Seventh Child

by Peter R. Ellis

  “I don’t know how the power of the Maengolauseren works, lady. Perhaps it requires strong emotions before its power can be directed.”

  “The only emotion I have had so far when I have used it is fear.”

  “There you are. Perhaps the Mordeyrn and the Arsyllfa will help you control your emotions and thereby direct the Starstone to your bidding. I am just grateful that you used it today. I’m sure Tudfwlch is too.”

  September turned to face the bow. Tudfwlch had been silent since they had left the village.

  “Tudfwlch, are you feeling alright?”

  He turned slowly to answer. His face was pale and his clothes were splashed with blood. She thought that it was the blood of the attackers but then she saw that he was holding his right hand and blood was dripping from it.

  “Oh, Tudfwlch. You’re injured. Why didn’t you say?”

  “It’s only a small cut in my hand. It’s a bit sore. Worst thing is it’s my sword hand.”

  “Lass, come and take the tiller. I’ve got some cloth somewhere that we can wind round Tudfwlch’s hand to stop the bleeding.”

  September scrambled over the bags and barrels to take Cynddylig’s place in the stern.

  “Just hold her steady and pointed up the middle of the river,” he said as she settled, nervously gripping the tiller in her right hand. Cynddylig crawled forward, pausing to open a bag and take out some cloth which he tore into strips. Tudfwlch offered his hand and Cynddylig bound it tightly with the cloth.

  “There lad. That should stop the bleeding. You fought skillfully back there. Iorwerth has taught you how to wield a sword well.” Tudfwlch produced a thin smile then returned to silently watching the water go by. Cynddylig scrambled back but took the seat on the right of the tiller.

  “You carry on lass. You’re holding her line well. Have you handled a boat in your world?”

  “Not really. We had a day sailing with one of my uncles but he wouldn’t let me steer. He probably thought I’d crash the boat. It’s the sort of thing that usually happens to me.” She was pretty useless at everything, September reflected, but here speeding along the river she felt different, more confident.

  “Ah, well, I’ll keep an eye on the engine while you keep us straight.”

  September was surprised how quickly the time passed while she was concentrating on holding the course of the boat. That and Cynddylig’s tales of boats he had known and trips he had made kept her mind off the events at Glanyrafon. With the Sun dropping into the river, Cynddylig slowed the boat.

  “I think this will be our berth for tonight,” he said. “Steer into the left bank, lass.” He pointed and September saw the patch of beach he was directing her towards. Quite confidently she steered the craft towards the shore. Just before they grounded, Tudfwlch raised himself, climbed over the side and waded through the water hauling the boat onto the shingle.

  They made camp and September busied herself getting the wood for the fire as Tudfwlch seemed a little lethargic.

  “Are you feeling okay, Tudfwlch?”

  “Hand’s a bit sore,” he said. September felt there was more.

  “You’re worried about something.” There was a pause before Tudfwlch spoke.

  “Well, it’s like this. I’ve never killed anyone before. Never used my sword to injure another person. I was scared September and I’m supposed to be protecting you.” The memory of those desperate moments filled her mind, the evil ones pressing on them with blades slashing. She recalled Tudfwlch parrying the strikes and making every one of his thrusts count.

  “You did protect me. You fought well. I’m very grateful.”

  “But, I can feel my sword slicing through flesh, the blood, the tissues spilling out. I’m not sure I can go through that again.”

  “I hope we don’t have to, but you did what you needed to do.” She recalled what Cynddylig had told her, “They weren’t people anymore, Tudfwlch. As Cynddylig said, they were slaves of the Malevolence.” Tudfwlch nodded in agreement and collected his bowl of steaming broth from Cynddylig.

  They ate in silence coming to terms with the day’s events. September was relieved when the Mordeyrn called. She felt she needed to tell the story, to share it and distance herself from it. The Mordeyrn was appalled by her tale.

  “I was worried that a single servant of the Malevolence in the village may have become aware of your presence but I had not anticipated a whole village being wiped out by the evil. I must congratulate you all on extricating yourselves from the situation.”

  “Cynddylig and Tudfwlch fought them off until I used the stone.”

  “Ah, yes, the stone. I know you had to use its power but it must have been like a beacon to the Malevolence. It will feel your presence in the Land and focus its forces on the region through which you are travelling. You must keep the stone hidden to avoid providing any more clues to your whereabouts.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  “I hope you can avoid any further encounters with the servants of evil. Tomorrow I will arrive at the Arsyllfa and there at last I will have the assistance and the resources to provide you with some guidance on your journey.”

  “Thank you, Aurddolen.” September was not too sure what the Mordeyrn would be able to do from his observatory in the hills, hundreds of kilometres away.

  “Cast away thoughts of today’s events and sleep well.”

  Sleep well she didn’t. All through the night she was troubled by visions of hordes of weapon waving villagers pressing on her and no sign of Cynddylig, Tudfwlch or anyone to help her. There was just a feeling of someone or something unseen watching her. At last when it was just turning light she heard Cynddylig stoking the fire and preparing breakfast. She struggled out of her sleeping bag and shivered in the cold morning air. Having dealt with her morning necessities, a ritual after a few days of living rough, she rubbed her birthmark which was still itching a little, then went to help Cynddylig. Tudfwlch was lying in his bed, still but moaning.

  “Tudfwlch, it’s time we were on our way,” Cynddylig called. There was no reply. Cynddylig went and knelt by his side, “What’s wrong lad?” Tudfwlch turned his face towards the older man.

  “He looks feverish,” Cynddylig said to September, “let’s have a look at that hand.” September joined him beside Tudfwlch as he drew his injured hand from within the sleeping bag. September could tell from the smell that things weren’t right. Cynddylig unwound the bandage, unsticking it from the putrescent flesh.

  “It only looked like a nick when I bound it yesterday,” Cynddylig said angrily, “It’s badly infected.”

  “What can you do?” September asked.

  “We need arian, and the cludydd.”

  “Well, I have silver,” September said, “it was Arianwen’s gift, the silver locket and chain which holds the Starstone.”

  Cynddylig brightened.

  “That’s something. We don’t have the words to invoke the power of Lleuad but the arian will do some good. But how do we use it without revealing the Maengolauseren?”

  September thought for a moment then reached inside her cloak to the back of her neck and lifted the chain over her head. She held the locket and chain in one hand beneath the cloak and leaned over Tudfwlch. She took the yellow pus-ridden hand in hers, grimacing as she did so, and slid it inside her cloak. She wound the silver chain around the hand and pressed the locket to the wound.

  “What do I do now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Hold it there and just imagine the hand healed I suppose.”

  September summoned up an image of Tudfwlch’s young, smooth hands.

  “I’ll load the boat. You stay there.” Cynddylig continued. He rose to his feet and busied himself with breaking camp. September found that to keep Tudfwlch’s hand under her cloak she had to kneel awkwardly. Her back started to ache.

  After what seemed like many minutes Cynddylig returned.

  “Right, let’s see what it looks like.”

  September loosened th
e chain and released Tudfwlch’s hand. It slipped out of her cloak and she gasped. It was unmarked; there was no sign of infection, no sign of a wound at all.

  “You’re some healer,” Cynddylig said, “Let’s get him up and on to the boat.” They dragged the sleeping bag off Tudfwlch and helped him to his feet. He was still weak and groggy and leaned heavily on Cynddylig as they staggered to the boat. September replaced the locket around her neck then picked up Tudfwlch’s belongings and followed behind.

  The Sun was already above the trees in the east as they set off, with Tudfwlch slumped in the bow.

  “Will he be better now?” September asked.

  “I should think so. You’ve healed his hand, so I expect he will recover quickly.”

  17

  The day passed slowly and the heat of the Sun was tiring. The scenery was unchanging and today there was no light-hearted chat from Tudfwlch. He remained slumped in the bow, occasionally muttering. Cynddylig allowed September to steer for a time while he made Tudfwlch swallow some water and got out some of their stored fruit and cheese for lunch. It was a sombre company that made camp that evening. Cynddylig and September helped Tudfwlch ashore and rested him on his sleeping bag, and then she collected the firewood while Cynddylig cooked supper. Tudfwlch had roused enough to eat the broth but then sank into a deep sleep.

  September explained Tudfwlch’s symptoms to Aurddolen when he called.

  “It is worrying that he remained ill after you healed the wound. Some of the infection must have gone to his head. Let me know how he is tomorrow and I will get some advice on what you can do to help him.”

  “You have arrived at the Arsyllfa?”

  “Yes. I am relieved that my journey is over and long for your arrival amongst us. We have much to do. Already I have had reports of how the power of the Malevolence is growing across the Land. We have need of your power, Cludydd.”

  September was rather embarrassed and nervous of his enthusiasm for her involvement. She still had little idea what she could do against the growing evil even now that she knew that her mother had defeated it once. She bade her farewells and settled down to sleep, her birthmark still irritating a little.

  September was very relieved to find Tudfwlch much improved in the morning. If not back to his normal self, he was up and greeted her with some of his previous warmth. Soon they were on their way, and they had not been travelling for more than a couple of hours when they approached another settlement. Cynddylig made no move to stop steering down the centre of the river. Some fishermen wading in the water close to the bank waved to them and others standing on the shore by a cluster of wooden huts also greeted them. September returned the waves.

  “At least they seem unaffected by the Malevolence,” Cynddylig said.

  “We’re all affected by the evil,” Tudfwlch said in a gloomy voice.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Tudfwlch,” September said. “Those people don’t seem to be possessed by evil.”

  “Their time will come,” Tudfwlch persisted.

  “Now who is the pessimist!” Cynddylig said with a forced jollity. Tudfwlch didn’t reply but returned to watching the water.

  That evening September told the Mordeyrn that Tudfwlch seemed improved if a little subdued.

  “Perhaps the reality of his responsibility has come upon him,” Aurddolen replied, “he has had to use his skills with Haearn to protect you and it is a new experience for him.”

  The next day began much the same with the familiar chores of preparing breakfast, loading the boat and cleaning their campsite, followed by the monotony of the journey. How long has it been now, September wondered. She had difficulty working out how many days they had been on the river which meandered lazily through the vast forest. Was this the seventh or the eighth day since they left Amaethaderyn? Whatever, they were over a week into their journey, perhaps a third of the way to the Arsyllfa. Their food stocks were growing low.

  They were on a straight stretch of the river. It seemed to vanish into the distant heat haze. The trees lining the bank were two parallel lines of green and brown meeting somewhere near infinity. As September stared ahead it seemed that there was something in the water ahead of them not quite blocking the way but certainly sticking out from the bank into the middle of the river, but it was still too distant to distinguish clearly.

  “Can you see what it is?” September asked.

  “My eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Cynddylig said, “but there’s definitely some obstruction. Can you make it out Tudfwlch?”

  Tudfwlch shrugged and said nothing.

  “Is there a village here?” September suggested.

  “No, nothing on this reach.”

  “Well, I wonder what it can be?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough, lass.”

  Minutes passed and the boat swiftly reduced the distance to the barrier.

  “It’s a boat,” September cried, “a big barge, like the one we passed.”

  “What are the crew doing?” Cynddylig said, shaking his head.

  September struggled to understand what she saw. “The back of it is very low in the water. It must be heavily loaded.”

  “It’s not that, it’s sunk,” Tudfwlch said, in matter of fact voice, “it’s been wrecked.”

  Now they were close enough to see details. The bow of the barge was driven up on to the bank, but it was listing and the stern was only just above the water level. Cynddylig slowed down to avoid approaching too close to the barge.

  “I recognise that boat,” Cynddylig said, excited, “it’s the Dyfrgi. It called into Amaethaderyn a couple of days before you arrived. What has happened?”

  Cynddylig held the boat motionless against the current as they examined the barge. There were great holes in the planking along the side. The roof over the cabin at the stern was charred, and the huge tiller was broken off and leaning against the stern.

  Tudfwlch suddenly raised himself up in the bow and shouted.

  “Anyone on board?”

  “Quiet Tudfwlch, sit down,” Cynddylig ordered turning their boat downstream.

  September turned to speak to him and to carry on looking at the wreck.

  “What’s wrong Cynddylig? Why shouldn’t Tudfwlch call out?”

  “Can’t you see girl. The boat hasn’t just run aground by accident. It’s been wrecked. It must be the work of the Malevolence.”

  “But there might be people injured on board. We could help them.”

  “No, lass, it’s no use any of us going on board. The crew are dead. Anyone left alive is a servant of evil. After what happened at Glanyrafon you can guess what it might be like inside.”

  September shuddered but wondered how the crew of the barge had met their fate.

  “They were a lovely group of people,” Cynddylig went on, “Men, women and children lived on board Dyfrgi, trading goods up and down the river. It was always a feast day when they called at Amaethaderyn.” His voice tailed off sadly. Tudfwlch snorted, and September turned in time to catch a strange grimace of a smile on his face before he turned away from her.

  “What are we going to do?” September asked.

  “We’ve got to move on,” Cynddylig said, “we’ll have to pass her, but I’ll keep as far away as possible.” He pulled the tiller towards his chest and the boat resumed its course up the river. Cynddylig headed towards the left bank away from the hulk of the Dyfrgi which stretched over half way across the river. The current had grown stronger as the flow of the river was forced to divert around the wreck. The little boat struggled and their progress slowed.

  As they crept nearer to the stern, September saw the boat’s name written in large white letters across the wooden planking.

  “What does Dyfrgi mean?” she asked.

  “It’s the name of an animal.” Cynddylig replied.

  “A fish?”

  “No, it has four legs and lives on land, but swims and catches fish for its food. A lively, jolly creature.”

&nb
sp; September thought for a moment, and wondered.

  “An otter?”

  “I do not know what word you would have for it.”

  September continued to examine the barge. A movement caught her eye.

  “I saw something,” she said, “Look there, by the tiller.” A figure had appeared, a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a loose, white gown. The figure raised a hand pointing to them and called out. The voice came to September like a deep moan.

  “Is it one of the crew?” she asked, “Perhaps they’re hurt?”

  “I told you, if they’re alive we don’t want to get close to them. Keep your hand on your stone, but keep it hidden – for now.”

  September moved her hand beneath her cloak grasping the locket. They were inching past the stern of the barge now, the fast flowing water splashing against the sides of their little craft. The figure was gazing down on them, appealing with her arms outstretched.

  “Tudfwlch,” Cynddylig called, “Stir yourself. Get your sword ready.”

  Tudfwlch didn’t stir.

  “Why? What could I possibly do?”

  “What’s the matter? What’s happening?” September cried out. Cynddylig struggled to hold the tiller as the boat was hit by swirls and eddies.

  “It’s not a member of the crew. It’s a Pwca!” Cynddylig gasped.

  “A what?” September said, but as she looked the figure changed. It seemed to melt like a candle to take a new form. Where a moment before had stood a fair woman, now there was a black, long necked bird. It launched into the air from the stern of the barge and swooped towards them. It soared over their heads and dived into the river fifty metres ahead of them.

  “It’s gone,” September said, relieved but the itch on her hip which had grown more painful, remained.

  “No,” Cynddylig cried, steering away from the point where the bird had disappeared.

  A great fountain of water erupted and the huge head of a serpent rose out of the water. Its neck grew and grew. The head reared over them, its small eyes glowing red. A vast mouth opened revealing a forked tongue which flicked in and out between rows of needle-like teeth.