by Lowri Thomas
‘You’re sure? Can they use the Cerdd Carega?’ Gwyn asked nervously, tucking himself slightly behind her.
‘They could once.’ Awel stood ready, her voice shaking with anticipation. ‘Why do they not follow?’
‘So, you’ve seen them. They are not what they seem … yet.’ Gwyn spun around to face the newcomer, his fists drawn. Bara spun too. Awel simply relaxed her shoulders, relief evident on her face.
Standing before them was possibly one of the ugliest women Gwyn had ever clapped eyes on. Stooped, emaciated and wearing filthy brown overalls and black wellington boots, the old crone limped towards them. Her hair hung in oily strings around her wrinkled, grimy face, and her eyes, although sharp, were deep set and hooded. A permanent scowl furrowed her brow and Gwyn was pretty sure that her head held not one tooth.
‘Greetings, Gwenllian Gwiddon.’ Awel turned and bowed her head. ‘You’ve seen the Cwn Annwn?’
‘I’ve seen them,’ Gwenllian lisped, ‘I see you too, Gwyn Morgan of Ty Mawr Farm. You’re a long way from home.’ Gwyn’s jaw dropped open.
Gwenllian huffed a chesty wheeze as she came to stand in front of Awel, twisting her neck so she could peer up at her. ‘So the rumours are true; Arawn has risen.’ She didn’t wait for an answer; she hobbled back up the path and disappeared between a copse of trees. Awel motioned for Gwyn to follow but Gwyn shook his head. ‘Gwiddon?’ he whispered. ‘Witch?’ Awel nodded her head and raised an eyebrow.
‘What are we doing here? Why don’t we just go before she does something?’
‘What are you expecting her to do?’ Awel didn’t bother to whisper. ‘Gwenllian is the one we were looking for – the one who can locate Anwen.’
Gwyn shook his head again but Awel shooed him up the path. Bara was hesitant to follow until Gwyn whistled for her. Awel followed behind.
‘All the Cerdd Carega are being watched.’ Gwenllian spoke over her shoulder as they left the shelter of the tree and made their way to a small stone cottage huddled on a lonely hillside.
‘I felt no one until now.’ Awel’s voice was tinged with concern.
‘Why would you? They keep themselves at a distance but they are there. All the sisters have seen them, hiding, watching.’
‘Sisters?’ Gwyn whispered to Awel.
‘The Gwrachod.’ Gwenllian answered. ‘We watch all the Cerdd Carega outside the Welsh borders. We watch, we wait.’
‘Wait for what?’ Gwyn was intrigued.
‘Gwyn Morgan, you ask too many questions.’ Gwenllian opened the garden gate that led to the cottage. The garden was neatly tendered and given over to all manner of fruit and vegetables. Gwyn recognised the tender shoots of peas grappling towards the wigwam of canes lining the pathway. Carrot leaves and lettuce buds, leaks and marrow, potato leaves and beetroot spouted through the cultivated, rich soil.
Further up the pathway were apple and pear trees, their glossy leaves curling in the gentle breeze and beyond them a blossoming garden where raspberries, strawberries and gooseberry bushes lingered to bear fruit.
‘How do you know my name?’ Gwyn asked, almost bumping into the back of Gwenllian as she paused to kick the mud off her boots before entering the cottage.
Gwenllian half turned and fixed Gwyn with an aggravated stare. ‘Too many questions. Gwyn Morgan. Distawrwydd yn rhinwedd.’
Gwyn waited until Gwenllian had entered the house before grumbling under his breath, ‘Silence is not one of my virtues. Flamin’ woman.’
‘No it is not,’ Awel said, as she stooped under the doorway and entered the house, leaving Gwyn to follow behind her blushing while Bara looked on, wagging her tail.
The cottage was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The kitchen they entered was large and centred around a warn pine table strewn with herbs, bowls and a scarred chopping board grazed from use. Wooden stools were neatly tucked under the table and Gwenllian offered them a seat. ‘Before we get down to business, let us have a nice cup of tea.’
Gwenllian moved around the kitchen, gathering earthenware mugs from the drainer as the kettle boiled. ‘All the Cerdd Carega are being watched along the borders. I can’t say for the stones in the interior, but on the borders, they’re being watched. I presume they are watching for Anwen Morgan?’
‘Possibly.’ Awel pursed her lips. ‘Probably.’
‘The Cwn Annwn, or what look like Cwn Annwn, they’ve been sniffing around the Cerdd Carega for days now – filthy things – but they are not the otherworldly creature of lore, these are of this world; they cannot travel through stones, and they can be destroyed.’
‘You know this?’ Awel leaned forward, accepting a steaming cup of tea. Gwyn took his proffered mug, sniffing it suspiciously before sipping. The tea was black and bitter, but it was wet and warm and Gwyn was grateful.
‘One of sisters shot one only two days ago. It was harrying her sheep.’ Gwenllian slurped her tea. ‘As for whether they can travel through the Cerdd Carega, no-one has seen one do it, nor has anyone seen Arawn himself, the Cwn Annwn are always with Seekers.’
‘Druid Seekers?’ Gwyn blurted, almost spilling his tea.
‘They are dressed as such and they are Human, so I presume so.’ Gwenllian pursed her lips and glared at Gwyn. ‘Questions.’ She turned to Awel. ‘There is something you should know. My sister who watches in Caer swears the Cwm Annwn are accompanied by a devil, she swears it.’
‘She swears true. Arawn has Wraith Warriors with him, they came from y Gwag during the assault on Maen-Du.’
Gwenllian gasped. ‘So the stories are true … Awel, if Arawn takes Bwy Hir form, if he bonds the Cwn Annwn, there will be war and the Triskele will be exposed to the world.’
‘What do you mean? War? War with whom?’ Gwyn ignored Gwenllian’s glare. ‘Awel?’
Awel straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap, considering her words before she spoke. ‘Gwyn, Arawn swore an oath … he swore he would return and claim back the lands of Cymru. Every Lost – every single Lost, would feel his wrath and suffer his retribution. He swore to retake the Winter Throne and every living thing would suffer an endless Winter until all but the Faithful perished.’
Only the ticking of the wall clock broke the silence that filled the kitchen. Awel looked past Gwyn with a faraway look in her eyes. Only Gwenllian met his eye and the look she gave him could have frozen water. He chose to ignore her. ‘Awel, Awel, I don’t understand, who are the Lost and who are the Faithful? You don’t mean all the Lost, not the Lost?’
‘I’m afraid I do.’ Awel blinked slowly and refocused on Gwyn’s tired, worried face. ‘All those who are not faithful to him, including any Chosen and Druid who stand against him will be destroyed. Can you imagine this country under a blanket of endless Winter … millions would die.’
‘And what about the Bwy Hir?’ Gwyn was confused, alarmed by Awel’s terrible warning. ‘Even if he takes proper form, becomes one of you, you know, by taking a Bwy Hir body and all, you’ll kill him, won’t you? You’d stop him.’
Awel remained silent. ‘Awel?’ Gwyn was close to panic. ‘Awel, answer me.’
Awel closed her eyes. She was tired, so tired. She longed for sleep, the slumber of Winter, the dreaming, the recuperation after the Solstice Harvest. She yearned for the rhythm of the seasons to return. She opened her eyes.
‘Arawn wears the Torc of Winter. As yet, he is nothing more than a thief, but should he become Bwy Hir once more, should his spirit dwell within a Bwy Hir body, then he will truly be King. He is last of the true line. His brother, Artur, sired no children. Arawn is the last of the true blood line; we would be bound to follow him.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Gwyn almost fell off his chair. ‘Bloody hell. So he needs Davy, or at the very least An-’
‘Enough!’ Awel slapped her hand down hard against the table. Gwyn and Gwenllian both jumped, startled at the sudden outburst. ‘Enough,’ Awel said in a quieter, gentler tone. ‘Forgive me, Gwyn.’ She gave him a warning lo
ok before she turned to a startled Gwenllian. ‘We should be about what we came here for.’
Gwenllian nodded and slipped from the kitchen. Awel and Gwyn waited at the table, under which Bara was huddled. ‘Again, forgive me Gwyn Morgan but your tongue was running away with you … trust no-one and keep securely what thou learnest.’
Gwyn nodded mutely, startled, afraid and exhausted, he could have burst into tears, but instead he swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned down to mollify Bara.
Gwenllian returned carrying a shallow wooden box and laid it on the table. Awel leaned over and placed her hand on top of the box, ‘Gwyn Morgan is close to collapse; he has not slept in many hours. Can you prepare a place for him to rest before we begin?’
‘The sofa is as comfortable as it is worn.’ She nodded towards the adjoining room. ‘Come with me. I’ll fetch a blanket and pillow.’
With a last look at Awel, Gwyn and Bara followed Gwenllian. Awel listened as Gwenllian settled Gwyn on the sofa before she returned to stand in front of the box. ‘Shall we begin? Do you wish to undertake the finding?’
Awel shook her head with frustration. ‘I have no talent for earth bound magic. I could have found her with a scrying bowl if she hadn’t removed her binding bracelet.’
Gwenllian opened the box and removed the contents one by one. First she unfolded a yard of embroidered linen. The cloth was as beautiful as it was intricate: the whole of the British Isles was painstakingly stitched onto the cloth, every mountain, every inlet was depicted in detail, every Cerdd Carega marked in thread-of-gold, every ley line in silver; an unsurpassable work of art. Finally, she withdrew a silver chain attached to a slender crystal teardrop.
Her motions were deft and practiced, almost trance-like as she opened each flask, pouring the individual contents into each bowl; one held white powder, the other held red.
‘Do you have the witness?’ Gwenllian asked, holding out her hand as she studied the map. Awel passed the lock of Anwen’s hair. She wished she had come to Gwenllian years ago, but Awel had wanted Anwen kept at arm’s length, away from Aeron, away from the Pride too, but Mary’s death had forced her hand. She needed Anwen and her child safely returned to the Dell.
Gwenllian unravelled the lock of hair and wound it around the crystal and up the chain, securing it between her forefinger and thumb. She allowed the crystal to dangle over the map and slowly began to swing the chain, forcing it to rotate in slow, arching circles.
Round and around the crystal arced. She began to chant, ‘Turning, turning, turn around, someone’s lost who must be found ... turning, turning, turn around, under sky or underground ... turning, turning, turn about, find her, find her, seek her out!’
Round and round the crystal spun, over and over again Gwenllian chanted her spell. Gwyn could hear the incantation from where he lay on the sofa, almost hypnotic. Her words echoed in his head until at last, he slipped into a fitful, nauseous sleep.
‘Turning, turning, turn around …’ Thud. The crystal dropped to the map and stuck fast. They both leaned over, almost touching heads as they studied the location. ‘Caerdyf,’ they said in unison.
Gwenllian unwound the lock of hair, divided it into two strands and set them aside. Delving back into the box she pulled out two small copper divining rods each with a yew handle. Unscrewing the handles, she placed a lock of hair in each before reattaching them to the rods and handing them to Awel.
With a satisfied smile Awel put the rods into her satchel. ‘Anwen Morgan chose her location well. A city is not easily accessible to Helgi or Bwy Hir. She can vanish among the Lost and …’ Awel trailed off; she had nearly revealed that not only could Anwen Morgan travel through the Cerdd Carega, but that she had positioned herself amongst the Cerdd Carega Chaniatawyd, the Forbidden Cerdd Carega, and in one jump, could escape the country and take the child with her.
Awel pondered the repercussions: Anwen Morgan was free of the covenants that bound the Bwy Hir from travelling over the sea, but the child? Could the child travel freely? What would happen if the child was as subject to the covenants as the rest of the Bwy Hir? Would the child grow sick and die?
‘A penny for them.’ Gwenllian roused Awel from her contemplations.
Awel smiled. ‘They are not worth a penny.’
‘I take it you brought the boy so he could retrieve the girl from the city.’ Gwenllian made no eye contact; she focused on carefully replacing the instruments back in their box.
‘He is her brother. There is no one else she would trust.’
‘And yet he is of no interest to Arawn … the girl’s child … he is the one of interest, why?’ Gwenllian became still, waiting for the reply with her head bowed to her work.
‘The child is a Hanner-Bridia. No – do not ask me how, for I would not reveal the answer.’
Gwenllian raised her head and their eyes met. ‘Then god help us all should Arawn find them … Awel, would it not be better if the child were dead?’
Awel remained silent.
CHAPTER NINE
Elder Tomas stalked the hallways of Maen-Du. His furrowed brow and tight lips sent initiates fleeing from his scrutiny. His destination was his study where hours before he had sent a young librarian to stew for his seditious commentaries.
Not so seditious now. Elder Tomas pressed his lips together as he stalked towards his destination. He could see the hallway outside his study was empty. Where was the librarian? How dare he leave without permission? Elder Tomas was livid.
He made a sharp turn into an adjacent corridor, a new destination set. ‘In all my years,’ he grumbled to himself, ‘I have never known such times as these. Madness, utter madness.’
Throwing open the door to the library, he made his presence immediately felt, scanning every face turned towards him in surprise. ‘Where is the librarian I sent to my study this morning?’ His bardic voice echoed through the chamber. Silence greeted him.
‘You.’ He pointed to an unsteady elder librarian. ‘Do you know of whom I speak?’
The librarian nodded, and stammered a reply. ‘He has not returned to the library.’
Elder Tomas fumed. ‘What is his name?’
‘Iola. Sir. H-his name is Iola.’
‘And yours?’
‘Gerwyn. Sir.’
‘Gerwyn, you will go immediately to the Seekers and give this message.’ Tomas spoke loud enough so all could hear. ‘The librarian, Iola is to be arrested on sight and confined to his quarters. I am to be advised the moment his is apprehended. He is charged with insubordination.’
Tomas could hear the sudden intakes of breath and whisperings among the Druids gathered in the library and he was grimly pleased. ‘Go immediately,’ he ordered, and the librarian scampered to do his bidding. With one last peevish look around the library, Elder Tomas withdrew to seek out his next quarry. The whispering increased.
The physician looked up from washing his hands as Elder Tomas entered the infirmary. ‘Are you here for your infusion?’ he asked, wiping his hands on a towel.
‘No, no.’ Elder Tomas waved the suggestion away. ‘Are we alone?’
The physician raised his eyebrows as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘We are indeed … What ails you, Tomas?’
‘Nothing ails me. I need to speak to you. I have orders from Lord Aeron but first you must show me your chest.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The physician was taken aback.
‘Your chest … come on, I don’t have all day.’
The physician complied, although bewildered. Tomas released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding before leaning in and whispering his news. The physician’s eyebrows grew steadily higher.
‘A census?’ the physician blurted. ‘You’re serious?’
Elder Tomas hushed him. ‘Shh … yes. It’s the only way … if we add it to a health inspection, then you can check, see if anyone bares the mark.’
‘Do you have any idea how long something like this would take? Weeks, months even
.’ The physician shook his head.
‘Not if you’re helped. We can use your apprentices – once they’re checked of course – some Elders, perhaps.’
The physician scratched his head. ‘With help, maybe. But it will still take days and days.’
‘Then we must be about it. It must be completed quickly.’ Elder Tomas pursed his lips. ‘You have records of every Druid, a brief medical examination crossed checked with a census will expose the traitors in our midst. Those who fail to attend and cannot be located in Maen-Du will be named Gwaradwyddedig and will face the R’hela if caught.’
The physician removed his glasses and began a studied cleaning of each lens. ‘You are sure your intelligence is correct? I cannot believe there are those who would turn to Arawn.’
‘There is no doubt.’ Elder Tomas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I wish there was but one has already been found, and where there is one, there will be more.’
The physician nodded sagely. ‘Then let us begin. We will use the infirmary. Use the hallway as a waiting area. We admit eight Druids at a time. We will check each one … What happens if we find one?’
‘You will inject him.’ Elder Tomas bit off his words. ‘I don’t care what with, as long as it renders them immediately unconscious and then they will be bound securely and taken via the rear doorway to Dduallt.’
‘I see. So I will need seven assistants, at least two Seekers and two or three librarians to check off each Druid against the Census.’
‘I shall select the Seekers and librarians personally and have them brought here. You arrange your assistants and they shall all be checked here, prior to revealing our plan to them.’
‘Agreed.’ The physician extended his hand and Elder Tomas shook it. ‘I will return by Vespers.’
As Elder Tomas made the gruelling trek back towards Aeron’s chambers, he hoped that Elder Nissyen and the Chosen Glyn-Guinea would make as quick progress with scrutinising all the Chosen men. How they intended to undertake their task was beyond him; so many men in so many different locations.
