by Lowri Thomas
He took the steep stone steps two at a time, down the final spiral of stairs that opened onto a torch-lit narrow hallway. The torch smoke stung his eyes as he pounded on the heavy doors barring his way. ‘Open up!’ he shouted through the metal grill. ‘I must see Afagddu at once!’
He heard the grating of the key in the lock and the door swung inwards. ‘Not you again,’ the nasally voice of the Keeper moaned. His face was pinched, his nose was long and thin and sat between his hooded eyes giving him a hawk-like appearance. He was none too pleased to see Madog for the second time in two days. ‘What do you want now?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘We’re not too used to having visitors down here. What do you want with Afagddu?’
‘I bring him news,’ Madog answered offhandedly.
‘Oh, what news is this?’ the Keeper inquired, trying not to sound too interested.
‘None that will be of any interest to you, so let me pass, I haven’t time to hang around.’
Madog pushed passed the Keeper and made his way down the jagged pathway that led into a huge black cavern. ‘Remember to stick to the path,’ the Keeper called, ‘lest you want to be mistaken for Helgi food!’ He chuckled cruelly.
Madog kept to the path, lit by more torches as it snaked its way through jagged, deep crevices. Helgi eyes peered from the darkness, watching him as he went. Madog shivered. The pathway opened out onto a large flat bluff, slick with moss. Chiseled inside the rock were six small cells, each covered with a metal gated grill. Madog rushed up to the furthest cell to his right and called in, ‘Afagddu! Afagddu!’ His voiced echoed as he spoke.
‘What is it?’ Afagddu’s weary voice ricocheted off the black cell walls and out into the semi-light of the bluff.
‘You will not believe it, Afagddu!’ Madog whispered excitedly.
‘I am in no mood for games, Madog.’ Afagddu sighed from deep within the darkness of his cell. Madog could hear the shuffling of the prison’s only other occupant in the cell next to Afagddu’s and so he hushed his voice and whispered through the bars, ‘Afagddu, listen … the ateb has failed, the Bwy Hir are in uproar.’
‘What?’ Afagddu shuffled towards the bars and Madog could just make out Afagddu’s silhouette in the darkness. ‘The ateb has failed? How can this be?’ Afagddu’s voice hinted at his astonishment.
‘It’s true.’ Madog clenched the rusted bars with his hands and leaned in further. ‘It was watered down, diluted in some way – it is useless!’ Madog stifled a giggle. ‘What is more … Cadno is missing.’ Madog waited for Afagddu’s enthusiasm to spill through the bars but he received only silence. ‘Did you hear me. Afagddu? Cadno is missing … Afagddu? Afagddu?’
‘I hear you.’ Afagddu’s face had split into a hideous grin. ‘Oh, the irony!’ His grin became a chuckle that became a laugh that became a wholehearted cackle. A more alien sound had never before been heard in the caverns and crevices of Dduallt. The Helgi lifted their huge heads and joined in Afagddu’s mirth with howls and yips that rang through every fissure, echoing and reverberating until Madog had to clap his hands to his ears to deaden the dreadful cacophony. Afagddu watched as Madog retreated back up the pathway and into the shelter of the Keeper’s hallway, cringing and stooping as he ran. Afagddu pressed his malformed back against his cage, relishing the icy touch of the bars pressing against his thin shirt.
His smile deepened as he listened to the frenzied din of the Helgi continuing to howl. Afagddu felt his spirits elevated at the news Madog had brought him; the Bwy Hir were unravelling themselves with no help from himself or Madog, weakening themselves as the Druids grew in strength. The Chosen were dwindling as Afagddu had always intended. It was his plan to see the Chosen decline to a level where the Bwy Hir needed the Druids as donors and then, then Afagddu would see to a shifting of power and an amendment to the oaths that bound he and his brethren so tightly and cruelly to the Bwy Hir’s will.
The first adjustment would be to reinstate the Druids’ longevity without the transfiguration to Helgi. If Helgi were not required then the Druids should be able to take any amount of the waifs and strays that littered the towns and cities of the Lost – no longer should the Druids suffer the fate of transfiguration. Afagddu’s mind worked furiously: Will the Bwy Hir realise how much they needed the Druids now? How useless is the Host without the Druids’ ateb? Or will Aeron strike at the Druid ranks in his fury, despite the obvious culprit of the damaged ateb being Cadno … why had Cadno done such a thing?
Afagddu couldn’t begin to fathom why Cadno had struck at the Bwy Hir with such malice, but Afagddu had to admire him for his daring and spite, despite hating Cadno with every fibre of his being.
Afagddu heard his fellow prisoner shuffling among the rank straw that littered the floors of their cells. ‘Enjoying your stay with us?’ Afagddu called out. ‘Did you enjoy the Helgi choir?’
‘Go to hell, y Gigfran,’ Dafydd Morgan moaned from within his cell. ‘Your voice grates as much as the Helgi do, so shut the hell up.’
Afagddu’s smile had faltered at being called y Gigfran: Raven. The Chosen man was obviously well informed to use an insult rarely said to his face and Afagddu wondered at Dafydd Morgan’s allies. He forced humour into his voice. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but at least your accommodation is better than the rest of your family’s; after all, your son is alone in a village where none will speak to him, let alone help him, he can’t even trade your livestock, and as for your daughter, Aeron will see to it that she is found and questioned, not a fate I would relish–’
‘Shut up, y Gigfran!’ Dafydd slammed his fists against the bars of his cell. ‘I swear to God, whatever fate my family suffers, you will suffer it tenfold, I swear it!’
Afagddu talked right over him. ‘And as for the woman I found at Ty Mawr, alone and unprotected, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed squeezing her fat neck!’
‘Bastard!’ Dafydd threw himself at the bars. ‘You’re going to pay you twisted, ugly, bastard!’ Dafydd shrieked as he threw himself at his cage again and again and Afagddu laughed with every shudder of the bars, the Helgi joining his delight as they howled and bayed with fervour.
The Keeper looked on, ashamed of his own guilt, scared of Afagddu’s fearlessness and unsettled with the unusual behaviour of the Helgi. The sound of the hunting horn shook the Keeper from his pensiveness; the pack of Helgi quietened and stood on all fours, sniffing the air, ready to seek the quarry of the masters – the Seekers. One by one the Seekers pounded through the hallway and whistled for their pair of hunting hounds. The Helgi were eager to join their masters and trotted immediately to the side of their own Seeker awaiting instruction.
‘We hunt for something very special tonight!’ a Seeker called to his Helgi. ‘We hunt for a Bwy Hir and no mercy need be shown! We hunt for Cadno himself!’ The Seekers’ eyes flashed and the Helgi began barking and baying, desperate to begin.
Dafydd and Afagddu leaned against their cell bars silently mulling over the significance of such a happening. Never in living memory had a Bwy Hir been hunted down, none had ever faced the R’hela.
Afagddu obviously knew the reason why, thanks to his visitor, but Dafydd did not, although there was a tickling in the back of Dafydd’s memory. Something stirred at the mention of Cadno’s name but it would not come forward, it stayed shrouded in a fog of forgetfulness however Dafydd strained to recall, but he kept pressing at his memory, trying to shake loose what he should have remembered.
CHAPTER TWO
Gwyn sat alone at the kitchen table. Even Bara had deserted him to sneak upstairs to sleep on Dafydd’s vacant bed. The house felt empty and cold, Gwyn hadn’t bothered to light the fire and only the Aga stood defending the house from the icy wind howling through the valley.
Gwyn had heard the rumbles of thunder but couldn’t be bothered to look for the lightning through the window; he didn’t care and besides he didn’t have the energy to rouse himself to prepare a meal, never mind stick his nose against the cold glass to catch a flash of light. That reminded h
im of his meeting with Awel Chan y Bant and the Cerdd Carega. “Go straight home, Gwyn Morgan of Ty Mawr. Give my regards to your father when you see him again. Be compliant with the Druids; remember you are a new initiate with a lot to learn. Trust Dai Jones and his wife. In all probability I will not see you again until Spring. So take of yourself.”
‘Take care of yourself!’ He mimicked her as he screwed his face up. ‘Take care of yourself! Oh yeah, I can take care of myself alright!’ he said to the ceiling. ‘It’s Anwen and Dad I’ve got the problem with … I shouldn’t have left the house.’ He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have let Nerys talk me into it.’ His mouth drew down in a sorry frown as he thought of Nerys. ‘Where is “in-between” anyway, Awel, I can’t bloody work it out!’
He shook his head again and stood up looking around the kitchen. It was dark outside and rather than have the feeling of someone watching him he decided to close every pair of curtains in the house, starting with the kitchen curtains. He pushed past the table and grabbed at the nearest curtain with his meaty hands. The fabric felt slightly greasy and smelt of cooking and as he pulled it across he noticed the pattern was faded by sunlight and age. He leant over to pull the other to meet it when a hooded figure approached the window. ‘Ah!’ he yelled, jumping back from the window. Bara started barking and ran from downstairs.
‘It’s me!’ the little voice called through the glass. ‘It’s Liz Jones!’
Gwyn grabbed at his chest and he exhaled. ‘Good god, Mrs Jones, you frightened the life out of me!’ He hurried to the back door and unlocked it admitting Dai Jones’ wife, Liz. He locked the door again once she was inside and she hurried into the kitchen and closed the remaining curtain before pulling off the hood of her raincoat and handing him a large basket. Gwyn took the basket and stared at Liz Jones as if she’d grown two heads. Bara wagged her tail and sniffed at the basket.
‘Well, you could say something like, oh, I don’t know ... thank you!’ She put her hands on her hips and carried on talking without letting Gwyn get a word in edgeways. ‘Right, there’s bread, milk, cheese, tomatoes, onions and sausages in there, oh, and some bacon too … and a pot of stew, although I’ll want the dish back, mind. It will see you through the week and you’ll be getting a basket every week off one of us until this mess is sorted out. If there’s anything you need that’s not in there, you just ask and we’ll see it brought to you, no point wasting good money in the shops buying things that we can provide for you. I know you’ll get your stipend from the Druids but it’ll only cover your bills and you’ll have nothing left to spend on anything else. Your laundry you’ll have to manage yourself, we can’t be seen lugging bales of laundry to and from here; we can’t be seen to be helping but we will help, don’t you worry about that.’ Liz finished talking and looked to Gwyn and the basket. ‘Well? I’ll need my basket back.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Gwyn said, emptying the contents onto the table, ‘and thank you … I thought I was being abandoned.’ Gwyn handed the basket back to the owner. Liz gave a sigh and looked up into Gwyn’s face.
‘You have been abandoned, Gwyn.’ Liz spoke gently, kindly. ‘You’ll not be dealt with at market, the Druids will pass your lands to someone else for safekeeping, probably to Dai. You’ll not be served in the pub or the local shop; no-one will be seen mixing with you. But “seen” and “is” are two different horses, so don’t you worry.’ She patted him on the cheek. ‘Oh and Awel asked me to tell you this in case this very thing was to happen – she says: “Stand firm little warrior, until the Spring, stand firm.”’ Liz shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ll be off then.’ She pulled her hood back up, unlocked the door and vanished into the night.
Gwyn watched her leave with a mixture of relief and trepidation. He didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to be Gwaradwyddedig, and he didn’t want to be shunned by his friends and neighbours, even if it was only on the surface. He wanted Nerys and Anwen sitting at the table waiting for him and his dad to come home from working the fields. Tonight was supposed to be Gwyn’s first Solstice, something to be proud of, something to share with his father and the Chosen men of his community but instead he was sitting alone in an empty house. His father was in a Druid prison, his sister was in hiding and running for her life and Nerys … Nerys was gone.
Bara nudged Gwyn’s hand with her moist nose. ‘I’m not all alone, am I Bara?’ he said, rubbing her ears. ‘I’ve got you and you’ve got me, so let’s go and get something to eat before we wither away.’ Bara wagged her tail and followed Gwyn to the Aga as he began to reheat Mrs Jones’ stew. Gwyn and Bara would share it equally, they were in it together.
CHAPTER THREE
Anwen had been frogmarched into the first floor flat owned and occupied by Mary Evans, Anwen’s jailer, as Anwen had begun to dub her, had unceremoniously bundled Anwen onto the sofa in the living room and stood over her with a jaded expression. ‘Explain to me why you have tried to run away twice since I met you at the station? I haven’t known you more than an hour!’ Mary was exasperated and she was far too old for these kinds of games.
Anwen glared at her jailer and folded her arms. ‘I don’t want to be here.’
‘Where else is there, Anwen?’ Mary was worn out. ‘You have little money, I doubt whether you’re city streetwise, and pregnant girls don’t make good employees, so tell me, where else would you go?’ Anwen glared even harder and Mary exhaled. ‘Look, you are safe here and to be honest you look and smell in good need of a hot bath and some clean clothes.’
‘What the hell do you expect?’ Anwen snapped. ‘I haven’t slept in days, I’ve had no rest and I’ve been scared out of my wits, what do you expect me to look like?’
‘This is exactly why here is the best place for you. You are safe now, you can rest and get yourself together. I mean you no harm – quite the opposite – I’m here to make sure you stay safe.’ Mary leaned forward and placed her hand on Anwen’s knee. ‘Trust me, Anwen, or at least try.’
Anwen stared down at Mary’s hand and immediately noticed the bracelet she was wearing. ‘I have the same one.’ She said pointing to Mary’s wrist. Mary held it up to the light, the tiny gold acorn dangling from the chain was its only embellishment.
‘Do you know what this is?’ Mary asked, admiring her most treasured possession. Anwen shook her head. ‘It is a Tarian: a shield. It keeps us hidden from anyone casting for our whereabouts, it confuses the Helgi, puts them off our scent and only the Pride can locate us with these bracelets.’ Anwen looked confused so Mary clarified what she was explaining. ‘Only the female Bwy Hir can trace us, or to be more specific, only the Bwy Hir who put the Tarian in place.’ Mary smiled as Anwen’s face showed enlightenment. Anwen held up her hand and admired the twin of Mary’s bracelet dangling from her wrist. ‘You should never take it off, not for any reason,’ Mary warned.
‘Oh, I won’t,’ Anwen breathed, ‘I shan’t take it off for anything.’ Anwen dropped her wrist and felt in her pocket for the mirror. She didn’t take it out but just wanted to make sure it was safe. Her bag of wet clothes sitting protectively on her lap and her shoes had finally dried but still rubbed her feet mercilessly.
‘How about I make a cup of tea and something to eat?’ Mary offered. ‘Then you can have a nice hot bath and I’ll find you some comfy pyjamas.’ Anwen stared at Mary for a few seconds, weighing up whether she could trust her. Finally Anwen nodded her head. ‘Good.’ Mary patted Anwen’s knee and stood up. ‘Come through to the kitchen and we’ll see about getting whatever’s in that bag either washed or thrown away.’
Anwen followed Mary through a small hallway and into a tiny galley kitchen. There was the smallest dining table Anwen had ever seen, with two chairs sitting opposite each other tucked under the window and then a simple row of kitchen base and wall units nestled against the far wall, a sink and a small slim-line electric cooker. A fridge and a washing machine were huddled next to each other opposite the table – that was everything, no Aga, no space, nothing invitin
g and heart-warming, it was just a serviceable work space, clean as a pin but not what Anwen would call a “real kitchen.” The room didn’t smell of cooking, it didn’t feel warm and cosy; it was cold and smelt of lemons.
‘Not the style of kitchen you’re used to, I’m sure,’ Mary said over her shoulder, as she flicked the kettle on to boil. Anwen shook her head. ‘The first thing you will learn about London is space comes at a premium. I could buy a small holding in Snowdonia for the same price as this apartment.’ Anwen wrinkled her nose in disbelief. What self-respecting Welshman would swap this little shoe box for a solid cottage, outbuildings and good acreage in Wales? Mary chuckled at Anwen’s unvoiced opinion; the girl had a lot to learn.
Mary made tea the same way as Nerys; with cups and saucers, a teapot, a sugar bowl and milk jug, Anwen presumed it was an age thing. Mary played mother and poured milk from the jug into the white china cups, then she added the tea from the pot. ‘Sugar?’ she asked Anwen and she shook her head. ‘Sweet enough?’ Mary asked with a side smile.
‘So,’ Mary said, replacing her teacup on its saucer, ‘Awel told me very little about you, only that I had to keep you hidden until Spring, and to be perfectly honest, the less I know the happier I am, so let us keep it that way, shall we?’ Anwen was surprised Mary didn’t want to know every detail of why Anwen had run away from her village accompanied by a huge dollop of every piece of gossip she could have gleaned from mild interrogation. Mary wasn’t at all like the women from the village, perhaps that’s why Awel had chosen her. Anwen viewed Mary from over the rim of her teacup. ‘You have questions you want to ask me?’ Mary asked as she sat relaxed in the kitchen chair, her hands resting on the table as she watched Anwen.
Anwen pursed her lips. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ she said bluntly.
‘You don’t know,’ Mary answered in the same tone, ‘trust is earned.’