by Lowri Thomas
Awel stared disbelievingly at Bara and then at Celyn-Bach. Was he telling the truth? Awel had no particular affinity with animals; hers were the birds, the sky and the breeze. ‘How does Bara know?’ Awel asked doubtfully. ‘Has she learnt to read?’
Celyn-Bach chuckled and rubbed between Bara’s ears. ‘I jest, Awel, although I really would keep her away from Bran now she knows. No, I saw the way you tore off after reading a message on your Drych Ysgrifennu … so when does he arrive and does he have Anwen Morgan and the child with him?’
Awel pressed her lips tightly together and snapped the scroll shut before secreting it away in her robes. ‘Come.’ She waved him over to a silk partition at the back of the pavilion, pulled aside the flap and slipped inside.
An old woman stood bolt upright behind a table strewn with maps and all manner of scrying instruments. She had the good grace to blush as if she’d been caught meddling with things she ought not to.
‘Peace, Gwenllian, he already knows.’ Awel waved Celyn-Bach towards the low table, at least it was low to them yet it came to Gwenllian’s middle. Bara shuffled in and wove between their legs to sit underneath.
‘You’re scrying?’ Celyn-Bach leaned in, fascinated by the use of earth bound magic. ‘What have you found?’
Awel nodded and Gwenllian began to explain, ‘I cannot search for Gwyn Morgan – he is hidden by Awel’s binding – but I can locate Anwen Morgan.’ She moved to an open box set beside a yard of beautifully embroidered linen. Celyn-Bach appreciated how painstakingly intricate the map of the British Isles was.
‘She is on the move and we’ve – I’ve – been tracking her progress …’ From the box she withdrew a silver chain attached to a slender crystal teardrop with what looked to Celyn-Bach to be red hair; he understood.
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 and 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!’
A chill ran up Celyn-Bach’s spine and he involuntarily shivered. He had spent time researching earth bound magic and had witnessed the Druids with their incantations and potions, but he had never seen or felt a Gwiddon at work.
Round and round the crystal spun, over and over again Gwenllian chanted her spell until suddenly the crystal thudded onto the linen and they all leaned in. ‘She’s moving fast, Awel.’ Gwenllian hobbled sideways to consult a second map that she was obviously using to track Anwen’s movements. ‘Cemmaes, now Brecon – that is quite a leap.’ She tucked a greasy strand of white hair behind her ear. ‘I have no Cerdd Carega marked at her locations but how else could she be travelling so quickly?’
Awel clasped her hands together, steepled her two forefingers and pressed them to her lips as she pondered the answer. A sudden smile showed from behind her fingers. ‘Clever girl … clever girl.’
Awel had to secretly congratulate Anwen for her shrewdness, although she did wonder where she had gleaned her information. ‘Pass me the scroll – no, not that one – the other.’ Gwenllian touched the pile of vellum one by one until Awel nodded and opened her hand.
‘She is indeed using Cerdd Carega,’ Awel said, opening the scroll and bent over to open it on the table, ‘but not any you would be familiar with, or me for that matter, these are the old stones that once bound the new Cristions to us, or should I say the very old Cristions to us.’
Celyn-Bach whistled through his teeth. ‘They still exist?’ He knelt down on one knee so he could study the scroll in detail. ‘They were not destroyed at the breaking?’
Gwenllian snorted in disgust. ‘They might as well have been destroyed, the Cristions turned their back on the Bwy Hir, saw you as sinful and buried your memory in their vaults. A hex on them all.’ She spat on the floor.
‘Peace, Gwenllian,’ Awel chided, ‘it was our choice as much as theirs.’
Celyn-Bach ran his fingers over the map, moving from one location to the other, following the thin lines that connected one from the other, marking the distance between them until he came to the nearest church to the Dell. He raised his head. ‘They will arrive at Llanrhychwyn?’ Awel nodded. ‘How do you intend to get from there to here? It is quite a distance and through a forest that is no longer safe to travel.’
‘And at night,’ Awel added with unease, ‘they come at nightfall.’
‘Have you told Aeron or Mab?’ Celyn-Bach folded his arms, already knowing the answer to his question.
‘No.’ Awel shook her head, the tiny bells jangling in her silver tresses. ‘They are embroiled up to their necks in Chosen and Druids and I do not want to go to them until I have a firm proposal … How goes this “summit”?’ Her mouth turned into a frown as if the word tasted sour.
‘Frantically.’ Celyn-Bach rolled his eyes. ‘The salting has caused chaos.’
Gwenllian grunted as she pulled away the cloth covering a powlen ysbryd: a spirit bowl. ‘You mean this chaos?’ she waved an arthritic hand over the bowl. The water was cloudy instead of clear, slender shadows twirled through the milky liquid and rippled the surface. With a disgusted grunt she threw back the cloth. ‘Completely unusable.’
‘It gets worse still, I’m afraid.’ Celyn-Bach unfolded his arms and gave a melancholy sigh. ‘The mirrors that were not salted are bearing the brunt of our mistake. There are reports of scores of Ysbrydion assailing the mirrors, striking the glass and making their presence felt on both sides; the affected Chosen are scared, the Druids in the Hall of Mirrors are nervous.’
‘Ha, the Halls will be stinking of white sage!’ Gwenllian cackled, ‘And yet they will worry themselves with the treatment and not the cause.’ She fixed them with a shrewd stare. ‘Ysbrydion are not Ysbrydion until they are fed with blood. Stop the feeding, and the Ysbrydion will return to incorporeal spirit and therein is the cure.’
‘Atgas.’ Awel scowled.
‘There is more.’ Celyn-Bach closed his eyes, ‘The salting has caused further harm: Gwrnach returned from an outing this morning. He was enraged … there is salt in the lakes.’
‘Of course there is. What did they expect?’ Gwenllian hissed. ‘We are all connected! We are all one! Desalination will take weeks, maybe months, but the natural balance will return and the salt was not in such quantities that the damage cannot be undone in due course.’ She hobbled around the table, huffing and wheezing as she came to stand directly in front of the two Bwy Hir, twisting her neck so she could peer up at them.
‘But y Gwag? There is no rain nor rivers, stones nor soil. What goes in there cannot be filtered out by the earth. No. What goes in remains unless you bring it out and there is the crux of the matter!’ She wagged a twisted finger. ‘You must first stop the feeder and then you must open the unsalted mirrors and let the Ysbrydion out, then you must destroy them here, let out the blood and send their spirits back where they belong. No blood. No Ysbrydion.’
‘To do that we must first find Atgas and Arawn.’ Celyn-Bach folded his arms again.
‘You have the bait.’ Gwenllian squinted up at them.
‘No.’ Awel drew back in disgust. ‘I will not endanger them, nor risk Arawn gaining what he seeks.’
Gwenllian shrugged her shoulders and hobbled back behind the table. ‘That is your decision, but fate may force your hand, Awel Chan y Bant. You cannot control their destiny; that power is not yours to command.’
‘Arawn will not get his hands on any of the Morgans. I will not allow it.’ Awel leaned over the table, biting off each word as she fixed Gwenllian with a menacing glower. ‘Use your skills and locate me Arawn, or Atgas or Cadno – all three are together – find me one and I shall see them destroyed before they can raise a hand against those I seek to protect.’
Gwenllian was too old and too cunning to be intimidated by Awel’s anger. ‘Give me something that
belonged to them,’ she bit back, ‘and I will give you what you ask, but time is running short Awel Chan y Bant; sunset is but hours away.’
‘You know I have nothing.’ Awel threw herself away from the table, vexed and despondent.
‘But I have.’ Celyn-Bach’s calm voice cut through the quarrel. He slipped his thumb and forefinger into his shirt and pulled out a small metal arrowhead hung on a simple leather cord. ‘A souvenir from when Atgas shot Cadno.’
‘Oh, for the love of light!’ Awel exclaimed in delight. ‘I could kiss you, Celyn-Bach!’
‘As could I!’ Gwenllian cackled and opened her hand to accept Celyn-Bach’s offering. ‘Yet I doubt he would appreciate either!’
Gwenllian bent to her work, using the cord of Celyn-Bach’s necklace to attach the arrow head to a clean crystal she’d pulled from her box, her tongue sticking out between her wrinkled lips as she set Anwen’s crystal aside and began the slow circular spinning over the map.
Awel and Celyn-Bach stood back watching Gwenllian as she mumbled her incantations. Once, twice, three times the crystal spun over the map before it thumped down in a shower of sparks.
‘Ow!’ Gwenllian cried out and shook her hand as if shaking away pain. ‘Malicious bitch! Hexing sow!’
‘What is it?’ Awel rushed forward but Gwenllian shooed her away with her good hand.
‘Atgas is as shrewd as she is spiteful – a spell to hex scrying for her.’ Gwenllian scowled and spat on the floor.
‘I thought you were scrying for Cadno?’ Celyn-Bach kept well back, he didn’t understand earth bound magic and it made him a little afraid.
‘I was,’ Gwenllian snapped, as she cautiously leaned over the map, ‘but as you said, it was Atgas’ arrow; we obviously have found two for the price of one … there.’ She pointed with her chin. ‘Do you recognise the location?’
‘It cannot be,’ Awel breathed, ‘there must be some mistake.’
‘Do you doubt my skills?’ Gwenllian bristled. ‘Even after the hex? A strong hex too – look at my hand!’ She held it out to show the already blistering, inflamed skin that covered her bloated hand.
Awel felt remorseful. ‘My apologies, Gwenllian Gwiddon, for both my doubt and my negligence. I am no healer myself, but I could send for someone?’
Gwenllian waved her apology away. ‘It will heal itself in time and will serve as a punishment for my overconfidence; I should have protected myself better.’
‘Where are they, Awel?’ Celyn-Bach still did not move close enough to clearly see the map.
‘Llyn Idwal.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘They are at the lake?’ Celyn-Bach was puzzled.
‘No.’ Awel stood straight as she smoothed her skirts. ‘They are under it. Come, I must inform Mab straight away, my fears are now confirmed.’
Celyn-Bach was still baffled as he followed Awel out of the pavilion. Gwenllian hobbled behind and Bara trotted between them, keen not to be excluded.
The summit was being held around the fire pit, Pride and Host, Druid and Chosen were sitting in clusters on the grassy slopes as they took turns to have their say in the common ground between. Tylwyth Teg silently passed between them as if oblivious to the discussion that was taking place above their heads.
Awel hurried into the hollow and was greeted by an air of apprehension. A Seeker escorted by Bran had been thrust into the centre and was babbling his news between gulped breaths and stammers. She caught the last of his words and seized on them. ‘He speaks the truth!’ her voice rang out as she swept into the centre of the hollow and bowed to Mab and Aeron. ‘I bring urgent revelations. May I address the summit?’
Mab and Aeron were sitting side by side on a small dais woven together to form a throne with Taliesin at their feet, and Awel pondered how long Mab would willingly share her dais much less the Dell itself. ‘Speak,’ Mab commanded, a little too quickly and Awel hid a smile before addressing the gathering.
‘Atgas and Cadno have been located together … Their location is Llyn Idwal.’ The Pride grew still, their eyes wide in alarm. Until now the exact location of the Lair had been kept a secret, it was their private sanctuary, only accessed through the Cerdd Carega in the Dell and only by females – until now.
‘Arawn’s den has been found. The Seekers have found one entrance: a mirror stolen from the vaults of Maen-Du and repaired, hidden in a cave with the Host’s missing dragons and the Bradychwr who chose to serve Arawn and guard the cave – I hope the area is now in our control?’ An affirming nod from the Seeker was acknowledged before she continued.
‘So we now control that entrance and yet this was not the only entrance … To Arawn and his Wraith Warriors entrance and exit could be gained through the underside of the lake via y Gwag, but that was before – now, Arawn no longer assumes command of the Ysbrydion, he no longer controls their focus – he is on the outside.
‘When he first reared his ugly head, he commanded the host of Ysbrydion and focused an attack on the Halls of Maen-Du – not the Chosen homes – he focused them all on Maen-Du. With the Ysbrydion concentrated on the Halls it gave him and Atgas ample time to negotiate y Gwag and steel into his den. He and Atgas no longer have that luxury: the Ysbrydion are leaderless and angry, anyone who steps foot into y Gwag will be set upon, including Arawn himself, he is after all part Human now and full of blood.
‘The third exit via the Cerdd Carega is here in the Dell.’ A spark of understanding lit the Host’s eyes. ‘But this is no longer so; we presume the Cerdd Carega on the other side to be destroyed.’ She turned in a slow circle to include all observers, ‘Arawn is cornered.’ She smiled in triumph. ‘He is trapped.’
A ripple of excitement and relief spread through the hollow; Arawn had trapped himself away from the world, he was out of harm’s way; no longer a threat.
‘Do not be so quick to cheer our good fortune.’ Aeron’s cold voice silenced the merriment. ‘You came late to our assembly, Awel, you did not hear all the Seeker had to say.’ He leaned forward on his dais and fixed her with an intense stare, ‘Not only does Arawn have Atgas in his company, he also has Wraith Warriors, Turncoat Druids, Helgi and Cwn Annwn at his disposal … He also has a number of prisoners, Chosen among them, and reports say he has Cadno imprisoned. If he succeeds in convincing Cadno to surrender his body, then Arawn will be Bwy Hir and will come to claim his throne.
‘Furthermore, if the late Elder Nissyen’s research is correct then it is only a matter of time before the strongest Ysbrydion devour the weaker and then Arawn will have more Wraith Warriors to add to his army – strong, determined warriors. Y Gwag will quieten and Arawn will have his way out. Make no mistake Awel, he is not trapped, he is merely cornered and will come out fighting.’
Awel didn’t hesitate in her response. ‘Then our course is plotted: take the fight to him. Open the mirror and release the Ysbrydion, denying Arawn his warriors. Enter his den and destroy him, destroy Atgas and send his Wraith Warriors back to where they belong. We must strike him while he is cornered.’
‘Awel speaks sense.’ Bran flexed his heavily muscled arms as he folded them across his chest. ‘We should strike him now while we have a chance, while he is at his weakest.’
‘You think it will be that easy?’ Mab’s voice was cool and calculated. ‘You forget his ally. Atgas will not go down without a fight and she is powerful, very powerful and merciless. Whoever steps through that mirror will face her full fury: it will be a blood bath.’
A heaviness hung over the hollow, a silent suspense that muted the tongue and prejudiced minds and judgement to inaction.
Awel broke the silence, her voice hushed and low. ‘There is more I would add to this debate, although I would request that my words are for yours and Aeron’s ears alone.’
Mab opened her mouth to speak but Aeron cut her off. ‘We are one, Awel, the Triskele is united in a summit and there should be no secrets between us. If you have something to add then you must address us all.’
&nbs
p; Awel looked to Mab who gave a tight, vexed nod. ‘So be it.’ Awel drew herself up to her full height and raised her voice for all to hear. ‘The Morgans of Ty Mawr Farm return to us. They arrive at nightfall. If Arawn should capture them, all will be lost. That is why I implore you to take the fight to Arawn’s door; keep him pinned down until I can bring them safely here.’
Taliesin was on his feet, his back to the crowd as he faced his parents, he spoke in urgent, hushed tones, his body stiff and his gestures insistent. Behind him the crowd murmured and shifted, disquieted by the turn of events. Rumours, gossip and perplexity had covered the Morgans like a shroud; some knew the truth, some guessed the truth and some did not know nor understand who Anwen Morgan was, nor the importance of her son – Taliesin’s son – the only Hanner-Bridia in existence.
‘Enough!’ Aeron barked with a vicious snarl. ‘Enough!’ He stood to tower over his son and the gathered assembly. ‘I call a recess.’ He growled as he stepped down from the dais and stalked up the pathway that led towards the pavilions. Taliesin ran to catch up with his father while Awel waited behind for Mab to make a dignified, slow withdrawal. Celyn-Bach slipped away to speak with Gwrnach.
Clusters formed and heads drew together in whispering knots. Refreshments had been laid out on the wall surrounding the fire pit but of the Tylwyth Teg there was no sign; they had vanished on silent feet and their absence had not yet been noted.
Gwenllian scanned the crowd, bobbing up and down until she found whom she sought. Glyn-Guinea was sitting alone, away from the crowds, puffing on his pipe and casting a cautious eye over the milling throng. ‘There you are,’ she said, as she sat down with a wince, her bonds were aching: there was a storm brewing.
‘So the cat is out of the bag then.’ Glyn-Guinea puffed on his pipe, inhaling the smoke before exhaling it through his clenched teeth. ‘When do they return?’
‘Nightfall.’ Gwenllian gave him a disapproving glare as the pipe smoke drifted in her direction.
