The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  Gwyn called Bara to heel and she happily trotted to his side, tail wagging, tongue lolling. ‘Is that everyone?’ Gwyn asked with exasperation.

  Glyn-Guinea gave a tight nod. ‘For now.’ He ignored Liz’s tutting as she waved his pipe smoke away from her. ‘So, here we are then,’ he began, ‘not much of an army, but we’ll have to do. The Chosen must make a stand.’

  ‘I am not one of the Chosen,’ Gwyn replied flatly and folded his arms across his chest, ‘and neither is Liz unless things have changed.’

  Glyn-Guinea’s eyebrows knitted together and he set his jaw. ‘Yes you bloody well are Chosen, whether you like it or not. As for Liz, she’s one of us, so Chosen or not, we stand as one.’

  Gwyn matched Glyn-Guinea’s scowl. ‘No, I am not Chosen -I am Gwaradwyddedig. The Druids killed my father and my aunt and drove Anwen away. I am not Chosen. Liz can do whatever she likes but I am not Chosen.’

  ‘You listen to me, Gwyn Morgan,’ Glyn-Guinea said, leaning forward in his seat and using his pipe to punctuate his speech, ‘You’ve been wallowing in your own self-pity long enough. You are a Morgan. You are part of this village. You are part of the Triskele. Your blood sings with the blood of your forefathers. You are Chosen and you will damn well pull your head out of your arse and help us or get out of this kitchen and be damned.’

  ‘It’s my bloody kitchen!’ Gwyn shouted back.

  A silence filled the kitchen. Only the gentle whistle of the boiling kettle punctured the hush. Gwyn blew out his cheeks and looked into the faces of his friends and neighbours. They were all watching him, guarded but expectant. Finally, Gwyn’s shoulders sagged. ‘What do you want, exactly?’

  Smiles split their faces, Glyn-Guinea gave a satisfied nod and Dai Jones got up from his chair and patted Gwyn’s shoulders solemnly. ‘Good man.’

  Liz produced a tea tray and the men cleared the table before emptying their pockets, spilling the contents into the centre of the table. From Glyn-Guinea’s pockets came a folded map, a compass, a collection of small runes carved into hazel wood and threaded with string.

  Dai Jones produced another folded map, notebooks and an assortment of pens. Saw-Bones Selwyn produced an address book, small packs of first-aid kits, a scale ruler and the largest wad of bank notes Gwyn had ever seen.

  Gary pulled out a Chosen amulet, leaned over and handed it to Gwyn. ‘Ask no questions,’ he said sheepishly ‘and I’ll tell you no lies.’ Gwyn put it in his pocket.

  Liz was the last. From her coat pockets she pulled out a bundle of letters neatly tied together with green ribbon and six silver bracelets all decorated with a gold acorn attached to the chain. They all leaned back from the table and looked to Gwyn. He felt guilty that he had nothing to add to the mountain of spoils. Glyn-Guinea sighed. ‘Gwyn, go get a Bible, the Mabinogion and your grandfather’s notebook.’

  Gwyn scurried to gather the books together. He was confused and off balance but strangely excited. What do they have planned? he thought. He returned to the kitchen and placed the books on the table before standing back with his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Right then,’ Glyn-Guinea said, pulling his chair closer to the table, ‘we have a mission. Too long we have allowed ourselves to be cowed by the fear of Arawn.’ The group gathered closer to the table, hanging on Glyn-Guinea’s every word. ‘He grows stronger, bolder and the Triskele is on the brink of collapse.’ He paused and looked into Gwyn’s eyes. ‘He is looking for Anwen and her babe, make no mistake about that. He will need a Bwy Hir body if he is to claim back the lands of Cymru.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Glyn interrupted; concern for Anwen causing his voice to tremble. Glyn-Guinea chewed on the stem of his pipe and brushed Gwyn’s question aside. ‘The Bwy Hir and Druids may have gone to ground, cowering behind their walls, but we – we are the ones paying the price. Our flocks sicken or vanish, or worse – are found ravaged. Fish are found dead along the river banks. People – our people are going missing and the Druids and the Bwy Hir do nothing. We’ve asked for help, we’ve offered our help to them and nothing, the Druids do nothing.’

  ‘So, we’ve sent a message via Liz to Awel and she has agreed to help us.’ He leaned back as the others nodded. ‘Awel Chan y Bant is going to help us stop Arawn in his tracks. We are going to help her find Anwen and the babe and bring them safely to the Dell before the horned devil, Arawn or that witch, Atgas can get their hands on them. We are going to find their lair and take back our people and Awel … she is going to slay Arawn and send him back to y Gwag.’

  ‘Awel?’ Gwyn’s voice raised an octave. ‘Awel is going to kill the most feared Bwy Hir in all of history?’

  ‘He is still mortal, Gwyn. At least until he finds a Bwy Hir body, which is why we must find Anwen and her child.’ Glyn-Guinea pulled the pipe from his mouth.

  ‘How? If the Druids and Bwy Hir can’t find Anwen and her child, if they can’t find this Arawn or where he’s hiding, then how the hell are we supposed to?’ Gwyn folded his arms again.

  ‘My cousin kept in contact with Anwen, she told me about their little conversation – Mary and I were quite close.’ Saw-Bones Selwyn piped up. ‘Mary was as close to Anwen as I was to Mary. They were in contact until …’ Dai Jones leaned over and squeezed Selwyn’s arm. ‘Until she was found dead,’ he finished for him and Selwyn nodded gratefully.

  ‘Mary from London? She was your cousin? Anwen spoke of her.’ Gwyn became attentive. ‘So was Anwen with her? Is Anwen safe?’

  ‘She wasn’t there. Mary died alone in a house fire, not two days ago. Anwen would contact Mary every now and then to swap news. They were friends.’ Saw-Bones Selwyn slumped in his chair.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Gwyn felt suddenly angry that he had been kept in the dark.

  ‘I was Mary’s contact.’ Liz spoke softly. ‘I was the go-between for Awel and Mary. I too was Mary’s friend.’ She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

  ‘So all this time you knew where Anwen was?’ Gwyn’s voice was gruff, abrupt.

  ‘No.’ Liz shook her head. ‘I knew that she had contacted Mary, but Anwen wasn’t with her Gwyn. Anwen kept herself and her babe hidden, even from Mary. They only ever spoke over the phone. No-one knows where Anwen is – that’s why we need you to help find her.’

  ‘I told you. I don’t know where she is! I haven’t spoken to her since she left – she still thinks Dad is alive.’ Gwyn cleared his throat. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start looking.’

  ‘The postcards.’ Liz leaned over and placed a warm hand on Gwyn’s forearm. ‘She sends you postcards – maybe they can offer us a clue.’

  Gwyn’s voice grew louder. ‘They’re from foreign countries, Liz, you of all people know that, you’re the Post Mistress for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Hey.’ Dai Jones gave Gwyn a warning look. ‘Liz is only trying to help. We need to find Anwen.’

  ‘Sorry, Liz.’ Gwyn inhaled deeply and brought his temper under control. ‘Sorry.’ Liz squeezed his arm and smiled. ‘Shall I get you the postcards?’ he offered and went to the hallway bureau and brought back a small stack of dog-eared postcards.

  He passed them to Liz and she began sifting through them, passing them one by one around the group. Gwyn felt that he was being intruded upon but held his tongue.

  ‘They’re from all over the world!’ Dai Jones exclaimed as he flipped a postcard in his hand. ‘This one’s from Morocco! Where is that exactly?’ He looked around the group but no one offered an answer.

  ‘I told you.’ Gwyn folded his arms again. ‘They’re from just about everywhere, but I know she’s not the one posting them, she says so in one of them.’ He leaned over and plucked a card from Liz’s pile and began to read it. “I know you always liked stamps, so a friend agreed to post this for me when they arrived in France … I’m well and so is little Davy. I miss you both and hopefully one day we can all be together again. Take care of yourselves. I only wish I could speak to you on the phone. I miss your voices. Love
A.”

  Gwyn felt a surge of sadness bubbling up inside him and he stood quietly, staring at the floor and absently scratching Bara’s ear.

  ‘Who’s Davy?’ Dai Jones asked.

  ‘Anwen’s son.’ Liz gave Gwyn an apologetic look. ‘Mary told me and I’ve read all the postcards already, sorry Gwyn.’

  Gwyn shook his head. ‘No worries, Liz. No bother. I always knew you knew.’ He kept his eyes fastened to the floor and waited for the heat in his cheeks to subside.

  Glyn-Guinea cleared his throat. ‘Right then, we know Anwen has friends who travelled abroad a lot. We know she was in contact with Mary, so it seems sensible for Gwyn to travel with Selwyn to London and start our search from there.’ Selwyn nodded but Gwyn shook his head.

  ‘I’m not leaving the farm and I’m not leaving Bara. Let Liz go, she knew Mary.’ Gwyn would not be swayed on this.

  ‘And if Liz manages to find her? Anwen will neither trust nor believe her. You have to go.’ Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe.

  ‘I’ll give Liz a letter.’ Gwyn offered. ‘Anwen knows my handwriting and I’ll get the phone put back on. All Anwen will have to do is call me.’

  Glyn-Guinea shook his head. ‘It needs to be you.’ Gwyn pressed his lips together stubbornly. ‘I’ll not argue with you Gwyn. It’s the only way we can find Anwen. But if you’re refusing to go, then you can tell Awel when she gets here.’

  ‘She’s coming here? When?’ Gwyn hadn’t expected a visit from Awel in person.

  ‘Later. After sunset.’ Glyn-Guinea turned to speak directly to Gary. ‘How is the search for the vicar going?’

  Gary shrugged his shoulders. ‘The village is thick with gossip,’ he said, tutting, ‘but PC Mallard says he will not rest until he finds him – fat chance of that. The plod and the vicar aren’t Chosen, only we can find them.’

  Glyn-Guinea nodded absently as he unfolded a huge map and spread it out over the table. ‘So, back to business. I’ve been visiting every Chosen farm - each and every one of them over the last few months and reported back to the Druids what I found – not that they’ve done anything about it.’ Glyn-Guinea scowled through his pipe smoke.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gwyn leaned over the map to study the markings scrawled over it.

  ‘Farms abandoned, completely empty. Here, here and here.’ Glyn-Guinea stabbed the map with a gnarled finger. ‘Pant y Carw, Bodalaw and Ty Gwyn Bach are completely deserted. The families vanished, the livestock gone. What sheep there were left were so skittish I couldn’t get near them.’

  Gwyn whistled through his teeth at the three red circles drawn on the map, all near each other, all Chosen farms. ‘What of these?’ Gwyn asked, pointing to another cluster of red circles on the left of the map.

  ‘Same again.’ Glyn-Guinea pulled a pen from his pocket and pulled off the lid. ‘All gone. Not a soul about.’ He drew a larger blue circle on the map encompassing all the smaller red circles. ‘So you see, this is where I think we should be looking.’

  ‘That’s a large area.’ Dai rubbed his chin. ‘We’ll need to narrow it down a bit.’

  Glyn-Guinea nodded. ‘I’m hoping Awel will be able to do exactly that.’ He turned to Gwyn. ‘But I’m hoping we’ll have come up with some more information by the time she arrives.’

  Gwyn raised his eyebrows. ‘So she really is joining us?’

  Glyn-Guinea nodded. ‘She is and she insisted we all wear the bracelets Liz brought.’ He began handing them out and Gwyn slipped his over his wrist. ‘She also made another mandate … Elder Nissyen will be joining us.’ He cringed.

  ‘A Druid?’ Gwyn recoiled at the thought of a Druid in his house. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘Awel insisted.’ Glyn-Guinea ground his teeth. ‘I’m no more delighted than you Gwyn, but Nissyen is learned and shrewd. He will be able to shed light where we see only shadows. Liz will be gone by then and her involvement is not to be mentioned in front of the Druid. You know their rules.’

  Gwyn sighed and his stomach grumbled. When preparing his breakfast this morning the last thing he had anticipated was a kitchen full of people. Working as one, they were attempting to strike at the heart of the evil that shrouded the hills and mountains of Eryri, to bring down Arawn, to restore the natural order, and they were returning Anwen and her child to the valleys. It was a small army, but an army that was going to change the fate of Cymru.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Glyn-Guinea said, relighting his pipe, ‘but working together as one, well, I reckon we can do this.’

  Gwyn was a jumble of emotions. ‘I hope for the sake of all of us that we can. I hope Awel knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘She does,’ Glyn-Guinea replied. ‘Now, have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.’

  ‘Hey.’ Gwyn put his hands on his hips and stared at everyone in turn. ‘Who ate my bacon butty?’

  Bara wagged her tail.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘You have lost your mind?’ Mab was pacing the floor of her pavilion, rubbing her hands together nervously. ‘Aeron agreed to this?’

  Awel leaned heavily on her staff. ‘Yes. I have been given permission to find Anwen and bring her safely back to the Dell.’

  ‘And he has given you permission to hunt down Arawn?’ Mab stopped her pacing and spun towards Awel. ‘He has not forbidden it?’

  Awel hid her deceits well. ‘I do not go in search of Arawn. That quest has been given to others, not to me.’ She met Mab’s gaze with her head held high. ‘But should our paths cross, I will of course defend myself. Do not worry Mab, he is still in Human form or he would have attacked us by now.’

  ‘Atgas is not Human,’ Mab pointed out. ‘Do you consider yourself a match for her?’

  Awel rolled her eyes. ‘As I’ve said, my quest is to find Anwen Morgan and the child, nothing more, but I repeat my answer and say that should our paths cross I will of course defend myself.’

  Mab stared into Awel’s eyes looking for a hint of falsehood but found none. ‘I still don’t like it. I need you here with me.’

  ‘And I shall return as soon as possible. In the meantime you must keep the Pride strong – they grow restless cooped up here. My advice is to keep them occupied. Why don’t you set them to trawl through the scrolls, see if they can find anything of use to help combat Arawn. We know so little about him; he died so very long ago. Any information we find may prove invaluable.’

  Mab considered Awel’s suggestion. ‘You are right. I will see to it. When do you leave? Do you wish one of us to go with you?’

  Awel shook her head. ‘Aeron said me and me alone. I leave at sunset.’

  ‘That is not his remit.’ Mab’s cheeks flushed with anger. ‘The Pride is mine to command – not his. I shall decide who goes and who stays.’

  ‘I am better off travelling alone. It matters not who commands what.’ Awel was growing increasingly impatient with the struggle of power between Mab and Aeron. ‘I leave at sunset, alone.’

  Mab’s eyes flashed with fury and frustration but finally she relented and embraced Awel. ‘I command you take care and return unharmed.’

  Awel returned the embrace. ‘And I shall obey.’ Withdrawing from Mab’s arms she stepped back and gripped her staff. ‘I must prepare to leave.’ With a bow to her queen, Awel left the pavilion and made her way to her own lodgings.

  Pulling back the flaps of her own smaller pavilion, Awel stepped inside and leaned her staff against her cot, only then did she see the tiny figure sitting cross-legged, patiently smiling up at her. The Tylwyth Teg unfolded her tiny body and stood erect on the cot, her huge almond eyes shining through the soft dimness of the pavilion interior, even standing tall on top of Awel’s cot, the Tylwyth Teg did not reach the height of Awel’s shoulders.

  Awel smiled down at the perfect little being. The Tylwyth Teg were as beautiful as they were silent. Rarely did they speak, seldom did they address one of the Bwy Hir. The tiny figure stretched onto her tiptoes, deftly balanced and poised, she lifted her h
ands to her face and cupped them around her mouth, leaning slightly forward towards Awel.

  Despite her shock, Awel leaned in towards the little Tylwyth Teg and turned her head to reveal her ear. ‘Cadw yn graff a ddysgych, Awel Ddu.’ The little figure whispered before leaning back, nodding solemnly and then hopping off the cot, landing nimbly on the floor and vanishing from the pavilion. Awel was poleaxed.

  “Cadw yn graff a ddysgych.” The Tylwyth Teg’s sing-song little voice echoed in Awel’s thoughts. ‘Keep securely what thou learnest, Awel Ddu,’ she mouthed, desperately trying to decipher the meaning of the words. What does it mean? What are the portents within the message? Why have the words shaken me so?

  With trepidation causing her limbs to move slowly she began to gather together the belongings she would need for her journey, stuffing them into a large satchel with trembling hands. The Tylwyth Teg had unnerved her. What have I learnt? What am I going to learn? Has gathering my band of secret collaborators been a mistake? With a vexed grunt she stopped her packing and flopped onto her cot with her head in her hands.

  Fate and consequence. Her own actions had brought her to this crossroads. Had she not intervened, had she not responded to Dafydd Morgan’s pitiful cries all those years ago, had she not saved the child with her own blood, then so much misery could have been spared. Dafydd Morgan and Nerys would be alive, Gwyn would not be named Gwaradwyddedig: Shamed, but most importantly of all, Anwen Morgan would not have lived, would never had met Taliesin ap Aeron Ddu and therefore never have spawned a Hanner-Bridia and Arawn would be left wanting.

  But Awel had heeded Dafydd’s call, it had felt right, truly just and virtuous to save the child. Had Awel foreseen the consequences of her intervention would she do it again? Awel shook her head, banishing the dark broodings. She was tying herself up in knots with the thoughts spinning around inside her head. ‘Arawn,’ she said to herself, as she tapped her chin with her forefinger.

  It made no sense to her – he made no sense. He could not have known about Anwen and her child when he and the Ysbrydion broke through from y Gwag and attacked Maen-Du. ‘Not possible, surely?’