by Claire Wong
“Can we trust you not to kill him if he stays out here for a couple of days?”
I laugh at his directness and his mock-seriousness. He isn’t a particularly tactful man.
“It’ll be hard, but if you really think his life worth sparing, then I suppose so,” I respond with a pretend sigh. I think this is the first joke I have exchanged with anyone in a very long time. The novelty of it makes me bolder, and I blurt out the question I have been turning over. “Why did you really come here? Aside from your research, I mean. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Adam and Grace exchange glances. I wonder whether that is something siblings can do: communicate without saying anything. Perhaps if Eira and Owen were closer to my age, I would know the answer.
“That’s very sharp of you,” Grace answers. “We came here to learn more about our father.”
“Was he from here?”
“Yes, but he left a long time ago, before you were born.”
“He left?” I repeat. I wonder what they mean by that. Did he pack his bags and move to a city one day, or did he run away like me? Now I hope these two do come back tomorrow, because I have more questions I want to ask them.
“It’s left here, after that fallen tree,” I tell them.
“Left? Good thing you’re here to guide us. I could have sworn it was a right,” says Adam.
“If you went that way you’d probably end up falling down where the land drops away steeply at Owl’s Ledge,” I say. Technically, I made up the name Owl’s Ledge after I heard a tawny owl near there once, but they don’t know that.
“There’s nothing we like better than a broken leg to make the afternoon more interesting,” he says, and then adds more sincerely, “But thank you for the warning.”
I want to laugh at Adam for being so strange and light-hearted about everything, but his eyes look kind, so I can’t bring myself to make fun of him. It would feel unjust.
“And here’s the path,” I announce as we reach it. “Head that way and you’ll be out of Dyrys before too long.”
“What will you do now?” Grace asks.
“I’ll go back and finish my work before it gets dark. I’ll see if I need to make any repairs to my house or the fence, and then make some soup.”
“What kind of soup?”
“Nettle. It’s better than it sounds – it tastes like spinach.”
“Impressive stuff. Well, thank you for all your help today. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”
The politeness makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t know what to say, so I just nod and point them in the right direction. They follow the path out of the woods, and I go back to my house.
Dyrys
“So,” says Grace, as they reach the edge of Dyrys, “another day that turned out nothing like we expected. I thought this would be a good location for research because it would be quiet and distraction-free!”
“I’m sorry,” says Adam. “I’ve dragged you into helping Callum, and I know we’re going against the law in doing that.”
“You can’t stop yourself, can you?”
Adam sighs. “Anything else seems cruel. He’s young, and more scared than he’ll admit. And so is Rhiannon, for that matter.”
“Fear can make people do terrible things, though. Be careful. You don’t know these people. I know you think you do, but we’ve only been here a few days.”
They walk down the hill and cross over the river. Up ahead, the windows are lit up in Ifan and Nia’s house.
“What would you advise?” Adam asks.
“I want to tell you to go to the police again. To show them where to find those two so they can arrest Callum and take Rhiannon into foster care for the last two days she’s legally a child. It might not do them or anyone else any good, but we’d have done the lawful thing and could leave here with that to reassure ourselves. But I know I can’t tell you to do that. I’m not even convinced it would be the right thing. So I’ll stick with this: talk to somebody local. In fact, talk to Maebh. She’s seen a lot in this village, and she’s a good judge of people. She’ll know what to do.”
In the silence that follows, there hangs a loud but unspoken idea that Maebh will want to avoid repeating what became of Emrys, and that she might know how best to help another runaway.
Rhiannon
I almost hadn’t noticed that Lleu was missing earlier. When I return home, he is perched in a tree above my fence, his gold eyes glimmering in the fading light.
“Where were you?” I demand. He gives a cry that is not especially repentant, yet when I reconsider it, I don’t mind that much.
I slip through a gap in the boundary and enter my land. By the doorway to my house, I build up the fire and, as the evening chill sets in, I wrap the blanket around my shoulders like a cloak. Today has been a good day.
Chapter eight
Llandymna
“I thought I might be seeing you again,” Maebh says the following morning, opening the door before Adam has even finished knocking. “Come in. You’re just in time to hear the end of Gwern’s adventures.”
He steps inside. In the living room, three children sit cross-legged on the carpet, eagerly waiting for Maebh to continue the story he has just interrupted. He recognizes one of them as Diana’s daughter Eira, and the two boys look older. Adam takes a seat near the door, and Maebh picks up where she left off.
“… And at long last, Gwern came back to the foot of that mountain, and he looked up to his old home, now half destroyed by the fearsome giant. Smoke was still rising from the roof, where the giant had made a campfire out of the thatch and roasted a whole sheep from Gwern’s flock for his dinner. But this time Gwern’s spirit was not shaken, and he showed no fear. For he looked around him at the friends and allies he had gathered on his many adventures since he first fled from the giant’s attack on his home, and he took heart from seeing them beside him.
“To his left stood all of Dyfed’s men, ready to repay the debt of gratitude they now owed to Gwern by standing guard and keeping watch on the giant. To his right was Scáthach, the fearsome Irish warrior woman who used to teach fighting until, as you all remember, Gwern broke the magic spell that prevented the chieftains of all the local tribes from agreeing to be at peace with one another.
“‘Shall we attack?’ asked Scáthach, whose thoughts still went first to warfare. She drew her sword and was ready to start running up the hill. But Gwern stopped her battle charge with a motion of his hand, and told her there was no need for that yet.
“‘It is enough, first of all,’ he said, ‘to see my old home after all this time. Tomorrow we will reclaim it from that giant, but tonight let us rest and regain our strength after the long journey.’
“And so everyone set down their burdens at the foot of the mountain, and lit fires to cook themselves a good hearty meal. They feasted and rested, and Gwern told them stories of what his home had once been like. The fires burned so bright that they caught the attention of the giant, who had been busy whittling arrow heads from the bones of cattle. He had heard rumours of Gwern’s adventures, and now that he saw the man not far away, he was afraid. He knew that Gwern was joined this time by Scáthach and Dyfed, and a whole host of men. He had heard it claimed that Gwern had defeated all the chieftains of all the tribes and that this was why they had stopped fighting one another.
“‘This Gwern must have become a terrifying warrior since I drove him out of his house,’ growled the giant. ‘See, he arrives here and doesn’t even worry about catching me by surprise. He just camps out in plain sight of me. He must be very strong now, to be so brave.’ The giant looked down again to the fires, and saw that Gwern’s men did not completely surround the mountain, but were only stationed on one side of it. He saw a chance to outwit Gwern and avoid being defeated by this famous warrior.
“And so, on the next morning, when Gwe
rn climbed the steep slope up to his old home, he found no trace of the giant, except for some very big footprints leading down the other side of the mountain, as if someone very large had run away very quickly in the middle of the night. So Gwern regained his land, and his house and livestock, without shedding a single drop of blood. Dyfed’s men put their shoulders to heavy timber and helped him repair his damaged home. And fierce Scáthach saw for the first time what peaceful living looked like, and she thought it a fine thing indeed.”
The children let out a sigh, as if they have been collectively holding in breath ever since Maebh first mentioned the giant. Eira smiles with satisfaction at the happy ending.
“Now, let me see the time. I think your parents will be coming to take you home for your dinner soon.”
“Is there time to build a castle in the garden first?” asks one of the boys.
“Not this time, Luke. But why don’t you draw me your best picture of a castle instead?”
This suggestion seems to satisfy the boy, and the children are kept occupied until their parents arrive minutes later to collect them.
“Do you often look after your neighbours’ children?” Adam asks when everyone else has left.
“Some of them come here for a few hours to play in the mornings, or after school. I like having the house full.”
Adam realizes it must be very quiet for Maebh on days when no one comes to see her. He moves to the chair nearest her so that they can talk more easily.
“And you’re clearly a master storyteller.”
“Ha! Some parents don’t like me filling their children’s heads with fairy tales. People think that stories are a way of escaping reality, but I always say they are a way of making sense of it. In stories, we find space to imagine how we might make our world better, whether it be a more exciting, more hopeful, or more beautiful place. Our stories are a part of us. You can tell a lot about someone from the kind of stories they tell.”
“You tell stories that seem fun and fantastical but have lessons hidden in them.”
“Very good.” Maebh eyes Adam and adds, almost wistfully, “You do look like him.”
“It must be as strange for you as it is for us, to learn about the parts of his life we didn’t know about before.”
Maebh makes a “hmm” noise, but gives no reply to this. This tells Adam enough, and he changes the subject.
“I’ve come to ask your advice.”
“Well, of course you have, young man. Why else would you be here?” Maebh says impatiently.
“You already know about Callum and Ifan’s fight, and how Callum has run away rather than face the police on a heightened charge.”
“Yes,” Maebh says, and she narrows her eyes so that she looks almost birdlike, “and I also know that he is hiding in Dyrys Wood and that you are helping him.”
Adam laughs in surprise. “How –”
“I saw you going up to the woods yesterday. I was at the farmhouse with Nia at the time. If you mean to keep on breaking the law, you need to be more careful than that.”
“Clearly. Does Nia suspect anything? Grace is going to see her today.”
“No, she thinks you were helping Grace with her work.”
“Good.”
“But let me ask you a question now, Adam. Why exactly are you helping Callum?”
“Why?” Adam sounds surprised again. “Why not?”
Maebh does not accept this as an answer, and leans forward to press the point further. “Are you helping him for his own sake, or is it because of what I told you about your father? I wonder if you will give up and leave as soon as you realize you cannot fix the past. He is not Emrys.”
“Nor am I,” Adam replies.
She pauses, not used to having her own words turned on her. “I know that.”
“And yet you do see him in me,” he continues, his voice gentle and his face level with hers, “and I know you also wish you could change the past. We have the same cause now.”
Maebh’s face looks so sad as she stares back at Adam that he thinks for a moment she may crumble under it all. Then she collects herself and chuckles quietly.
“I think you would make an excellent storyteller too,” she says. “So, tell me, what advice do you want about Callum?”
“How would you convince him to come back home?”
“Ah, now there’s the question. How indeed, when running away seems like the only option. He is a headstrong boy, and desperate for people to think well of him. That is what has got him into this situation, after all. I think you must either appeal to that side of him, or wait to see if he mellows with time. In the meantime, I have spoken with Ifan. I hope he may decide not to try to blame Callum for his current state. That may take away some of Callum’s fear of coming home.”
Adam thinks he sees a glimmer of how many worries have been placed at the feet of this woman.
“I saw Rhiannon yesterday,” he says.
“You found her?” She looks up at him abruptly.
“She found us, really. I don’t know where she’s living. But she came and joined us in setting up a shelter for Callum.”
“And who have you told about this?”
“Only the police, via Tom, and now you.”
Maebh narrows her eyes as she thinks this through. “You’ve kept it from Diana. I can see why, but that is a hard choice to make.”
“I know. I often wonder if we should tell her too. But we’ve left it to Tom to decide that.”
“How is she? Rhiannon, I mean.”
“She’s surviving very well, I think. She’s making her own food, and has some kind of house she’s living in.”
“She’ll have learned all that from Diana’s husband, Edwin, I suppose.”
“Our dad used to talk about you,” says Adam suddenly, and immediately wonders if he should have built up to this more gently.
“Did he?”
“Not by name, but when we were children he told us stories about the quick-witted Sparrow Girl, who ran so fast she seemed to fly, and was the only true friend he knew in this place. She had adventures with the Boy Who Ran, who we finally realized was Dad himself.”
Adam thinks it best not to add how Emrys would then always laugh and say that he pitied the man who had the misfortune of such a wife, and how every time he said this he would fail to meet his children’s eyes.
“Yes,” says Maebh, “that sounds like the stories we used to make up when we were young. But I am sorry that he saw himself only as someone who ran away. He was much more than that.”
*
While Adam visits Maebh, Grace goes to the corner shop to find something to take when she visits Nia later today. When she arrives, two middle-aged women are standing outside, talking together like conspirators.
“… always been happy to talk about the news around here, but as soon as it’s her son involved, it’s not the same,” she overhears one of them say.
“I know! And I heard he’s on the run from the police now, and no one knows where to find him.”
They see Grace watching them, and switch to speaking Welsh. “Mae’r euog yn ffoi heb neb yn ei erlid!”
“Wrth gwrs!” the other woman nods vigorously.
“Excuse me,” says Grace. “Is the shop open today?”
“Yes,” says one of the women.
“Diolch yn fawr. I thought you might be standing out here because it was closed. Hwyl!”
She walks past them into the shop, leaving the two gossiping onlookers to wonder whether or not that is all the Welsh she knows.
Angela Rees looks fraught as she serves customers and tries to avoid talking about yesterday’s events. It seems that everyone has assumed she will be the usual source of information about Llandymna’s dramas.
“You must be so worried for your boy Callum,” the man at the til
l is saying as Grace enters the shop. “It’s very hard for someone as young as him to go to prison.”
“I heard Ifan needed major surgery last night,” adds the woman queueing behind him, “and that he nearly died. Joan Perry says she thinks they should both be locked up for fighting in the street like that.”
Grace selects a packet of biscuits and joins the queue. Angela sends her customers on their way as quickly as possible today, disappointing them with her silence. She does not make eye contact with Grace as she scans the packet and takes a handful of coins from her.
“I’m sorry about your son,” says Grace. “I’m sure he didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”
“Thank you,” Angela replies, but she makes no exception for Grace, and hands over her change without another word.
*
“Sorry they’re from the shop, but I’ve never been much good at baking,” Grace says as she enters the farmhouse and gives the biscuits to Nia. “I just wanted to come and ask how you are all doing.”
“Thank you, that’s a lovely thought,” Nia smiles. “We’re all right today, too. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”
She welcomes Grace inside warmly, but paces to the kitchen with an urgency that suggests she has grown used to rushing around. Her shoulders are hunched as she walks, as if she has been carrying something heavy.
“How is Ifan recovering?”
“Getting better. I wanted to thank you again for your help the other night. The doctors said it could have been much worse if you hadn’t been there and known what to do to stop the bleeding. He’s not needing quite so much pain relief this afternoon. He’s asleep just now I’m afraid, but he’ll be glad to know you asked after him.”
Grace wonders if this is really true. She and Ifan have hardly exchanged more than a few words since she arrived in the village. Nia continues to rush around the kitchen, turning on the washing machine, putting away a stack of plates, opening a window.
