Seventh Child

by Peter R. Ellis

  “Tudfwlch,” Cynddylig appealed, but the young man cowered in the bow. The head lunged down at them. Cynddylig rammed the tiller over and the boat swung around. The serpent’s head smashed into the water where the boat would have been. The muscles in the neck tensed and hauled the head up with water and mud pouring from its mouth.

  “Cludydd, it’s got to be you,” Cynddylig cried. September awoke from her stunned gaze at the monstrous snake. She pulled the Maengolauseren from under the cloak, snapping the locket open as she did so. She stretched her arm out, holding the stone up as the serpent’s head bore down on them again. I will destroy it, she thought.

  The stone did nothing. The boat rocked violently as Cynddylig thrust the tiller over again. The serpent’s head swooped over the bow of the boat just a couple of feet above Tudfwlch’s head. He ducked.

  “You could have had it then, Tudfwlch. Cursed Cemegwr!” Cynddylig called, “Where is your sword, warrior?”

  The serpent was recovering for another attack while September stared at the stone in her outstretched hand. How could she make it work? What did she have to do? She remembered the faces of the evil villagers and her fear as they slashed at her companions, and she recalled what she had done to defeat the Ceffyl dwr after Eluned had tried to save her.

  The eyes of the serpent were fixed on her as it prepared to strike again. September peered through the starstone at the fiendish head, its mouth wide and the snake-like tongue flickering at her. She could feel its furnace hot breath. The image of the serpent exploding in a ball of fire came into her head. That’s what she wanted to happen.

  A vivid blue beam flashed from the stone to the head of the serpent, blowing it apart in a ball of violet and yellow flame. The flames roared down the neck, vaporising the flesh instantly. A crash of thunder accompanied the dissipation of the monster.

  The boat bucked as waves of hot air radiated outwards from the serpent’s last position. The hot wind passed over them and the river was calm again. Cynddylig straightened the tiller and at full speed put as much distance as he could between them and the wreck of the Dyfrgi.

  September sank into her seat amongst the sacks, taking deep breaths and still shaking.

  “Well done, Cludydd. You have saved us again.”

  September rolled over to face him.

  “What was that thing? What did you call it?”

  “A Pwca. An air manifestation of the Adwyth. It can change its form at will, as the clouds can change.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When the figure appeared on the stern of the Dyfrgi I realised it was not one of the crew or indeed any real person. It must have been something that could take on the form of a human; hence it must be a Pwca. Its fiery breath could have destroyed us, but the stone saved us.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know why it didn’t work straight away when I opened the locket. I thought, I’ve got the super weapon, all I have to do is point it and the monster will be destroyed, but it didn’t happen,” September said sadly.

  “You hadn’t found the command.”

  “Perhaps. I couldn’t think what to do until I remembered you and Tudfwlch fighting the people and Eluned leaping to attack the water horse. I remembered the fear and the anger I’d felt then.”

  “There you are. You need the emotions and you need your companions to be there with you,” Cynddylig raised his voice, “Tudfwlch, why didn’t you fight?”

  September turned towards the bow. Tudfwlch was curled up in his seat.

  “What good would I be? I don’t have the Maengolauseren to cast violet fire and destroy all monsters. All I have is a simple sword of Haearn.”

  “But, you do have power,” September said, “you showed how good you were with the sword before.”

  “Aye lad. One slash of your blade would have severed the Pwca’s neck. The energy in the haearn would have done the rest.”

  Tudfwlch grunted and buried his head in his arms. Cynddylig shook his head.

  “I don’t know what is wrong with the lad,” he said quietly, “it’s almost as if he’s jealous of your power.”

  “It’s not my power,” September said, “The stone produces the fire to get rid of these monsters.”

  “Don’t be modest. The stone draws energy from the heavens but you are the sluice gate that controls and directs it. In someone else’s hands, who knows what it might do.”

  The rest of the journey that day was trouble-free, even boring. Tudfwlch remained sullen and morose in the bow refusing to converse with September. Cynddylig did allow September to steer for a time but that was the only thing that distracted her from her thoughts. She felt she needed to practise using the starstone, to understand how to wield its power. Five times now it had come to their rescue to save her and her companions from attack by the forces of the Malevolence, but she had little idea about what she had done. It seemed to be a mixture of strong emotions and powerful commands like “Be Gone” were needed but it all seemed rather random. With the fear of revealing herself yet again, she couldn’t even take it out to examine and try out various ideas. She wondered how well Mother had mastered the stone. Could she have told her what to do? She had never had control of anything that was potentially harmful. Mother let her use the vacuum cleaner but she managed to get that clogged up with fluff. Why was she expected to handle the energy of the starstone? Surely there were people more suited to being heroes than her.

  They moored at nightfall, made camp, bathed and ate the thin gruel that Cynddylig prepared eking out their diminishing stock of vegetables. Tudfwlch still remained aloof. Was he really jealous of her or merely embarrassed that he had not done more to fight the Pwca? September told the Mordeyrn all about it when he made his regular call. He was upset to hear of the destruction of the Dyfrgi but relieved that they were unhurt.

  “Tudfwlch worries me. He is a fine young man, a warrior. He should be taking the lead when you meet your foes. Keep a watch on him.”

  As had become the normal routine, Tudfwlch was to take the first watch of the night. September settled down as usual but made sure she stayed awake for as long as she could. Tudfwlch sat impassively not reacting to any of the occasional noises that disturbed the night.

  Day after day passed with September both familiar and bored with the daily routine. They had another day of steady rain but otherwise the sky remained clear and sitting in the boat hour after hour was hot and uncomfortable. September was grateful for the shade that the cloak provided her. The river continued to meander through the tropical forest. They passed a few communities but Cynddylig refused to pull in despite getting anxious about their food supply. He didn’t want people to meet September and he was wary of any more encounters with the servants or manifestations of the Malevolence. At least they could pick up some food whenever they stopped for the night. There were usually fruit or nut bearing trees near their campsite although as it was always nearly dark when they stopped it was difficult to forage. Tudfwlch seemed to improve but he remained withdrawn and less talkative than he had been at the start of their journey.

  September came to admire Cynddylig more and more for his knowledge of the river and his skill at producing interesting food from the same ingredients day after day. But the daily repetition and the unchanging scenery were getting to September, as was the constant itch on her thigh. She had tried to keep track of the days. How many was it now, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen? She reckoned they must have travelled well over a thousand kilometres from Amaethaderyn, but the view did not seem to have altered a bit.

  Then there was a change of routine. It was still mid-afternoon when Cynddylig steered the little craft towards a clearing on the bank.

  “Are we stopping?” September asked.

  “Yes,” Cynddylig replied.

  “Why? There are still a few hours to nightfall.”

  “This is the last mooring before we reach the great lake and we have to make a decision.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  �
��I’ll explain when we have made camp.”

  They pulled the boat onto the beach and unloaded all that they needed for the night stop. As there was still plenty of daylight, September and Tudfwlch went collecting oranges and nuts from the wild trees that grew in the forest. When they returned they found that Cynddylig had caught some fish and was preparing the meal.

  September sat on the ground while Cynddylig worked.

  “What is the decision we have to make?” she asked.

  “The river enters Llyn Pysgod on the west side of the lake. The lake is large and is home to many people because of all the fish that live in it. Hence its name, Lake of Fish. If we travel around the edge of the lake it will take us four or five days to reach the river again and we will not be able to avoid passing through quite a few communities. Alternatively we can set off straight across the lake. At full speed it will take us a day and half including travelling throughout the night. We will not be able to stop to eat or sleep. The lake is deep in parts and if a storm should blow up we could be in danger.”

  “But it cuts a couple of days off the journey to go straight across.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do we find our way in the middle of a lake at night?”

  “We follow the stars.”

  “Well, I don’t think there is anything to discuss,” September said, relishing the change of routine, “we head straight across.”

  “I thought you would say that. What about you Tudfwlch?”

  Tudfwlch looked up from his bed where he had been lying, apparently not caring to listen to the conversation. He shrugged but didn’t reply.

  “Seems he hasn’t got an opinion,” Cynddylig said, “So, we eat well now, sleep, collect firewood and get on the river at dawn. Then we should be able to moor in the gorge by nightfall the day after tomorrow.”

  They did as Cynddylig suggested and the Mordeyrn backed up the decision to head across the lake. September settled to sleep but was excited. At last there would be a change, something different to see. Despite the dangers Cynddylig had warned of she was eager to set off again.

  18

  They were surrounded by water; no land in sight except for a thin grey line on the western horizon and that had been there since they entered the lake. September was aware of how small their boat really was as waves broke over the sides soaking their bags. Cynddylig held the tiller firm, maintaining a line with the Sun directly behind them. It hardly seemed that they had only been travelling for a couple of hours.

  Cynddylig had got September out of her sleeping bag while it was still dark. They had eaten and loaded the boat before the morning’s first light. A short while later, less than an hour, September reckoned, with the Sun only just rising above the trees behind them, a final bend in the river had taken them out into the lake. The shore had quickly disappeared to the north and south. Cynddylig directed the boat out into the empty waters. It could have been an ocean rather than a lake. The far horizon was a grey line that may have been haze or their destination. Tudfwlch had settled morosely amongst the bags in the bow and September tried to make herself more comfortable amongst the sacks and barrels, but the boat was rocking from side to side in an unfamiliar manner. Without the protection of the tall trees they were exposed to the wind that blew from the south-west. At first it just seemed gentle and cooling as the Sun rose in a clear sky, but gradually September realised that the wind was creating the waves that broke over the side of the boat.

  Now she and Cynddylig were looking anxiously at the sky. The Sun was no longer a bright orb in clear blue. Instead it glowed dimly from overcast cloud and the wind had grown in strength.

  “I fear luck is not with us,” Cynddylig called as another wave topped the side of the boat and soaked September’s thighs. She was grateful that the cloak kept water off her as well as the rays of the Sun.

  “Will it get worse?” she shouted over the moan of the wind and the crashing of the waves.

  “Before it gets better, yes. Even if we don’t have to face a full storm there is at least a squall on its way.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Stay as low as you can, but bale out the water that’s coming aboard.”

  September piled up the sacks around her to raise the sides of the boat and found the cooking pot. She started scooping up the water that was pooling in the bottom of the hull. Tudfwlch too, used a bucket to remove the water. At least the activity took her mind off the rocking of the boat that had been making her feel queasy.

  The sky darkened until the sun was no longer visible at all, and the wind grew stronger. Cynddylig had both arms wrapped around the tiller ensuring that the gold powered engine noiselessly propelled them into the waves that were breaking viciously over the bow. September and Tudfwlch baled faster.

  Then the rain came. Great huge drops of cold water, falling from the dark grey sky. They hammered on September’s head and rivulets of water ran down the cloak into her lap, dribbling inside to soak her tunic and trousers. The boat was rapidly filling and as fast as she filled her pot so more water ran into the bottom of the boat. There was nothing to see to the left, right, forward or behind and she had no idea whether they were still moving forwards or backwards or in circles.

  Tudfwlch crawled over the bags and barrels towards her.

  “If you were really the Cludydd o Maengolauseren, you would do something,” he shouted over the roar of the wind and rain.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The stone can command the weather.”

  “Do you mean this storm is caused by the Malevolence?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but the bearer of the stone has power over nature.”

  “I don’t know what to do?”

  Tudfwlch was in front of her, their faces barely centimetres apart. His eyes glowed with a strange light and his mouth was twisted into an unusual grimace. September tried to push herself away from him.

  “What are you doing, Tudfwlch? You need to keep baling,” Cynddylig shouted over the noise of the storm.”

  “You don’t know anything, do you,” Tudfwlch sneered at September, “You’re not the seventh child of the Cludydd Breuddwyd. You don’t deserve to bear the stone.” He grabbed her arm.

  “What do you mean, Tudfwlch? Get off me.”

  “Give me the stone. I will show you what I can do with it.” He lunged forward, pushing her onto her back. She fought to get up but was caught amongst the bags and sacks.

  “I want it,” Tudfwlch screamed. His hand reached inside her cloak. September felt his cold, wet hand groping between her breasts. She struggled to get free but Tudfwlch was pressing down on her. She felt his fingers grip the pendant. He tugged and the silver chain snapped.

  “I have it,” Tudfwlch’s cry pierced the roar of the storm, “Now the Adwyth cannot be defeated.” He raised himself up, and held the silver locket bearing the Maengolauseren in his upraised hand. September found herself free to move again. There was something pressing against her side. Her hand investigated. It was the knife that she carried fastened to her belt. She slid it out of its scabbard.

  “Give the stone back to me,” she appealed to Tudfwlch.

  “Never! Its power is mine now,” he snarled, his eyes glowing red. The stone remained unlit. Tudfwlch looked at it then thrust it up again towards the sky.

  “I am the cludydd now,” he shouted above the roar of the storm.

  September pulled her hand from under her cloak and punched upwards. The knife of Haearn, crafted by Iorwerth and imbued with the power of Mawrth, slid through the threads of Tudfwlch’s tunic and pierced his abdomen. A look of shock passed across his face, he looked down at the handle of the blade, still held by September’s hand, thrust into his side. September bent her arm and the knife slipped out. The red light in Tudfwlch’s eyes dulled as blood poured from the wound, running down his thigh to mix with the rain and the pool of water in the hull of the boat; and then he toppled sideways. The boat rolled over a wave and Tudfwlch fell o
verboard. The Maengolauseren fell from his weakening grasp as he hit the water and sank out of sight.

  “No! No!” September screamed, “Cynddylig stop the boat.” She had no idea whether Cynddylig obeyed her or was already reacting but she felt the motion of the boat change. Now they were at the mercy of the waves. The boat rolled and yawed violently. September looked over the side but Tudfwlch had disappeared as indeed had the stone in its silver casing.

  September sobbed, “What have I done?”

  “You had no choice,” Cynddylig called through the wind and rain, “Tudfwlch was possessed by the Malevolence.” Almost as he spoke the storm seemed to pass over. The wind died away and the rain faded to drizzle. The boat’s motions settled. September sank into the bottom of the boat, crying. Everything had gone wrong; she had lost the starstone and killed her friend. Her body shook and tears filled her eyes as she saw again the last crazed look on Tudfwlch’s face as he tore the locket from her and what she had done to him. The knife was still in her hand. She dropped it and it clattered amongst the spars at the bottom of the boat.

  “Cludydd! Cludydd! By the Cemegwr!” Cynddylig’s calls penetrated her self-pity.

  “What?”

  “Get up. You must find the Maengolauseren.”

  September sat up and peered through tear-filled eyes. The clouds were clearing, the Sun was already shining and the wind had dropped to a drying, warm breeze.

  “How can I find it? Tudfwlch dropped it in the lake when he fell.” Another bout of shoulder-shaking sobbing took hold of her.

  “Of course you can find it. You are linked to the stone. It will find you if you search.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course.”

  Perhaps the stone wasn’t lost for good. Perhaps it would rise into her hands if she just got into the water. She stood up and took the cloak off; after all, there was nothing to hide anymore. She removed her belt and the sopping wet tunic and trousers and kicked off her sandals. She stood up straight, naked, suddenly aware that Cynddylig could see her. She turned to look at him. He was watching her but not with a leery look.