by Lowri Thomas
Cadno cursed his stupidity. He had been so intent on following the Wraith Warrior that he hadn’t realised the ambush until he had felt the arrow pierce his skin, not just any arrow but one laced with a toxin that had rendered him unconscious almost immediately. He presumed for that he had Atgas to thank. ‘Witch, hag, sorceress, sibyl.’ He cursed her under his breath. She was more dangerous than he had given her credit for.
Cadno was in a dire predicament; he didn’t know where he was, what Atgas had planned for him, nor any idea on how he was to escape. He needed a plan.
He heard a scraping noise behind him. Snivelling his head he watched as a torchlight bobbed and weaved in the darkness. As it drew closer he could make out two figures, both Human in stature; one carrying the torch and one carrying a book. Cadno’s eyebrow shot up as the two figures passed to the left of his circle. One was a Druid, one he recognised from the Dduallt – not a Seeker, but a lowly Kennel Keeper. He wasn’t the one that caused Cadno’s amazement, the one that shocked him was the preacher man. What was a man of God doing in the midst of Arawn’s stronghold?
‘Cristion! Cristion!’ Cadno called out. ‘I would speak with you.’
The preacher cringed as the Kennel Keeper gripped his arm tighter. ‘He speaks to no-one but Arawn,’ the Keeper said, sneering, ‘and you’re in no position to make any demands.’
Cadno glared as they moved on into the darkness. How dare a Druid speak to one of the Bwy Hir so? Cadno made a mental note that when he escaped his current confinement he was going to flay the hide off that traitorous “Bradychwr”.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gwyn’s heart was in his mouth as he crept the van slowly along the road towards the church, keeping it in first gear ready to accelerate at a moment’s notice if he so much as sniffed a trap.
‘Please be you, Anwen, please, please be you,’ he whispered over and over again, as he peered through the windscreen onto the darkened rain slicken street. He used his sleeve to clear the mist from the inside of the windscreen as he came to a stop a short distance from the church.
The roads were deserted, the pavements abandoned, the church dark. The grass lawns that separated Gwyn from the church were shrouded in darkness. ‘Where are you Anwen?’ He wound his window down and squinted through the drizzle. He debated whether he should get out of the van and go to the church doors. What if she was waiting inside? He pursed his lips together and checked the van mirrors. He saw no sign of anyone approaching. He scanned the grass again but could see nothing.
He was about to turn the engine off and get out of the van when a blinding flash of light streaked past the windscreen. Gwyn instinctively raised his arm to cover his face. He heard the passenger door open.
‘Bloody drive!’ Anwen, it was Anwen! She threw a large bundle into the seat between them, jumped in and slammed the door. ‘They’ve followed you here – drive you idiot!’
Gwyn slammed his foot on the accelerator and the van lurched down the street. Gwyn looked into the rear view mirror as a Druid ran into the road behind them, raising his arm as if to shoot. Anwen was winding down her window and for a second Gwyn thought she was going to jump out but instead she swung out her arm and aimed a shot of white lightning from her palm. The Druid threw himself off the road and into the shadow of the church. Gwyn changed gear, threw the van around a corner and sped off. Anwen pulled her head back in and wound the window up before turning to Gwyn. ‘Keep going, don’t stop.’
‘Bloody hell Anwen!’ Gwyn’s eyes were wide, his expression conveyed a mixture of shock and relief as he flicked his eyes between Anwen and the road ahead. ‘You know how to make a bloody entrance!’
Anwen smiled. She had changed so much; her hair had been severely cut short, close to her head and had been died almost black, making her look more elfin than ever. Gwyn was amazed at how different she looked, but it was Anwen – he had his sister back.
She shrugged a backpack off her back before leaning over and pulling the bundle she’d plonked in the seat between them upright. Gwyn blinked and nearly crashed the van as the bundle pushed back a hood to reveal the most beautiful little face Gwyn had ever seen. ‘Davy!’ he blurted, ‘Bloody hell!’
The face split into an angelic little smile and his big eyes sparkled as he looked up at Gwyn. Anwen fussed with his seat belt and his little legs popped out from underneath him and stuck out like two stalks. He was tiny, much smaller than Gwyn had imagined him to be.
Davy’s skin was as smooth and white as a marble statue. His hair and eyes were raven dark, like his father’s, but his little nose and rosebud mouth was all Anwen.
Anwen smiled and pulled her own seatbelt over her shoulder while checking behind them in the wing mirror. ‘Keep driving for now.’ She kept her eyes on the road behind them. ‘Didn’t you realise you were being followed?’ Her voice held a tinge of accusation.
‘I didn’t see anyone until you made your entrance.’ Gwyn shot her a scowl. ‘Since when can you wield Derwydd yn tân?’
‘I don’t.’ Anwen sat back in her seat. ‘It’s similar but not the same, I’m not sure I can explain it … I can do lots of things if I put my mind to it – I’ve had a long time to practice. Where’s Dad?’
Gwyn stiffened. He knew he would have had to broach the subject sooner or later but he hadn’t expected it as soon as this. ‘Anwen …’
‘He’s dead isn’t he?’ Anwen pressed her lips together and smiled down sadly at her son who was looking up and swivelling his head between the two adults.
Gwyn swallowed. ‘Yes.’ He kept his eyes on the road ahead.
‘And you’ve come to take me back?’ Anwen held Davy’s hand and raised her head to watch the white lines of the road slip underneath the van and disappear.
‘All hell’s broke loose at home, Anwen. You and Davy are in danger until I can get you back to the Dell.’
Anwen snorted. ‘Nerys and Dad are dead and you think the safest place is back at home? Have you heard anything from Mary?’
Gwyn gripped the steering wheel, released his pressure on the accelerator and brought the van to a stop at the side of the road. He turned to his sister. She had changed so much; her hair had been cut so short, her face was harder somehow and she had lost weight. She looked tired but not frail, he could sense the steel lying just beneath the surface, but he still chose his words carefully so as not to hurt her, ‘Mary’s gone, Anwen, she died in a house fire.’
‘I had a feeling something was wrong … I dream, Gwyn, I see things … Mary in the fire, Bryn-Wisgi in a prison; he cries a lot.’ Her big grey-blues eyes looked into those of her brother. ‘I saw Dad, years ago, when I first left … burning – he was burning – there was no sound, no screaming, just silence as he stood and burned.’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Derwydd yn tân.’ Gwyn cleared his throat. ‘There was an inquest but the jury found the Seeker innocent – said it was self-defence.’
‘Were you there?’ Anwen whispered.
‘No.’ Gwyn wiped his eyes with a corner of his sleeve. ‘He died alone Anwen, I wasn’t there … I wasn’t there.’ He shook his head sadly.
‘Bara.’ Davy spoke but didn’t make eye contact; he just looked ahead as if seeing something in the distance. Gwyn blinked at the little boy perched in between himself and Anwen.
‘Did he say Bara?’ Gwyn looked into Anwen’s indulgent eyes as she patted Davy’s hand.
‘Yep. I’ve told him all about the farm, about Bara and Dad.’ She heaved a sigh, turned her head away and looked into the wing mirror. ‘We need to get going. I presume you have a plan to get us “safely to the Dell” – Where is Bara?’
‘With Awel in the Dell. I have instructions from Awel.’ He patted his chest and only then realised he was not wearing his jacket. ‘Bloody hell, where’s my jacket?’
‘Is this it?’ Anwen pulled a damp jacket from the foot well.
Gwyn nodded. ‘Check the pocket, there’s an address and they’re waiting for us.’ Gwyn pulled the va
n off from the side of the road and continued to follow the signs for the motorway as Anwen unfolded the piece of paper and read out loud, ‘Gwiddon Farm, Cynghordy? That’s miles away, mid Wales, isn’t it? You are going to need to stop for petrol.’
‘Yes, I do know that.’ Gwyn growled. They had only been reunited for minutes and she was already telling him what to do. ‘I rescued you, remember?’ he said sarcastically.
Anwen raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’ll find I rescued you – from the Druid, remember?’
‘He was after you, not me!’ he raised his voice incredulously. ‘I’m the one who rescued you! I’m the one driving you back home!’
‘I can take care of myself,’ Anwen snapped back, ‘and I could get us back a damn-sight faster via the Cerdd Carega-’
‘No you bloody can’t,’ Gwyn replied with some satisfaction, ‘’cause all the stones are being watched by Bradychwr and Cwn-Annwn-Helgi-Dog-Things, so you don’t know everything, do you?’
‘Bradychwr? Traitors?’ Anwen’s eyebrows knitted. ‘Cwn-Annwn? Hunting dogs from myths? What are you talking about?’
‘The Triskele is in pieces, Anwen.’ Gwyn lowered his voice. ‘It’s all broken – they can’t use the mirrors because of Ysbrydion – the Druids stay behind their walls at Maen-Du – The Cwn Annwn things, they’re like Helgi, but meaner and they stalk the countryside at night ravaging anything they can get their teeth into – people are going missing – it’s all a bloody mess, Anwen.’
‘And Arawn? Where is he?’ Anwen twisted her head to stare in her brother’s face. ‘Where is he?’ Her voice was urgent.
‘Nobody knows for sure.’ Gwyn scratched his head. ‘He’s in hiding in the Valleys somewhere. Anwen, you should know, he’s really real – I mean, he and Afaggdu, they are one in the same now. Annwn took his body … I can’t explain.’
Anwen turned deathly pale. ‘The raven and the deer.’ She muttered under her breath again and again, ‘The raven and the deer, the deer and the dragon.’
‘What?’ Gwyn felt his skin crawl. ‘What you saying, Anwen? What’s wrong?’
‘Y Ddraig Ddu yma?’ Davy piped up again, his voice dreamy and far away.
‘What’s he talking about, Anwen? Anwen?’
‘Stop the van, Gwyn.’
‘Anwen?’
‘Stop the bloody van!’ she shrieked.
Gwyn did what he was told and pulled the van over to the side of the road again. ‘What’s going on?’
Anwen had her hands pressed to her face, it took her a moment to begin speaking. ‘Gwyn, since Davy was old enough to speak he used to wake with nightmares – nightmares about a black dragon: Y Ddraig Ddu. I have those same nightmares, only I see the raven first, then a mighty deer swallows the raven and they become one.’ Anwen dropped her hands and rested one on her son’s lap. ‘Then the deer has huge raven’s wings and wicked black horns and it searches – sometimes for me and Davy – sometimes just for Davy. When he finds Davy he throws him to the floor and places a huge cloven foot on his chest and then the deer vanishes leaving the body of a dead raven behind. When the deer returns it has become Davy and Davy is a black dragon and then … all will be lost. He will destroy everything. Everything.’
Gwyn leaned over to rest a reassuring hand on Anwen’s arm. ‘It’s just bad dreams, Anwen.’
She pulled her arm away. ‘You don’t understand, Gwyn.’ She pulled Davy into an embrace. ‘Afagddu is the raven. Arawn is the deer. If he finds Davy he becomes the dragon n… you said before that “all hell had broken loose,” but it is nothing compared to the destruction he will unleash if he is not stopped.’
Gwyn felt helpless. Helpless to console his sister and nephew. Helpless for the right thing to say, the right thing to do. ‘What do you want me to do, Anwen?’
Anwen rested her chin on the top of her son’s head and looked in earnest at her brother. ‘We need to go home, Gwyn. Take us home.’
‘You sure?’ Anwen nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Glyn-Guinea cupped his hands to his mouth and leaned back. ‘Awel!’ he yelled for the umpteenth time. ‘Awel!’ He coughed as his voice caught in his throat and leaned against the Cerdd Carega to catch his breath.
It was nearly dark and not a time to be standing alone in the middle of the forest yelling loud enough for every Bradychwr in a five mile radius to hear him. At least it wasn’t raining – yet – the clouds above the canopy looked ominously dark and brooding.
He lifted his hands again and yelled, ‘For the love of light, Awel Chan y Bant, will you answer me?’
A flash of blue-white light sent him reeling backwards from the Cerdd Carega. When his vision cleared he saw Taliesin looming over him. ‘What are you doing – is that you Elder Glyn Williams?’
Glyn-Guinea straightened his waistcoat, gave a short bow and looked up at Taliesin with indignation. ‘Well, it took long enough to get an answer,’ he grumbled. ‘Where is Awel?’
‘Awel is in council with my mother and father.’ Taliesin tipped his head to one side. ‘What is wrong?’
Glyn-Guinea pulled his pipe from his pocket and jammed it between his teeth. ‘Everything is wrong. I need to speak with Awel immediately.’
‘She is in council,’ Taliesin replied patiently. ‘I can pass a message on.’
‘It will be too late.’ Glyn-Guinea stepped up to Taliesin and looked up. ‘I need to see her before it’s too late. The mirrors – they’re making a huge mistake.’
‘The mirrors are making a mistake?’ Taliesin was confused.
Glyn-Guinea shook his head irritably. ‘No. The Druids. I must speak with Awel. Please, Prince Taliesin, I need to speak to her.’
Taliesin stared down at the insistent little man. ‘Can it not wait?’
Glyn-Guinea huffed and puffed on his pipe. ‘It can’t wait.’ A distant howl echoed through the forest. Glyn-Guinea looked over his shoulder. ‘No. It really can’t wait.’
Taliesin looked in the direction of the solitary howl that was soon answered by a second howl further away in the distance. ‘Come.’ He offered his hand to Glyn-Guinea. ‘It is not safe for you to be out in the forest alone.’ Glyn-Guinea gripped onto Taliesin’s hand and they vanished together in a blaze of light.
Glyn-Guinea was kneeling down in the dewy grass desperately trying not to retch as Taliesin towered patiently above him. ‘Are you well enough to walk?’
Glyn-Guinea screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to hold his pipe in place. ‘In a moment,’ he wheezed, ‘just let me catch my breath.’
Their arrival had sparked interest. Taliesin watched as Celyn-Bach trotted over the grass from the fire-pit. ‘Ho, Taliesin!’ he called. ‘Who do you have there? Another Human?’
Glyn-Guinea raised his head and fought another surge of sickness. ‘My Lord,’ he croaked, ‘the mirrors.’
Celyn-Bach knelt down in front of the man and peered into his face. ‘I know you,’ he said with kindness and concern, ‘You were at the meeting with Elder Nissyen. What is wrong? Are the mirrors in danger?’
‘Not from Ysbrydion.’ Glyn-Guinea inhaled deeply. ‘The Druids, they plan to salt the mirrors at midnight, but it’s a mistake.’
Celyn-Bach and Taliesin exchanged concerned glances. ‘What do you mean? The salting process will ensure safe travel through the Dderwydd Ddrych once more. What could be the danger?’
Glyn-Guinea shook his head. ‘No. No. It will destroy the magic. Ask the Gwrachod. Ask Awel. I know I’m right!’
Celyn-Bach was taken aback by the little man’s passion and concern. Could he be right? ‘Better safe than sorry, Taliesin. Take our friend to warm by the fire, I will seek out Aeron and Awel.’ He patted Glyn-Guinea on his shoulder and loped back towards the centre of the Dell before veering off to his left. Taliesin helped Glyn-Guinea to his feet and slowly ushered him towards the firelight in the distance. ‘It is lucky for you a Gwiddon is here among us, they may help your argument.’
Glyn-Guinea stopped in his t
racks and let out an audible moan. ‘Which witch?’
‘I believe her name is Gwenllian Gwiddon.’
Glyn-Guinea groaned and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, great,’ he said flatly.
‘You are both acquainted, Elder Glyn Williams?’ Taliesin was confused by Glyn-Guinea’s reluctant behaviour.
‘Yes.’ Glyn-Guinea dragged his feet as he followed Taliesin towards the centre of the Dell. ‘Gwenllian Gwiddon is my sister. My big sister.’
‘Then you will be well met?’ Taliesin smiled cheerfully.
‘If you say so.’ Glyn-Guinea slowly took the pipe from his mouth and secreted it in his pocket. Gwenllian never had liked him smoking. Taliesin was more confused than ever but left it unvoiced.
They made their way together following the path that led to a shaded hollow among the trees. Glyn-Guinea was in awe as he raised his head to gaze at the dozens of lanterns swinging idly from boughs and branches that formed a lush canopy over the central fire pit that flickered and danced as white smoke twined up through the treetops to vanish into the darkening sky.
Taliesin offered Glyn-Guinea a seat by the fire and as he sat down one of the Tylwyth Teg appeared at his elbow with a small tray carrying two glasses of wine. His jaw dropped open as he shakily accepted the proffered glass. This was the stuff of fairy tales, much more than Men and Mirrors, this was folklore made real: this place was magical.
‘I never dreamed,’ Glyn-Guinea whispered, ‘of a place so enchanted.’
Taliesin smiled. ‘Not many Humans are given entrance to the Dell. This place is where the Pride have made their home, but it is the domain of Tylwyth Teg, it truly belongs to them.’
‘All the Pride are here?’ Glyn-Guinea looked around the deserted hollow. ‘Am I allowed to be here?’
Taliesin chuckled. ‘That remains to be seen, but better here than out there alone in the forest, the night is no longer safe.’
Glyn-Guinea felt like a trespasser, an interloper, unworthy of being in such a magical domain as the Dell. He looked around him furtively; the Tylwyth Teg had vanished leaving just the two of them to share the warmth of the fire.