by Lowri Thomas
Gwyn wound the window down a few inches and peered out. A scruffy young man stood hunched in the rain, his face barely visible beneath his hood. ‘Are you Gwyn?’
‘Whose asking?’ he replied as he squinted at the shadowy figure. Gwyn judged him to be no older than fifteen or sixteen. A runaway, perhaps? Homeless by the look of him.
The young man’s face remained impassive. ‘I’ve got a message for you. Do you want it or not?’ Gwyn bobbed his head and the young man cleared his throat. ‘She says stop with the divining rods – you look ridiculous – go back to the church, she’ll meet you there.’
Gwyn blinked twice before speaking. ‘What, that’s it?’ The young man shrugged his shoulders and nodded. ‘Who’s the message from?’ Again the man shrugged. ‘What, you didn’t see who gave you the message?’ The man shrugged again and slipped away into the night.
‘Wait!’ Gwyn struggled out of the van but by the time he’d stepped foot on the street the lad had vanished. ‘Which church?’ he yelled into the darkness but he received no reply. ‘Bugger it.’ Gwyn kicked at the side of the van before flinging open the door and throwing himself back in the driving seat. He leaned on the steering wheel, pursed his lips and thought it through. It must be the church he passed earlier today, the one with the old women outside. Was the message from Anwen? Had she been there? He pulled his jacket off the passenger seat and fumbled through the pockets until he found the keys. Turning them in the ignition, the engine sprung into life. He turned on the windscreen wipers and peered out through the windscreen gauging which way was best to return to the church. ‘Bloody hell.’ He thrust the gearstick into first and pulled out into the road. ‘I hope I can bloody well find it again.’
His heart quickened as the van accelerated down the road. Hopefully Anwen would be waiting for him … if not – no, he was determined: the message was from Anwen and they were going to be reunited again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘You’re making a mistake, Nissyen. I’m telling you, salt is not the answer.’ Glyn-Guinea stood with his feet apart and his arms folded as he glared at the Elder Druid sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk covered by the map Glyn-Guinea had unfurled on his arrival.
Elder Nissyen inhaled deeply as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk and steeple his fingers. ‘We must agree to disagree then.’
‘Whose idea was it anyway? Salt of all things?’ Glyn-Guinea moved his hands to rest on his hips. ‘Do the Bwy Hir know what you’re doing?’
Elder Nissyen pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair. ‘Of course they do. They have instructed us to salt the mirrors and we are using the opportunity to census them. Every mirror will be accounted for when the Chosen step through their individual mirror at midnight. Any mirror not used by a Chosen will be investigated further by the Druids and we will undertake its salting.’
‘You can bloody well leave my mirror alone.’ Glyn-Guinea planted his fists on his hips. ‘Salting is a mistake; salt is corrosive and conductive, it also dulls magic. You are going to damage every mirror in existence. I demand that you postpone this exercise until it can be discussed fully in a Triskelion council meeting.’
Nissyen stood up and leaned heavily across the table. ‘Your demand is declined. The salting will proceed as planned and I’m warning you that if you don’t present yourself through your mirror at midnight then a Seeker will be sent through to do it for you.’
They glared at each other across the desk, their recent amity dispelled. Neither were prepared to back down. ‘So,’ Nissyen said, finally breaking the silence and resuming his seat, ‘as I said before, we must agree to disagree. Now, do you wish to discuss this map?’
Glyn-Guinea refolded his arms and pursed his lips, mulling over whether he should flounce out of the room like a spoilt child and leave Nissyen to stew, or whether he should swallow his anger and divulge what he came him to express in the first place. He swallowed hard. ‘I think Arawn has a pair of mirrors.’
Nissyen’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. ‘Why would you think that? Every Dderwydd Drych in existence is hanging in the Hall of Mirrors with its twin in the homes of the Chosen. He could not possibly have a mirror, not unless he has stolen one from a Chosen’s home – hence the census – and besides, if he did have a Chosen mirror, the twin is guarded in the Hall of Mirrors and therefore no use to him.’ Nissyen shook his head at the silliness of Glyn-Guinea’s suggestion.
‘Could he have made them?’ Glyn-Guinea was losing his patience. He knew he was right. He just knew it.
Again, Nissyen shook his head. ‘The art of mirror forging is almost lost to us. It is a complex and protracted process, and can only be completed during very specific times of year and even then, the moon, the weather, the forging and the sorcery must all be in perfect alignment.’
‘Then you are wrong. He has found a pair of mirrors.’ Glyn-Guinea fished in his pocket for his pipe. ‘Hear me out, Nissyen. I know not every mirror hangs in the Hall of Mirrors – one was broken when Arawn assaulted Maen-Du-’
Nissyen interrupted with a vexed shaking of his head. ‘That mirror was destroyed; it was broken and therefore unusable. Its twin suffered the same fate – as you know, what happens to one mirror also happens to its twin. Both were destroyed.’
Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe, frustrated at Nissyen’s words. ‘He has to have a mirror! How else could his Warriors and his lackeys travel in and out from wherever he is held up? They can’t be dragging everything through y Gwag to wherever they are – they can’t be in y Gwag; “no flesh can reside there”.’
The entrance of Elder Tomas interrupted their conversation. ‘Elder Chosen Williams, I was expecting to find you here. Is all well?’
Glyn-Guinea blew out his cheeks. ‘No, Elder Tomas. All is not well.’ He crossed his arms as Nissyen rolled his eyes.
‘Elder Tomas,’ Nissyen said, sighing, ‘I’m afraid that this particular Chosen considers salting the mirrors to be a grave mistake. He also comes armed with a map that he claims suggests the whereabouts of the entrance to Arawn’s stronghold.’ Elder Tomas raised an eyebrow.
‘He also insists that the entrance must be a Dderwydd Drych although I have explained to him that it simply cannot be possible for Arawn to have secured a pair of working mirrors.’ Nissyen smiled thinly and shrugged his shoulders.
Elder Tomas pursed his lips and with a faraway look in his eyes he slowly sat down on one of the two vacant chairs in front of the desk and offered Glyn-Guinea the other.
‘There was one Dderwydd Drych that used to hang in the Hall of Mirrors a long time ago. Its twin belonged to a Welsh noble family whose estate ran alongside the border of England. To cut a long, bloody story short, the family were annihilated by the English when the Welsh lost Caer. The estate was eventually claimed by an English noble and the lands were lost along with the mirror. So its twin was removed from the Hall and placed in the vaults, discarded and forgotten.’
Elder Tomas cast a glance between Nissyen and Glyn-Guinea before taking a deep breath and continuing. ‘The vaults were broken into during the Ysbrydion raid and the mirror was taken …’
‘So I was right!’ Glyn-Guinea sat back in his chair, crossed his legs and shoved his pipe in his mouth triumphantly. Nissyen glared at the smug outburst.
‘You said the twin was lost to the English.’ Nissyen’s ready voice was filled with concern. ‘Where was it located?’
Tomas clasped his hands together and rested them in his lap. ‘As I said, in Caer, where Cadno claims to have found Atgas. So you see, Nissyen, Elder Chosen Williams is indeed right; there is every possibility that Arawn has a pair of mirrors.’ He turned to Glyn-Guinea. ‘Show me your map. You believe you know the location of the mirror?’
Glyn-Guinea uncrossed his legs and leaned forward casting his eye over the map spread out in front of them. ‘The Chosen have marked where they have witnessed Helgi or Bradychwr activity and which if possible the direction and time so we could plo
t their movements.’ All three leaned over the map to study the markings, arrows and symbols hastily drawn on its surface.
Glyn-Guinea followed the directions of the arrows with the stem of his pipe. ‘As you can see, everything points to one place: Cwm Idwal … There is a lake at the base of the mountain, other than that, sheer cliff faces and crags. It’s a pretty desolate place … a perfect place to hide a mirror.’
Elder Tomas scanned the map, tracing the flow of arrows with his fingers, noting the hills and vales, rivers and lakes with his eyes. Finally he leaned back and tapped the desk with his forefinger. ‘Nissyen, I want Seekers searching that area immediately and report anything they find. Tell them they search for a hidden Dderwydd Drych. They are to check every crack and fissure until they find it.’
‘What about the other mirrors?’ Glyn-Guinea spoke up. ‘The salting is a mistake.’
‘We have discussed this already,’ Nissyen snapped.
Tomas held up a hand. ‘Nissyen, you forget from what line Elder Chosen Williams descends.’ Nissyen wrinkled his brow in confusion. ‘You see, Nissyen, he is unique among the Chosen; all the women in his family were and are Gwiddon; Witches, and Sisters of the Gwrachod. I would hear what he has to say about the scheduled salting.’
Glyn-Guinea cringed at the disclosure of his lineage; few knew or remembered his ancestry and he liked to keep it that way. Elder Tomas had obviously been doing his research.
‘Look, I know salt is common in magic; for circles and cleansing and all that, as well as being great to get rid of evil spirits – which is why I presume you’ve decided to use it – but think about it,’ Glyn-Guinea said, beginning to tick off each of his arguments with the stem of his pipe against his outstretched finger, ‘salt is a natural desiccating agent, its why slugs die when they get salt on ‘em. Salt is a natural preserver, killing all the bacteria. But it is a bugger of an oxidizer as well; it makes things rust or corrode. It is also one of the strongest electrical conductors I can think of. Salt can also dull magic and can be contaminated by negative energy.’
He shoved his pipe back between his teeth as he concluded. ‘You go and tamper with the mirrors with salt, then who knows what will happen? What if you damage the mirrors beyond repair? What then?’
Tomas turned to Nissyen. ‘What is your opinion?’
Nissyen shook his head. ‘The instruction to salt the mirrors was given by Aeron Ddu himself. We should go ahead as planned; the Bwy Hir are far more knowledgeable in these matters than the Druids and the Chosen put together.’
‘Can we not at least postpone it until it can be discussed by a full Triskelion gathering?’ Glyn-Guinea pleaded with Tomas, ‘Please?’
Tomas looked from one to the other, pondering on the best course of action. ‘The problem we have is all the Bwy Hir are gathered in the Dell and we have no way of contacting them except by blowing the warning horn in case of attack … Aeron Ddu expects the mirrors to be salted at midnight tonight and woe betides us all if we do not do as instructed.’ He stood up and began to pace around the room.
‘All I can agree to is should the Host return before midnight, then I will seek their council on this matter. Other than that, the salting must go ahead as scheduled.’ Tomas spread his arms. ‘That is all I can do.’
Nissyen was satisfied. ‘Then it is agreed.’ He stood and shuffled from behind his desk. ‘If you will excuse me, I will see to instructing the Seekers on their mission.’ He rolled up the map and left the room with it tucked under his arm.
Glyn-Guinea was vexed and dejected. ‘I’ll be going then. But you promise me that if a Bwy Hir can be found then you will broach this matter with them immediately?’
‘I promise.’ Elder Tomas gave a half smile and nodded. ‘Come, I will escort you to the Hall of Mirrors, I presume you came through the newly salted mirror?’
‘I did.’
‘And you came through safely?’ Tomas gave a wry smile.
‘I did, but that doesn’t mean you’re not making a mistake.’ Glyn-Guinea stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed Elder Tomas into the cavernous hallway.
They walked towards the Hall of Mirrors in silence until Glyn-Guinea slowed to watch a small procession of Seekers flanking two Druids bound at the wrists. ‘What’s this?’ he asked Elder Tomas.
Tomas frowned and touched Glyn-Guinea’s elbow to keep him moving. ‘Bradychwr,’ he replied flatly, ‘we have found five traitors in our midst so far. They are being taken to Dduallt until Aeron Ddu decides their fate; burnt at the stake or hunted in the R’hela. Either way, they will be punished by death.’
‘Filthy business, all this,’ Glyn-Guinea said, shaking his head sadly. ‘The sooner all this is over, the happier I will be.’
Tomas nodded his head in agreement. ‘Before you go, is there any news of the Morgan girl?’
Glyn-Guinea raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject, but he kept on walking. ‘Not as far as I know,’ he replied cautiously.
Elder Tomas sighed. ‘Well, I have much I need to do before midnight, so I will say goodbye.’ They bowed to each other at the doorway to the Hall of Mirrors where a guard was waiting to escort him back to the mirror that led to the Eagles Pub.
As Glyn-Guinea emerged back in the shabby, empty room at the back of the pub, he had made a decision to find Awel, and if that meant standing in front of the Cerdd Carega in the Gwydir Forest shouting and hollering until his throat was raw, so be it. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and he had to stop them salting the mirrors.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cadno struggled towards consciousness. Distant echoes floated through his awareness, rippling away before he could identify the sound or where it was coming from. He felt detached from his own body as he swam in the inky blackness of his mind.
Slowly, sluggishly he became aware of a throbbing pain in his right leg pulsing to a similar pain in his head. He began to make sense of sound; the drip, drip, drip of water nearby, the hushed whisper of voices. Voices. Cadno’s eyes snapped open.
He blinked. Despite his eyes being open he could see very little from where he lay sprawled on the ground. He felt the cool and moist soil beneath the palm of his hand. Where am I? He struggled to roll on his side, breathing hard as a wave of nausea threatened to send him back into oblivion.
From his new vantage point he could see the dim glow of torches in the distance and beside them ran wooden fencing he presumed were some sort of stock pens. Above him there was no sky, no stars or clouds, only oppressive darkness. He inhaled the smell of damp soil, of domestic animals, of Human sweat all jumbled together in a fetid stew of staleness.
He blinked again. Closer to him was a line of white stretching away from his line of sight. He smelt candles and something metallic, something he didn’t at first recognise and then it dawned on him; the smell was blood.
He struggled onto all fours and finally onto his shaky legs, tottering where he stood as he looked around, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. Then he heard the voice and his heart sunk.
Atgas’ mocking voice called from the darkness. ‘You looked so sweet while you were sleeping, almost childlike. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.’ Her cold laugh peeled through the shadows.
‘You have a heart?’ Cadno stopped her mirth. He spun in a slow circle, followed the white line with his eyes. He was standing in a circle; he was trapped. ‘Alchemy, Atgas, really?’ He made his voice light and flippant but his pulse beat faster and faster. ‘A witch’s trick. You think this can hold me?’
Atgas stepped forward into the candle light that ringed the white circle etched onto the ground. Within the circle were five lines arranged to form a five pointed star. Runes spiralled between the lines all created using salt, mercury, sulphur and blood.
‘You like your new accommodation, Cadno?’ Atgas stalked around the outside of the circle. ‘I would very much like to see you try to escape.’
‘Now why would I want to escape?’ Cadno
felt dizzy but he painted on a smile and followed Atgas with his eyes. She tipped her head to one side and studied him for a moment. What game is he playing? Does he not realise where he is?
She changed her tack. ‘Arawn sends his regards, he’s very busy at the moment but I’m sure he’ll get to you sooner or later.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Cadno sat down on the moist ground and rested his forearms on his knees. ‘There’s something I need to speak to him about.’
Atgas pursed her lips. ‘And what would that be?’
Cadno chuckled and shook his head. ‘I want to speak to the king, Atgas, not the court jester.’
Atgas hissed in fury, threw her hand forward and aimed a flash of lightning at Cadno’s head. A flash of white light filled the cavern. The lightning dissipated as soon as it reached the circle’s edge.
Cadno shook his head and tutted. ‘You of all people should know that nothing can cross an alchemic circle, really Atgas, you should know better.’ With a venomous scowl Atgas vanished back into the darkness. He kept his smile in place but inside him hope flickered and then faded.
He remained seated, outwardly calm, inwardly panicked. His plan had been a simple one: find Arawn’s lair, offer an alliance and find the female Helgi. He had intended to spirit her away and find some way of restoring her to her original form – surely that would be payment enough? The evil undone? Then he would be able to enter the Dell once more before anyone found out and bring with him as much intelligence as he could deliver to Aeron and throw himself on his mercy. If he could not find the female, then should the opportunity arise, he intended to kill Arawn and thus not only rid the world of evil but restore himself in Aeron’s eyes. If he still couldn’t enter the Dell after destroying Arawn, well surely the Bwy Hir would believe his exile from the Dell was because of him killing Arawn and take pity. Surely that would be enough?
But that was before he had woken up trapped in an alchemy circle; prisoner not an ally. How was he going to wriggle out of his current predicament?
