The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy (41 page)

‘No
,’ Dafydd replied bluntly, ‘why do you ask?’ Dafydd sat defensively, arms folded, jaw set.

‘What I tell you must go no further, not until the
Druids announce it. Do you swear?’ Taliesin looked to both men. They both nodded. ‘Afagddu has done a terrible thing.’

‘You don’t have to bloody well tell us that!’ Gwyn scoffed
. ‘We saw my aunt’s body, or what was left of it!’

Taliesin nodded
. ‘Yes … but more than that. The bodies were concealed in y Gwag …’

‘You mean
“in-between”?’ Gwyn probed and Taliesin nodded. ‘So?’ Gwyn pressed.

‘So
...’ Taliesin struggled to find the words. ‘Evil stalks y Gwag, we fear for the Pride.’

‘What’s this to do with them, they’re sleeping aren’t they?’ Dafydd scowled at Taliesin, unsure of what was being said. ‘They don’t use the mirrors.
We
use the mirrors and if there is a danger why haven’t the Chosen been told – we’ve all got a
Dderwydd Ddrych in our houses – why haven’t we been told?’ Dafydd was becoming increasingly angry.

‘There is no immediate danger, Dafydd Morgan
,’ Taliesin said testily, ‘not to us. The danger is with the Pride.’

‘It’s the in between thing Awel tried to explain to me,’ Gwyn interrupted and sat forward in his chair. ‘If there is evil in the in
between, then travelling through is no longer safe – that means the Cerdd Carega could be a gateway for something evil to get at the Pride while they sleep.’ Gwyn understood. ‘Oh bloody hell,’ he said suddenly, ‘that means the mirrors are a danger too!  We’re all in danger!’ Gwyn jumped to his feet.

Taliesin shook his head. ‘No, no, you’re jumping at shadows.’ He waved for Gwyn to sit down and then he turned to Dafydd. ‘The Pride sleeps, you are correct. Evil stalks y Gwag, or the in-between – both are the same place. There is a threat, but as yet no danger, but ...’ Taliesin inhaled before continuing, ‘we cannot reach the Pride to warn them … only a female Bwy Hir can.’ He looked beseechingly at Dafydd.

‘No.’ Dafydd was shaking his head. ‘No, she isn’t. A drop, a drop was all it was.’

‘A drop is all it takes.’ Taliesin leaned forward, pressing the urgency. ‘If the spirits in y Gwag get stronger, the Pride may be lost to us. Anwen must help, she is the only one!’

‘There is another,’ Dafydd countered, ‘use her.’

‘She is dead to us, Dafydd Morgan. We need Anwen.’

‘No.’ Dafydd stood up. ‘We don’t know where she is. We can’t help you. You’ll have to leave now, there’s a meeting at the pub and we don’t want to be late.’

Taliesin stood reluctantly. ‘My father sends every Seeker and Helgi to find her,’ he warned, ‘it would be better if I can get to her first.’

‘We can’t help you.’ Dafydd refused to look at Taliesin and instead marched to the back door, opened it and waited for Taliesin to leave before closing it and turning to his son. ‘We’ve got to warn all the Chosen about the danger of the mirrors. The Druids should have told us.’

‘But we promised Taliesin we’d keep silent,’ Gwyn replied, concerned that his father would so easily break a promise.

‘This concerns all of us, Gwyn. They should have warned us that evil lurks behind our mirrors. The Druids have failed us and look after themselves. Druids did this and the Chosen must be warned!’ Dafydd grabbed his coat
and car keys and made his way into the yard. Gwyn and Bara followed.

As they chugged down the lane Gwyn turned to his father. The glow from the dashboard gave his father’s face a ghostly cast. Gwyn knew the look on his father’s face: stubbornly resolute. ‘You’re going to drop Taliesin right in it if you say anything.’

Dafydd gripped the steering wheel tighter in his hands. ‘What would you have me do? Say nothing?’

‘No.’ Gwyn set his jaw. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’ Dafydd mumbled under his breath for the remainder of their short drive and Gwyn glumly stared out of the passenger window. When they arrived at The Eagles, the pub car park was full of Land Rovers of every age, type, colour and description, and all were covered in mud.

As they left their car and approached the pub steps Trevor was there to meet them. ‘Three Druids have just arrived, two of them being Elders. They say they have important news. We’re still waiting for a few more of ours and then the meeting can begin. We’re in the back as usual.’

Dafydd raised an eyebrow and looked at his son but stayed tight lipped. They nodded to Trevor and walked into the pub. Bryn-Wisgi was serving at the front bar and nodded them towards the side door that led to the back of the pub.

The usual sentries were in position at the end of the bar. Two old farmers, Ifan and Will, sat stooped over a half pint of ale each, they weren’t drinking, they were just sitting talking quietly as old bar-props do. Only their eyes took in every person that entered the bar and only the Chosen would get past them.

‘Will. Ifan.’ Dafydd nodded as he and Gwyn passed and slipped into the back room. The shabby room was every shade of brown and cream with a stained red carpet covering the stone floor. A sooty inglenook fireplace belched smoke up the chimney as a number of men warmed their behinds and spoke in quiet tones.

Dafydd made his way around the room with Gwyn in tow, shaking hands with every man, exchanging polite greetings and nods until every Chosen had been included. Of the Druids there was yet no sign and Dafydd presumed they were waiting in Bryn-Wisgi’s front room until all the Chosen was accounted for.

‘Duw, Dafydd,’ said the oldest Chosen in the room from his stool set by the fire; an elderly gentleman by the name of Glyn-Guinea, his name was derived from his vocation as the local livestock valuer. No herds were bought or sold without Glyn-Guinea setting the price. He had an eye for livestock that was legendary in North Wales, he could spot a lame ewe in a flock of hundreds, he’d also had his fingers in more sheep’s mouths than Gwyn had had hot dinners.

‘Gwyn’s a big lad now and no mistake,’ he said, while chewing on his pipe. ‘There’s trouble brewing here tonight, Dafydd, you mark my words.’ Glyn-Guinea never made eye contact, he instead always spoke away from the person he was talking to, just over their shoulder, that or he either looked as though he was talking to his ever present walking stick that was as worn as its owner.

‘I hear there are Druids here,’ Dafydd said conversationally, ‘I thought this was to be a Chosen meeting.’

Glyn-Guinea pulled his pipe from his wrinkled mouth. ‘And so it will be – once they’ve said their piece and gone.’

‘Any idea why they’re here?’ Dafydd stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously jangling a few coppers he kept there.

Glyn-Guinea cackled as he jammed his pipe back between his teeth. ‘That Raven on yon left-hand oak, curse on his ill-betiding croak, bodes me no good. No good, Dafydd, whatever they’ve come to say, you mark my words, it’ll be no good.’

Gwyn shivered at the old man’s words and took a step closer to his father. Bryn-Wisgi and Trevor finally entered accompanied by a flustered Dai Jones and the gathered Chosen took their seats on the haphazard bar stools. Once everyone was settled, Glyn-Guinea stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick, pulling his amulet to the outside of his shirt and began to sing the national anthem of Wales.
‘
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi
…
’

All the Chosen men joined in as they too pulled their amulets to hang outside their clothing, displaying their rank as Chosen. They proudly sang with rich, harmonious voices, baritones, basses and tenors all joined in practiced harmony:

‘
The land in which poets and minstrels rejoice
,

The land whose stern warriors were true to the core
,

While bleeding for freedom of yore,

Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.

Old mountainous Cambria, the Eden of bards,
Each hill and each valley, excite my regards;
To the ears of her patriots how charming still seems
The music that flows in her streams.

Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.

My country tho' crushed by a hostile array,
The language of Cambria lives out to this day;
The muse has eluded the traitors; foul knives,
The harp of my country survives.

Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.’

They concluded in rapturous harmony,
Glyn-Guinea wiped a tear from his eye as he retook his seat by the fire. The last lingering note was the cue for the Druids to make their entrance. The younger Druid entered first and stood in the centre of the gathering. ‘All stand to welcome the Elders of the Druid Brotherhood, Elder Tomas and Elder Nissyen.’

There was an audible intake of breath
at the mention of the two names, only something grave would bring the two most prominent Druid Elders to a meeting of the Chosen. The Chosen stood and bowed respectfully before retaking their seats. The Druids remained standing.

Elder Tom
as looked out over the sea of concerned faces and wondered where to begin. His orders had been explicit: there was to be a temporary ban on the use of the Dderwydd Ddrych, only one mirror was to be used to convey messages and that was the one here in the pub. The other instruction was to demand the return of the woman Anwen Morgan of Ty Mawr Farm.

With a sigh he stepped forward, removed his cowl and began to speak
. ‘Good evening, gentleman. My apologies for interrupting your meeting. I’m sure you have plenty to discuss, so I will be as brief as possible.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There have been recent events I am sure most are now aware of: Afagddu, Elder Druid of the Brotherhood has committed murder most foul.’ Judging by the low, shocked murmurs rippling through the crowd, Tomas had misjudged, he should have checked with the Elder Chosen before speaking. He cursed his stupidity as he looked to the Morgan men. They were sitting with matching scowls, arms folded, looking straight at him. He dipped his head in apology to them before continuing. ‘It seems I am the one to break the news … Afagddu is held in Dduallt.’ Again the murmurs. ‘He is charged with the murder of a woman of Ty Mawr Farm.’

Every head swivelled towards the Morgan men who sat silently fuming, their red faces testament to their emotion.
Dai Jones stood behind them, a protective hand on each shoulder. ‘Nerys is dead,’ Dai shouted over the hubbub, ‘Dafydd and Gwyn have identified her body – that’s all you need to know for now.’ He pointedly glared at Elder Tomas.

‘My apologies to speak out of turn
.’ Again, Elder Tomas bowed to the Morgans. ‘However, I believe, in this matter there should be transparency.’

‘That’s a first!’ Glyn-Guinea spouted, his remark drew titters and tutting in equal measure from the assembled men. Elder Tom
as chose to ignore it.

‘Afagddu’s foul actions will be dealt with prior to the
R’hela and we require a full Triskelion jury. You must select six Chosen to attend, however, no blood relative to the Morgans may stand.’ There was silence. The men would be selected among themselves; that was no business of the Druids and so Elder Tomas continued.

‘The second matter is a potential problem concerning the
Dderwydd Ddrych … and we advise all Chosen not to use their mirrors at present, until we can ascertain and assess the problem thoroughly. Only one mirror is to be used and that is the mirror here. Any messages or pass-throughs are via this mirror alone.’

There was a rumble of unease, the Chosen leaned in
to each other and whispered in huddles, all except Glyn-Guinea. ‘Just like that is it?’ He removed his pipe and held it in one hand whilst resting the other on his stick. All turned to watch him speak. ‘A Druid kills a woman of the Chosen and we are expected to calmly form a committee to sit in Triskelion judgement.’ He emphasised his words by poking his pipe towards the Druids but he spoke to his walking stick. ‘And we’re not to use the mirrors – no explanation mind, just don’t use them. Just like that … I can’t speak for anybody else, but I want a better explanation.’

There was a murmur of agreement and heads spun towards the
Druids who stood calmly aloof. Glyn-Guinea shoved his pipe back in his mouth and spoke between clenched teeth. ‘This Afagddu – y Gigfran he’s called – who else has he done away with? I’ve seen enough winters in this village to know there’s been more than one strange death. And what of the mirrors? Why can’t we use them? What’s going on?’

The
Druids could feel the tension and anxiety flooding into the room. Elder Nissyen pressed his lips together and grabbed his ceremonial staff and stepped forward, meeting Glyn-Guinea head to head. This was not the first time they had come against each other, in fact it was almost becoming a tradition for these two men to lock horns when Druid and Chosen came together. ‘To answer your questions,’ he said testily, ‘in as simple a way as possible,’ he added, ‘I tell you this: Afagddu’s crimes are being investigated – by the Druid Brotherhood. Your Elders will be advised as appropriate on our findings. Secondly, the ban on using the mirrors is a precaution only. Again, we investigate and we will advise your Elders as appropriate. Are you now satisfied?’ he asked Glyn-Guinea directly.