The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  ‘God shall protect me.’ He crossed himself.

  Atgas threw her head back and laughed malevolently. ‘When Arawn is finished with you there will be no protection. You will be mine then and I shall enjoy bleeding you dry.’ They reached the gates to the pens and the guard stood ready to receive the prisoner.

  ‘Same rules as before?’ the guard asked, as he unlocked the gate.

  Atgas nodded. ‘Keep him away from the other prisoners.’

  She retraced her steps, mulling over how best to present Cadno’s capture to Arawn. She desperately wanted Arawn in Cadno’s body; the withering husk he dwelled in now was as hideous as it was Human and besides, with Cadno captured, her own skin would be safer; Arawn would prefer a male body.

  A Faithful Druid ran past her, his arms laden with rolls of parchments; Arawn had his maps. Why he needed them was beyond her. Nor did she understand his interest in the preacher and his Bible. She wondered, and not for the first time, whether Arawn had a scheme in play that she was not privy too. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She would not be played for a fool, she wanted to be queen and she would do whatever was necessary to ensure the golden torc of the Summer Realm rested around her neck.

  A flash of light announced the return of the Wraith Warriors. She resumed her vacant smile as she came to stand in front of Arawn who was squinting at the unrolled map he held in his hands. ‘My Lord,’ she said, touching the top edge of his map with a slender finger to catch his attention, ‘on my command your Wraith Warriors bring a great gift.’ She smiled as his suspicious eyes met hers. ‘I deliver Cadno of the Bwy Hir to you. His body is ripe for the taking should you so wish it.’

  Arawn looked up at her. For a moment he was confused, disorientated, and then her words sunk in. ‘Cadno? he asked incredulously, ‘I remember him from Dduallt … he wishes to surrender his body to me?’

  Her smile faltered. ‘I believe he can be … persuaded, my Lord.’

  ‘By you?’ Arawn’s eyes bore unto hers. ‘You think you have that power?’ He rose slowly to his feet, his map discarded. ‘He ran away from you before. He shunned you. Yet you believe your words will convince him to surrender his body to me?’

  Atgas shied back, suddenly reminded of his changeable malevolence. ‘I’m sure he can be persuaded, my Lord.’

  ‘Persuaded.’ He snorted. ‘You want him, Atgas, you always have. Is Cadno for me or for yourself?’

  ‘For you!’ Atgas took hold of his hands, imploring him to believe her. ‘I had him brought here for you. I need you to be Bwy Hir. I want you to be strong again! Take him – take his body – become Bwy Hir once more.’ Her voice was urgent, almost desperate.

  The Wraith Warriors entered the clearing carrying Cadno between them, his head lolling to one side, unconscious and limp. ‘He is alive,’ announced one Warrior as they dropped him to the ground. ‘Atgas’ arrows work well.’

  Atgas stooped down and placed her fingers against Cadno’s neck. ‘His pulse is strong.’ She stood and turned to Arawn with a triumphant smile. ‘I must prepare a circle to bind him before he wakes.’ Arawn did not answer her; he simply nodded, studying her back as she left the firelight, listening to the voice inside his head warning of her imminent deceit and treachery.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe as he glared around the shabby room tucked away in the back of the Eagles Pub. The Chosen were gathered, most were present; all families represented, as was proper for a summit of this magnitude, but still there were some absent from the gathering, some whose farms were lain abandoned, farmers and their families vanished into thin air. Their absence hung heavy in the room. The Chosen men present were huddled in groups, perched on bar stools and talking over worn tables, some nursing a beer, others holding tea cups as if the warmth could starve the cold from their bones.

  Sleet and rain were battering the first flush of tender seedlings that had struggled through the sodden soil only to be assaulted by the unseasonal weather. The farmers muttered and grumbled over the inclement weather, ailing livestock and bleak prediction of empty barns and empty bellies come harvest time.

  Glyn-Guinea stood up and leaned on his thumb stick, rapping the bowl of his pipe on the table in front of him to get the men’s attention. ‘Duw, quiet down now, quiet down.’ The room fell silent. ‘Right then, as you can see we have Druids in our midst this evening …’ The Chosen spun on their stools to eye the two Seekers who were standing on either side of the doorway at the back of the room. ‘… Their presence will be explained momentarily, but first I would once again thank all of you for displaying cooperation and dignity whilst Dai and myself ensured, once again, that all of us here gathered are free from the mark of Arawn.’ The room erupted into mutterings and tetchy whispering.

  ‘Alright, alright.’ Glyn-Guinea said, ‘I didn’t doubt any of you for a moment, but better safe than sorry, eh?’ The muttering died down and silence resumed. ‘So, let us be about our business …’ He nodded towards the huge map pinned to the wall behind him. ‘As you can see, all the Chosen farms and property are marked in blue, the abandoned farms in red. Tonight, I need any who have seen any unusual activity on their lands to put your hands up, tell us what you’ve seen and come up here and mark the location. Once that is completed the Seekers will take the information back to Maen-Du for the Druids to deal with appropriately.’

  ‘Any news on the mirrors?’ One of the farmers raised his voice to be heard. ‘A lot of us have to travel a long way for these meetings.’ Glyn-Guinea waved the gathering to silence so he could make his reply.

  ‘I was going to get to that later, but as it’s been brought up.’ He inhaled on his pipe before continuing. ‘Another reason for the Seekers’ presence is that the Druids intend to carry out an experiment this very evening.’ He nodded towards the Dderwydd Ddrych leaning portentously against the far wall draped by an old curtain to hide its mirrored face. Bryn-Wisgi’s wife had insisted it be removed from her home after his disappearance – who could blame her?

  ‘The Druids believe they have discovered a way to travel through the mirrors safely once more.’ The assembly leaned forward in their seats, alert and keen. ‘They make their first trial tonight and if it works, well, maybe we can repair the bridge between our worlds and reunite the Triskele once more … But that is after we have done our bit and told all we know of the movements of Y Bradychwr.’ All those who had joined Arawn’s ranks were now dubbed Y Bradychwr: the Traitors, and the penalty for baring the horned skull was death. The use of deadly force had been granted by the Triskelion Council and any Bradychwr found bearing the branding was wanted dead or alive by the Council. A bounty of one hundred marks had been offered for any Bradychwr found, that was double what the Druids had offered for Anwen Morgan and a fortune by any man’s standard.

  Glyn-Guinea stepped aside to allow easy access to the map and Dai took the opportunity to be first up. Self-conscious as he always was in front of crowds, Dai pulled his jumper straight as his cheeks reddened and turned to face the map. ‘Right then, only last night I saw those damned Cwn Annwn running between the borders of my farm and Ty Mawr.’ He lifted a pen and marked the map with an arrow. ‘They were headed towards Dinas Farm.’ He turned to an elderly farmer of Dinas Farm. ‘You seen anything, Will?’

  Will Creuddyn stood up, despite his age he was still lithe and strong. ‘Three young ewes ravaged last night.’ He moved towards the map and took the pen from Dai. ‘Bloody mess they were, no sense,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘ravaged – not eaten – ravaged.’ He lifted his hand and marked the field.

  ‘Me too!’ Another farmer stood. ‘Early hours of this morning by the look of it. Sheep mauled to death, but same as Will’s, the meat isn’t eaten.’ Will handed the pen over as other hands rose up from the gathering. One by one the farmers plotted the locations and returned to their seats, watching as the pattern emerged on the map; pathways between the mountains, all leading towards Llyn Idwal; the desolate lake at t
he foot of the brooding, dark mountain, Cwm Idwal.

  He looked to the Seekers; both had moved to stand in front of the map, studying and whispering. Their arms were folded, their expressions concerned. They shifted their heads in unison towards Glyn-Guinea. ‘We will take this discovery to Elder Nissyen and seek his council. We are ready to travel through the Dderwydd Drych.’

  The assembly quietened. No-one had used the mirrors for such a long time; not since Bryn-Wisgi was taken by Ysbrydion; not since Arawn had made his fateful appearance. The mirrors were tainted, dangerous and threatening, but now for the first time, two Seekers were prepared to traverse the mirrors once more.

  ‘Stand back everyone.’ Glyn-Guinea shooed the crowd of Chosen back from the mirror. ‘Give the Seekers space to manoeuvre – and remember, if anything untoward happens, then you hit the ground, keep your heads down and let the Druids deal with the situation.’

  Glyn-Guinea joined Dai who was already on his knees taking shelter behind the top table. ‘Bloody hell,’ he whispered, ‘could they not have waited until we’ve all gone?’

  ‘And how would they prove the mirrors were safe if there was no one here to watch?’ He sucked on his pipe, his chin level with the table top as he peered over to watch the Seekers.

  ‘And if they’re not bloody safe?’

  ‘Then keep your head down.’

  The Seekers had removed the curtain and positioned themselves side by side in front of the mirror, one holding a small leather pouch in his left hand while the other, empty handed, stood ready to release Derwydd yn tân; not a good sign in Dai’s opinion.

  The mirror’s surface reflected the scene in the room: two Seekers side by side and behind them, the Chosen bent low or kneeling behind bar stools and tables, fear evident on their faces.

  All knew the story of Bryn-Wisgi, grabbed by Ysbrydion and dragged into the depths of y Gwag, never to be seen again. Many had seen the shadowy wisps darting behind the glass in their own mirrors, lurking, waiting to be released. All knew of the horrors that were unleashed in the Halls of Maen-Du when the Ysbrydion broke through leading Arawn and his Wraith Warriors in their wake.

  The room was silent. Not so much as a whisper broke the hush as the Seekers nodded to each other. Using his free hand the Seeker holding the bag lifted his amulet and touched the glass before standing back. Slowly the mirror’s surface misted and became insubstantial, small wisps of stretched vaporous grey fingers leached from the mercurial surface before curling and evaporating into a harmless haze. The Chosen held their breath.

  ‘What’re they waiting for?’ Dai whispered to Glyn-Guinea, ‘Why don’t they do whatever they’re going to do?’

  ‘Shh,’ Glyn-Guinea hissed.

  The Seekers cast side glances between themselves before returning their attention to the rolling mist. They waited, eyes darting over the grey mist until there – a dark flash of movement.

  ‘Ysbrydion,’ someone moaned from beneath a table. The Seekers calmly took a step towards the mirror. One dipped his hand into the leather pouch and threw a fistful of powder into the mist.

  The surface absorbed the white crystal powder with a low drawn out hiss, the mist writhing and churning, turning from grey to white. Again the Seekers waited, but the Ysbrydion had vanished.

  With a satisfied nod, the Seeker threw the remaining powder into the mist before stepping though and vanishing, the mirror closed behind him. The second Seeker remained, staring at his own reflexion, arm poised, ready to defend himself.

  Seconds passed to minutes. The Chosen became restless, peering over their tables and shuffling positions and talking in low voices. Dai and Glyn-Guinea remained where they were; they had witnessed the sudden abduction of Bryn-Wisgi.

  The murmurings immediately ceased as the mirror began to mist. The Seeker took a step back and braced himself, only relaxing when a black-clad Druid appeared through the mists, followed by two more, all carrying armfuls of leather pouches.

  One by one the Chosen retook their seats, as the Druids waited patiently to address them. The Elder of the Druids placed his leather pouches at his feet and spread his arms wide to encompass all present. ‘At last we bring good tidings.’ He smiled, confident and reassured. ‘The mirrors can once again be used.’

  The Chosen immediately relaxed, talking amongst themselves: “The mirrors are safe,” “Thank the stars, everything can go back to normal.” Glyn-Guinea was not so easily swayed.

  ‘So that’s that is it?’ he called above the hubbub. ‘You throw a bit of what – salt – into the mists and we’ll all be safe and sound?’

  The Elder Druid lost his smile, irked at the doubt and suspicion raised. He gave Glyn-Guinea a snide glare before replacing his smile and addressing the Chosen. ‘Months – nay, years – of toil and research have provided us with this cure and we are satisfied that we can once again travel through the mirrors safely.’ The Druid turned to his brethren and they nodded in agreement. ‘Salt.’ The Elder smiled. ‘Sea salt to be exact is the cure, as simple as it is, the Ysbrydion cannot tolerate it.’

  ‘So, throwing salt into y Gwag is safe is it?’ Glyn-Guinea barked angrily. ‘Have we learned nothing? We should not be putting anything into y Gwag. No-one can foresee the consequences of tampering with the netherworld. Are the Bwy Hir happy with this?’

  The Elder Druid was being to lose patience with Glyn-Guinea. He did not bother to mask his scowl as he refuted Glyn-Guinea’s misgivings. ‘To be clear, Elder Chosen, we have taken into account every possible consideration, consulted intelligence and knowledge beyond your reach and we deem our actions as safe. As for your accusation that we are simply “throwing salt into the netherworld” – we are not: we are merely creating a border of salt around the mirrors to ensure that Ysbrydion cannot escape into our world where they do not belong. Furthermore, had we anticipated the need to guard our doorways, we would have used salt in the mirrors’ original construction years ago.’ He concluded with a flick of his hand, dismissing Glyn-Guinea’s opinion and with one last withering look, daring any further interruption, he motioned for his brethren to begin distributing the salt pouches.

  ‘Our instructions are thus: you will only need to line your mirrors when you first open them. To ensure all mirrors are accounted for, you are all to open your mirrors at midnight tonight and once completed, step through to the Halls of the Druid where you will be received and your mirror marked as safe. All other mirrors not accounted for will be dealt with by the Druids and are not to be traversed by the Chosen until we make them safe. Is that understood?’

  The Chosen nodded or called out their agreement. Dai accepted his salt pouch with a nod of thanks. Glyn-Guinea just glared and sucked on his pipe.

  Finally, the Druids regrouped in front of the mirror. ‘We await you at midnight.’ The Elder Druid gave a small wave of his hand and they vanished one by one through the mirror back to Maen-Du.

  The Chosen held onto their pouches and bid each other farewell as they left in ones and twos. Glyn-Guinea remained behind with Dai Jones until they were the only ones left. ‘Midnight.’ Dai dipped a finger into his pouch and stirred the salt crystals with a finger. ‘You reckon it’ll work … no more Ysbrydion?’

  Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe and glared at the mirror. ‘Do I think throwing a handful of salt will stop our woes?’ A thick curl of grey smoke erupted from between his clenched teeth. ‘No, Dai, I don’t … It might stop the Ysbrydion snagging us as we step through y Gwag but I doubt that I’ll stop Arawn in his tracks.’

  ‘But it’s a start, eh?’ Dai closed his pouch and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Maybe … but the Chosen have gone home thinking that all’s well, that the Druids are regaining control, but they’re wrong, Dai. Our livestock are still getting sick and our crops are still failing. It’s going to take a lot more than a handful of salt to stop Arawn.’

  Dai’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘But still, it’s a start and with what we’ve learned at this meeting
today – all working together, with the map and that, well it all helps.’

  Glyn-Guinea turned to study the map. Something was out of kilter; something was amiss, he just couldn’t see it. ‘Hey, Dai, how do Arawn and his ilk get about?’ Dai stared into the mirror and scratched his head in confusion. Glyn-Guinea nodded sagely. ‘Exactly … the bugger’s got his own mirrors, or at the very least a mirror.’

  Glyn-Guinea hopped off his bar stool, pulled the map from the wall and rolled it up, tucking it under his arm. ‘I need to see Nissyen. I’ll catch up with you later.’ He paced to the mirror and pulled his amulet from underneath his shirt, pressing it against the glass. ‘I’ll come round to yours later and see if Liz has heard anything of Gwyn.’ He turned back to the misted mirror and vanished through the white fog leaving Dai clutching his own pouch and staring at the one Glyn-Guinea had left behind on the table.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time Gwyn finally found the van he was thoroughly soaked and in a foul mood. It was nearly dark and the streetlights had hummed to life one by one, casting the slick grey pavements to grubby orange.

  He unlocked the van, opened the door and threw his soaked jacket onto the passenger seat before sitting behind the steering wheel and rubbing the rainwater off his face with his shirt sleeve. The windscreen was already steaming up on the inside and the view of the street ahead was fuzzy and muted.

  Gwyn sighed as his stomach rumbled. He leaned into the foot well, pulled up the basket that Gwenllian had prepared for him and peered inside. There wasn’t much left; half a cheese sandwich and a wisened apple. More cheese, more apples. He ate them both as he watched the rain trickle down the windscreen.

  Tap, tap, tap. Gwyn flinched away from the driver-side window. Tap, tap, tap. ‘Hello?’ the muffled voice called.