by Lowri Thomas
Elders Tomas and Morcan glanced at each other. These were troubling times indeed and the Brotherhood must be protected. ‘Is the boy being guarded?’
‘I have been with him all night, Bryn-Wisgi is still at the hospital, he will watch the boy.’ Dai looked up, his face was ashen and careworn.
‘Good.’ Elder Tomas instructed, ‘I do not want a new initiate saying something he shouldn’t. I would hate for him to require silencing.’ His voice was light and offhand.
Dai ground his teeth. Gwyn was a good boy. Something was amiss, but he knew whatever was going on, the blame did not lie with Gwyn, and Dai did not want the boy used as a scapegoat, the lad had suffered enough.
Elders Tomas and Morcan waited for Dai to bow before they turned and left him without a backward glance. Dai was shepherded to the mirror twinned with Ty Mawr’s. Dai lifted his amulet from his shirt and pressed it onto the glass. The mirror’s surface fogged and small wisps of mist stretched vaporous fingers across Dai’s hand, spiralling around his arm. Only when Dai felt the familiar release of pressure on the amulet did he return it to his shirt and walk into the mist, reappearing instantly in Ty Mawr’s front room. Once he was through, the mirror solidified leaving a cold film of condensation along its frame. Dai shivered. A Dderwydd Ddrych – A Druid Mirror – was an unnatural thing, a creation of magic, a corruption of the natural order, a gift and a curse, as well as an unbreakable doorway for the Druids to stretch their control into the homes of the Chosen. Dai shivered as he returned to Bara. He wandered into the kitchen and set about making some tea, only he couldn’t find the teapot.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Anwen had been walking for what seemed like hours. She had cut across field after field, snagging her clothes on barbed wire and she scaled fence after fence, getting as far away from the village as she could. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was, but she was pretty sure she was heading towards the coast and that would eventually lead her to transport out of Wales.
She had watched as the sky became lighter, the birds in the hedgerow had begun to sing and her surroundings were becoming less frightening, less foreboding. Her new worry was that the night no longer concealed her and if she wasn’t careful, she would be easily spotted in her hideous pink attire.
Her arms were heavy from carrying her bundle of wet clothes, but she hadn’t wanted to leave them behind in the vicarage. At first she had felt guilty about stealing the collection money, but had convinced herself that the money was being used for exactly what it was supposed to be used for: someone in need.
Her only other possessions were a small compact mirror and a gold bracelet, neither of which she wanted to lose. She kept checking their presence, feeling the shape of the mirror in her pocket, the smooth chain around her wrist. Again and again her hand would stray to them, giving her comfort, making her feel part of her past.
‘Run Anwen!’ Nerys’ voice was back in her head, but Anwen couldn’t run, she was exhausted and all she could manage now was a steady plod, one foot in front of the other, left, right, left, right …
As Anwen crested the brow of a hill, she gave herself the luxury of a temporary stop. In the distance she could see the sea, a huge expanse of blue merging with the skyline. Swinging her head left and right she gathered her bearings. The coast was still far away but she reckoned by late evening she would reach the coastal town of Abergele and from there, could jump on a train, find somewhere safe and then make contact with home.
Until then she needed two things: food and water. They would not present a problem. The hedgerows were thick with blackberries and there would be a number of streams between her current location and the coast. She would not exactly feast, but she wouldn’t go hungry either.
She hoisted her wet bundle higher onto her shoulder, rechecked her mirror and bracelet and began her hike to the coast. Left, right, left, right …
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Mab and Awel leaned back from the scrying bowl and relaxed. Anwen was safe for the time being. Nothing chased her, no-one was close. She had a reprieve, at least until the evening when the Druids would continue their hunt.
‘She heads towards the coast and to the towns of the Lost.’ Awel smiled with relief. ‘I cannot see our guardian, maybe they have separated?’
‘Can we keep track of Anwen in the lands of the Lost?’ Mab asked anxiously.
‘Maybe.’ Awel drummed her fingers on the edge of the bowl. ‘It depends how deep she submerges herself. You know how their electricity, inventions and machines affect us, but maybe we can keep track.’ Awel frowned as the strange words rolled out of her mouth. The Lost truly were lost. They strived to invent all things unnatural, to unbalance nature, to lose themselves in their own creation of misery, to forget the old ways.
Awel shuddered as she remembered a conversation with Dafydd Morgan when he was much younger; his father had not long passed.
‘What do you have there, Dafydd Morgan?’ she had inquired with genuine interest. She always marvelled at the little things he would bring to show her, the little gifts he would bestow on her.
‘A Biro!’ he had proudly exclaimed, as he held the little rod up for her to examine.
Awel had pulled back in disgust. The thing had felt so wrong, even though she hadn’t touched it. The thing had reeked of wrongness. ‘What is it?’ she had exclaimed in revulsion.
Dafydd had immediately become concerned at her discomfort. ‘I’m sorry Awel!’ he stammered, ‘It’s just a Biro, a pen, it won’t hurt you!’
‘What is it made of Dafydd? Who created it?’ Awel had been transfixed by the object.
‘Um … plastic and ink and stuff … a factory made it, so you can write with it, better than a fountain pen and ink cartridges.’
‘Better?’ Awel had leaned in to look at the thing. ‘Plastic? What is that?’
‘Um …I don’t exactly know … it’s just plastic.’ Dafydd had scratched his head.
Awel could feel the wrongness of the thing. There was an element, a tiny element of natural, but the rest, the rest was an abomination! ‘Put it away, Dafydd, it’s disgusting.’
Dafydd had felt crestfallen. He liked to surprise Awel with ‘modern’ things, curios for her to examine and sometimes keep. Her favourite gift had been a copper and bone handled magnifying glass. She had been overjoyed when he had offered it to her. She had caressed the handle, gazed into the lens, testing it closer and further from her eye and Dafydd had been pleased that Awel had liked his gift.
Awel felt a pang of grief. The Morgan family was in pieces and the Bwy Hir were responsible. A flutter of anxiety flitted across her sorrow. Something felt wrong – why had the Morgans been targeted? Who else knew of Taliesin’s dalliance with the girl? Cadno? Awel shook her head; the Morgans were too small for Cadno’s attention, far too insignificant. So who and why? The Bwy Hir, Druids and Chosen were too tightly interwoven for these events not to have an effect on each faction, so whom would benefit from the Morgans’ woe?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Mab interposed, ‘we know what happened to Dafydd Morgan. But our guardian, Nerys? Why did they run away? Was Anwen threatened? The boy, the barn?’
‘The barn was set alight by derwydd yn tân, Dafydd himself told me and the Druid in question was shot by the boy and then burned in the flames of his own making. The Druids act as if they are not missing one of their own. Was our guardian their retribution?’ Awel mused aloud, trying to complete the puzzle. ‘Or is it a Chosen conspiracy? The Morgans are well favoured. Are there petty jealousies or rivalries we are unaware of?’
Mab remained silent, her thoughts spinning in her head. Is my son safe?
‘But the women ... why did they run? Who frightened them? Why didn’t Gwyn intervene? Was he there? Bah!’ Awel threw up her hands. ‘Too many questions and not enough answers. The Solstice is but days away and this lands in our laps. What are you going to do about it?’
Mab inhaled slowly and pursed her lips. She couldn’t see cle
arly, her thoughts were flashing in and out of her mind. Dafydd had been a regrettable casualty, but she had only touched him lightly and so he would eventually recover. Cadno had been in the clearing and not at Ty Mawr, so his involvement was unlikely. The boy had been a new initiate and favoured by Aeron, so Aeron would not want his donor in danger. The Morgans were well liked, Anwen was a loner by all accounts and so unlikely to tell anyone about her current condition, so that excluded the Chosen. That left only one of the three factions left: Druids.
Mab’s pulse quickened. None of the Druids could know about Taliesin and Anwen, so why? ‘Awel, do you still keep the records of the Chosen?’
‘Yes, I have the census, each family is recorded.’
‘Fetch them.’
Awel was disturbed at Mab’s bluntness. ‘All of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘As you command.’ Awel bowed and slipped out of the pavilion, returning with a thick leather-bound book, worn with age and use. Mab had taken a seat at the low table: quills, ink pots and paper sat in a neat stack, waiting for use.
‘How many Chosen families are there?’ Mab was focused, calculated.
‘Twenty-two. Some are more represented than others in the Harvest, some have more sons than others.’
Mab waved Awel’s answer away. ‘Go to the first family. Who are they?’
‘The Ellis’ of Ffordd Tan Farm.’
‘How many births and deaths in the last forty seasons?’
Awel scratched her head and began to count, ‘One birth: a son, he is but still a babe. Two deaths: one drowning of a daughter of the previous generation, her mother also died ... natural causes, although she was only forty-one in years.’ Awel looked up.
‘Next family?’ Mab was persistent. ‘Same question.’
Awel flicked a few pages. ‘In forty seasons, no births, but two deaths, no – one death, Chosen man, young, twenty-one in years, found hung.’ Awel tutted at the waste.
‘You said two.’
‘The other is not recorded as dead, only missing.’
‘And?’
‘Girl, missing five Summers ago, has not returned. This family has seen much heartache.’
‘Another,’ Mab demanded.
Awel and Mab pawed through the census, noting every recent birth and death. The pattern was unmistakeable.
‘I knew it! I have always suspected, but this proves it!’ Awel shot to her feet. ‘The Chosen are being culled!’
‘Yes,’ Mab replied, ‘but can we prove it is the Druids?’
‘Who else could it be?’ Awel was adamant. ‘The question is though, which one? Are there more than one?’
‘Awel, gather the Pride.’ Mab held up her hand. ‘No, do not gainsay me, call the Pride immediately.’
‘As you command.’ Awel ground her teeth but did as she was bid
.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
The decrepit physician had just finished adding the last stitch to Afagddu’s face. ‘I will need to see you in five days; hopefully we’ll be able to remove the stitches by then.’
‘I can remove them myself.’ Afagddu stood and without a backward glance he left the infirmary, the physician simply shook his head.
‘Afagddu, I was just coming to find you!’ Elder Tomas met Afagddu in the hallway just outside the infirmary. ‘Your face looks much better already!’
‘You were looking for me, Elder?’ Afagddu prompted the old man.
‘Indeed I was. The Morgan man has been found, his son is at his side at a hospital.’
‘That is good news indeed.’ Afagddu forced a smile and with a quick bow of his head made to leave.
‘There is more, Afagddu.’ Elder Tomas put a hand on Afagddu’s forearm to stay him. Afagddu slowly removed his arm and stood back, waiting. ‘Yes, there is much more, we have found the man but apparently lost two of the women!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Afagddu feigned ignorance.
‘Amazing is it not?’ Elder Tomas said. ‘Two of the women from Ty Mawr have vanished. It is presumed they went out in search of the father, but have gotten themselves lost, so lost in fact, that even the Helgi cannot find them!’
‘How bizarre.’ Afagddu crossed his arms. ‘People don’t just vanish into thin air, there must be some explanation. Has no-one seen them?’
‘Apparently not. The last one to see them was the new initiate, he was the one who found his father.’ Elder Tomas rubbed his chin. ‘At the moment, it is all a mystery.’
‘Is the boy involved somehow?’ Afagddu queried. ‘After all, it seems strange that he is the only one fit, well and accounted for. There was also the business of the barn burning and a Seeker is still missing. Hmm, perhaps Gwyn Morgan of Ty Mawr should be investigated.’
‘My thoughts exactly. My only concern is that the boy is the Winter King’s chosen donor for the Harvest. The Solstice is only days away.’
Afagddu patted the Elder on his arm, cringing inwardly at the contact. ‘I must inform the king of this matter, seek his guidance. I will inform you of his decisions. Now if you will excuse me, I must attend the king at once.’
‘Of course, I shall not keep you.’ Elder Tomas watched Afagddu disappear into a connecting corridor before slipping into the infirmary to speak with his old friend, the physician.
Cadno watched the Elder disappear into the infirmary, a sly grin spread across his face, this was too delicious to ignore. He peeled himself away from the shadows and entered the infirmary on the Elder’s heels. There were only two Druids in there: the Elder and the physician, they both spun around when the doors swung open.
‘Lord Cadno.’ They bowed in unison.
Cadno returned their bow with a small bow of his own before changing his expression to a mask of concern, staring down at the Druids with eyes full of woe and distress. ‘Faithful servants,’ he began, ‘I am well pleased to have found two of the most esteemed Elders together, it makes my mission much less difficult. May I speak with you in private?’ Cadno swung his head towards the doors, playacting his anxiety, revelling in his performance.
‘My Lord?’ Elder Tomas’ voice was filled with anxiety, ‘How may we serve you?’
Cadno sighed, dropping his head as if he carried the world upon his shoulders. ‘It is my brother Aeron … he grows concerned …’
‘Concerned?’ The physician wrung his hands together. ‘He is not ill, is he? My Lord?’
‘No, no.’ Cadno shook his head and furrowed his brow. ‘He is troubled … he feels a presence, a malevolent presence, hiding within the very bowels of this mountain.’
The Druids’ shock was palpable, they practically staggered under the weight of his words. ‘Yes, yes, my faithful Druids, we feel a thread of evil worming its way into the very heart of the sacred Triskele, and we grow alarmed, especially when we are so close to the Harvest.’
‘My Lord, how can we help?’ Elder Tomas was distraught, the physician equally so.
‘I must worm out the source of this wickedness. I will not have the Triskele threatened.’ Cadno filled his voice with conviction. ‘Tell me brothers, have there been any strange circumstances or incidents recently, anything that seems out of place or unusual? I must find the root of this potential threat, can you help me?’ he implored.
The Druids stared at each other, hoping the other would speak first. Cadno outstretched his hand. ‘However small, however insignificant, I must hear of it.’
‘There are circumstances that have come to my attention this very evening, my Lord.’ Elder Tomas cleared his throat, ‘There is a Chosen family, the Morgans of Ty Mawr … the elder man, Dafydd Morgan lies in hospital, the two women of the family are missing, the son is distraught. The son, Gwyn Morgan, also happens to be the new initiate chosen by Aeron as donor for this Harvest.’
Cadno took a sharp breath. ‘How can this be?’ He feigned alarm. ‘The Morgans are favourites of the Winter King! Who would dare spite him so? Who would dare attempt to disrupt the Solstice? The elder Human bedr
idden, the son distressed beyond words and two women of the family missing – missing? How can this be?’ Cadno’s voice was but a whisper as he leaned heavily against the wall. ‘Who could do such a thing?’
‘We do not know, but there is more.’ Elder Tomas looked as though he may well burst into tears. ‘More?’ Cadno mouthed disbelievingly.
‘Afagddu said a strange thing but moments ago. He said a Seeker was missing, but he has not reported it to the Hall. He also has a most terrible gash on his face.’
Cadno twisted his head to the side as if he didn’t understand what the Elder was saying. ‘Yes,’ the physician continued, ‘I treated him myself, he says a smashed mirror is to blame, but one of the cuts is a little too deep.’
Cadno remained silent and then if finding a hidden reserve of determination, he stood up straight and squared his shoulders. ‘I ask you to mention none of this to anyone until I can make sense of what you have told me. I cannot believe that Aeron’s trusted Councillor – no ... I must think … but if what you say is true … Afagddu is the hand that administers the Winter King’s elixir … the elixir, it is kept under lock and key?’
‘Oh yes. I keep it here in the infirmary, firmly locked away,’ replied the physician.
‘No-one can access it? Show me,’ Cadno insisted, and they followed his instruction, keen to prove their duties. The physician took a ring of keys from within his robes and led Cadno to the back of the infirmary. Three stout locks barred easy entry to the elixir, two stout doors and a heavy chest guarded the precious vials. ‘I am satisfied.’ Cadno was secretly fuming. He would have to change his plans. ‘Remember what I have said. If something else comes to light, inform me immediately, but please, I do not want to worry the entire Hall. Please be discreet, this must remain between the three of us, at least for the moment.’