition, perhaps people used to receive a mirror as a wedding gift along with the other pieces of furniture and ornaments stuffed away in a redundant room at the front of the house. The room was hardly ever entered, not even for regular dusting, that’s what had piqued her curiosity.

  A few moments later they reappeared with a tray full of mugs, biscuits and a teapot. Gwyn had already put the milk and sugar in the mugs and was brandishing the teaspoon like a club.

  Passing Anwen a brimming mug Gwyn announced he was going to bed and took his mug with him. Dafydd picked up his book and continued reading.

  ‘Everything alright, Dad?’ she inquired suspiciously.

  ‘Course,’ he replied, ‘why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘No reason.’ Anwen shrugged her shoulders. She half watched the television while she finished her tea, and feeling sleepy she decided it was her bedtime too. Giving her father a kiss on the top of his head, they wished each other goodnight and off she went, she was already sleeping soundly when Gwyn sneaked back downstairs ten minutes later.

  ‘It worked then?’ Gwyn smiled nervously as he sat down and rubbed the palms of his hands down the thighs of his jeans. Dafydd had explained the phone call to Gwyn while they were in the kitchen, slipping a small sleeping draught into Anwen’s tea as he spoke. Gwyn’s initiation was tonight.

  The moment seemed to take forever to arrive. Gwyn couldn’t keep still as his father calmly read his book until the lights dimmed and the television lost power and turned black.

  Gwyn nearly jumped out of his seat. ‘Dad?’ his voice whispered in panic.

  ‘Calm down, Gwyn.’ His father’s voice was low. ‘Remember what you’ve learned. Now find your backbone boy, and follow me.’ The door to the front room opened to reveal the shadowy form of a Druid. Silently he led Gwyn and Dafydd out of the house and into the yard.

  They walked shoulder to shoulder behind the Druid to meet the group of hooded figures gathered in the yard with only moonlight to guide their way. Gwyn was shaking and breathing fast, his father battling down an urge to grab his son and run for the hills, sparing Gwyn the pain of initiation and the yoke that was to follow.

  Four figures stood in a semicircle lit by the full moon set in the star strewn sky. Dafydd knew the four Chosen who stood in pairs on either side of the central figure. He knew Dai Jones, Will Richards, Ivor Bach and Trevor Ellis when he saw them, hidden under blue garb or not. Who he didn’t recognise was the Druid standing in front of them, hidden under a black cowl, it could be any of them.

  ‘Who are come hither desiring to receive admittance to the Order of The Triskele?’ chanted the Druid, as he turned to face Dafydd and Gwyn, the other Chosen gathered behind him.

  Dafydd gave his son a gentle push to his knees. ‘I, Gwyn Morgan of Fferm Ty Mawr,’ he said in a trembling voice, his head bowed.

  ‘Who are come hither to swear to his honour?’

  ‘I, Dafydd ap Morgan, do swear to the honour of my son, Gwyn ap Dafydd ap Morgan.’ Dafydd was sweating as he stood behind his son.

  ‘Who are come hither to witness this privilege?’

  ‘We, the Chosen, do bear witness,’ spoke the men in unison, Dai Jones’ voice loudest of all.

  ‘Gwyn Morgan of Ty Mawr,’ intoned the Druid in a deep bard’s voice, ‘ye kneel as a supplicant before a sacred envoy of the Order of the Druid, ordained servants of the Bwy Hir. Ye doth kneel on the cusp of a new life as Chosen. We of the Druid Order would vouchsafe to receive you and bless you, to release you from the darkness, absolve you of all former vows, to give you protection and grant you service to the Bwy Hir through us, their representatives. Ye now hear the promise given to thee, and to all those blessed by the Bwy Hir that they in their great wisdom will most surely keep and protect. To you and your lands are granted protection, fertility and wealth, upon you is bestowed great privilege to give your blood to the continuance of all Bwy Hir, to praise and honour them, to serve no other until you are granted the final embrace on this earth, where upon you will swear to petition against their unjust banishment to all those who converge in the Kingdom of Heaven. Wherefore, after these promises are sealed, ye must faithfully, for your part, promise in the presence of these your witnesses, that ye will heed the call wherever you may be, serve diligently and zealously, keeping the old ways, balancing body and land as though they are one, to keep secret all that which is opened to you. Do you freely of your own volition embrace the three in one: Chosen, Druid, Bwy Hir?’

  ‘I do so embrace.’ Gwyn’s voice seemed reedy and weak in comparison to the Druid’s.

  ‘Then I bestow upon you the mark of the Chosen and grant you entry to the Solstices.’ The Druid held up a gold chain in his hands, the pendant identical to the one Dafydd carried around his neck, identical to all those belonging to the Chosen. ‘Receive this gift with bravery and reverence …’ The Druid held the necklace over Gwyn’s head while the hooded Chosen took position, one bracing each of Gwyn’s arms while the others unbuttoned his shirt and held it open.

  Slowly and with great ceremony the Druid laid the chain around Gwyn’s neck and pressed the cold pendant against his chest. With a merciless scowl the Druid pushed against the pendant with his open palm and said, ‘… as I seal the bond.’

  Gwyn threw his head back and howled as his skin burned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A cluster of high ranking Druids had gathered around the Cerdd Carega in the Reception Hall to receive the Bwy Hir as each arrived. Ceremonial guards stood to attention at either side of the huge iron clad doors leading to the Halls proper, each with two Helgi sitting patiently at their feet.

  The hall was hushed with the exception of the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional soft whisper of nervous voices.

  Gwrnach was the first to arrive. The Druids shielded their eyes at the flash of brilliant light and took a collective step back as he burst into the room. Shaking his huge, shaggy head, he blinked a few times and peered down at the sea of expectant faces. With a booming belly laugh he scooped up the nearest Druid and lifted him to eye level by the scruff of his cowl. ‘Greetings little man!’ he bellowed. ‘Take me to Aeron, if you please.’

  The shocked Druid pointed a shaky finger towards the doors and without further ado Gwrnach strode off in the direction the Druid had pointed, taking the man with him.

  One by one the Bwy Hir entered the Halls of the Druid until all were gathered in the Great Hall awaiting the arrival of their King and his heir. As they waited, they greeted each other with backslaps
and arm clenches, laughter and banter, stuffing their empty bellies with loaves of bread and whole ham hocks swilled down with tankards of beer, waiting for the real feast to commence.

  Aeron was still in his chambers adding the final touches to his attire when Taliesin made an entrance accompanied by Afagddu. Aeron spread his arms wide and embraced his son. ‘My son, I almost didn’t recognise you, have you grown?’ Aeron looked down into his son’s face with mirth.

  Taliesin snorted at his father’s poor humour. ‘Not so I’ve noticed but mother reckons I will blossom any day now.’

  ‘What say you, Druid?’ he asked over Taliesin’s shoulder, ‘Do you think my son will gain his rightful place amongst our brethren soon?’

  Afagddu spread his arms diffidently. ‘If the Queen of the Summer Realm says it is so, who am I to contradict?’

  ‘So, so.’ Aeron continued his careful scrutiny of his son. ‘How fares your mother?’

  ‘She is well, my Lord,’ Taliesin replied, ‘although somewhat vexed at your early call.’

  Aeron barked a laugh. ‘Vexed I think would be an understatement. You have been around Awel too long.’

  ‘Oh, Awel had plenty to say once the call hit the hollow, they all did.’ Taliesin’s wry smile spoke volumes.

  Aeron flashed a wolfish grin. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘May I be so bold as to remind you my Lord, that all your guests have arrived and await your attendance?’ Afagddu interjected.

  ‘You may not,’ Aeron snapped, his good humour replaced with annoyance. ‘You can however, Councillor, leave my sight and wait to announce me in the Great Hall when I am ready.’ With a bow to hide his disgrace Afagddu scuttled out of the room.

  ‘He grows bold father?’ Taliesin said once they were alone. Taliesin had not missed his father’s Councillor one bit.

  ‘It would seem so, my son.’ Aeron retrieved his gold torc from its stand before placing it around his neck, the weight of it felt reassuring as it lay heavy against his collar. ‘It seems he has had free reign in my absence, something I intend to remedy.’