The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Aeron Ddu, King of the Winter Realm, Suffragan Orphanim of the Bwy Hir, soon to be Arch Orphanim (once this insufferable Summer was over) sat in tired misery. He had woken only days ago and yet he already longed for the transition period of Autumn to finally regain the seat of power and allow Winter to commence in full fury.

How Aeron ached to retake power. Summer felt unusually long this year, unusually hot and it hadn’t helped that he had woken early. He had taken refuge in the bowels of the
Eryri Mountains and intended to remain there until the equinox in September.

His reign was shared equally with his Queen, Mab Rhedyn Haf. She reigned during
Summer with a transition in Autumn when Aeron himself would wake from sleep and slowly retake power and Mab’s power would wane and she would then sleep while he reigned during Winter. The cycle would continue when she would wake in Spring and slowly regain her full power, reigning during Summer while Aeron slept. Time meant little to the Bwy Hir, but seasons meant everything.

Listless and petulant
, Aeron roamed the Halls of the Druids, towering over its occupants, meting out orders and rebukes in equal measure, sending puny black cloaked figures flying off in all directions before returning to his chambers to wait out these final dog days.

Aeron was one of the tallest Bwy Hir
, standing at just over seven feet tall. He too was an Albino but unlike most, his eyes were red, giving him a fearsome mien. His hair was as white as snow, as was his skin. He wore his hair shaved to both sides with his mane woven into an intricate plait that snaked down his back almost to his waist. His Triskele was tattooed above his right ear in the fashion of all males, worn the opposite side to Bwy Hir females. Aeron was cold, calculated, powerful and shrewd with a taciturn nature and quick temper; a menacing foe.

Throwing himself into a high backed mahogany chair nestled in front of the cold limestone fireplace he drummed his fingers on the ornately carved armrest and ground his teeth. ‘Will this
Summer never end?’ he yelled to the ceiling, as the door to his Council chambers opened admitting the wraith-like form of his counsellor, Afagddu.

Afagddu was the most feared of all Druids. His cold pallid skin, dead black eyes and pinched features were a most unfortunate combination, coupled with his hideously hunched spine and a right hand deformed into a claw, missing its middle finger
. It looked more like a talon giving him an epithet only whispered to his misshapen back: y Gigfan, the raven.

‘
Lord Aeron.’ Afagddu bowed to his master. ‘I see Summer’s touch is not a welcome one today.’

Aeron frowned at the double entendre. Whether meant or not, Afagddu was treading on thin ice. Aeron would not tolerate conceit today, especially from a repulsively malformed
Druid, regardless of his rank or stature among his kind.

Afagddu was a high
Druid, one who considered himself well above The Chosen and just below the Bwy Hir; he was sadly mistaken in Aeron’s opinion: Druids were servants to Bwy Hir and nothing more.

Aeron let the silence stretch between them, staring at Afagddu with punishing eyes until Afagddu dropped his head and concentrated on the stack of parchment clutched in his claws.

‘I presume you have come to give your report, Afagddu?’ Aeron finally drawled.

Afagddu bowed again as he shuffled his papers and hid a sly grin from his master. He knew not to push Aeron too far, especially in his current vein, but a little tweak here or there gave Afagddu a thrill of power too intoxicating to deny.

‘Yes, my Lord …’ Afagddu cleared his throat before continuing and made the pretence of gathering his thoughts before he continued, causing Aeron to sigh heavily: another tweak rendered. ‘The equinox is fast approaching and the offerings by the Chosen are being finalised… there are bountiful offerings this term, many strong young men will be representing the Chosen families, including a particularly strong young man from the Morgan family of Ty Mawr. It will be his first year and I have arranged for you to be the sole recipient as I am aware Mab is keen to expand your line ...’

Aeron smiled at the anticipation of new blood. His heart quickened at the recall of the Harvest Festival, his lips parted as he rubbed his scarred forearm with expectation. Bringing himself back to the present
, he motioned for Afagddu to continue.

‘Taliesin will be due to return to the
Winter kingdom during the Autumn transition. I have arranged for his chambers to be prepared and his tutelage to continue under Druid Madog upon his return and –’

‘Allow my son no quarter, Afagddu
,’ Aeron interjected. ‘Taliesin is slow to resume his responsibilities on return from his mother. She spoils him terribly and we must counter her indulgence. I will not allow my kingdom to be ruled by a pampered sycophant when the time comes.’

Afagddu smiled with a nod
. ‘Of course, my Lord.’ Afagddu had just been given permission to beat a prince who was far too good looking and popular for Afagddu’s liking, he was going to relish the experience far more than Taliesin. ‘My brothers and I shall work diligently and tirelessly to endure Taliesin becomes the king you desire.’

Aeron gave a curt nod and pursed his lips in thought. ‘Is there anything else of importance Afagddu?’

‘There are many things, my Lord, but nothing I can’t oversee, however, one piece of information has come to my attention. There have been reports of a large leash of foxes in the valley, near the Ty Mawr Farm. I wouldn’t usually be concerned, however, as the boy I have reserved for you comes from Ty Mawr I am concerned why the queen would be taking such an interest, as I presume the foxes are hers. It would be frustrating if she demanded the boy’s offering, as is her right of course, but–’

‘I agree Afagddu.’ Aeron interrupted again, much to the frustration of Afagddu who kept his face unreadable. ‘Send a seeker and a pack of hounds
. See if they can scare off her little minions. Kill them if necessary, I want the boy for myself if he’s as strong as you say he is.’

Afagddu bowed once more and silently left the chambers. Aeron immediately returned to his brooding.
What is Mab up to?
He wondered. Aeron muttered before grabbing his cloak and making his way up the inside of Eryri to take in the view of the mountain range beyond his personal balcony, after all it must be nightfall by now and he intended to breathe in the cold fresh air of the mountain top and maybe cause a light frost if his powers were strong enough now. After all, the elements were his to control.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first disruption at the farm was when a herd of cattle in the nearby field stampeded in the opposite direction of the resonant howling that echoed through the valley. The second was when the hens started clucking in alarm. Hens are notoriously silent at night and their persistent squawking was a clear indication that danger was approaching.

The smell came first, a hideous blend of sulphur and rotting meat drifted on the breeze followed by the sound of heavy paws padding through the mildewed grass
. The solid footfalls of a heavyset man came behind them.

The two huge hounds appeared out of the night, they were the largest hounds in existence, bigger than their nearest cousins, Irish Wolf Hounds. Their pelts were short and sleek, mottled black and grey and their huge heads held a pair of near
Human, intelligent eyes that missed nothing. The pair of hounds had their muzzles to the damp earth, testing the ground, snorting and sniffing. Suddenly they both lifted their heads and swivelled them in unison to their right as four foxes tore into the yard and began harrying the hen coup, causing the hens to cluck and squawk at the top of their lungs.

The light outside the kitchen door burst into illumination and the door flew open. Gwyn
, dressed only in his underwear and a pair of green Wellington boots, erupted from the opening brandishing a shotgun and pelted towards the coop.

Gwyn yelled in anger as a fox
slunk past the hen coop and vanished into the hedgerow. ‘Bloody vermin!’ he shouted, and then the world turned orange in a flash of brilliance.

Gwyn threw himself to the cobbled yard floor as a flash streaked past and into the barn behind him. He blinked twice and pushed himself onto his bloodied knees still clutching the gun. As he blinked again he saw a silhouette in the moonlight bearing down on him. He didn’t
hesitate, he lifted his gun and pulled the trigger, the backlash throwing him onto his back and sending him sprawling like an upturned tortoise. The silhouette crumpled to the ground.

‘Gwyn!’ His father rushed out of the house, clutching his unfastened trousers around his waist. He dashed to his son and knelt down
. ‘Good god, Gwyn,’ he shouted, ‘what the hell happened?’

Bara flew out of the
house next and Anwen’s bedroom light turned on. ‘He tried to kill me!’ Gwyn was shaking and pointed to a shadowy heap lying in the dark just on the edge of the lamplight.

His father made his way towards where Gwyn was pointing and vanished into the darkness. He bent down, rolled the shape over and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Gwyn, get in the house!’ he shrieked and then his face dropped. ‘Good god
,’ he breathed, ‘the barn is on fire!’

Gwyn spun to face the barn. Smoke was slithering from a fist sized hole burned into the side of the barn
. Flickering orange light danced behind the walls promising the destruction within. Anwen ran out of the house and skidded to a halt in the yard.

‘Anwen, get inside the house now!’ Her father’s voice brooked no arguing and she fled to the safety of the kitchen doorway, dragging Bara with her.

‘Gwyn.’ His father’s voice was quiet, resigned. ‘Help me get the body in the barn before it’s too late. Open the barn door before Anwen sees.’

Gwyn stood unmoving, his face ashen, his knees tracked with blood and dirt. With a roar his father grabbed his shoulder and dragged him towards the barn doors and flung them open
, blocking Anwen’s sight. They carried the body of a man dressed head to toe in black, the cowl of his cape dragging across the cobbles, a plume of dark grey smoke billowed from within and Anwen watched in horror as her father and brother disappeared into the smoke lit by an orange hellish glow.

‘Gwyn, get cleaned up, but on pyjama bottoms to hide those cuts, and say nothing about this to anyone, you keep your mouth shut.’ His father ran sooty fingers
through his hair. ‘Say nothing to anyone. You too Anwen. The fire brigade will be here soon, pray it’s not too soon.’ They both did as their father instructed while he watched his barn begin to blaze, biding his time before he dialled 999 and hoping his neighbour hadn’t woken to see the flames and called the fire brigade before him. He needed the body to burn.

CHAPTER SIX

Sunrise
was long in coming. The volunteer firemen from the neighbouring town arrived to a blaze in full fury. They could do nothing but contain the blaze and stop it reaching the stand of pine trees behind the farm. Anwen and Gwyn had been ordered out of the house and they stood next to the fire engine wrapped in a blanket looking frightened and tired, their father stood behind them with his hand on each of their shoulders watching the firemen labour.

Once the flames were extinguished
, all that remained of the barn were blackened, charred timbers standing upright from their foundations like rotten jagged teeth. Black tendrils of smoke rose from the ashes of the interior, curling up into the lightening sky as dawn gently approached.

‘Well, Dafydd, I’m parched
,’ exclaimed the soot smeared figure of Trevor Edwards as he approached the fire engine, his boots dragging across the cobbles as he walked. Trevor was another of the Chosen, his family had farmed in the valley since time immemorial.

‘Gwyn and Anwen will make tea and breakfast if it’s safe to return to the house?’ A gentle squeeze from their father roused them from their stupor.

‘Yes, yes, all safe,’ replied Trevor, ‘a bacon and egg butty would fill the hole in my belly a treat!’

Anwen looked up at her father and he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Both of you go and make breakfast, enough for everyone.’ He gave them a gentle push and sent them into the house.

‘I need to open the hen coop and let Bara out of the car if that’s okay Trevor?’

‘Oh yes, all’s safe now, I’ll come with you, the lads have everything under control, it’s just a matter of tidying up now.’

They made their way to the battered blue Land Rover from where a shaking Bara was keen to escape, she threw herself out of the door as it was opened, whining and licking her master as he patted her back reassuringly, then onto the hen coop with Bara leading the way sniffing and snorting through the grass as they went.

A call from the barn caught their attention so they skirted pas
t the hen coop and walked back to the ruins of the barn. ‘What have you found?’ Trevor asked the fireman poking about in the ashes.

‘I think it’s a dead dog, sir. A big dog.’

‘Let me see.’ Trevor climbed among the ashes and poked a smouldering lump with the toe of his boot. ‘Your dog, Dafydd?’

‘No, I’ve only got Bara.’ Dafydd scratched at his head
. ‘How the hell did it get in there?’ He feigned confusion.
The real question
, thought Dafydd,
is where the hell is the Druid?

‘A big dog that, Dafydd, any idea who it belongs to?’ Trevor lifted an eyebrow, he knew there was only one breed of dog that huge.

‘No,’ Dafydd answered bluntly, ‘I’ve had no visitors at the farm recently.’ He met Trevor’s stare.

‘I’ll make some
enquiries then, see if anyone is missing a dog.’ Trevor shrugged his shoulders indifferently, but Dafydd understood the connotation; Trevor would be contacting the Druids, he was ever the snitch, always trying to scramble his way higher up the Chosen ranks.

‘Do that
,’ Dafydd replied equally indifferently, and then he allowed his frustration to surface. ‘Let me know if you find out why there is a dead dog in my smouldering barn, because I’ll be damned if I can explain it.’ Dafydd turned his back on Trevor and walked into the house.

Anwen and Gwyn jumped as their father hurried into the kitchen, pushing the door closed behind him. He sat down heavily at the table, rubbed his eyes and spoke softly
. ‘They’ve found a dead dog in the barn. They think it’s a stray.’ Anwen placed her hand over her mouth at the news. ‘Anyways, I told them it’s not ours and we don’t know how it got there, didn’t wake up until Bara started barking in the early hours, we smelled smoke, saw the barn, dialled 999. Nothing else, we didn’t see a dog, but I suppose the smoke was too thick to see anything, and that’s all there is … Gwyn bring the tea out when you’re ready. Anwen hurry with the breakfast, I want everyone gone as soon as possible.’ Without another word he stood and left his children busy in the kitchen. ‘God preserve us,’ he whispered.

The rest of the morning came and went in
a blur. The local policeman, James Mallard, not a local man, but decent enough, arrived and left with statements and a few Polaroid shots of the barn and its carbonised occupant. The body was finally removed mid morning, zipped in a black bag and taken away for disposal.

By midday the smoke had vanished leaving behind an acrid stench that enveloped the entire farm and parched the throat.

Anwen was curled up on the sofa with a crocheted blanket covering her from neck to toe and Bara was nestled at her feet snoring softly. Gwyn and his father were sitting together in the kitchen nursing hot tea in their hands.

‘Dad
…’ Gwyn began, but his head ached and his throat felt raw.

His father sighed deeply, shook his head and
, holding eye contact with his son, he began to explain something he should have told him sooner, only he’d wanted to spare his son the burden for as long as possible. Gwyn wouldn’t come of age for another four weeks; he’d hoped he could have waited until then, but events had overtaken him, and so he began:

‘We come from a proud heritage Gwyn. Our surname carries great pride and tribute. Our family has shaped history, has kept the spirit of
Wales alive, our ancient lineage has brought great honour …’

Gwyn screwed up his eyes, his head felt full of wool, his father was talking in riddles, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

‘Damn it, listen to me Gwyn, this is important!’ His father thumped the table with a clenched fist bringing Gwyn back to full attention. ‘Gwyn, you will be twenty-one soon, this changes everything,
everything
. What you think you know about life will be turned on its head and what you did last night …’ His father faltered trying to find the right words, but he was damn well exhausted and his temper was starting to fray. ‘By god, Gwyn,’ he blurted, ‘you killed a Druid!’

Gwyn was feeling
light headed and he wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much at the pub last night. Everything felt dreamlike, maybe it was a dream, or perhaps he had banged his head when he fell in the yard, but whatever the reason his father’s voice came in and out in waves and Gwyn could not make sense of any of it, and for some reason he felt a smile split his face and he began to snigger.

His father felt a fury rising in his belly. Usually slow to anger, his father’s face flushed red and he grabbed Gwyn by the nape of his neck
, dragging his head forward.

‘This
…’ his father rasped in his face while pulling a chain from under his shirt and holding it up to Gwyn’s eye, ‘… is a key to secrets beyond your imaginings. We are Chosen, Gwyn, our family is one of The Chosen and you damn well better accept it!’

Gwyn tried to focus in on the gold shape thrust inches from his left eye. It was a small amulet in the shape of a
Triskele.

Gwyn leaned back in his chair as his father released his grip. They sat in silence until Gwyn gave a mumbled apology. He watched his father rise and stretch his back, Gwyn’s eyes followed him across the room and watched as his father knelt in the corner of the kitchen’s quarry tiled floor. He heard a small click followed by another small
er click and his father returned to the table carrying a small rectangular shape wrapped in black velvet.

‘This will explain everything far better than I ever could Gwyn.’ His father handed him the small parcel and Gwyn carefully unwrapped
the outer coverings to reveal a small leather bound notebook. Looking up expectantly to his father, the book gently held between his two meaty hands, Gwyn was confused and a little frightened.

‘In your hands is everything this family knows about the Bwy Hir, the Druids and our role as
Chosen. It was written by your grandfather and passed down to me.’ He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Take it upstairs with you, read it and then get some rest. I’ll answer any questions you have when you wake. Oh and Gwyn, keep it hidden from your sister, she does not need to know any of this.’

Gwyn stood on shaky legs, gave one last confused look to his father before slowly making his way up the stairs. His father waited at the bottom of the stairs until he heard the bedroom door click closed, checked his daughter was still sleeping soundly in the living room, Dafydd grabbed his flat cap and left the house.

Judging by the sun it was well past noon, he’d lost all track of time and desperately needed a nap but he had no time to sleep. Flipping his cap onto his dishevelled hair he trudged down the lane away from the house and began to cut across the fields heading straight for the ancient oak tree in the distance.

Once he’d passed the oak he made a sharp turn towards the pine trees beyond. He
cast a glance at the base of the tree, remembering fondly the Summer days spent daydreaming under that very tree in his youth. He noticed the trampled grass beneath its heavy boughs and absently wondered whether the sheep had found a new sleeping place.

He cut between two holly trees and followed a small track into the forest. Dried pine needles littered the floor, ancient low boulders covered with lichen marked his path as he progressed down the track. The air here was cooler, nothing stirred the shadowy undergrowth and the gentle breeze stirring the tops of the pines looming far overhead was the only sound to accompany him deeper into the gloom.

As he approached the centre of the forest, sharp beams of sunlight punctured the canopy and spilled onto the path ahead, he could see a clearing ahead of him. In the centre of the clearing was a solitary standing stone. Its weathered face, mottled and ancient, stood upright in a shaft of perfect golden sunlight.

The stone stood taller than him and at his head height was a perfect spiral
carved into its face. He ran his hand over the spiral, tracing its path with a finger before turning away and sitting on a tree stump to the right of the clearing to wait. The standing stone was called a Cerdd Carega, the rough translation meant “music stone or here and there stone,” but it meant far, far more than that
and this was where he’d find help.

As he waited his eyelids began to droop, he shifted position and willed himself to stay awake
but his resolve was not strong enough and he began to doze.

When Awel st
epped into the clearing she smiled at the sight of him. His head sagging forward, the rise and fall of his chest as he gently snored. How she’d missed this little man, as much as she still missed his father before him. She smiled at the memory of the little bird-man that used to wait by the Cerdd Carega, hopping from one foot to the other as he twittered his questions. They had formed quite a bond, she had looked forward to their little meeting, and then he had died.

Dafydd had visited much more seldom than his father before h
im, after the death of his wife he came hardly at all. Awel thought it was a shame. The Bwy Hir had become increasingly distant from the Chosen over the years and she blamed the Druids as much as herself for allowing it to happen. Awel missed the company of the Morgan men. She wondered if Gwyn would become a frequent visitor to the forest once he was initiated. She sincerely hoped he would.

Stealing silently to stand in front of him, she gave one last smile before folding her arms under her breasts and
yelled, ‘Well, this is a fine way to greet a Bwy Hir and member of the Pride!’

Watching his eyes shoot open and falling off his perch nearly
lost Awel her stern expression, but she schooled her face and glared down at him sprawled among the pine needles.

‘For god’s sake, Awel!’ He dusted himself down and retrieved his gap.

‘Your god, not mine, Dafydd ap Morgan,’ she snapped.

‘My apologies, Awel, I forgot myself.’ He bowed and gently took her hand before kissing it gently, his stubble brushing against her skin. She allowed the contact a moment longer, enjoying his touch before withdrawing her hand.

‘How are you, Dafydd, it has been a while has it not?  Word came to us as soon as it happened. What did actually happen Dafydd, I’d like to hear your version of events.’ She motioned for him to begin walking away from the Cerdd Carega
and into the cover of the forest. She towered over him as they walked; his head barely reached her shoulder.

‘I woke up in the middle of the night
… Gwyn was outside, practically naked, lying on his back with a shotgun in his hand … he says to me, “he tried to kill me!” pointing to a heap in the yard. It was dark, and so I grab the heap and turn it over and I saw this.’ He fished in his pocket and pulled out a fist. Awel staggered as he opened his hand to show a round silver medallion. It was decorated with an oak tree on the top half, the tree roots mirrored on the bottom half with a gold Triskele in the centre.

‘Why was a
Druid on your land and why does your son believe he was in mortal danger? This makes no sense.’ Awel sounded concerned.

‘I don’t know
what happened Awel, I swear it, all I know is I had a dead Druid in my yard and my barn was alight!’