by Lowri Thomas
‘Gwyn!’ Bryn’s panicked voice shot through the silence, ‘Your father’s stirring!’
Gwyn rushed to his father’s side. Dafydd was slowly moving his head from side to side, his eyelids flickered and a low moan escaped his lips.
‘I’m here, Dad.’ Gwyn gripped his father’s hand, but Dafydd grew still again, his breathing slowed and he remained as if asleep. Gwyn dropped his head and rested it on his father’s shoulder, still gripping his hand.
‘But that’s a good sign, isn’t it?’ Bryn stammered as he peered over Gwyn’s shoulder. God, please let it be so, Gwyn prayed.
Dai shuffled into the room and Bryn busied himself adding logs to the fire. ‘Gwyn, we need some clothes of Anwen’s and Nerys’.’ Dai’s voice was full of compassion.
Gwyn raised his head. ‘Why?’
Dai tipped his head towards the front room. ‘They’re going to send the hounds out to try and find them.’
Gwyn’s eyebrows knotted together.
‘No, no, Gwyn, you misunderstand me. They’re going to try and find them, bring ‘em back safe an’ sound …’ He left it unsaid.
Gwyn relaxed. ‘I’ll go fetch something.’ He released his father’s hand and stood up. ‘I need to let Bara out, she’ll be chewing Dad’s bedroom to pieces.’
Dai and Bryn gave Gwyn encouraging smiles as he left to go upstairs. ‘What a bloody mess,’ Dai said, shaking his head.
‘Do you know what’s going on?’ Bryn asked, eying the doorway.
‘No-one’s got a clue. The Druids are as perplexed as the rest of us. My heart goes out to the boy, with Dafydd being in such a bad way. He doesn’t need the girls wandering off in the middle of the night.’
‘I’ll be glad to get home,’ Bryn grumbled, as he poured himself another drink, ‘this house gives me the creeps, too much death and disaster in its history.’ Bryn shivered.
‘Don’t be talking that way in front of the boy – here he is.’ Bara entered first, sniffing and wagging her tail, she went straight to Dafydd and sat next to him on the floor, leaning her head to rest on Dafydd’s shoulder. Gwyn followed carrying one of Anwen’s favourite jumpers and a cardigan belonging to Nerys. He was reluctant to surrender them to Dai as he didn’t want the Druids mauling them.
‘I’ll see you get them back, Gwyn,’ Dai said reassuringly. ‘Nerys will be furious if we let these clothes get all spoiled,’ he added, trying to sound light-hearted.
Gwyn passed the clothes to Dai and he carried it off back into the front room. Gwyn knew a Druid was hanging around in there, not coming out in case one of the Lost showed up. They were still waiting for the ambulance.
‘Gwyn?’ Bryn sat down on the arm of a chair clutching his cognac. ‘You can stay at the pub tonight if you like. We’ve got plenty of room for you and you’d be more than welcome.’
‘Thanks Bryn, but my place is here.’ He sat beside Bara and rubbed her head. ‘I need to look after the farm until my dad’s back on his feet and besides, someone has to wait for Anwen and Nerys.’
‘Gwyn, your dad …’
‘Dad will get better and Anwen and Nerys will come home safe and sound.’ Gwyn spoke louder than he intended. He heard the anger in his own voice. He slammed his mouth shut and concentrated on the fire.
‘I’m sorry, Gwyn, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Bryn apologised. ‘I’m always shoving my foot in my mouth. Bah, what do I know anyway?’
‘Bugger all!’ Dai said, as he joined them by the fire and took a seat with a sigh. ‘Bugger all, Bryn, so shut your trap and pass me a drink will you?’
Bryn was embarrassed and shuffled off to the drinks cabinet, the bottles rattling together as Bryn tinkered with the selection.
‘Your dad will pull through this, you mark my words.’ Dai’s voice was full of confidence. ‘He’ll be fine, Gwyn.’ Dai leant forward and patted Gwyn’s arm. They sat in silence for a while, watching the flames flicker in the stove, listening to the pop and hiss of the logs as they were consumed, listening to Dafydd’s steady breathing and the thoughts in their own heads.
Gwyn was trying to savour the peace before the chaos began, before strangers started tramping all over the house, before friends and neighbours started piling in, before the phone got reconnected, before his father got taken away to the hospital. He needed Nerys here to field the phone calls, he needed Anwen here to rally around making tea and sandwiches and growling at him to ‘get out of the way’. He needed his father here to take control, to tell him everything was going to be alright, but he was alone with only Bara for company. He leaned against her warm body and she licked his face affectionately. I love you too, Bara. He sent out to her and she seemed to understand what he was thinking. Where were the women?
‘They’re all taking their bloody time,’ Bryn grumbled, disturbing the silence as he fidgeted.
‘Shut up, you old woman,’ Dai shot back, ‘they’ll be here when they’re here.’
Gwyn presumed Bryn meant everyone: the locals, the ambulance, the Druids, the neighbours, the search party and the busybodies. Gwyn was happy they hadn’t arrived yet.
The lights dimmed for the third time and Dai got up, returning only after a short moment. ‘Sorry, Gwyn,’ Dai looked embarrassed, ‘I need to take Dafydd’s amulet.’
Gwyn didn’t understand what Dai was saying at first. ‘What amulet?’
‘His chain, Gwyn.’ Dai fished in his shirt pulling his chain up through the collar.
‘Oh, I see, sorry, Dai.’ Gwyn got to his knees and pulled Dafydd’s blanket down to his chest. The chain was missing.
‘It’s not here.’ Gwyn was confused, Dafydd never took it off. Dai leaned over the back of the sofa to check for himself.
‘Is it stuck in his clothes?’ Dai suggested, as he moved to the crumpled, sodden pile at the foot of the sofa. He shook each item, scrunched the pockets, doubled checked inside and out of each garment, but the amulet was nowhere to be found.
‘I’ll go tell them. Perhaps it slipped off in the fields on the way back here?’ Dai vanished again, returning once again, looking uncomfortable. ‘Um, they want your amulet then, until your father’s turns up.’
Gwyn’s blood was up, he was worried about Dafydd, about Anwen and Nerys. He was tired and he was agitated, he’d had enough. He pushed himself to his feet, biting at his lower lip with his teeth as he yanked at his amulet, breaking the chain. ‘Yeah, well they can come and take it from me!’ he shouted, as he held the amulet out in front of him.
Dai moved quickly, stepping into Gwyn’s space and spreading his arms wide. ‘No Gwyn, you’ve enough trouble heaped on your head, don’t be looking for more, not tonight. Your dad’s off to hospital, so best not to have the amulet on show, but his is missing so they’re just keeping hold of yours for now, there’s nothing funny going on.’
Gwyn’s chest heaved in and out as he struggled to control is anger. He wanted to punch something, someone. He wanted to scream and howl, tear and slash, he wanted this morning back. He slammed the amulet into Dai’s outstretched hand and Bryn let out an explosive breath he didn’t know he was holding.
‘You’ve done the right thing, Gwyn.’ Dai nodded, looking down at his hand. ‘It’s only for now.’
‘They can keep it,’ Gwyn spat to Dai’s back, ‘they can all go to hell, something’s not right here.’
‘Why are you so upset? The girls will be back soon.’ Dai was confused by Gwyn’s overreaction and agitated state.
‘I’m telling you, Dai, something’s not right.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Afagddu had kept his cowl drawn as he’d entered the Hall of Mirrors only hours earlier. He’d kept his face hidden until he reached his cell, only then did he remove his cloak and blood-stained robes. His linen undershirt was also soiled with crimson blotches so he removed that too to stand bare chested and shivering.
He retrieved the looking glass he kept face down in his bed chest. A deep, narrow cut sliced through his face, a hair’s breadth from his
lower eyelid through his cheek and ended half an inch from his jaw. He grimaced at his reflection, the cut would need stitches, that meant a trip to the Sanatorium and that meant the cut would need explaining.
He looked again at his face, something he did not often do. He was aware he was considered ugly. His face too long, his brow too broad, his lips too thin, his eyes too far apart, but no matter, his face had served him well enough until now. He just needed a plausible reason for the cut that refused to stop bleeding, but what? He racked his brain, considering and discarding every possible excuse while he hid away in his cell. That witch has made me a bed of nails. He cursed her, he cursed her cunning little niece and he cursed the entire damned family! In a sudden burst of rage he lifted the mirror above his head and brought it crashing to the floor with such violent force that he even shocked himself. Glittering shards erupted in a shower of sparkles shooting into the air, spraying the room with silver darts. Afagddu lifted a hand to protect his face as splinters jabbed at his palm and wrist and dug themselves into his sleeve.
He stood there in the middle of his cell, still leaning away from the explosion. The cell door swung open, hitting Afagddu on his already sore back.
‘Afagddu, what on earth is going on?’ The alarmed faces of two Elder Druids peered through the doorway accompanied by Afagddu’s body servant, Cai.
Afagddu stared in horror at the faces looking in on him. He stammered as he desperately grasped for an explanation of his bloodied face, cringing as they stared at his naked torso and twisted misshapen back.
‘Oh, Afagddu, no.’ Elder Tomas’ voice was full of compassion and empathy as he gently shook his head, ‘Afagddu … you are what you are. You have been made in God’s image. You should not allow the snide comments of your discontented brothers get the better of you. Lord Aeron punished us for our misdeeds; you did not. You must not punish yourself so – look what you have done to yourself.’
The body servant pushed past the elders and retrieved a fresh robe from the wardrobe to cover his master’s bare shoulders, crushing glass underfoot as he scurried to shelter Afagddu from further shame.
The second Elder tutted as he clasped his hands over his ample belly. ‘Your anger has caused you harm, Afagddu, you have cut your hands and face quite severely. Go straight to the Sanatorium and see yourself administered to at once, we shall deal with the troubles as they unfold.’
‘Troubles?’ Afagddu asked, as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his new robe and tried to fasten the buttons with a bleeding hand. His servant timidly leaned to help his master and Afagddu allowed the succour.
Elder Tomas sighed. ‘We were coming to tell you. One of the Chosen has gone missing, we have sent a small party to aid with the search, but we will deal with it Afagddu – you must go and get yourself seen to.’
‘Who is missing?’ Afagddu pressed, feigning concern.
‘The senior of the two Morgans, from Ty Mawr – do you know him?’
Afagddu pursed his lips. ‘I know of the son, he has just been initiated.’ His words were punctuated with a rumble of thunder. ‘It is not a night to go missing, can I help in his search in any way?’
‘No, you cannot, Afagddu. See to yourself first, the cut on your face looks particularly nasty, it will probably need stitching.’ Tomas sighed again. ‘You are an asset to our brotherhood Councillor, see you remember that next time you torment yourself.’
The Elders shook their heads in unison as they rushed to deal with the ‘troubles’ in Afagddu’s stead. Afagddu watched them depart before slapping his servant’s hand away. ‘Clean this mess,’ he ordered the servant, ‘if anyone needs me, I will be in the Sanatorium.’
Afagddu smiled to himself as he scurried through the halls heading downward towards the infirmary. The luck, the sheer luck, he exulted in his good fortune, guileless fools, as if I care what my brethren think of me, but it suits my purpose well enough for now, naïve children! He felt as light as a feather, he had been gifted a ploy to cover his deeds and he felt so happy he could almost dance.
‘What happened to you?’ Cadno’s voice brought him up short. Afagddu had been so elated he had completely missed Cadno concealed in the shadows of the hallway. Afagddu set his face straight and bowed to his superior.
Cadno leaned down to stare at Afagddu. ‘What happened?’ he inquired, his eyes full of mirth. ‘Did someone try to wipe that smug grin off your face?’
‘An accident with a mirror, my Lord, it was entirely my fault.’
‘Even the mirrors revolt at your ugliness!’ Cadno snorted as he stood upright. He changed his focus like quicksilver. ‘Tell me, Councillor, why do your brethren scurry around like beetles tonight instead of being tucked away in their pits?’
Afagddu distrusted the question. Cadno was no fool, he missed very little that went on in the Halls of the Druid and therefore already knew the answer to his question, so why ask it?
‘One of the Chosen is apparently missing. Speak to Elder Tomas if you wish to know more, he is dealing with the incident,’ Afagddu replied curtly before adding, ‘My Lord.’
Cadno smiled deviously. ‘You know, I didn’t think you could get any more repulsive, but I stand corrected.’ He raised an eyebrow at Afagddu before waving him away.
Afagddu dipped his head at Cadno as he skirted past the smirking Bwy Hir. What did he mean by his last comment? Was he talking about his cut face or something else? They surely couldn’t have found the fat woman’s body? Afagddu didn’t feel quite as cocksure as he entered the Sanatorium. His face looked drawn and anxious under the mask of drying, oozing blood as he allowed himself to be ushered behind a curtain by a fussing elderly physician. ‘My, my, Afagddu, what have you been up to?’
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Anwen couldn’t feel her legs, her body was wracked with shudders, her teeth chattered and her breath came in great, ragged gulps.
Run! Nerys’ shriek still echoed in her ears. Run, Anwen! And she had run as if the devil himself chased her. Out of the house she had flown, slipping and slithering across the rain-slickened yard, grabbing at the barn as she twisted between the buildings and dashed for the open fields. She had blindly thought to run after Gwyn but she had seen the lights streaming in his direction and instead she made another twist and belted in the opposite direction.
Her feet had gathered momentum as she tore through a gap in the hedgerow and headed downhill towards the small river that separated the farm from the main road. Slipping and sliding, running sightless into the night, the rain poured down on her, the wind tore at her clothes making her twist and flinch as she imagined cruel hands grabbing at her to pull down their quarry.
Run Anwen! She came upon the river quicker than she imagined. She suddenly realised how swollen it had become as she splashed into the shallows, almost losing her footing as the swells pushed at her knees seeking to fold her into the wild black water.
She slowed as she waded through the river, sticking close to the banks. She swung her arms to further her momentum as she ran with the water, following its course towards the bridge at the edge of the village.
Stubbing her toe on a hidden rock, she splashed into the water; she was completely submerged for a second, re-emerging with a cry of anguish, splashing and grabbing at air to regain her purchase. Fool girl, use your head, it’s what it’s for! Nerys’ voice rang in her head. Anwen listened to her aunt and forced herself to stop and think, just for a moment while she caught her breath.
Anwen pushed her consciousness away from her throbbing foot, her stinging hands and her skinned knees. She blanked her pain and confusion and instead concentrated on her surroundings. She listened intently, shutting out the rain and listened for any sound of pursuit … nothing. Looking around her as she shielded her eyes from the downpour, she began to make out vague shapes. The stream she was still standing in was shielded from the road by a bank of oak and sycamore, to her left were open fields boxed in by black hedgerows. In front was nothing but blackness, behi
nd was nothing but fear and that set her feet into motion once more.
The river was getting wider and faster, she knew she was heading for the bridge. The roar of water surging between stone columns and over rocks meant she was getting close and so she decided now was the time to cross over to the other side before it became too deep and treacherous to do so.
She desperately sought to keep her footing as she traversed through the waters. Once at the other side she found an overhanging branch to cling to as she heaved herself out of the water and onto the sloping mud bank. She leaned heavily against a tree as she dragged the cold night air into her lungs.
Numb, I’m beginning to feel numb, Anwen thought to herself, this is not good, I’ve become too cold. She forced her screaming legs to fold and she crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees for warmth. Think, girl, think! Nerys said again.
‘I need to get warm,’ she whispered to Nerys’ voice, ‘I need dry clothes. I need money. I need to find somewhere safe. Where shall I go Aunt Nerys? Who will help me?’ She remained crouching for quite some time, lost in thought, shaking and shivering until it came to her.
Still gulping for breath between chattering teeth she tried to stand, her legs shrieked in protest as she forced her burning muscles to cooperate. Rain dripped from her hair covering her face and running icy rivulets down her back and neck. Her clothes stuck to her skin making it difficult to move her body into motion, but with every ounce of will she had left inside her she forced her body into a drunken amble towards the road.
Thorns spitefully scratched at her calves and ankles as she gingerly stepped through the brambles picketed at the base of the wall that marked the road. No streetlights threaded along this part of the road, only the sallow moon cast its light on the sorry figure trying to find leverage to boost herself over the wall and onto the silver ribboning road.
