by Lowri Thomas
‘There is another,’ Dafydd countered, ‘use her.’
‘She is dead to us, Dafydd Morgan. We need Anwen.’
‘No.’ Dafydd stood up. ‘We don’t know where she is. We can’t help you. You’ll have to leave now, there’s a meeting at the pub and we don’t want to be late.’
Taliesin stood reluctantly. ‘My father sends every Seeker and Helgi to find her,’ he warned, ‘it would be better if I can get to her first.’
‘We can’t help you.’ Dafydd refused to look at Taliesin and instead marched to the back door, opened it and waited for Taliesin to leave before closing it and turning to his son. ‘We’ve got to warn all the Chosen about the danger of the mirrors. The Druids should have told us.’
‘But we promised Taliesin we’d keep silent,’ Gwyn replied, concerned that his father would so easily break a promise.
‘This concerns all of us, Gwyn. They should have warned us that evil lurks behind our mirrors. The Druids have failed us and look after themselves. Druids did this and the Chosen must be warned!’ Dafydd grabbed his coat and car keys and made his way into the yard. Gwyn and Bara followed.
As they chugged down the lane Gwyn turned to his father. The glow from the dashboard gave his father’s face a ghostly cast. Gwyn knew the look on his father’s face: stubbornly resolute. ‘You’re going to drop Taliesin right in it if you say anything.’
Dafydd gripped the steering wheel tighter in his hands. ‘What would you have me do? Say nothing?’
‘No.’ Gwyn set his jaw. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’ Dafydd mumbled under his breath for the remainder of their short drive and Gwyn glumly stared out of the passenger window. When they arrived at The Eagles, the pub car park was full of Land Rovers of every age, type, colour and description, and all were covered in mud.
As they left their car and approached the pub steps Trevor was there to meet them. ‘Three Druids have just arrived, two of them being Elders. They say they have important news. We’re still waiting for a few more of ours and then the meeting can begin. We’re in the back as usual.’
Dafydd raised an eyebrow and looked at his son but stayed tight lipped. They nodded to Trevor and walked into the pub. Bryn-Wisgi was serving at the front bar and nodded them towards the side door that led to the back of the pub.
The usual sentries were in position at the end of the bar. Two old farmers, Ifan and Will, sat stooped over a half pint of ale each, they weren’t drinking, they were just sitting talking quietly as old bar-props do. Only their eyes took in every person that entered the bar and only the Chosen would get past them.
‘Will. Ifan.’ Dafydd nodded as he and Gwyn passed and slipped into the back room. The shabby room was every shade of brown and cream with a stained red carpet covering the stone floor. A sooty inglenook fireplace belched smoke up the chimney as a number of men warmed their behinds and spoke in quiet tones.
Dafydd made his way around the room with Gwyn in tow, shaking hands with every man, exchanging polite greetings and nods until every Chosen had been included. Of the Druids there was yet no sign and Dafydd presumed they were waiting in Bryn-Wisgi’s front room until all the Chosen was accounted for.
‘Duw, Dafydd,’ said the oldest Chosen in the room from his stool set by the fire; an elderly gentleman by the name of Glyn-Guinea, his name was derived from his vocation as the local livestock valuer. No herds were bought or sold without Glyn-Guinea setting the price. He had an eye for livestock that was legendary in North Wales, he could spot a lame ewe in a flock of hundreds, he’d also had his fingers in more sheep’s mouths than Gwyn had had hot dinners.
‘Gwyn’s a big lad now and no mistake,’ he said, while chewing on his pipe. ‘There’s trouble brewing here tonight, Dafydd, you mark my words.’ Glyn-Guinea never made eye contact, he instead always spoke away from the person he was talking to, just over their shoulder, that or he either looked as though he was talking to his ever present walking stick that was as worn as its owner.
‘I hear there are Druids here,’ Dafydd said conversationally, ‘I thought this was to be a Chosen meeting.’
Glyn-Guinea pulled his pipe from his wrinkled mouth. ‘And so it will be – once they’ve said their piece and gone.’
‘Any idea why they’re here?’ Dafydd stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously jangling a few coppers he kept there.
Glyn-Guinea cackled as he jammed his pipe back between his teeth. ‘That Raven on yon left-hand oak, curse on his ill-betiding croak, bodes me no good. No good, Dafydd, whatever they’ve come to say, you mark my words, it’ll be no good.’
Gwyn shivered at the old man’s words and took a step closer to his father. Bryn-Wisgi and Trevor finally entered accompanied by a flustered Dai Jones and the gathered Chosen took their seats on the haphazard bar stools. Once everyone was settled, Glyn-Guinea stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick, pulling his amulet to the outside of his shirt and began to sing the national anthem of Wales. ‘Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi…’
All the Chosen men joined in as they too pulled their amulets to hang outside their clothing, displaying their rank as Chosen. They proudly sang with rich, harmonious voices, baritones, basses and tenors all joined in practiced harmony:
‘The land in which poets and minstrels rejoice,
The land whose stern warriors were true to the core,
While bleeding for freedom of yore,
Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.
Old mountainous Cambria, the Eden of bards,
Each hill and each valley, excite my regards;
To the ears of her patriots how charming still seems
The music that flows in her streams.
Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.
My country tho' crushed by a hostile array,
The language of Cambria lives out to this day;
The muse has eluded the traitors; foul knives,
The harp of my country survives.
Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.’
They concluded in rapturous harmony, Glyn-Guinea wiped a tear from his eye as he retook his seat by the fire. The last lingering note was the cue for the Druids to make their entrance. The younger Druid entered first and stood in the centre of the gathering. ‘All stand to welcome the Elders of the Druid Brotherhood, Elder Tomas and Elder Nissyen.’
There was an audible intake of breath at the mention of the two names, only something grave would bring the two most prominent Druid Elders to a meeting of the Chosen. The Chosen stood and bowed respectfully before retaking their seats. The Druids remained standing.
Elder Tomas looked out over the sea of concerned faces and wondered where to begin. His orders had been explicit: there was to be a temporary ban on the use of the Dderwydd Ddrych, only one mirror was to be used to convey messages and that was the one here in the pub. The other instruction was to demand the return of the woman Anwen Morgan of Ty Mawr Farm.
With a sigh he stepped forward, removed his cowl and began to speak. ‘Good evening, gentleman. My apologies for interrupting your meeting. I’m sure you have plenty to discuss, so I will be as brief as possible.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There have been recent events I am sure most are now aware of: Afagddu, Elder Druid of the Brotherhood has committed murder most foul.’ Judging by the low, shocked murmurs rippling through the crowd, Tomas had misjudged, he should have checked with the Elder Chosen before speaking. He cursed his stupidity as he looked to the Morgan men. They were sitting with matching scowls, arms folded, looking straight at him. He dipped his head in apology to them before continuing. ‘It seems I am the one to break the news … Afagddu is held in Dduallt.’ Again the murmurs. ‘He is charged with the murde
r of a woman of Ty Mawr Farm.’
Every head swivelled towards the Morgan men who sat silently fuming, their red faces testament to their emotion. Dai Jones stood behind them, a protective hand on each shoulder. ‘Nerys is dead,’ Dai shouted over the hubbub, ‘Dafydd and Gwyn have identified her body – that’s all you need to know for now.’ He pointedly glared at Elder Tomas.
‘My apologies to speak out of turn.’ Again, Elder Tomas bowed to the Morgans. ‘However, I believe, in this matter there should be transparency.’
‘That’s a first!’ Glyn-Guinea spouted, his remark drew titters and tutting in equal measure from the assembled men. Elder Tomas chose to ignore it.
‘Afagddu’s foul actions will be dealt with prior to the R’hela and we require a full Triskelion jury. You must select six Chosen to attend, however, no blood relative to the Morgans may stand.’ There was silence. The men would be selected among themselves; that was no business of the Druids and so Elder Tomas continued.
‘The second matter is a potential problem concerning the Dderwydd Ddrych … and we advise all Chosen not to use their mirrors at present, until we can ascertain and assess the problem thoroughly. Only one mirror is to be used and that is the mirror here. Any messages or pass-throughs are via this mirror alone.’
There was a rumble of unease, the Chosen leaned in to each other and whispered in huddles, all except Glyn-Guinea. ‘Just like that is it?’ He removed his pipe and held it in one hand whilst resting the other on his stick. All turned to watch him speak. ‘A Druid kills a woman of the Chosen and we are expected to calmly form a committee to sit in Triskelion judgement.’ He emphasised his words by poking his pipe towards the Druids but he spoke to his walking stick. ‘And we’re not to use the mirrors – no explanation mind, just don’t use them. Just like that … I can’t speak for anybody else, but I want a better explanation.’
There was a murmur of agreement and heads spun towards the Druids who stood calmly aloof. Glyn-Guinea shoved his pipe back in his mouth and spoke between clenched teeth. ‘This Afagddu – y Gigfran he’s called – who else has he done away with? I’ve seen enough winters in this village to know there’s been more than one strange death. And what of the mirrors? Why can’t we use them? What’s going on?’
The Druids could feel the tension and anxiety flooding into the room. Elder Nissyen pressed his lips together and grabbed his ceremonial staff and stepped forward, meeting Glyn-Guinea head to head. This was not the first time they had come against each other, in fact it was almost becoming a tradition for these two men to lock horns when Druid and Chosen came together. ‘To answer your questions,’ he said testily, ‘in as simple a way as possible,’ he added, ‘I tell you this: Afagddu’s crimes are being investigated – by the Druid Brotherhood. Your Elders will be advised as appropriate on our findings. Secondly, the ban on using the mirrors is a precaution only. Again, we investigate and we will advise your Elders as appropriate. Are you now satisfied?’ he asked Glyn-Guinea directly.
‘No,’ he answered simply, ‘I am not satisfied. You have not told us why we can’t use the mirrors.’
‘We will when we have finished our investigations.’ Brother Nissyen leaned on his staff and peered at his adversary. ‘We ask that the mirrors are not used while these investigations are carried out.’
Dafydd had gritted his teeth long enough. He remained seated and said, quite calmly, ‘The Druids hide that the mirrors have been contaminated by Afagddu. Evil hides behind the glass, Ysbrydion lurk behind our mirrors.’
The Druids were horrified at Dafydd’s revelation and the Chosen were thrown into frenzy. ‘Is this true?’ they called. ‘Are our families in danger?’ ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ They shouted over one another, directing their discomfort at the Druids. Elder Tomas raised his hands, calling for calm. Elder Nissyen glared at Dafydd and shook his head. The younger Druid shied away from the Chosen, wishing he was anywhere else but in the midst of these men.
‘Calm! Calm! Listen to me!’ Elder Tomas shouted over the Chosen men. ‘This has not been proven and as Elder Nissyen said, we are still investigating.’ The Chosen quietened but still viewed him suspiciously and Tomas sighed. ‘We will leave you now and as soon as there are any developments we will, of course, advise you. But,’ he said, holding up a finger, ‘we leave you with a command from King Aeron himself.’ The room fell silent. ‘The King has demanded that Anwen Morgan of Ty Mawr Farm is to be delivered to him in all haste. A bounty of fifty gold marks is offered.’
Uproar. The only person who did not look surprised was Bryn-Wisgi: he already knew. ‘You can sod off!’ Dai Jones shouted. ‘She’s not one of the Chosen. You can’t demand we hand her over.’
Dafydd and Gwyn were on their feet, the Druids could not hear what they were saying over the roar of the angry shouts of the other Chosen, but whatever they were saying it didn’t look pleasant.
The three Druids made a hasty retreat with as much dignity as they could muster. Once they had left the room Dai Jones stood on top of a bar stool to tower over his peers and shouted, ‘Hold on! Hold on! Before we all start getting our knickers in a twist, we should hear from Dafydd – let him explain what’s really going on!’
But Dafydd and Gwyn were nowhere to be found. They had left the room via the bar door the moment the Druids had made their exit.
‘Damn it!’ Dai Jones swore as he clambered down for his stool. ‘I better tell you then and then someone can tell us what we’re supposed to do about the mirrors.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cadno was impressed. Atgas had set herself up very nicely. She had acquired the use of an empty manor house on the outskirts of the city, nestled above a river bank with wonderful views of the countryside from the rear elevation and the only downside, as far as Cadno was concerned, was that the front elevation looked over the river, onto the city walls and the teeming city beyond, full of scurrying Lost.
Cadno and Atgas had the place pretty much to themselves apart from the few staff that had been provided by Atgas’ wealthy benefactors, but the staff were well trained; they kept themselves out of the way and only surfaced when called upon.
Yes, Cadno was impressed. Even the electrical current had been disconnected to the upper levels of the house, only the kitchen and servants’ area housed electricity, and for some reason Cadno could not quite fathom the basement had electricity too. This was where Atgas held court to her benefactors and sycophants.
Cadno was yet to be invited to the basement level, although Atgas had promised that tonight he would be invited to join one of her little soirees, and so he waited patiently in the ample guest room set aside for him that blessedly looked over the fields and not the city.
The two Helgi were sleeping in the corner of the room, their heads buried under their tails. They were growing increasingly lethargic and Cadno had pressed Atgas for a supply of two young women that he could transfigure into mates for his male Helgi. Her promise had yet to be delivered and Cadno already doubted the worth of any of Atgas’ promises.
He wondered whether he had made a dreadful mistake by coming to Atgas. She had changed and not for the better; arrogant, vain and self-absorbed were the perfect words to describe Atgas, but now Cadno added devious, nefarious and cold to his mental list. He would also have to watch his back and consider changing his plans. As for using the atebs, he would put that off for now, even though Atgas was pushing for its use, he didn’t trust her enough to allow himself to be vulnerable in her presence … not yet.
Cadno continued his lonely vigil at the bedroom window. They were tall enough that he did not need to stoop to look out onto the fields and so leaning against the window’s dusty reveal he let his mind drift away from himself and out onto the vista.
He could sense all manner of wildlife, birds among the branches, mice scurrying in the dense grass, squirrels chirping to each other as they foraged, but he was interested in none of these. He drifted further away, high above the fields and out towards the wooded
dell at the edge of his eyesight, sensing, probing, looking for his quarry and there they were: foxes.
He always enjoyed meeting with foxes; they were inquisitive, knowledgeable, and cunning. They knew their hunting grounds inside and out, and were happy to exchange information. Cadno smiled. They knew exactly what he was looking for and exactly where it was located. Cadno’s plans had just changed.
He withdrew his mind and returned to himself. He needed to make plans – if tonight was not to his liking then he was leaving, but first he needed two women and so he superciliously strolled to the corner of the room and pulled the grubby cord hanging from the ceiling and rang for the servants.
He threw himself on the bed and settled down to wait, leaning back on the plump feather-filled pillows he stretched out, crossing his ankles and placing his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and prepared himself, slowing his heart rate and clearing his mind. Transfiguration required focus and concentration. He had never performed an invocation so complex before and so he breathed slowly, in and out, focusing, building his strength, coiling it tightly, ready to strike.
There was a timid knock on the door before it opened. One of the young servant girls hovered at the entrance, her head bobbing nervously. ‘You called, Sir?’
Cadno opened his eyes slowly, a grin spread over his lips as he blinked leisurely, enjoying the rush of power. He moved only his eyes, focusing on the girl and then raised his hand, crooking his finger, calling her to him.
She shuffled forward and dropped her head, keen to avoid eye contact. He could feel the fear radiating from her as she stopped near the side of the bed, just out of reach. He smiled at her reassuringly and beckoned her forward once more. She hesitated and then advanced, her dress brushing the edge of the bed, she was now just within his grasp … and then he struck.