by Paul Lewis
Life went back to how it used to be. When Megan went to the summer gathering and found a suitor I was not at all upset. When she married and moved to her husband’s village, I was, quite frankly, relieved. Every time I saw her I was reminded of what we had done that August afternoon. After her wedding, I never saw her again. I suppose she’s more than likely dead now.
All was well. To the surprise of all who knew me, I grew tall and strong. One autumn I went to the gathering with my parents and there I met the girl who would later become my wife. When we married, she came to live with me in the village. Soon afterwards she was pregnant, and in the spring of the following year, we had the first of our children.
Our eldest, a boy, had just turned ten when a girl around the same age went missing. A search was carried out, but the poor child was never found. It was assumed she had defied her parents, who had warned her never to leave the village alone, and had been taken by a wild animal. We had heard of such tragedies elsewhere, but for our village it was the first in living memory. The pain cut deep.
Several years passed, I forget exactly how many. It happened again. A little boy. Once more a search party set out. It returned in a hurry after finding mysterious tracks in the soft earth by the lake, heading north into the mountains. The men equipped themselves with provisions and weapons and set off in pursuit, Gwyn giving them his blessing but by now too old to travel with them.
They were never seen again. We could only assume they had fallen to their deaths in the treacherous mountains.
Our children grew up and raised families of their own. My wife died young and so the grandchildren were a welcome distraction. The missing children and the undiscovered fate of the search party gradually passed from memory. Gwyn went the way of all men and was returned to the earth, after which a new brehyrion was found. I got older but I kept my wits about me. People died, babies were born. The eternal cycle of life continued. Until the night the creatures came.
They must have been watching us for some time, because they knew what they wanted and where to get it. They waited until the early hours, when we were deep in sleep. Then they pounced, smashing down the doors of two huts, making off with two children.
You do not need me to tell you what happened that night. The terror that gripped the parents when they saw what foul things were stealing their children. The mad scramble for weapons as we tried in vain to stop them. The slaughter of those who stood in their way. By the time I had struggled up from bed and stumbled outside, bow primed in my trembling hands, they were already off and away with the young ones, leaving a trail of blood and broken bodies in their wake.
Men set off in pursuit, much as you have. They were gone all day. As the sun set we could hear screaming in the distance. The sound of it left us almost paralysed with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what might happen once darkness fell. No one slept that night, I can tell you. Fathers and older sons waited with swords and spears, pitchforks and scythes, anything they could lay their hands on.
The creatures did not return. The next morning it was decided to send a party of volunteers into the mountains, to find out what fate had befallen our men. They had no sooner climbed out of the valley than the volunteers found all six of them, emasculated, their eyes torn out, their bodies horribly mutilated, laid out ready to be discovered.
We spent the nights that followed in constant fear of attack. Weeks dragged by. People became sick with anxiety. The mother of one of the two stolen children died asleep in her bed; it was said she died of a broken heart. Again, though, once many months had passed without incident, we buried the memories of what had happened. It was easier than trying to live with them. We lowered our guard so gradually that I don’t think we even realised we had done so. When, a year or so later, the creatures struck again, we were no more prepared than we had been the first time, and we had fewer warriors to protect us. Only now we offered no resistance. We let them take what they wanted.
We convinced ourselves it was better that way. They would take the children regardless and there would be no bloodshed if we did not try to stop them. They did not return for another five years, and when they did, again we made no attempt to stand in their way. We were doubly cursed; not just sinners, but cowards.
I cannot tell you what happened up in those cursed mountains after Crow and her idiot grandson were left to fend for themselves and the babies. But I can guess. I think they survived and the babies grew up and committed the same foul sin as their parents. Their offspring would have been born even more twisted than they. And as for their offspring… you’ve seen them with your own eyes. Less than human, more than wild beast. Ferocious, but clever with it.
The third time they raided us was to be the last. Who can say why they came when they did and why they stopped? Not I, not with any certainty. But there are villages beyond the mountains, beyond the valley where Crow raised them. I suspect they moved from place to place, plundering at random, letting time go by before they struck again, until there were no more children left to take.
That’s what happened here. We lost six children all told, and after that, no more babies were born. It was not down to any conscious decision; it just happened that way. No woman wanted to live through the pain of losing a child, not to those monstrosities. I suspect one or two may have fallen pregnant; no man can live without a woman’s company, at least no normal man. But there are ways and means. None gave birth.
One by one the villagers died. Some of old age, some of illness; some of starvation, for our livestock sickened and died and there was no longer anything to hunt. There were those who preferred a sharp blade to living with the knowledge of what we had done. At times I thought I might do the same. I’d like to say I am still here out of some sense of defiance, a determination to outlast our bastard offspring. I’d like to claim that. But in truth I cannot. I was too afraid to take my own life, even if it would have been just another sin to add to a long list of sins.
I buried them when they died. I have been alone for so long I have forgotten how many years it has been since I spoke to a living soul. I have prayed for you to come this way, Dodinal, or someone like you. Someone with the courage to root out the evil and destroy it. Someone who is not afraid of the darkness that surrounds us all. That is why I keep the fires lit, you see; I am afraid of the dark and what dwells in it. Sometimes I hear them calling out to me: the tortured spirits of the children we let the creatures take, the restless souls of every man and woman who ever lived and died here.
Now I feel I am ready to join them. I will look after your friend until you come back. If you do not I will take him to your people, then return here. One night I will not light the fires. Instead, I will lay on my bed, and close my eyes for the last time.
Only with my passing will this village be rid of its shame.
10Grey eyes and a high forehead were much-prized in medieval women. Wealthy women would even pluck or shave their heads to raise their hairlines, in some cases as high as the crown of the head.
TWENTY
Dodinal slept uneasily and was awake before dawn. Leaving the others to their snoring, farting slumber, he went outside and breathed deeply, to clear his lungs of the stale reek of so many men in such a confined space. He sat before one of the fires, now burned down to glowing embers but still giving off enough heat to hold back the early morning cold. Before settling down for the night, he had noticed a whetstone amongst the old man’s weapons stash. Sitting by the fire, he now used it to put a keen edge on his sword, lost in reverie as he ran the stone along the blade, as he had done so many times before.
He knew he should hate the old man. As the last of his people, he must carry the blame for what they had done, the great sin they had committed. Yet he recalled, too, the old man’s words. It was as if it were happening to someone else, and I was a reluctant observer who could not turn away. Dodinal understood. It was how he had felt all those years ago, when the rage had first overtaken him as he searched through the smoulderin
g remains of his village, when he had hacked an injured and defenceless man to bloody shreds.
Incest. Murder. Different sides of the same coin.
He heard the creak of hinges and turned to see Hywel making his way carefully out of the hut, prodding the ground ahead of him with a spear, wary of obstructions. Dodinal got to his feet to help him. “What are you doing? You could trip and bang your thick head again. Then what would become of you?”
“Stop fussing,” the tracker said, making his way steadily towards the fire. “I’m feeling better. I can even see you. Sort of.”
For a moment Dodinal was silenced. It was not impossible. Head injuries were unpredictable. Even so, it sounded too good to be true, Hywel regaining his vision just as they were readying to leave. He raised a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Hywel waved away the question. “I said sort of, didn’t I? You’re a blur. To be honest, all I can see is the shape of you against the glow of the fire. But that’s more than I could see yesterday.”
“Not enough, though. Not to come with us.”
“I know, I know,” Hywel said, trying to sound unconcerned and not making a particularly convincing job of it. “My head still throbs. I think I’d better sit down before I fall down.”
They sat together, not speaking, staring into the softly glowing embers as though they held some mysterious secret. Finally Hywel let out a long, hard sigh. “I’m not very good at goodbyes.”
Dodinal kept his eyes on the fire. “Me neither.”
“Then let’s neither of us say it. I’m not going to ask to come with you. I’d get myself and the rest of you killed. No, I’ll stay here with the old man. I’ll pray for you and await your return. And if you don’t, I’ll accept his offer to take me home so I can tell Rhiannon and the rest what you did to try to help us; the sacrifices the two brothers made, too. Funny, I never really took to that pair when they were alive. Now they’ve gone I miss having them around.”
Dodinal said nothing. Then he frowned as Hywel’s words sunk in. “How did you know the old man said he would take you home?”
“Just because my eyes were closed didn’t mean I was asleep. You’d be surprised how much you hear when people don’t think you’re listening.” Hywel’s tone grew serious. “Keep your wits about you, Dodinal. Find the boy and get away as quickly as you can. Don’t try to be the hero and take them on. Better to live to fight another day.”
“Getting away in one piece will be a task in itself. Even if there only eight of them, they still outnumber us two to one.”
“You sound very calm. Aren’t you afraid? I would be.”
“Yes, I’m afraid.” The fear was there, gnawing away at his guts. “Fear is healthy. Fear keeps you vigilant. When the time comes, I’ll be ready.”
“Not too ready, I hope. I know you, Dodinal. You creep through the forest like a ghost. Wherever they are, you can be in and back out with the boy before they even realise he’s gone. Unless you’re disturbed, there should be no reason for you to confront them. If you’re tempted to avenge Idris and all those other poor bastards who died, just remember Owain will be relying on you for his life.”
“I wouldn’t be going after them if it wasn’t for the boy. My first concern is getting him out in one piece. I won’t even think about what else I should or should not do until he is safe.”
“Forget anything else,” said Hywel. “Just get back here so we can all go home together. I’d sooner walk through the forest with my victorious friends than that old man. He gives me the shivers. You heard that story of his. How can he live with the shame?”
“Don’t be so hasty to pass judgement,” Dodinal said, picking up his sword and resuming his slow, methodical sharpening. The scrape of metal on stone echoed around the narrow valley so that it sounded like a host of men preparing for battle. “Many people have secrets.”
“Yourself too?”
Dodinal said nothing.
“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me.” Hywel stood, yawning as he stretched. “I’ll go and wake the others. I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to hang around here any longer than you have to.”
Dodinal watched Hywel until he disappeared inside the hut, then finished sharpening the sword. Finally he held it straight out and plucked a hair from his beard, draping it across the blade. The hair split in two, the severed halves spiralling slowly to the ground. Satisfied, Dodinal sheathed the sword. Even the gargoyle creatures with their leathery hides would be no match for it.
The sky grew brighter. From inside the hut he could hear a chorus of coughing and raised voices, throaty with sleep and smoke. He made his way back in and was pleasantly surprised to find a pot set over the fire and a faint smell of food in the air. “It’s not much,” the old man said, squatting alongside the pot, stirring its contents. “But better to leave on a full stomach than an empty one.”
He poured thick gruel into a variety of battered old dishes and beakers and handed them around. With no spoons to eat with, they waited until the gruel had cooled before scooping it into their mouths with their fingers. It tasted of nothing much and sat like a heavy stone in Dodinal’s belly, but would keep hunger away for some time.
“Keep an eye out for goats,” their host told them as they ate. “Tough little bastards, not afraid of anything. They’ll trample and eat adders, or so it’s said. But they make good eating.”
Finally the time came for them to be on their way. They emptied their packs and sorted through their contents, taking only what they thought they would need, putting it into a single pack to lighten their load. They left their cloaks behind for the same reason.
They shook Hywel’s hand one by one, each man vowing they would be back for him. The tracker somehow conjured a smile and told them he looked forward to that day, but it was plain to see he was desperate to go with them. Dodinal was the last to leave; he looked back just before he walked outside and saw the hunter slump to the ground, head down, looking lost and alone and defeated. For a moment he almost relented, but this was not the time to allow his heart to rule his head. He raised one hand in a half-hearted salute and set off after the others.
The old man waited for them, nodding towards the southern end of the valley. Now the sun had risen, banishing the shadows around them, Dodinal could see many of the trees had been felled, their stumps like broken teeth in the mouth of the coomb; fuel for the fires that kept the ghosts at bay.
“I’ll take you as far as the lake and show you where you need to go from there. After that, you’re on your own.” The old man seemed almost pathetically eager to please, perhaps desperate to make amends in any way he could for what he and his people had done.
He led the way up the steep slope, setting a punishing pace that belied his advanced years and gaunt body. Gerwyn stayed close behind him, followed by Madoc and Gwythyr, all three of them gasping as they struggled to keep up. Dodinal saw no point in hurrying; they might as well conserve their strength. Emlyn must have felt the same way, for he walked at a steady gait alongside him. “Do you think he will be all right?” he suddenly asked.
Dodinal did not need to ask who. “He’ll be fine.”
“I wish I could be so sure.” Emlyn tapped the side of his head. “That old man hasn’t quite got a quiver full of arrows.”
“Maybe not. He’s harmless enough, though. He said he would look after Hywel, and I have no reason to doubt him. Mark my words, by the time we get back, Hywel will be too fat to do anything but waddle and we’ll be delirious with hunger.”
“You reckon we’ll be back, then?”
“We’ll be back,” Dodinal assured him.
By the time they had struggled out of the valley, they were gasping for breath and sweating like pack horses. Dodinal stared around tensely. The lake was longer than it was wide, the forest crowding its left bank. Surrounding it was a solid wall of mountains, their bare steep flanks reflected in the water, so that it appeared there was an identical range of hills beneath the surface.
At the far end of the lake was a single mighty peak, wide enough at its base to fill the landscape, narrowing as it rose impossibly high above them. Beyond it were more tall peaks, distance rendering them featureless.
“The valley lies beyond that mountain,” the old man said.
“God help us,” someone whispered.
The old man spat on the ground. “God won’t. I will. I know what you’re thinking. Might as well give up and go back.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Madoc growled.
“It looks bad, I’ll grant you that. But there’s always a way.”
Emlyn sighed with frustration. “Then take us there.”
The old man shook his head. “I gave you my word I would bring you here and I have; but no further. Too many memories. This is the first time I have stepped foot here since I heard my sister was with my father’s child. I do not intend to stay a moment longer than I have to. Dodinal, you’re the clever one. Step closer. I will tell you the way. Then I will leave you to find the valley without me.”
They gathered around him, watching as he raised his spear to point to the mountain’s left flank. “Continue to the head of the valley. You’ll see an old track leading up. It’s steep, but you’ll manage. Once you get to the top you’ll arrive at a narrow plateau. From there the going gets harder.”
Dodinal listened while the old man continued to talk of cliffs and gullies, but did not really take it in. The words were meaningless. Gerwyn nodded as the old man spoke, hopefully to indicate his understanding rather than out of misguided sense of courtesy.
“Eventually you will have to cross a narrow ridge, between steep cliffs, high above the ground. Even once you have crossed it and are within reach of the summit, you will need to be wary. The going will not be easy underfoot and there are often rock falls. Big ones. I’ve heard them from the village.”
