The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy (13 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Mab lay awake upon her sheepskin swathed cot. She twisted and turned but could not find comfort in whatever position she moved into while desperately trying to relax. The candles in the lanterns swinging from the roof poles marked the passage of time. Awel had been gone too long.

She could see a tiny portion of the sky through the top of the roof designed to let brazier and candle smoke escape. Thick billowing storm clouds had long since hidden the stars and Mab could feel the rains slowly approaching. She could also feel Aeron’s fury, from a long way off, but still ominous.
Had he found out about Gwrnach’s involvement in their experiment?

Mab
was worrying herself into madness. She braced herself into the cot, refusing to give in to her need to pace the floor.
Where was Awel? What was taking so long? What if she’d been found with the message for Anwen of Ty Mawr? What if she’d been caught red handed by Aeron? What if Gwrnach wasn’t trustworthy? What if Olwyn couldn’t have been coerced?

With a cry of despair Mab threw herself up and began pacing the length of her chambers, back and forth, back and forth, her skirts swish-swishing as she paced, her hand
s wringing together, her teeth grinding.

‘Why, anybody would think that you missed me!’ Awel beamed from the tent flap, shaking the first drops of rain from her cloak as she entered.

Mab threw herself at Awel and embraced her in a vice-like hug. ‘I was so worried, Awel. Where have you been all this time?’

‘You know where I’ve been and I am ravenous!’ Awel flopped onto the cushions strewn over the floor
. ‘My stomach believes my throat to be cut and I shall not say another word until I have eaten my fill.’

Mab immediately produced a tray and placed it on her friend
’s lap. Bread, cheese, cold venison cuts and the last of the season’s strawberries filled Awel’s gaze and she tucked into it with relish, swilling it all down with a goblet of the sweetest wine that only the
Tylwyth Teg
could produce so flawlessly.

Mab waited as patiently as one could when afflicted with such little patience. She watched Awel laboriously chew every mouthful and gulp every swig until she could stand it no longer. ‘Must I wring your news from you?’ she wailed impetuously.

Awel smirked and nearly choked. ‘You lasted longer than I thought you would! So, let me unravel my tale of an evening well spent …’

‘It worked!’ Mab threw her arms in the air in jubilation, she sat for a few moments more in stunned astonishment before throwing her hand to her mouth and stifled a delighted giggle
. ‘It works, Awel!’ she whispered, ‘it works!’

‘Far better than the
Druids’ black brew, but whether it will help to secure more Bwy Hir offspring?’

‘But surely, even so, it’s still a far better
ateb – you said there was no violence, no anger, no memory loss, no side effects.’

‘No side effects that we know of yet, Mab. But you are right, it seems to work completely differently.
Gwrnach and Oli both enjoyed their encounter, enjoyed, shared and dare I say it – loved.’ Awel shook her head, she almost would have disbelieved her own words, but she had seen it for herself.

‘We must reveal this to the rest of the Bwy Hir, Awel, as soon as possible.’ Mab was elated, this could change the Bwy Hir forever.

‘We must not!’ Awel said. ‘Not yet, Mab, use your head and not your heart for a moment. What would you have us do, call the Bwy Hir together and say, “by the way Taliesin’s created his own ateb using Helgi blood. Why? Oh, because he’s been rutting a Chosen’s daughter, oh, and by the way she’s pregnant, but never mind, it’s all fine because the Druids have been poisoning the Host with their vile brew, but we’ve got a better way now, one that still makes you potent, but doesn’t make the Host cruel and violent while they have their way with the Pride!”’ Awel pulled her face and shook her head.

‘But Awel!’ Mab was distraught.

‘But nothing, we can’t reveal this yet, we must wait for Taliesin’s return in Spring, and yes, we must use the Druid ateb this Solstice … I’m so sorry Mab.’ Awel felt dreadful, she knew how Mab felt about the Solstice, knew what this new ateb meant to her, but Awel could not, would not risk this blowing up in their faces. It had to be planned, perfected and only then revealed, this was too important to ruin. They also had to ensure Taliesin’s protection and that of his unborn Halfling child, that was a problem too big to contemplate for now and so she pushed it to the back of her mind. ‘I have had one idea … what if we say the
Tylwyth Teg
created the new ateb?’ Awel tried to find something positive to placate Mab.

‘Where did they get the blood from?’ Mab sounded negative, dejected.

‘One of the Chosen surrendered it willingly?’ Awel suggested.

‘You know as well as I that we may not receive blood at any other time
except the Solstice.’ Mab looked despondent.

‘We didn’t
– the Tylwyth Teg did.’ Awel tried to sound confident.

‘You hang by the skin of your teeth, Awel. The
Druids will want to study the ateb. How do we explain the hound’s blood when they find it? Does it even work without the hound’s blood? Mayhap it will not work with Human blood?’

‘Well, you’ve changed your tune!’ Awel grumbled.

‘I listen well to my Councillor and heed her advice,’ Mab countered, ‘and besides, why would the rest of the Bwy Hir believe the Tylwyth Teg had suddenly come up with an ateb? They don’t even speak to us, let alone attend the Solstice, so how would they even know what an ateb is in the first place?’

‘It was only a suggestion,’ Awel snapped, ‘and besides who knows what the
Tylwyth Teg know, as you pointed out they never speak, never look you in the eye, they sit somewhere between servant and host, ally and antagonist. Who knows what they know, who knows who they really are?’

The
Tylwyth Teg were an ancient race who made their home the hollow they shared openhandedly with the Pride. They had welcomed the Bwy Hir when the Pride had sought refuge from the woes of humanity and had split away from the Host to follow a different path.

Bwy Hir males and females did not sit well together, feuds and fractions, vehemence and disputes marred the lives of the Bwy Hir when they were merged together. Much better to separate and live a liberated existence than to suffer the repression of a
nother’s conviction, and so they had split to form the two factions that still existed: Host and Pride.

The Host had already gathered the Druids to them before the parting
. Awel had often wondered if the Druids had been the catalyst to the breaking. No member of the Pride approved of the black clad men, nor the gift that had been bestowed upon them by Bran when the Bwy Hir still walked the world of the Lost.

Many eons ago Bran had given the gift of fire to the fellowship of bards and
Druids that resided on Ynys Mon, an island of stark beauty that in times long past had a spit of land connecting it to the mainland. Bran would often visit the island via the sand spit and accept tribute from the Druids and bards in exchange for his blessing.

Torcs and broaches, ales and breads, silver goblets and plates of copper and gold were showered upon Bran. He would sit among the throng of
Humans, towering over them and spin fanciful tales of great valour and mystery. He loved these people as much as they worshipped him.

But a terrible day was looming, godless warriors from the mainland stormed the island, murdering and pillaging as they invaded. Bran was furious and rallied the
Druids to stand and fight. Bran was helpless to defend his followers as he held fast to the covenant and watched helplessly as the marauding warriors slayed the Druids one by one, until Bran, so incensed by the butchery, bestowed his gift upon the Druids, granting them a weapon far more deadly than the invaders’’.

Once the battle was won Bran removed himself from the island forever, he offered service to those
Druids who would follow him and for those left behind he caused the spit of land to disappear protecting them from the mainland. Bran then decreed that all Druids who served the Bwy Hir would keep the gift of fire, receive great knowledge and a lifespan far longer than that of normal men. Only later did the other Bwy Hir place limitations upon Bran’s lavish gifts, but by then the Druids were already bonded.

Despite the misgivings voiced by the Bwy Hir, Bran refused to withdraw the promises made to the Druid
s and so the other Bwy Hir twisted Bran’s gifts, lacing them with barbs. Knowledge would be earned through laborious study and not taught to Humans by the Bwy Hir. The Druids would have to discover knowledge themselves but the Bwy Hir provided them great libraries to study in and filled it with as many scrolls and tomes as the Druids required. The gift of fire could not be wielded against the Bwy Hir, or for the destruction of anything that the Bwy Hir claimed as their own.

The final barb and certainly the cruellest was to the Druids lifespan; it was caused that the Druids would live a normal
Human life, only when that life ended would they begin their second life. His dead Human body would be transformed into the living body of a hunting hound to serve the Bwy Hir as they deemed worthy. The Druids got far less than they had anticipated, but the pact was sealed, there was no return.

Awel shook herself from her musing, Mab was speaking to her but she wasn’t listening, she was tired, irritable and unfocused
. ‘Too many threads … I must rest, my bones grow weary.’

‘You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?’ Mab was exhausted herself
. ‘Did you deliver Taliesin’s message?’

‘Yes of course, I left it where our little guardian will know to find it
… Mab, what is to become of the Halfling child?’

‘I do not know. The child will either become a boon or a curse, that is if the girl doesn’t miscarry
… do you think keeping this a secret is a mistake?’ Mab chewed a nail as she spoke, a very Human trait she had displayed since childhood.

‘I no longer know up from down.’ Awel sighed heavily
. ‘Let me rest a while, gather my thoughts … mayhap the knowing will come upon me.’ She shrugged her shoulders, gathered her belongings and left in search of her own cot.

What would become of the child? What would the child be? Would it have any powers? Would it be deformed, flawed? Would it even survive? Where would it belong? With the Bwy Hir? With the
Chosen?
‘Ah!’ Awel threw her hands up as she walked to her tent. There were too many questions.
Would the Bwy Hir accept a Halfling? Would they see it as an abomination, or a tool? Would it change anything? Would it be safe? What were the ramifications?
Awel shook her head, maybe the child wouldn’t survive and she was worrying about nothing, but maybe … She needed to rest and as soon as she reached her tent she lay down on her cot fully clothed, took a couple of deep, calming breaths and settled into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dafydd and Gwyn had been longer at the pub than they’d intended. It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time the pair of tipsy stop-outs made it back to Ty Mawr, shushing each other as they fumbled their way to the back door expecting Nerys and Anwen to be long in bed.

Bara ran into the house ahead of them
, keen to warm her fur by the Aga. Kicking off their boots while holding themselves steady against the hallway wall, the pair made their way into the kitchen to scrounge a snack to line their swishing bellies and stopped dead in their tracks.

Nerys and Anwen were s
itting side by side smiling over the photo albums that covered the kitchen table. They both looked up and fixed Gwyn and Dafydd with a longsuffering stare before returning their heads to the photos laid out in front of them.

‘Everything alright?’ Dafydd slurred, trying his best to look sober and guiltless. Gwyn was still
standing with his jaw unhinged, staring at the two contented women who only hours before had been at each other’s throats.

‘Everything’s fine.’ Nerys smiled
. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘No reason, no reason
,’ Dafydd rushed. ‘You had a good evening?’

‘We’ve had a lovely evening, Dad.’ Anwen piped up, ‘Nerys has been tell
ing me stories about the family. I didn’t know you used to take a cat to bed with you when you were little because you were afraid of the dark.’

‘I was never afraid of the dark!’ Dafydd blustered
. ‘It was the cat that was afraid, not me! It was forever scratching at my door, steeling under my covers, making all kinds of hue and cry if I tried to turn the lamp off!’

They all laughed at his poor
defence, even Bara wagged her tail as Dafydd blushed and for the first time in a long time Ty Mawr was once again filled with happiness and the sound of laughter.

‘We’ve made you some ham sandwiches, they’re in the fridge. We’d have done you some
hard boiled eggs but the hens still aren’t laying properly and we’re running short.’ Anwen was so worried about her hens. If they didn’t start laying again soon she knew they would find their way into the roasting pot. She hoped her father would stay the axe at least until Spring as the hens would reduce their laying in Winter or stop altogether in the colder months. Hopefully they would start producing again. She had learned not to name her hens anymore, but she still felt a twinge of guilt when she cooked an animal she’d known personally.

Gwyn grabbed the plate of sandwiches from the fridge and added a jar of pickled onions to the feast
. ‘Anyone for tea?’

‘I’ll make it
.’ Nerys got up from her seat and closed the album they’d been pawing through, ‘Though I’ll be having cocoa, tea will keep me up all night. Cocoa for you too, Anwen?’

‘Um, yes please.’ Anwen began carefully gathering the albums together and went to return them to their cupboard in the living room.

‘
Please
?’ Gwyn whispered to his father in surprise as Anwen left the room.

‘Perhaps we should go out more often
,’ Dafydd whispered back.

‘And perhaps you should too.’ Nerys’ stern voice made the men wince.

‘I told you,’ Dafydd mouthed to Gwyn, ‘ears of a bat.’

With bleary eyes and stifled yawns the kitchen was put straight, lights were switched off and doors were locked as the family made ready for bed. Wishing each other a good night, one by one
they made their way to their bedrooms.

Dafydd was the last to go upstairs. He made a final check of the back door lock and paused to turn off the hallway light. Bara ran upstairs ahead of him, pushed the bedroom door open with her nose and jumped on Dafydd’s bed, circling twice before taking her usual position in the middle of the bed.

Dafydd smiled as he entered his room, ensuring the door was left ajar in case Bara needed to go downstairs to drink from her bowl. He pulled off his jumper, socks and trousers and pulled the duvet back. He slipped into bed still wearing his t-shirt and underpants, pushing a disgruntled Bara further over to the other side of the bed so he could lie down comfortably.

‘Just so you know,’ he said to Bara as he stroked her head, ‘
you’re not here because I’m afraid of the dark, because I’m not. You’re only here to keep the bed warm and save me the trouble of making a hot water bottle.’

Dafydd turned off the bedside lamp and lay on his back
, feeling the reassuring bulk of Bara nestled beside him. His head felt fuzzy, he was still cold from the walk back from the pub and he doubted whether he’d be able to get to sleep. He felt troubled and restless, the Solstice was only days away, Gwyn would attend for the first time and he worried how Gwyn would cope with the experience. It was never pleasant. All the Chosen men would attend, unless they were ill and then they were encouraged to stay away as the Druids wanted no contamination.

Dafydd rolled onto his side, his arm across Bara’s body. He was still worried about the
Druid Gwyn had shot and he had burned. It seemed almost too good to be true that both the Druids and the Chosen Council had been so blasé about the whole incident. Would this be the end of the matter?

Dafydd huffed and wriggled to find a more comfortable position, Bara rumbled her objection at being disturbed and Dafydd stopped moving his limbs around. He was at least glad for one thing
: Nerys and Anwen had somehow settled their differences. It was good to see them getting along, it reminded him of the old times, of Emily, of his parents. With a final sigh he pushed his head further into his pillow and drifted off to sleep. All was well, he convinced himself, and there was nothing to worry about.