The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  The Host embraced and tried to tell their stories of battle on dragon-back, but Aeron spoke over their chattering. ‘Later brothers, later, it is enough you have returned unharmed, we must welcome the Pride with hearts of joy and sorrow … we have lost Artio.’

  ‘What? How?’ Bran’s gruff voice cut through the shocked silence.

  ‘Ysbrydion cut her throat.’ Gwrnach’s voice cracked and he swallowed hard. ‘Celyn-Bach is bringing the Pride here and Artio’s body with them. I carried her from the Dell and came through here …’

  Aeron placed a hand on Gwrnach’s arm. ‘Enough, Gwrnach. We will all tell our tales.’ Gwrnach nodded and they trooped in silence to the Reception Hall. ‘Clear the area,’ Aeron ordered, as he entered the Reception Hall, ‘make way for the Pride.’

  Cadno and Gwrnach helped lift the injured Druids and carried them into the hallway, away from the Cerdd Carega and awaited the arrival of the Pride. They arrived in twos and threes, some bringing with them the last of the straggling Seekers with their Helgi tightly in their hands. Taliesin and Anwen came through hand in hand.

  Last to come through was Celyn-Bach carrying the body of Artio slumped in his arms. The Hall became hushed as he stood silently holding her close to his chest. She looked almost asleep, but her blood soaked clothes divulged the truth: one of the Bwy Hir was dead.

  ‘Come,’ said Aeron, his words considered and compassionate, ‘let us seek refuge in the Host chambers where we can grieve together as one.’

  Mab’s glossy eyes conveyed surprise and gratefulness at Aeron’s understanding words. She had expected fury or at least words of retribution for their loss, she had not expected sympathy and compassion, not from the Winter King. ‘Thank you, Aeron.’ Mab signalled for the Pride to follow and the Bwy Hir gathered as one, Celyn-Bach leading the way, gently, reverently holding Artio before him. The Druids all pulled back against the walls and bowed their heads as the procession passed through the halls.

  Through the hush came the haunting sound of a bard’s voice in song, it resounded through the hallways, echoing and rebounding, a solitary voice commencing the lament of Artio’s passing. Another voice joined in unison and then a third, and then another, all singing a poignant marwnad of mourning:

  ‘Death shall have no dominion,

  Death shall hold no key,

  Death shall have no dominion,

  For one as fair as she.

  Through bough and berry,

  Leaf and earth, moonlit waters,

  Behold dawn’s rebirth,

  She reigns eternal, beauty splendour,

  No sway of time can teeth ravage,

  The perfect of her majesty,

  Death shall have no dominion,

  For one as fair as she.’

  Anwen let her tears flow unashamedly as she trailed behind the towering procession of Bwy Hir. Taliesin walked at her side, his eyes were dry but his face was ashen, his mouth set in a tight, grim line.

  She had never before heard a marwnad sung, the passionate expression of grief pulled at her heartstrings and she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. She felt such a fool; she did not even know Artio, in fact Anwen had nearly been skewered by her only hours before. Yet the grief at Artio’s death was palpable and moving. Anwen felt herself being swept along in the surge of mourning voices until one unmistakeable voice, heard above the swell stopped her in her tracks. ‘Anwen.’

  Anwen spun around and pulled her hand away from Taliesin’s.

  ‘Dad?’ she called back, ‘Dad?’ She saw him pushing through the crowds of Druids and despite her painful leg she rushed to embrace him. ‘Oh, Dad!’ she exclaimed, beginning to cry as he folded her into his arms.

  ‘Don’t cry, Anwen,’ he soothed, ‘I’ve got you now.’ Gwyn joined in the reunion and Glyn-Guinea wiped away a tear of joy as he watched a family united. Bara was ecstatic, she jumped up at the huddle, wagging her tail and pushing with her paws. Gwyn was elated; they were back together at last. Anwen was laughing through her tears and Gwyn’s eyes were as wet as his fathers. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve missed you Anwen.’ She looked up at her brother. ‘What the hell happened to your head?’ he blurted.

  Dafydd pulled Anwen to arm’s length and, regarding the scab crusted patch above her left ear, he was incensed at what he saw.‘What have they done?’ he demanded gruffly.

  Anwen tentatively touched the sore spot on the side of her head, with everything that had happened she’d almost forgotten it was there. ‘Don’t worry Dad, my hair will grow back and then you won’t see it.’ Anwen was conscious of the attention their reunion was attracting. ‘Please, don’t fuss now, I’ll explain everything later … where’s Nerys?’

  Dafydd was furious at the state of his daughter and mortified that she did not know the truth about her aunt. ‘I’ll explain later, Anwen,’ he said, as he surveyed Anwen’s pale face. He noted that she had an obvious limp, scratches and grazes all over her, her clothes were filthy and torn and her head had been partly shaved and tattooed. ‘So this is your idea of looking after someone, is it?’ He glared at Taliesin.

  ‘Chosen Morgan,’ Elder Tomas said, pushing past the crowd of curious Druids that had gathered in the hallway, ‘how on earth did you get here?’ he asked kindly. ‘You bring news from the Chosen?’ Dafydd opened his mouth but Elder Tomas talked right over him. ‘Good, good. Please come with me, let me provide you with somewhere to rest awhile before we speak in detail.’ He ushered them a few steps down the corridor, in the opposite direction from the Bwy Hir procession. ‘Go with your father Taliesin,’ he called behind him.

  ‘No thank you.’ Dafydd dug his heals in. ‘Glyn-Guinea can explain everything, I’ve got what I came for – let’s go, Anwen, Gwyn.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid you must wait.’ Elder Tomas was insistent. ‘There is no way out or in at present. The mirrors are unusable, unsafe. All exits and entrances to Maen-Du are barred and guarded at present, in case of further attack. I’m sure you appreciate why, so for now, let me make you more comfortable.’ He gently herded then through the hallways. Dafydd kept a firm grip on Anwen’s hand while Glyn-Guinea and Gwyn exchanged concerned glances. Bara trotted at their heels, her bearing was cautious and protective.

  They followed Elder Tomas past the Reception Hall and Anwen glanced at the huge stones as they passed, up a flight of stone steps that opened out to another hallway. ‘Nearly there!’ Elder Tomas called over his shoulder and then he turned into a doorway, pushing open a huge door that opened into a large, ornately decorated room. ‘You should be comfortable here for a while, I’ll see the fire lit and refreshments brought as soon as possible.’ He bowed briefly and then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Glyn-Guinea chewed his pipe as he surveyed the room. This was a lavish room indeed. The most beautiful, if faded, tapestries hung on every wall, even the arrow-slit windows had been fitted with stained glass of bottle-green and pearly-grey.

  Anwen had made herself comfortable on the woven rug placed in front of the fireplace, she sat cross legged fussing and stroking Bara, talking quietly and giggling as she licked her face. Dafydd and Gwyn watched on indulgently from chairs placed either side of the fire.

  Dragging a chair over from against the wall, Glyn-Guinea placed it next to Dafydd’s and sat down with a sigh, the flames dancing in the fireplace cast their shadows across his concerned face. ‘Well, out of the frying pan into the fire.’ He fished in his pockets for tobacco to fill his pipe.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Anwen asked as she continued gently scratching Bara.

  Dafydd and Gwyn stared at Anwen and then at Glyn-Guinea. Dafydd was the one to answer. ‘Anwen, if they were happy to let us go, they would have got rid of us as soon as we arrived … we are being held.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Anwen smiled guilelessly. ‘They said I could go home when I freed the Pride. The Pride are free, there’s no reason to keep us here. As soon as it’s safe, they’ll see us on our way.’ Gwyn shook his head behind his sister�
��s back.

  Dafydd leaned forward and Anwen met his eyes. ‘Cariad, look at the state of you. Look at what they’ve done to your head – they’ve marked you as one of them … they’ll not let you go now, especially while you’re carrying that child.’ He nodded to her swollen belly.

  Anwen gently shook her head, denying her father’s words, but deep down she knew he was speaking the truth. She was marked as one of the Bwy Hir, she could travel the Cerdd Carega, she was carrying a prince’s child and she had blindly trapped herself in Maen-Du: Halls of the Druid. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe. ‘Well now, it’s all making sense now.’ He crossed his ankles and leaned into his chair. ‘Never in all my days had I ever heard of a Druid demanding the surrender of a woman – the women are no concern of the Druids. Neither had a Chosen family been named Gwaradwyddedig. This is usually under the power of a Triskelion court, not just by the whim of the Bwy Hir … and maybe, just maybe Nerys’ death-blow was meant for little Anwen here.’ He pointed the stem of his pipe towards her, punctuating his speech. ‘And you’re pregnant no less. So the only question remaining is who the father is?’ He raised an eyebrow and looked to the Morgans.

  Anwen’s head snapped up. ‘What do you mean? Where is Nerys?’ she demanded, and Dafydd was the one to break the news. ‘Cariad,’ he began, ‘I’m afraid Nerys is dead. Murdered by Afagddu the Druid.’

  Anwen shook her head in disbelief. ‘When? When I left that night?’ Dafydd nodded. ‘She died because of me.’ Anwen looked stricken.

  ‘No.’ Dafydd held her hand. ‘Because of Afagddu. He will pay for what he has done. It was nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Where is she, Dad? Did you bury her without me?’ Anwen was inconsolable as she cried.

  ‘No. Her body is here, she will be transported to the undertakers’ soon and then we shall see she has the Christian funeral she would have wanted.’

  ‘Here?’ Anwen couldn’t make sense of what her father was saying to her. ‘But … I’ve been away so long.’ And then it dawned on her. ‘He put her in y Gwag, didn’t he?’ Dafydd nodded and Anwen felt a rush of dizziness take hold of her. Dafydd pulled his daughter into his arms and held her close.

  Glyn-Guinea felt sorry for Dafydd’s daughter, huddled in her father’s arms. Glyn-Guinea had never found time for a wife and family of his own. A thought slithered across his musing, ‘Good God!’ he said, ‘Anwen’s child isn’t Afagddu’s is it?’

  Dafydd was vexed. ‘No, it bloody isn’t,’ he snapped.

  Gwyn stayed stony silent. Glyn-Guinea mused aloud, ‘Not a Druid then – they’d want you as far away as possible if the father was one of them.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘So that leaves one of the Bwy Hir.’ He sat bolt upright. ‘But it can’t be,’ he said incredulously, ‘the blood doesn’t mix, unless … how did you free the Pride?’

  Anwen looked up to her father’s face and after consideration he nodded his head and she spoke. ‘The child is Taliesin’s and I freed the Pride through the Cerdd Carega.’

  Dafydd’s head shot up. ‘You can use the stones? Travel them alone?’ He was amazed but he was also suddenly wary of his own daughter; how much of a Bwy Hir is she? he thought.

  ‘Bloody hell, Anwen!’ Gwyn piped up. ‘You’ve got powers like them – can you shoot fire from your hand and that?’ He bounced on his chair, excited at the possibilities.

  ‘Shut up, Gwyn.’ Dafydd barked and then he turned to Glyn-Guinea. ‘Anwen is not Bwy Hir. She has a drop of Bwy Hir blood in her that’s all. What I’m going to tell you is for your ears only, Glyn, no-one else’s, you hear?’ He waited for Glyn-Guinea’s nod. ‘When my Emily was in labour with Anwen … well, she was dying and taking Anwen along with her … I called upon Awel and she did the only thing she could … she gave Emily her own blood so Anwen – so I didn’t lose them both …’ Dafydd fell silent. Anwen and Glyn stared at their father, shocked at the revelation.

  ‘So, that is how.’ Glyn-Guinea nodded solemnly. ‘And so Anwen herself is now with child, only this time a Hanner-Bridia will be born.’ He shook his head. ‘Your father is right Anwen, they will not let you go now, or at least, they will not let the child go – especially as they have just lost one of their own.’

  Anwen ground her teeth and scrubbed away her tears. ‘I am going,’ she said with venom, ‘and they’ll not stop me. I can use the Cerdd Carega to take us all away from here and they’ll not have my baby – he’s mine.’

  ‘They will chase you down.’ Glyn-Guinea bit down on his pipe. ‘They won’t stop until they have the child, and besides, where will you go? What do you think the Chosen will do when they find out? They’ll hand the child over – that’s what they’ll do, and friends and neighbours or not, some will see you as a threat, with too big a connection to the Bwy Hir, they will see the Morgan family as above themselves and favoured above them – no, whether you think you’ll manage or not, the Bwy Hir will have that child.’

  The door opened and they all fell silent as a Druid brought in a tray of refreshments. He set it down on the table and left without a word. Gwyn jumped up and moved to the tray, he was parched and his stomach growled at the sight of cheese, cold cuts and fresh loaves.

  ‘I’ll not be having any of that.’ Glyn-Guinea puffed at his pipe. ‘God knows what they could have put in it. One bite of that and I could wake up anywhere, including Dduallt.’

  Gwyn lost his appetite and sat down in his seat next to the fireplace. ‘How did you get here anyway?’ Anwen asked her father. ‘You didn’t come through the mirrors.’

  Dafydd sighed. ‘We came through the back door.’ He smiled weakly at his daughter. ‘Glyn-Guinea led us to an entrance on the side of Snowdon, just above the lake there.’

  ‘Did you see the Ysbrydion?’ Anwen was keen to make conversation.

  ‘Good God, yes.’ Dafydd ran his hands through his hair. ‘We saw them, good and proper. Whirling in the depths of the lake they were, glowing red and evil in the murky waters. We were on our own, the three of us in the snow, ringing on the bell desperate to get to the Druids and get away from the lake, but no one came, so Glyn-Guinea – ah, you tell her, Glyn.’

  Glyn-Guinea removed his pipe and continued the tale with a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. ‘So there we were, Gwyn was ringing the bell, holding onto Bara to stop her running off and me and your dad looked down onto the lake – the gateways to the otherworld.’ He sat forward and began gesturing with his hands. ‘And the Ysbrydion were gliding and whirling, faster and faster and then suddenly up one flew – out of the water and began circling in the sky – higher and higher like a hunting eagle it circled until it spotted us.’ Anwen sat upright, keen to hear the story. ‘And so it started to come towards us – ugly, evil looking thing with its swollen head and gaping maw, hands like claws it slowly drifted towards us, full of menace.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So there’s Glyn yanking on the bell, Bara barking and snarling, your dad stood next to me, ready to defend himself and so I did the only thing I could …’

  ‘What? What did you do?’ Anwen felt like a small child, eager to hear the end of the tale.

  Glyn-Guinea smiled. ‘So I takes my jacket off, rip open my shirt to flash my Triskele medallion and start swinging my walking stick in front of me and then I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,” he bellowed, “and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night” – come on you bugger, let’s be having you!’

  ‘What then? What did it do?’ Anwen called with delight.

  ‘Well, what could it do?’ Glyn-Guinea sat back in his chair, ‘The bugger took one look at my rune-tattoos, my triskele and my hazel stick and realised it was no match for a Welshman – it turned tail and slunk off back to the lake.’ Anwen giggled with pleasure.

  ‘And then,’ Gwyn added, ‘the next thing the sky is full of ice and snow!’ He wasn’t as good a storyteller as Glyn-Guinea but Anwen listened,
rapt as he spoke. ‘Out of nowhere, one of the Bwy Hir – riding a dragon no less – sweeps into valley, like a god he was, sitting proud on his steed, throwing huge balls of ice and lightning into the lake. The Ysbrydion start going wild, trying to escape his attack, but they were caught fast. Sealed them into the lake he did and any that tried to escape – blam! He blew them to smithereens with his lightning and then froze the lake solid. Magnificent, he was … it was him that showed us how to get through the door – I was yanking the bell but there’s a handle there if you know where to look.’

  Anwen was smiling, Gwyn was smiling and Glyn-Guinea chuckled at their mirth, but Dafydd sat brooding, his jaw set the way it did when his course was set.

  ‘So are we going to just sit here and wait, or are we going to do something about getting out of here?’

  They all turned and stared at him, all with their own silent thoughts on what to do next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The Bwy Hir were gathered together as one, standing in a circle surrounding the body of Artio. They had laid her on the huge table in the Host’s communal hall and had covered her body with an embroidered death shroud of green and gold.

  ‘Tonight we mourn the loss of Artio and come the dawn we shall commit her body to the four winds.’ Aeron’s solemn voice resonated over the gathered Bwy Hir. ‘Who will stand vigil in Artio’s honour?’

  ‘I.’ Celyn-Bach stepped forward.

  ‘And I.’ Awel too stepped forward and Aeron nodded his head.

  ‘So be it.’

  Aeron was weary, the adrenalin of battle had seeped away taking the last of his strength with it. His shoulders slumped as he turned to address the rest of the Bwy Hir. ‘We shall leave Celyn-Bach and Awel to their silent vigil, the rest of us will hold Council in my chambers, we have much to discuss.’

  Mab looked to Awel standing over the body of Artio. She needed her Councillor, but could understand Awel’s need to be with Artio and hold the honour vigil; Mab would have to face Aeron alone. She could see Aeron was tired but that would not be enough to staunch his power; she could feel his potency as keenly as she could sense her own weakness. Mab held no sway in the Winter kingdom and she wondered how the Pride and Host would cope at being thrown together, she also wondered how the seasons would be affected by the unnatural assembly of the Summer and Winter realms.