“The great grey cliffs. You’ll see.”
“But how will we be able to carry on if there are cliffs ahead?”
“The river has carved our passage – Hafn Afon Deheuol – a great cleft in the rocks.”
It sounded like a sight worth travelling to see, but when the Sun crept into the sky behind them, they were still completely surrounded by water with only a distant haze on the horizon. They ate fruit and nuts again for breakfast and drank fresh water. September washed herself as best she could using the water from the lake.
“Will we get there in daylight?”
“We must; I daren’t try to enter the gorge in the dark.”
“Will we do it?”
“If we do not suffer any more bad weather or delays, then I think we should.”
While the Sun passed over their heads, September lay in the middle of the boat, occasionally taking the tiller while Cynddylig stretched. She could tell he was getting tired but only he could steer the boat in a straight course across the featureless water. Around noon September realised that the grey line on the horizon ahead of them had grown a little. She watched in fascination as minute by minute, hour by hour, it grew from a line into a band and finally took on the form of a cliff. They were still hours away and September began to realise how the cliffs had got their name. She had once been on a ferry across the English Channel and had stared at the white cliffs in wonder. Those were nothing in comparison she now realised. Late in the afternoon when they were still kilometres away from land, the grey cliffs reared over them. They must be a thousand metres high, September thought, vertical cliffs rising directly out of the water and stretching for hundreds if not thousands of kilometres north and south. She realised that Cynddylig was peering anxiously in each direction along the immense grey wall.
“Can you see the gorge, September? My eyes are not what they once were.” September joined in the search. The grey cliffs seemed almost featureless, almost as if they were an immense slab of concrete. But there, was that it? A vertical line, slightly darker than the rest of the cliff. She stood up, and pointed excitedly a few degrees to the left of their present course.
“There, is that it? Do you see it, Cynddylig?” He aimed the boat in the direction she pointed to. Minutes passed before he nodded. He looked up at the Sun, a few hand widths above the cliff.
“Well done lass. If the Sun had been just a little lower the shadow would have obscured it. We should be safely ashore for nightfall.”
They drew closer and closer to the cliffs. So intimidating had their height become that they seemed to topple right over them. September knew it was an illusion but it gave her an uncomfortable feeling nevertheless. The thin crack opened up to become an alleyway, then a corridor into the cliffs. The boat was buffeted by the current of the river water pouring from the gorge. It wasn’t a broad waterway, no more than ten of their boat lengths wide, but it carried a huge volume of water. The little boat shuddered as its magical motor struggled to make headway.
The great jaws of the gorge opened on either side of them as Cynddylig aimed for the centre of the gap. September leaned back and craned her neck to see the top of the cliffs but it was an impossible task. Now that the cliff face was close she could see that it wasn’t completely smooth. There were small crevices and overhangs, places where a gull could land if not actually make a nest, and she could see birds wheeling in the air and diving into the water for fish.
Then they were inside the gorge and the jaws seemed to close behind them. The river filled the bottom of the gorge with the cliffs rising vertically from the water on either side.
“How are we going to land?” she called.
“Don’t worry; it’s not as forbidding as it looks.”
The first few hundred metres of the gorge were straight as if cleaved by a gigantic axe. The river flowed swiftly past them. Then ahead, with the light fading as the Sun sank below the cliff top far above them, September saw a bend in the river. On the far side the waves broke against the cliff walls but on the near side there was a small promontory. Cynddylig directed the boat into the side.
“Get the rope, girl. You’ll have to jump ashore and hold the boat while I make her fast.” September crept to the bow, the trailing hem of the cloak getting under her feet. She found the rope, hitched the cloak up around her waist and stood with one foot on the bow, waiting for the moment. The flow of water was less here, shielded by the bend, and Cynddylig manoeuvred the boat skilfully. September saw a small platform in the cliff, a metre above the water level.
“There you are, lass. Jump!” September leapt. She staggered and slid for a moment as her sandals found a grip on the small flat area of rock. With her feet steady she leaned back against the cliff wall and hauled on the rope. Cynddylig brought the stern in gently and hopped onto the landing with the stern rope.
“You’ll find rings in the rock,” he said. September looked behind her and, sure enough, there was a black, iron ring hanging from a spike driven into the rock. She tied the rope to it while Cynddylig did the same with a similar ring.
“There,” he sighed, “we’ve made it. And just in time too.” Almost like switching off a light, the shadow fell over them and it was dark. They unloaded what they needed from the boat to make their campsite on the small, flat area of rock. Now September realised why they had loaded firewood on to the boat at their last camp. There were no trees in the gorge. While collecting bags, September discovered Tudfwlch’s short sword in its scabbard lying discarded in the bottom of the boat.
“What should we do with this?” she asked, holding it up for Cynddylig to see.
“Keep it for now, and perhaps return it to Cludydd Iorwerth if the occasion arises. You may have need of a larger blade than your knife.”
They soon had a small fire lit and September was grateful for Cynddylig’s cookery after two days without hot food. But after they had eaten, Cynddylig looked exhausted.
“You need to sleep, Cynddylig,” she said, “I’ll keep watch.”
“Thank you, Cludydd. I am in need of rest but please wake me if anything troubles you.” He settled into his sleeping bag and was soon snoring softly. September wrapped herself in her cloak and sleeping bag and sat with her back resting against the cliff. It wasn’t particularly comfortable but she needed to stay awake. She looked up. Most of her view was of the rearing bulk of the cliff, but directly above was a slice of star-filled night sky.
A soft horn note had her fumbling for her leather pouch. She was grateful for the contact with Aurddolen – another means of keeping her awake. He was very thankful they had managed to have a successful day and were safely moored in the gorge.
“Despite the flow of the river, you should reach the twin towns in two or three days. I am wary of announcing your arrival, but I shall send guides to escort you from there into the hills.”
“I am looking forward to that.”
“I am worried that with the Malevolence growing so powerful, you may face further trials. Even with the cloak masking your presence, the occasions when the Maengolauseren has been exposed have been beacons of your progress. The evil may be drawn to your route but I have no power to protect you.”
The Mordeyrn’s words worried September. Even with the starstone to defend them the threat of attacks by monsters scared her.
“May you travel safely,” the Mordeyrn said in farewell.
September put the horn away and sat gripping the locket under her cloak in one hand. She thought for a moment then took the scabbard of Tudfwlch’s sword and fitted it onto her leather belt. Then she sat again against the cliff with the stone in one hand and Tudfwlch’s sword in the other.
The night seemed to last forever although September was not certain she had been awake the whole time. It was still dark when Cynddylig stirred. He yawned and stretched.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said. He glanced up at the sliver of night sky, “There are still a couple of hours of night left. You get some sleep, lass.”
September wondered whether she would drop off having struggled to remain awake, but in a few moments she was unaware of the hard rock beneath her.
Sounds of movement and the boat bumping against the rock awoke her. It still seemed dark under the cliff but as she opened her eyes she saw twinkles of sunlight reflecting off the ripples in the river and overhead the splinter of sky was a light blue. Cynddylig was loading the boat.
“Good morning, lass,” he said cheerfully, “time to be moving.”
September rubbed her tired eyes and got up. Quickly, she prepared herself for the day’s journey and soon she was untying the rope, stepping into the bow and pushing off from the rock. Cynddylig pulled out into the stream and September looked back to the thin shaft of light that marked the entrance to the gorge and the Sun just above the distant horizon. Then they turned the bend and were back into dark shadow.
The gorge zigged and zagged like a crack in glass. Each ‘zig’ was several hundred metres long and almost the whole time they seemed to be in a shadow cast by the left or right wall of the gorge. At each bend the river crashed against the rocks as the water was forced to change direction, and the flow of water kept their speed below what September had become accustomed to. The sound of the water was a constant undertone to their travel. There was no other noise, but whenever one of them spoke their voice echoed off the walls of the gorge. They saw no other boats and there were no communities as there was no land. September found the day’s journey in the depths of the gorge sinister. She felt trapped and worried that there was nowhere to escape from the river and the immense cliffs. There were however more of the small landing stages cut into the vertical bank at intervals along the gorge, and when the sunlight disappeared from the bottom of the gorge Cynddylig made for one such spot.
They camped and prepared their evening meal quietly. September almost felt afraid to disturb the intimidating atmosphere of the gorge with their reverberating voices. When the Mordeyrn called, he was relieved that they had experienced an uneventful day but he sympathised with her feeling of unease in the deep canyon.
“Hafn Afon Deheuol is a mysterious place,” he agreed, “Few birds can find a secure perch on its smooth vertical walls and the river in flood scours the sides of the gorge of all vegetation. But you approach the end of your journey by water, and Dwytrefrhaedr has a very different atmosphere.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing people again.” As she spoke the words September saw again the crowd of evil-maddened people at Glanyrafon and Tudfwlch with the same red staring eyes. It was good, happy people she hoped to meet, not more of those invaded by the Malevolence.
19
The time had come for her to leave the dark and enter the universe of light. She swept through the slowly spinning sphere of glowing orbs and on towards the world at the centre. She avoided the planets swinging along on their orbits as they still had the gravity to pull her from her goal, and even at a distance she felt the goodness emanating from them and was disgusted. She commanded the lost souls to accompany her and they pressed on towards their destination.
Her plans were made. She knew what there was to be done. The one with whom she was connected bore a jewel of such power that it threatened her victory. It would be hers and the bearer destroyed. Then all the universe of light would be hers to control and she could wreak her vengeance with impunity. She longed for that moment when she could exercise her power.
She arrived above the blue-green world. Her quarry was invisible to her but the jewel left signs of its passage. She needed more information so that she could taunt and torment her victims. She commanded the souls to vent their hate and directed them to fashion the elements into her servants. At last Malice could begin her retribution.
20
Cynddylig woke her from a restless sleep. Over and over again the wild face of Tudfwlch had leaned over her grasping for the starstone. Time and time again she had shaken her head and denied him and each time she had been drenched by his blood. She opened her eyes to a dull day. It was still early, the unseen sun had just risen over the hidden horizon but the gorge was still dark, and the glimpse of sky overhead was overcast. September didn’t like the look of the sky; bad things seemed to happen when the weather turned poor. Perhaps the Malevolence controls the weather, she thought, but decided not to mention it to Cynddylig. He seemed untroubled as he packed the boat.
“It’s difficult to know precisely where you are in Hafn Afon Deheuol,” he said, “but tomorrow we will arrive at Dwytrefrhaedr.”
“The Mordeyrn says there will be a guide waiting for us,” September said.
“That is good because I have never travelled amongst the hills of the stars. Now we must make a start.”
Soon they were travelling along the river. The sky remained covered by thick cloud and the warmth and humidity of the air drained September of energy. She and Cynddylig took turns at steering the boat and Cynddylig talked of previous visits to the twin towns, happy times when there had been gatherings of friends and celebrations. September guessed that another of his women had been an inhabitant of the vibrant port. He still wouldn’t explain why there were two towns together. He smiled,
“It would spoil it for you if I explained,” he said.
A steady drizzle began late in the afternoon which soaked everything. When they stopped for the night the mooring place was slick with water and rock dust. September slipped when she jumped ashore and grazed her shin. When the boat was fast, Cynddylig looked at the injury.
“Use your arian, on it,” he advised. September lifted the locket and chain from around her neck and contorted herself into a position so that she could rest the silver against her shin while still remaining covered by the cloak. She imagined her shin healed and was amazed to see the bleeding stop and fresh skin form over the graze. In moments there was no sign of the wound at all. She replaced the chain around her neck.
“It’s magic,” she said as she joined Cynddylig trying to light the fire with damp twigs.
“Just the power of the planets and the metals united by the good of the Earth,” he replied, matter of factly.
They ate with the drizzle still falling on them and then September spoke to the Mordeyrn as usual.
“Your guide will be waiting at the harbour for your arrival tomorrow,” he said, “and I look forward to your arrival here at the Arsyllfa a few days hence.”
Once again September took the first watch. She sat with her back against the cliff holding Tudfwlch’s sword in her hand. She slipped it in and out of its scabbard. While it reminded her of Tudfwlch and the terror of his transformation, the sword gave her some feeling of safety. It was miserable sitting in the wet but September was heartened by the thought that the river trip was nearly over.
The good news the following morning was that the rain had stopped but instead there was a thick fog. The top of the cliffs were completely lost in the damp, grey mist and Cynddylig had difficulty in maintaining a steady course along the winding gorge with the bends obscured until they were almost upon them. The rocky sides of the gorge passed by them slowly and hypnotically. September nodded off in her seat.
A screech overhead brought her to alertness. Her birthmark was itching furiously. What bird had such a loud, deep call? Yet it seemed familiar. She looked up into the mist behind them and screamed.
“What is it?” Cynddylig yelled.
“It’s them. The adar.. whatever, the scary birds.”
There were three of the Adarllwchgwin, the huge brown birds with horned riders that had attacked her and the village the morning after she had arrived. The great eagle-like creatures swooped down towards them with huge boulders grasped in their talons. One after the other they soared over the boat dropping their load. The rocks fell to either side of the narrow boat sending up plumes of water that soaked them. As they swooped over them the riders fired flames from their three-pointed spears. Two gobbets of fire fell into the water extinguishing with a loud hiss. The third thudded into a
bag in the bow of the boat. The bag erupted into flame. Smoke rose and the fire quickly spread to other bags and the wooden hull.
“Do something!” Cynddylig shouted as he steered the boat on an erratic course, “They’ll be back.”
The giant birds of prey had risen into the mist, but their calls rebounded off the walls of the gorge. September tried to work out where they had gone or where they would come from next but the echoes confused her. The sudden attack had shocked her, the flames in the boat scared her but now she had her wits about her. She stood up in the middle of the boat and flung her cloak over her shoulders. The silver pendant was in her left hand; she flicked the locket open and held up the Maengolauseren with her arm outstretched. She drew Tudfwlch’s iron sword and held it in her right hand. She faced the bow then turned to the stern, just in time to see the Adarllwchgwin appear out of the mist, in line, their wings almost filling the width of the gorge. Their legs and talons were poised to strike and their riders held their flaming tridents in their hands ready to fire.
September felt the fear and the anger rise in her. Her hip hurt as if it was burning. She felt the twelve red eyes of the birds and their riders focussed on her. The birds’ hooked beaks opened to let out a deafening squawk as they spread their talons to grasp their victim. She gripped the stone tightly, and raised the sword. Both arms were stretched towards the attackers. The first bird was nearly upon them. The rider flung its spear. Cynddylig thrust the tiller first this way and that, the boat yawed and rolled. September stumbled but regained her footing.
“Be gone!” September screamed out. A blinding blast of blue light shot from the stone. It illuminated the gorge behind them and thunder echoed off the walls. The leading bird, hit by the force of the light was flung back, its wings crumpled and it fell into the river. September lost her balance and fell into the bottom of the hull but saw the second bird veer off its course, hit the cliff and tumble into the water, thrashing wildly as it sank. The third rose into the mist. A spear of flame gouged a charred furrow along the side of the hull.
Seventh Child Page 19
