The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  ‘What if I can make him get so drunk, he won’t remember if we did it or not?’

  ‘That would work just as well, I suppose.’

  ‘And I don’t have to stop seeing Taliesin?’

  ‘That is your decision, not mine.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to marry and Dad says I don’t have to?’

  ‘Then I suppose you won’t have to, if you’re happy to be considered a scarlet woman and your son named a bastard.’

  That stung, thought Anwen. ‘And I won’t ever have to leave Ty Mawr?’

  ‘That remains to be seen. Are you prepared to act quickly on this, before you start showing?’ Nerys switched the tack of the conversation.

  ‘Yes, why, do you have anyone in mind?’ Anwen switched it back.

  ‘Maybe … Are you prepared to start coming to church with me every Sunday?’

  ‘Maybe. Why?’

  ‘Answer the question and stop trying to control the conversation, I’m far more skilled at it than you. Will you come, Anwen?’

  Anwen hesitated before replying, ‘Yes, if you tell me why.’

  ‘A multitude of reasons, one ...’ Nerys ticked them off on her fingers. ‘The vicar’s son is single, malleable and by all accounts a good, kind young man – easy to manipulate. Two, he shares the same surname as you – no relation though, so should you be fool enough not to marry, at least some folks will presume he’s your husband. Three, I can’t abide the vicar’s wife, never have done, and the chance to bring her down a peg or two and cast shame upon her family is far too good an opportunity to miss, may God forgive me.’ Nerys crossed herself and smiled, ‘What do you think?’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Ransom was over, the Solstice was fast approaching and Aeron Ddu, King of the Winter Realm felt wonderful as he stood gazing out into the clear, star peppered night sky. He could feel a cold breeze tugging his shirt, ruffling his hair and he felt alive.

  He stood in rapture of the landscape laid out before him, the rugged beauty of mountains, the harsh jagged outcrops, the rough, rolling grasslands, the winding streams and undulating rivers surging through the misty, windswept valleys, the sheer enormity of the vista made him feel right.

  He absentmindedly rubbed his forearm, something he was unconscious of, but was doing more and more frequently. He let his mind wander, sending his thoughts out onto the wind, he closed his eyes and became the wind, spinning and gliding on its nomadic flux.

  Up and up on the thermals he flew, circling the valley that stretched out beneath his drifting consciousness, up and up through the icy veil of clouds and into the perfect, inky sky: this was his rhapsody, this was his elation.

  A wretched, timid knocking coming from far away caught his attention. He tried to ignore it but his concentration had been intruded upon and so he withdrew his mind and focused inward once more.

  ‘What is it?’ he thundered, furious at the interruption.

  A nervous young Druid shuffled in, head down and visibly quaking. ‘My Lord,’ he stammered, ‘you, you asked to be informed as the Druid Council went into session.’

  ‘Where is Afagddu?’ Aeron barked.

  ‘He, he is to be reprimanded at the Council, sire,’ the Druid offered.

  ‘Why?’ Aeron looked like a bird about to descend on an insect as he towered above the young man.

  ‘For angering the Bwy Hir and causing disgrace to his brethren, sire, and so he must be punished.’ He shrank back as Aeron leaned forward.

  ‘You all anger the Bwy Hir,’ Aeron boomed, ‘you all cause disgrace to yourselves with your ceaseless jostling for power and relentless thirst for knowledge. You are all guilty of that which you accuse my Councillor of, little Druid. I want him brought to me this instance – no, better still, I will fetch him myself.’

  Brushing the terrified messenger aside Aeron charged down the central staircase and out into the Druid infested lower hallways. He stormed into the Council Chambers, sending the elder Druids into tumult until he calmly took his seat positioned in the centre of the far wall overlooking the entire hall and the rows upon rows of benches set to either side. A long rectangular oak table divided the centre of the room, abutting the Senior Druids’ benches and ending with a lectern and step at its opposite end.

  Once all the benches were filled, a wizened old Druid slowly stood from his seat. His oversized garments threatened to swamp him as he struggled to stand on feeble legs, his chain of office hung heavily around his scrawny neck and his hands were withered, arthritic claws as he clutched for his ceremonial crook. It took all his strength and effort just to knock the brass butt of his black crook on the floor to open the session. ‘Come one, come all, the brethren are in session,’ he croaked, with a reedy voice. ‘Come with open hearts and open minds for the glory of the Druids, to the service of the Bwy Hir, for the sake of all mankind let us lay bare the Elders’ proposals and convene with honour, other measures will be laid before you.’ He flopped back into his seat, energy spent. There was a rustle from the benches as each Druid removed his cowl to bare his face, so each could be seen clearly and identified.

  Aeron lent back in his lofty chair. He crossed his legs and began to tap his foot while he scanned the rows of faces until he came upon Afagddu sitting humbly on the furthest bench at the back of the hall, the others drawn away from him, sitting apart to disassociate themselves from the fallen Druid. Aeron scowled and drummed his fingers upon his thigh.

  ‘I call this session to order,’ an elder Druid droned, as he stood to rise from the front bench to Aeron’s right. ‘There are a number of issues to discuss on the agenda, but first let me make the apologies.’ He shuffled a handful of papers.

  ‘Ah, apologies!’ Aeron leaned forward, peering down upon the assembly, a murmur filled the benches and the poor old Druid had to stand once again to knock his black crook on the stone floor and attempt to restore order. The Elder Druids had swivelled in their seats to gape at Aeron looming over them.

  ‘My Lord?’ The Elder Druid with the handful of papers spoke with a shaky voice, uncertain of the interruption.

  ‘You were getting to the apologies,’ Aeron prompted enigmatically.

  ‘Yes … thank you my Lord.’ The Elder cleared his throat to continue.

  He opened his mouth but Aeron interrupted once again. ‘Only, I am curious as to whom you are intending to apologise to?’

  The Elder was obviously puzzled and he scratched his head, ‘My Lord, I am about to apologise for those who are not in attendance, for reasons I shall explain to the assembly.’

  ‘Oh,’ Aeron feigned ignorance, ‘my sincere apologies Elder, I presumed you were about to apologise to Afagddu.’ There was a collective intake of breath. Aeron waited.

  ‘May I inquire as to why I would be making an apology to Afagddu and not an apology to your person on his behalf?’ The poised Elder searched the benches for support, but found nothing but downcast craven eyes.

  ‘You may indeed inquire my brave friend,’ Aeron granted generously. ‘At least you have the courage to request enlightenment.’

  Silence filled the Chamber. All the Druids seemed to be holding their breath, most held their heads down while others peered about the hall, twisting their heads like foraging birds.

  ‘I am waiting for your question, Elder.’ Aeron leaned further still, resting his forearms on his muscular thighs as he spread his knees taking a dominant, eager stance.

  ‘My question …’ the Elder’s mind was in turmoil, he had trapped himself in a perilous snare and he desperately sought a way to escape. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and upper lip, his heart pounded in his chest and he could find no way to escape the question. ‘My question is … why I … we … should apologise to Afagddu?’ He gulped.

  ‘A fine question and bravely delivered!’ Aeron exclaimed. ‘A question that deserves, nay demands an answer, is it not?’ he smiled, nodding his head approvingly, opening his arms wide to encompass the entire hushed hall. ‘Is it not?’ he sud
denly bellowed, his manner changed like quicksilver.

  A flustered chorus of agreement erupted. The Druids were ruffled, they were scared, they were compliant and exactly where Aeron wanted them to be, but he was not finished. ‘I shall answer your question, brave Elder.’ He stepped down from his seat and strutted into the centre of the hall. ‘The reason you should apologise to Afagddu is many-fold, where should I begin?’ He spoke as if to children. ‘He is your brother and yet you set upon him to drag him down, why? You say he disgraced his brethren, how so? You banish him to the rear stalls, like some new initiate, exile him from his rightful seat of honour, again I ask you why?’ Aeron spun around slowly, taking in every Druid, pausing for an answer.

  ‘You babble of disgrace and punishment, in my eyes you are all guilty of that which you illogically accuse my Councillor, how dare you? How dare you?’ Aeron’s eyes were afire with controlled fury. ‘He is my Councillor and Advisor, not yours!’ He pointed a finger at the Elders as he spoke. ‘It is for me to punish where I see fit, it is for me to judge if he is at fault, he is mine to discipline as I see fit, not you!’ Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled at the Elders. ‘Was my chastisement not enough for you? Do you consider me at fault that you would call him before this session and punish him further? How dare you? You grasp above yourselves, Elders!’ Aeron panted as he fought to control himself. ‘But no matter,’ his voice quieted as his temper faded, ‘if my chastisement did not satisfy, then I can soon remedy that disappointment.’ Heads shot up and worried glances passed through the rows of Druids. ‘You will all feel my wrath, all taste my punishment, excluding Afagddu who has been punished enough. You will all cloister yourself in your cells until the next sunrise. You will all perform the self-flagellation ritual. You will all contemplate your arrogance and selfishness. You will all leave my presence now!’ He screamed the last word.

  There was a mass exodus as the Druids stood as one, each bowing solemnly and filing towards the exit. Pushing and shoving began at the great door as Druids became desperate to leave quickly enough to stall the Storm King’s further anger. When the last stragglers had vanished, only two Druids remained: Afagddu fast in his seat, head bowed, eyes closed, and the crumpled figure of the old Druid who had called the Council to order. He lay prostrate upon the floor near the exit, his black crook laying discarded beside him.

  Aeron felt a pang of sympathy for the old Druid. He respectfully lifted the fragile man and set him gently on his feet, grabbing his crook and delicately handing it to him to steady himself before tenderly urging him on his way. ‘And so goes your brethren,’ Aeron spoke sadly, ‘every man for himself.’

  Afagddu slowly lifted his head to show an ashen face. ‘And I am one of them.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mab lay awake upon her sheepskin swathed cot. She twisted and turned but could not find comfort in whatever position she moved into while desperately trying to relax. The candles in the lanterns swinging from the roof poles marked the passage of time. Awel had been gone too long.

  She could see a tiny portion of the sky through the top of the roof designed to let brazier and candle smoke escape. Thick billowing storm clouds had long since hidden the stars and Mab could feel the rains slowly approaching. She could also feel Aeron’s fury, from a long way off, but still ominous. Had he found out about Gwrnach’s involvement in their experiment?

  Mab was worrying herself into madness. She braced herself into the cot, refusing to give in to her need to pace the floor. Where was Awel? What was taking so long? What if she’d been found with the message for Anwen of Ty Mawr? What if she’d been caught red handed by Aeron? What if Gwrnach wasn’t trustworthy? What if Olwyn couldn’t have been coerced?

  With a cry of despair Mab threw herself up and began pacing the length of her chambers, back and forth, back and forth, her skirts swish-swishing as she paced, her hands wringing together, her teeth grinding.

  ‘Why, anybody would think that you missed me!’ Awel beamed from the tent flap, shaking the first drops of rain from her cloak as she entered.

  Mab threw herself at Awel and embraced her in a vice-like hug. ‘I was so worried, Awel. Where have you been all this time?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been and I am ravenous!’ Awel flopped onto the cushions strewn over the floor. ‘My stomach believes my throat to be cut and I shall not say another word until I have eaten my fill.’

  Mab immediately produced a tray and placed it on her friend’s lap. Bread, cheese, cold venison cuts and the last of the season’s strawberries filled Awel’s gaze and she tucked into it with relish, swilling it all down with a goblet of the sweetest wine that only the Tylwyth Teg could produce so flawlessly.

  Mab waited as patiently as one could when afflicted with such little patience. She watched Awel laboriously chew every mouthful and gulp every swig until she could stand it no longer. ‘Must I wring your news from you?’ she wailed impetuously.

  Awel smirked and nearly choked. ‘You lasted longer than I thought you would! So, let me unravel my tale of an evening well spent …’

  ‘It worked!’ Mab threw her arms in the air in jubilation, she sat for a few moments more in stunned astonishment before throwing her hand to her mouth and stifled a delighted giggle. ‘It works, Awel!’ she whispered, ‘it works!’

  ‘Far better than the Druids’ black brew, but whether it will help to secure more Bwy Hir offspring?’

  ‘But surely, even so, it’s still a far better ateb – you said there was no violence, no anger, no memory loss, no side effects.’

  ‘No side effects that we know of yet, Mab. But you are right, it seems to work completely differently. Gwrnach and Oli both enjoyed their encounter, enjoyed, shared and dare I say it – loved.’ Awel shook her head, she almost would have disbelieved her own words, but she had seen it for herself.

  ‘We must reveal this to the rest of the Bwy Hir, Awel, as soon as possible.’ Mab was elated, this could change the Bwy Hir forever.

  ‘We must not!’ Awel said. ‘Not yet, Mab, use your head and not your heart for a moment. What would you have us do, call the Bwy Hir together and say, “by the way Taliesin’s created his own ateb using Helgi blood. Why? Oh, because he’s been rutting a Chosen’s daughter, oh, and by the way she’s pregnant, but never mind, it’s all fine because the Druids have been poisoning the Host with their vile brew, but we’ve got a better way now, one that still makes you potent, but doesn’t make the Host cruel and violent while they have their way with the Pride!”’ Awel pulled her face and shook her head.

  ‘But Awel!’ Mab was distraught.

  ‘But nothing, we can’t reveal this yet, we must wait for Taliesin’s return in Spring, and yes, we must use the Druid ateb this Solstice … I’m so sorry Mab.’ Awel felt dreadful, she knew how Mab felt about the Solstice, knew what this new ateb meant to her, but Awel could not, would not risk this blowing up in their faces. It had to be planned, perfected and only then revealed, this was too important to ruin. They also had to ensure Taliesin’s protection and that of his unborn Halfling child, that was a problem too big to contemplate for now and so she pushed it to the back of her mind. ‘I have had one idea … what if we say the Tylwyth Teg created the new ateb?’ Awel tried to find something positive to placate Mab.

  ‘Where did they get the blood from?’ Mab sounded negative, dejected.

  ‘One of the Chosen surrendered it willingly?’ Awel suggested.

  ‘You know as well as I that we may not receive blood at any other time except the Solstice.’ Mab looked despondent.

  ‘We didn’t – the Tylwyth Teg did.’ Awel tried to sound confident.

  ‘You hang by the skin of your teeth, Awel. The Druids will want to study the ateb. How do we explain the hound’s blood when they find it? Does it even work without the hound’s blood? Mayhap it will not work with Human blood?’

  ‘Well, you’ve changed your tune!’ Awel grumbled.

  ‘I listen well to my Councillor and heed her advice,’
Mab countered, ‘and besides, why would the rest of the Bwy Hir believe the Tylwyth Teg had suddenly come up with an ateb? They don’t even speak to us, let alone attend the Solstice, so how would they even know what an ateb is in the first place?’

  ‘It was only a suggestion,’ Awel snapped, ‘and besides who knows what the Tylwyth Teg know, as you pointed out they never speak, never look you in the eye, they sit somewhere between servant and host, ally and antagonist. Who knows what they know, who knows who they really are?’

  The Tylwyth Teg were an ancient race who made their home the hollow they shared openhandedly with the Pride. They had welcomed the Bwy Hir when the Pride had sought refuge from the woes of humanity and had split away from the Host to follow a different path.

  Bwy Hir males and females did not sit well together, feuds and fractions, vehemence and disputes marred the lives of the Bwy Hir when they were merged together. Much better to separate and live a liberated existence than to suffer the repression of another’s conviction, and so they had split to form the two factions that still existed: Host and Pride.

  The Host had already gathered the Druids to them before the parting. Awel had often wondered if the Druids had been the catalyst to the breaking. No member of the Pride approved of the black clad men, nor the gift that had been bestowed upon them by Bran when the Bwy Hir still walked the world of the Lost.

  Many eons ago Bran had given the gift of fire to the fellowship of bards and Druids that resided on Ynys Mon, an island of stark beauty that in times long past had a spit of land connecting it to the mainland. Bran would often visit the island via the sand spit and accept tribute from the Druids and bards in exchange for his blessing.

  Torcs and broaches, ales and breads, silver goblets and plates of copper and gold were showered upon Bran. He would sit among the throng of Humans, towering over them and spin fanciful tales of great valour and mystery. He loved these people as much as they worshipped him.

  But a terrible day was looming, godless warriors from the mainland stormed the island, murdering and pillaging as they invaded. Bran was furious and rallied the Druids to stand and fight. Bran was helpless to defend his followers as he held fast to the covenant and watched helplessly as the marauding warriors slayed the Druids one by one, until Bran, so incensed by the butchery, bestowed his gift upon the Druids, granting them a weapon far more deadly than the invaders’’.