The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  She scrubbed angrily at her moist eyes. Not even a day’s walk away from the farm and I’m already homesick. How pathetic! She wasn’t sure why she was still running away. She wondered whether she should turn back, whether she should find the nearest farm and phone home, but a nagging, uneasy feeling made her press on.

  She checked the position of the sun, it was well past noon, Anwen guessed it must be heading towards four o’clock. She’d have to pick up her pace if she wanted to be out of the countryside by nightfall. Another night running through the dark was too much to ask; her energy was ebbing, her knees were bruised and the pink tracksuit was already muddied. No, she needed to be as far away as possible by nightfall as that was the time the Helgi would hunt for her.

  She was heading towards another gate and she could see a patch of tarmac between the bars, dare she use the roads? As she approached she listened for the tell-tale sound of a car, but the road remained silent. The only thing she could hear was the chirping of birds in the hedgerow and then another sound she’d nearly missed. She held her breath and listened, straining to hear the sound again. There it was – a giggle, coming from the opposite side of the road.

  Crouching down she scurried to the side of the gate and peeped through. She could see an orange Volkswagen campervan pulled into the layby opposite the gate. She heard the giggle again, but the campervan looked empty.

  Anwen’s heart was pumping in her ears as she scaled the gate and dropped silently on the other side. Checking up and down the road she darted to the side of the campervan, keeping the van between herself and the field beyond. Peeking into the passenger side window she could see the keys dangling from the ignition. Her breath caught in her throat.

  As slowly and silently as she could she scampered to the driver’s side and pinched open the door handle, wincing as it clunked open. She paused, listening for the approach of the owners, but the giggling continued, a man’s low voice joined in the mirth.

  Anwen had driven a tractor plenty of times but had never actually driven a car, not by herself. When she was younger her father would allow her to jump on his lap and she would steer the car and change the gears all the way up the lane home, her father would press the clutch in and shout “change” and she would ram the gearstick into first or second. He would sometimes make her laugh by pressing the accelerator sharply so the car would chug and judder. “You’re a bloody useless driver!” her father would shout and laugh along with her. Another wave of homesickness crashed down on her, but she pushed it away as she slipped into the driving seat.

  She locked herself inside the van and turned the ignition. The engine purred to life. Dipping the clutch she rammed the gearstick into first, dropped the handbrake and she was off, the gearbox screaming to be changed into a lower gear.

  Anwen looked into the rear view mirror as two half-dressed people burst from the field. Oh, my god! Anwen’s jaw dropped open, that’s PC James Mallard and Ellen Richards! Oh, and she’s soon to be married to Dai Jones’ son, Gary!

  Anwen flicked a ‘v’ sign with her fingers in the rear windscreen. Serves them right, the sneaky sods! They’ll have a long walk back to the village now, Ha! Anwen liked Gary Jones … shame.

  By the time she reached the outskirts of Abergele she’d decided to park the campervan on a narrow side street. She had considered driving as far as the van would take her, but there was something wrong with the engine, it had begun to smell like burning rubber and wisps of steam were beginning to escape from under the bonnet, anyway a bright orange campervan was hardly inconspicuous.

  Once the van was ditched, she grabbed her belongings, checking the mirror and the bracelet were still in place and helped herself to a black padded jacket she’d found in the back of the van, along with a bag to shove her stuff in, then she set off towards the station.

  Anwen had never been on a train by herself, there had never been the need. She’d always had her father or Gwyn with her and she suddenly felt exposed, unsure of herself. How difficult can it be? Just get on and get off, but get off where?

  She suddenly realised she had the whole world in front of her; she could go anywhere, any place she chose, except home. She couldn’t go home. Fighting with her trembling lips, she took a few deep breaths and entered the station. There was no ticket office, no station master, just a few benches and a couple of tubs containing wilting flowers.

  Looking around, she found a timetable stuck to the wall. The next train was in six minutes time and went as far as Chester: Caerlleon, she thought to herself, it was called Caerlleon until the English stole it from the Welsh.

  Anwen found an inconspicuous spot to stand on the station platform. From where she stood she could see anybody who entered the station and if necessary she would be able to escape if anybody recognised her, but there was no-one else there, just her, standing alone and forlorn waiting for the next train to arrive.

  As the train squealed to a stop, Anwen stepped forward and jumped on as soon as the nearest door opened. She found an empty seat and sat down, shielding herself with her bag of belongings, hiding her face from the window.

  She only realised she was holding her breath when the train started up again and began to chug away from the station. She had made it! She was on her way to Chester. Leaning back, she finally let the tears fall. Part relief, part sorrow, she allowed herself time to cry, to release the tension and fear she’d been holding inside since her aunt had shouted, ‘Run Anwen!’

  Anwen wasn’t a religious woman, not like her aunt, but she closed her eyes and said a prayer, hoping someone would hear:

  ‘Dear God, please protect my family. Let everyone be okay. Don’t let my mistake get them into trouble. Bless Dad and Gwyn and Nerys, let them all be safe and happy … Please watch over me. Protect my baby and keep us safe, oh, and I know you’re not on speaking terms, but could you watch out for Taliesin? Amen.’

  Anwen opened her eyes to the conductor.

  ‘Where to young lady?’

  ‘Chester, please,’ she said with a faint smile.

  ‘Return or single?’

  ‘Single.’ Her heart sank. One way ticket. She paid her money. ‘Is there a buffet car on this train?’

  ‘Yes, next car down,’ the conductor replied, as he handed her a ticket, ‘they’ll be closing after Prestatyn, so you best be quick.’

  Anwen looked down at the money she had stolen. It wouldn’t get her far, but she had enough to get something to eat and drink and pay for a couple of days’ bed and breakfast until she sorted something out. She squared her shoulders and made her way to the buffet car, making a promise to ring home as soon as she found somewhere to stay.

  The bacon bap wasn’t as good as home’s, but Anwen gulped it down leaving nothing but an empty wrapper. The tea was tepid and weak, but it tasted like heaven. She’d bought a couple of bars of chocolate too, tucking them away in her bag for later.

  The train journey had been uneventful. Her stomach had fluttered every time the train pulled into a station and only relaxed once it continued on the journey.

  ‘The next station we arrive at will be Chester where the train terminates. All alight at the next stop.’ The nasal voice over the tannoy fell silent and Anwen stared out of the window. It was nearly dark and the street lights had begun to flicker into existence. Anwen watched as houses and businesses slid into view and vanished again to be replaced by sandstone walls and then an expanse of dirty rail tracks snaking off into the darkness.

  The train slowed and then came to a stop at the platform. There was a bustle of activity as the passengers pulled on their coats and grabbed their bags and belongings, shuffling in file as they made their way to the nearest exit.

  Anwen hopped off the train and looked around her. The station was enormous compared to the station near her village. Her eyes gazed across platform after grey platform, across black rails and footbridges. She didn’t know where the station exit was and so she followed the crowd, like a lost sheep.

  She fol
lowed the mass of men and women over the footbridge. She was surprised that the men hadn’t offered to help an elderly lady with the suitcase she was obviously struggling with, they instead simply side stepped past her. How rude, she thought, but she didn’t offer to help either, she felt too small and shy to be of any real assistance.

  The footbridge led to the entrance of the station. People rushed in and out, some smartly dressed in suits and office clothes, others dressed more casually, some were wearing jeans and jumpers, but none of them looked as bedraggled as Anwen. I bet I look like a country bumpkin. Anwen felt self-conscious and unsightly standing in a pink tracksuit and black jacket that were far too big for her, damp shoes and wayward hair, clutching a plastic bag that carried all her worldly possessions.

  What do I do now? Anwen hesitated at the mouth of the station. Where do I go? I don’t know what I’m doing. Anwen felt a flush of embarrassment give heat to her cheeks. Her eyes became misty and a lump in her throat made her want to sit down and cry. It took a few moments to steady herself as she looked around the station and then she found what she was looking for: a telephone.

  Fishing into her pocket she withdrew two ten pence pieces. Picking up the handset while placing her bag between her feet, she began to dial her home telephone number, remembering to dial the area code first.

  Her heartbeat quickened as she heard the first burr-burr, but as the seconds ticked away, so did her expectations: nobody was home. She replaced the receiver and put the coins back in her pocket. Her heart felt as heavy as her bag. I’ll try again in a few minutes, I’ll get a nice hot cup of tea from the café and then I’ll try again. Anwen dragged herself away from the phone and into the warm glow of the station café. It was dark now and that made her feel more alone than ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Gwyn pulled the Land Rover into the yard. Bara bounced excitedly on the passenger seat, happy to be home. Gwyn didn’t feel the same, he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked through the windscreen at the dark house. No lights, no sound, nobody home.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, as he turned the engine off, ‘we’ve got stuff to be about, including trying to find something to eat.’

  Bara jumped down and trotted to the back door, her head swinging towards Gwyn, her tail wagging. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ He told her as he leaned down to retrieve the door key from under the doormat.

  He took a deep breath as he opened the door and Bara flew past his legs and into the house. Gwyn felt for the light switch and turned on the hallway light. He wanted to shout, “Hello, it’s only me!” but he knew no-one was there.

  He spent the next few minutes turning every light on in the house, every room from bottom to top was lit, spilling light into the yard outside and making the house at least appear to be full of life.

  Next, he prepared a roaring fire in the living room, stacking the wood high and hot. He turned on the television and let the noise fill the empty silence.

  ‘Right, Bara.’ He patted her head as she followed him from chore to chore. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’ She followed him into the hallway, bumping into his leg and he paused at the door of the front room. He hadn’t turned the light on in this room, he hadn’t even entered it.

  He gently grabbed the doorknob and twisted his hand, pushing the door open slowly. Bara stayed back, sensing Gwyn’s anxiety. He felt for the light switch and turned it on before entering the room. The room looked and felt the same as it always did: unused and cold. Ornaments covered the sideboards, china cups and saucers sat in their mahogany display cabinets. The creamy net curtains hung from the window, hiding the view to outside. The curtains were pulled back, same as always. A faded floral carpet covered the floor and the large mirror stood against the wall in the far corner of the room, the same as always.

  Gwyn knew it wasn’t an ordinary mirror, this was a Dderwydd Ddrych: a Druid Mirror. It looked ordinary enough, the thick oak frame carved with oak leaves and vines, aged with dusty crevices, was quality carved; the mirror itself had no flaws or faults, but was tinged with age, darker, deeper somehow than an everyday mirror.

  Gwyn had spent his younger years being chased out of this room by his elders. ‘It’s not a playroom Gwyn, get out of there before you break something!’ He’d had no idea until his father had passed him the leather bound book that the inconspicuous mirror he’d spent his childhood staring into, pulling funny faces at his own reflection, impersonating singers off the television into, was in fact a thing of power, a gateway between two places – his and the Druids’.

  Gwyn wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the mirror actually worked. He hadn’t got that far in the book and his father hadn’t explained it yet. All he knew was that when the lights dimmed it meant a Druid had entered the house and awaited attention. Gwyn didn’t know if only the Druids could pass through the mirror, or whether the Chosen could too. I need to ask Dai. He turned the light off and closed the door again feeling spooked by the presence of the mirror.

  Gwyn went into the kitchen next. He was momentarily reassured by the familiar smell of the kitchen and the heat of the Aga warming the room. He opened the fridge and cast his eyes over the shelves. Finding nothing that appealed to his hunger he opened the freezer and pulled out a heavy dish, one of Anwen’s ‘ready meals’. He read the handwritten label and was pleased to discover it was beef casserole, one of his favourites.

  He removed the cling film and placed it straight into the Aga. In half an hour or so he would be tucking into one of his favourite meals, only he’d be eating alone, no Anwen, no Dad, no Nerys.

  Pushing away the feeling of loneliness, he busied himself with cutting bread, making tea and putting food down for Bara, ‘What you got there?’ Gwyn asked Bara as she pawed at the kitchen chairs, sniffing and wagging her tail as she scratched at the floor.

  Gwyn knelt down to see what she wanted so desperately, he tipped his head to look under the table and froze when he saw the small pocket knife lying between the chair legs. He pushed Bara away and stretched an arm under the table, grabbing the knife by the handle.

  He stood up and held the knife to the light. He didn’t recognise the knife, but he recognised what was on the blade: blood. ‘Shit!’ he breathed, as he stared at the knife as if it was a living thing. ‘Shit!’ His head was in a spin. Anwen? Nerys? Who did the blood belong to? What should he do?

  Suddenly the phone rang and Gwyn nearly jumped out of his skin. The knife dropped and he had to kick Bara away from it. He picked it up again and threw it onto the kitchen worktop where Bara couldn’t reach and then he ran for the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ he shouted, as he picked up the phone and juggled it to his ear.

  ‘Gwyn?’ the small voice said.

  ‘Anwen? Anwen, is that you?’ He squeezed the handset, desperately relieved to hear his sister’s voice.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s me!’ Anwen’s shaky voice answered.

  ‘Oh my god, you’re okay!’ Gwyn put his hand on his forehead. ‘Is Nerys with you?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Anwen sounded worried. ‘Isn’t she there?’

  ‘No. We thought she was with you. You’ve both been missing since last night. Where are you?’

  ‘Chester. I’m in Chester. I don’t know what to do, Gwyn. I’m scared.’ Anwen’s voice cracked, she was crying.

  ‘Oh, Anwen, shit. What the hell are you doing there?’

  ‘Where’s Dad? Is he alright?’

  ‘Yes, no, yes, ah, he’s in hospital Anwen, but he’s okay,’ he added quickly. He could hear her panicked breathing.

  ‘Oh, Gwyn, they came in the house when you went to find Dad.’ Anwen spoke between sobs.

  ‘Who did, Anwen, who did?’ Gwyn was gripping the phone with both hands.

  ‘A Druid, Gwyn, Nerys was wrestling with him, she told me to run, so I did … Gwyn are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Anwen. Who was it, did you see?’

  ‘No, no, I just ran. I was so scared. Where’s N
erys?’ she wailed.

  ‘Are you on a public phone, Anwen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then keep your voice down, get yourself together, Anwen. Don’t draw attention to yourself.’ Gwyn wished he could fly down the telephone and grab her in a huge cuddle.

  ‘Okay.’ She swallowed and forced herself to calm down. ‘What happened to Dad?’

  The lights dimmed and Gwyn switched his tone. ‘Yes, Mrs Jones, thank you but my father is fine, recovering in hospital. Thank you for watching after Bara for me.’

  ‘Gwyn?’ Anwen’s confused voice filled his ear.

  ‘Yes, phone me tomorrow, that’ll be nice. If I think of anything I need then I’ll let you know. Okay, speak to you tomorrow. Goodbye.’ Gwyn forced himself to hang up, he could hear Anwen’s desperate voice as he clicked the handset down onto the receiver.

  ‘Gwyn, Gwyn!’

  He turned to the front room and opened the door. Clenching and unclenching his fists, with a flutter of fear in his stomach, he walked into the room and stood to face the Druid standing in the centre of the carpet.

  ‘Gwyn Morgan?’ The Druid’s voice was as unfamiliar as his face. Gwyn had never met this man before.

  ‘Yes. That’s me.’ Gwyn kept his voice conversational, hiding the fear and anxiety that made his hands shake.

  ‘We are ready to resume the hunt for the Ty Mawr women. They are still missing? They have not contacted you?’ The Druid’s voice was deep, his tone formal.

  Gwyn shook his head. ‘No word yet. I’ve not long got back from the hospital, but I’ve had no word from them or anyone else.’

  ‘And the telephone conversation?’ the Druid stared into Gwyn’s eyes, displaying no emotion, no hint of what he was thinking.

  ‘A neighbour checking for news, checking I’m okay.’ Gwyn swallowed.

  ‘And are you?’