by Paul Lewis
Once inside, he ordered her to lay on the pallet. He found a cloth and used hot water from the pot to wash the blood from her hands and face despite her weak protestations. Then he pulled the furs up over her. “I will not sleep,” she insisted in a drowsy voice. Her eyelids drooped. Only her anger and fear were keeping her awake.
“No matter, as long as you rest. You have been through a terrible ordeal. You need to take time to regain your strength.”
At that, she cried out and sat bolt upright. “What about Owain? How can I sleep when he is all I can think of?”
Dodinal gently pushed her down. “Rest, I said. Think of your son, by all means. Only, think of the joy you will feel in your heart when I bring him safely back to you.”
She looked deep into his eyes, seeking the truth of his words and finding it. Satisfied, she nodded and settled down, turning onto her side and pulling the furs up to her chin.
Dodinal busied himself with tending to the fire, then sat at the table and stared into the flames while he slowly sharpened his sword. He went over his memories of the attack and asked himself if there was anything he could have done to have altered the outcome.
After a while he noticed Rhiannon’s breathing had slowed and was deep and steady. The anxiety had fallen from her face, and she looked once more like the kind and beautiful woman who had tended to his wounds. He would do anything for her, and for her son. It vexed him greatly to be sitting in the warmth of the fire while Owain was in the forest at the mercy of the gargoyle creatures. Every fibre of his being demanded he should be out searching for him, and for the girl. Now he knew what to look for, he would be mindful of signs of the creatures’ passage. Yet for all his gifts, he could not see tracks in the dark. Blundering off blindly in the wrong direction could set him back hours, or even days.
It was frustrating, but he had to wait.
He rested the sword against the wall and sat in silence.
Finally he drifted into sleep too.
He woke with his head at an awkward angle, his neck stiff and sore. Weak grey light seeped like watery gruel through the gap between door and floor. He had slept straight through until dawn. He stood and stretched, twisting his head from side to side until he could move it freely. It was cold. The fire had burned low. He fed it wood and banked it until it flared into life.
He warmed his hands above the flames, then crouched by the bed where Rhiannon slept, her chest gently moving, her lips slightly parted.
He let her remain undisturbed, holding on to that image of her while he pulled on his cloak and fastened it at his shoulder. There was every chance he would not survive to see her again. This was how he wanted to remember her. Restful, without the weight of the world on her shoulders. He gathered his sword and the spear Idris had given him before slipping silently from the hut.
To his surprise, Gerwyn was waiting outside, leaning against the wall close to the door, bow held loosely in one hand. Judging from the dew that glistened on his cloak, he had been there for some time, since before sunrise, waiting for Dodinal to emerge. He had a pack over one shoulder and a quiver bristling with arrows over the other. When the knight stepped out, he straightened and cleared his throat nervously. “How is Rhiannon?”
“Asleep,” Dodinal said shortly, setting off for the gates, not only because he was anxious to make a start but also to draw the other man away from the hut so their voices would not disturb her.
“Good.” Gerwyn hurried after him. “I… I wanted to apologise.”
“You should be apologising to Rhiannon, not me.”
“I will, the next time I see her. But I didn’t just mean about last night, though I admit I spoke out of turn. If you want to know, I am ashamed of myself. I’ve been less than courteous to you since you arrived. My behaviour has been unforgivable. Even so, I hope you will forgive me.” He shrugged helplessly. “Give me a second chance.”
Dodinal pondered this as he passed the remains of the Great Hall. It was a charred wreck: the roof gone, the walls reduced to the blackened bones of their frames. The air around was still rank with the acrid stink of burning. Would anyone have the heart to rebuild it now that Idris was dead?
He had no reason to trust Gerwyn, but the man sounded sincere enough. Of course, he was now aware of what had transpired while he was away hunting. Perhaps the shock of losing his father had rattled him sufficiently to bring him to his senses. If so, it was encouraging. There could yet be hope that Gerwyn had it within him to one day follow his father as brehyrion. One day. He still had a long way to go.
“I forgive you,” Dodinal answered flatly, hoping that was the end of it and he could be on his way. He had a long journey ahead.
“Really?” Gerwyn sounded almost pathetically grateful.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“You really don’t mind if we travel together?”
Dodinal halted and glared down at the younger man, who defiantly stood his ground. “I said I forgave you, nothing more. Anyway, what makes you think I am going anywhere?”
Gerwyn raised an eyebrow. “You creep out of here at dawn with sword and spear, and expect me to believe you’re not leaving?”
“I could be going hunting, for all you know.”
“But you’re not. You’re going after them, aren’t you? Owain and the girl, and those… whatever they were, that took them.”
There was no point pretending otherwise. “Yes, I’m going after them. Thank you for your offer, but I prefer to travel alone.”
“If you will not let me walk with you, I will follow.” Gerwyn had a determined set to his jaw. His voice was hoarse with emotion. “My father is dead because of those things. Rhiannon was right. I should have been here. That’s something I will have to live with for the rest of my life. I cannot change what has happened, but I can at least try to make amends by revenging his death.”
“A man who thirsts for vengeance grows to despise himself.” Dodinal could not disguise his bitterness. “Believe me. I know that all too well.”
“It’s not just about vengeance,” Gerwyn insisted, his hands becoming as animated as they had been when he talked his father into letting him go hunting. “Owain is my brother’s son. He is blood kin. I may not show it as openly as my father did, but I care for him a great deal. Go ahead, leave alone, if that is what you want. I will not be far behind you and you cannot stop me.”
Dodinal raised his eyes to the brightening sky and sighed long and hard. He could stop him if he wanted to. But even if he knocked Gerwyn down, he would just get back up again. He was a man on a quest of his own now. There would be no standing in his way.
“Why don’t you wait until after your father’s funeral?”
“My reasons are similar to yours. You want to be gone before Rhiannon wakes, because of your feelings for her.”
“I have no feelings for her,” Dodinal interrupted testily, the words sounding false even to his own ears. He turned and walked away. Again Gerwyn pursued him.
“Yes, you do. She has feelings for you, too. It’s clear to see. That is why you leave while she sleeps: if she were to walk out here now, you would have second thoughts.”
“No, I would not,” Dodinal said, although he wondered if, despite having sworn to find her son, his resolve would falter if she did come hurrying after him. “Besides, you still have not answered my question. Why won’t you wait until after your father’s funeral?”
“Because I would be shamed to stand among the villagers while they paid their last respects.” Gerwyn dropped his head. “I do not deserve to be here, not until I have redeemed myself by bringing Owain home. I could not bring myself to look Rhiannon in the eye.”
Dodinal studied him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity or duplicity and finding none. Short of killing him, there was no shaking him off for now. Gerwyn may be an ass, but he did not deserve Dodinal’s sword run through him. Fine, then. Let them walk together, if that was how it had to be. Dodinal could always lose him in the
wildwood if he began to get on his nerves. “All right.”
Gerwyn smiled. He went to speak, but Dodinal forestalled him. “As long as you keep your mouth shut. If you annoy me any more than you have done, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
He lifted the sword half out of his sheath, then let it drop back.
The smile faltered. When they passed through the gates, Dodinal understood why.
Waiting for them were Gerwyn’s two friends, the brothers whose names he still did not know. They carried spears and had swords in their belts. Like Gerwyn they had packs as well as bows, and quivers, bristling with arrows. There, too, was Hywel the tracker, and with him was Emlyn, who had the surest aim of all the village’s hunters. Both men were armed and carrying packs of their own.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, although the meaning was all too apparent. They had planned it well in advance.
“You were prepared to travel in company,” Gerwyn answered, flashing his teeth in a nervous grin. “So what difference does it make if one man travels with you or several? You have nothing but the clothes you stand in and the weapons you hold. You could not even start a fire. Between us, we have everything an expedition needs. Well, except food. But we will hunt. We will not go hungry.”
Dodinal doubted that, but otherwise Gerwyn’s words rang true. Having lost his pack, he was woefully equipped for the journey.
“Besides,” Hywel said, looking somewhat sheepish, “Idris was our brehyrion. We all respected and loved him. We have come to respect you, too. We will not let you fight this battle alone.”
“Then it’s decided,” Gerwyn said. “There is safety in numbers. We will be safer as a group than we would be going it alone.”
Dodinal’s grumbles were half-hearted. He really had intended travelling alone, but had not rated his chances of success very highly. He was just one man. The creatures had torn through the village. Twenty dead, almost a third of them women, many more badly injured.
The odds were still against him, but not, now, quite as heavily as they might otherwise have been.
“Well, seeing as you’re all here, we might as well set off,” he growled. Giving Gerwyn a last baleful look, he also saw a way of turning the situation to his advantage. If the young man did make it back with the children, the villagers would doubtless be less reluctant for Gerwyn to take over from Idris. So he leant forward to whisper to Gerwyn. “I’ll track, you lead. Show these men you have the courage to become brehyrion.”
Gerwyn jerked his head back in surprise. Then he nodded.
As they set off towards the forest, Dodinal paused to look back at the sleeping village. He was struck by a sudden premonition he would never pass this way again.
SIXTEEN
They moved at a steady pace, driven by a sense of urgency but wary of tiring themselves out too quickly. Tendrils of mist rose from the ground as if the land itself were sending guardians to walk with them. Gerwyn led, with constant glances over his shoulder towards Dodinal to make sure he was heading north. The knight either nodded or subtly gestured left or right if they had drifted off course. If Gerwyn possessed any tracking skills at all he would only have had to look up to see what direction they needed to travel.
The creatures could move at will through the trees and so must know which branches would take their weight. But their instincts were not infallible; branches that looked strong may have been weakened by disease or age. Some of them had been left hanging loose or had snapped off and fallen to the ground.
Of course, Gerwyn saw nothing of this. He was a hunter, but his prey was only ever to be found on the ground, not above it.
Soon after they left the village, the trail of damaged branches petered out and vanished. Dodinal was not unduly concerned. He kept his eyes on the forest floor. Sure enough, it was not long before he found a single set of tracks; the burned creature’s spoor.
He said nothing. The others only had to know which path to follow. When he looked around, his companions were oblivious to the trail. All save Hywel. He nodded briefly to show he had not missed it. Dodinal smiled; he would have expected nothing less of such an accomplished woodsman.
Time passed. Shadows fled the forest as dawn gave way to early morning sunlight. The travellers spoke little, aware of the need to conserve their strength, and breath, for the long journey ahead. Along the way, however, Dodinal learned that Gerwyn’s two friends were named Tomos and Rhydian. They were brothers, as he’d assumed; indeed, so similar were they in looks that he found it difficult to tell them apart. Not that it mattered. They were so jittery around him that they walked a good distance away, speaking only between themselves and to Gerwyn, and even then in lowered tones.
As the sun climbed the sky, the day became pleasantly warm. The air carried more than a promise of spring. Dodinal walked with his cloak carried over his shoulder. He wondered if Rhiannon was awake, and whether she had forgiven him for leaving while she slept.
He wondered, too, what she would make of Gerwyn’s absence, and what words might be said at the brehyrion’sfuneral. But there was no gain in thinking about that. At least the villagers were in good hands. If anyone could get them fed and sheltered, it was Rhiannon.
Around them were the first true signs of the new season: green buds speckled the branches, and daffodils, snowdrops and bluebells pushed up through the ground, filling the air with their scent.
Memories of the hard winter just past were already fading. All that was missing was the birdsong that usually greeted the season. Its absence was jarring and wrong, as if Dodinal had looked down to find he had no shadow.
“I expect you’re in a bad mood with us.” It was Hywel. He had fallen in beside Dodinal, as had Emlyn. The knight had been too lost in his reverie to notice their approach.
“What? Why?”
“For not letting you travel alone.”
Dodinal shrugged. “Say nothing of this to Gerwyn or his friends, but I’m glad to have company, even though it is not the company I might have expected. I suspected you might impose your presence upon me, whether it was wanted or not.”
Hywell and Elwyn grinned at him.
“But I did not expect you to conspire behind my back, not with Gerwyn, of all people.”
Hywel pulled a face. “I did not conspire with him. I overheard him tell his friends he was going with you, and they said they were going too. I wasn’t going to let them go without me, and I said as much to Emlyn here. Of course he then insisted on coming along.”
“Aye,” Emlyn confirmed. “So we confronted Gerwyn and, well, that was that.”
“Sounds more complicated than any conspiracy,” Dodinal said, with a low chuckle.
They continued in companionable silence.
After a while they heard sounds in the distance, and Dodinal realised they were close to Madoc’s village. He said as much to Gerwyn, who was keen to call on the chieftain, to tell him what had happened. “He knew my father. He would want to know of his death.”
Dodinal would rather have continued uninterrupted, so they could cover as much ground as possible before having to make camp for the night. They had no idea how far north the creatures had travelled but it was reasonable to assume they were many miles ahead of them. Any delay could mean the difference between finding Owain alive and finding him dead.
At the same time, he understood why Gerwyn would want to talk to one chieftain about the passing of another. So he agreed with good grace. There would be no need for them to stay long. Let Gerwyn tell his story. Then they would be away.
Sawing and hammering and the thump of axes on wood rang out through the forest well before Madoc’s village came into sight. Dodinal nodded his approval. His warning about strengthening their meagre defences had obviously been heeded.
The cropped-haired chieftain seemed surprised but pleased to see them. The work continued around him when he walked out to greet them at the edge of the forest, calling out to announce their presence. A trench was being du
g around the village perimeter. Stakes had been piled on the ground nearby, ready to form a palisade, while two men were nailing lengths of timber together to fashion a gate. Dodinal could not bring himself to tell them their efforts would have all been for nothing should the creatures come in search of fresh prey.
Madoc summoned his men and they put down their tools and gathered around, while Gerwyn told the tale as it had been recounted to him. Their faces darkened when he spoke of the creatures that had attacked the village. Several men made quick gestures to ward off evil. Then Gerwyn described how his father had died, and several of them cried out in dismay. He told the tale so well, for one who had not been there, that Dodinal was impressed despite himself.
“I am sorry,” Madoc said, reaching out to clasp Gerwyn’s shoulder. “Your father was a good man. We shared many a drink and plenty of laughter at the gatherings over the years. For him to meet his end in such a manner is an insult. He deserved better.”
“That is not the end of it.” Gerwyn explained how Owain had been taken, and the girl Annwen too. When he was done, there was a heavy silence. Men bowed their heads, or stared with renewed anxiety into the forest, as though fearful the creatures were lurking just out of sight within the trees, waiting to pounce.
“So you are hunting them down?” Madoc asked eventually, looking not at Gerwyn but at Dodinal.
Dodinal nodded.
“Then I will hunt them with you.”
Dodinal inwardly groaned, having heard the same too often already. Before he had the chance to respond and decline the chieftain’s offer with as much grace as he could muster, another voice called out, “As will I.”
It was the man he had last seen trying to comfort his wife as she prayed over her son’s dead body, laid out on the table in Madoc’s hut. The father of the boy Wyn. His eyes had been red with grief then; now, they were bright with anger.
“Gwythyr, no,” Madoc said. “I forbid it. This is no time to forsake your woman. She needs you at her side.”
