The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy (31 page)

R’hela

BOOK TWO OF

THE BWY HIR TRILOGY

None shall break the Triskele oath

Blood and toil, we give to both,

Bound together kith and kin,

A ring of fire to seer the skin,

Never falter, never fall,

Gwaradwyddedig?

We stand tall.

PROLOGUE

There were rumblings of disquiet among the Chosen men as they made their way to the lakeside to undress. One of their own was missing; the Morgan family had been named Gwaradwyddedig: Shamed, and were therefore expelled from the Solstice. The men cast sideways glances at the Druids standing guard at the water’s edge. The occasional mutter of discontentment could be heard as the Chosen finished undressing and submerged themselves into the icy water.

The
Druids too appeared to be unsettled, they also felt the chill of trepidation among their ranks, but the Solstice must be complete, the Harvest must be accomplished, the Triskele upheld, and so they completed their duties with precision and diligence, leading the Chosen men in single file to the ring of ancient standing stones.

Torches flickered furiously against the impudent wind blowing across the hallowed hilltop. The inky sky was clear and the stars sparkled brightly in rivalry with the flames blazing beneath them, pulsing to the rhythm of the
Bodrans that echoed through the valley.

Once each man was stationed in
his allotted place  each one was brought to his knees by the black-hooded Druids performing the ceremony. Every Chosen man was naked and still dripping wet from his submersion in the hoary lake at the foot of the hilltop. They were pure, they were willing, they were Chosen.

The
Chosen were genuflected in preparation for the Harvest, as had their fathers and their forefathers. The blood that coursed through their veins was untainted, pure. The Druids each had a small table positioned at their hip laden with the required instruments to continue with the ritual. Bending each man’s arm with a tourniquet in readiness to extract the yield, silver needles were inserted and the required amount of blood was extracted before being poured into a ceremonial bowl.

Once complete, the tourniquet was removed and then a silver goblet was passed between the men, each taking a sip that would send their minds into a temporary oblivion, their eyes rolling into the back of their heads, jaws sl
ackened and muscles relaxed. Some would slump to the ground, some would remain kneeling, all were now disregarded, their service rendered.

The B
odrans increased their tempo as the recipients of the Harvest moved forward to receive their bounty, standing in front of their allotted donor. They did not kneel: they were the Bwy Hir, righteous and divine. They towered over both Druid and man. Despite the resplendence of the Bwy Hir there was an air of apprehension surrounding the Host; one of their number was also missing from the gathering and his whereabouts were unknown. Never in the history of the Solstice had a member of the Host failed to attend, until now.

The female Bwy Hir, known collectively
as the Pride, stood impassively, they had already ingested a fusion to dull the ferocity of the Solstice, their eyes glazed over, their only movement was to lift their arms forward, surrendering to the Druids’ cold, nervous touch. The females took the blood in pure form, nothing was added to the deep red fluid as it was injected to fuse with their own lifeblood, rejuvenating, recharging, invigorating.

For the male recipients, looming impatiently
, naked and resplendent, their elixir would be enhanced by the Druids. This was the true purpose of the Harvest. Although Human blood was vital for the continued existence of the Bwy Hir recipients, the enhancement added to the elixir by the Druids was fundamental for the reproduction of the Bwy Hir. No child could be conceived without it.

The hostile, violent coupling that was about to transpire was forbidden to look upon, and as the
Bodrans continued their pounding from the shadows, the Druids withdrew themselves from the circle, turning their backs on the flickering torches and staring into the night until it was over … only it didn’t begin.

‘I feel nothing
,’ Aeron rasped to his brothers, as they stood waiting for the elixir or ‘ateb’ as it was known, to begin to take effect. Usually the exhilarating rush of potency was immediate but Aeron felt nothing and neither did any of the Host. ‘What is this?’ Aeron roared to the Druids hiding in the shadows.

The
Bodrans fell silent and there was an urgent whispering from beyond the torchlight before two Druids appeared from the shadows, stepping over the unconscious Chosen slumped in the grass and cautiously approached Aeron Ddu, King of the Winter Realm. ‘There is a problem, my Lord?’ one of the Druids stammered, as the Host stood impatiently and impotently in the moonlight.

‘The
ateb is not working!’ Aeron barely kept hold of his temper. ‘What trickery is this?’ he bellowed. The Pride swayed on their feet, their unfocused eyes and blank faces becoming more attentive as they sensed the Host’s unease and felt the stillness of inaction.

‘What is happening?’ Mab Rhedyn Haf, Queen of the Bwy Hir slurred as she fought to regain lucidity
. ‘What is wrong?’ Her eyes rolled as she struggled to focus.

‘The
ateb is faulty!’ Gwrnach gasped in disbelief. ‘The Druids deceive us!’ There was angry muttering among the Bwy Hir as they turned accusingly to the Druids.

‘No!’ shouted an
Elder Druid. ‘We do not deceive you! We too are duped! The ateb has been tampered with, weakened and diluted!’

The Elder Druid held
up the ateb flask for Aeron’s inspection but Aeron thrust it away. ‘I do not want your excuses,’ he hissed, ‘bring more ateb immediately!’

‘We cannot!’ wailed the Elder
. ‘We have all of it here with us – all of it has been corrupted!’ The Druid fell to his knees and sobbed into his hands. All the other Druids followed suit and bowed to their masters.

Aeron grabbed at his own hair and lifted his eyes to the starry sky. Without the
ateb the Host were incapable of performing their duties as mates. His eyes darted from left to right as he tried to comprehend who would dare do such a thing and suddenly it dawned on him.

‘Cadno!’ he bellowed. He threw his attention back to the Druids
. ‘Go!’ he screamed through snarling teeth. ‘Find me Cadno, send the Helgi, send every Seeker, I want him found!’

The
Druids scurried in every direction leaving the Chosen lying obliviously scattered on the mountainside as Aeron paced the circle. The Pride had comprehended the finality of Cadno’s sting and so they slowly began to withdraw on unsteady feet, making their way to the Cerdd Carega that would take them to their lair where they would slumber until Spring.

The Host watched dismally as the Pride departed. Aeron was incensed, he threw up his arms and let out a guttural roar. His hands turned to claws as he slashed at the night sky. Flashes of lightning were called at his whim to strike at the earth, rumbles of thunder peeled across the mountain and an icy wind raged across the mountains. Again and again lightning struck the earth and thunder shook the hilltops as Aeron unleashed his full temper and control.

‘What shall we do?’ Llud asked woefully to his brethren standing buffeted on the mountain. ‘Do?’ Aeron growled with a vicious snarl as he let the chaos abate. ‘We do what the Host does best: We hunt.’ The Host shouted their approval as they followed Aeron from the mountainside to return to the Halls of the Druid to prepare for the R’hela: the Hunt, leaving the Chosen forgotten in the grass.

Only once the last Bwy Hir removed themselves from the hilltop did the
Druids return to complete the ceremony by removing all trace of occupancy. By sunrise the men would begin to stir, finding themselves fully dressed with no recollection of the ritual subsequent to sipping from the silver goblet, or the chaos that had ensued.

Fuzzy headed, aching and tired, each man would return to their normal, everyday lives. They would return home, kiss their w
ives and children, till the fields and tend their livestock. Normality would continue on the farms nestled in the valley until the next Solstice, only not the peaceful normality they had enjoyed the previous season, this new normality was tinged with loss and sadness as they must turn their backs on the Morgans of Ty Mawr Farm, at least until Aeron Ddu, King of the Winter Realm and Arch Orphanim of The Bwy Hir deemed otherwise.

CHAPTER ONE

Druid
Madog had come straight from the Solstice on the Gelli hillside, running as fast as his feet would carry him. He left others to carry the tale to the Elders and the Council – his quarry was far more important.

Running headlong down the dank tunnels deep below the
Druid Halls, Madog made his way to a place feared and avoided by all of his brethren. Dduallt was not only the kennels to the Helgi but was also an ill-favoured prison, lurking in the bowels of the Eryri mountains where no daylight ever penetrated. It was a dark, unforgiving, fetid hellhole and yet Madog couldn’t wait to get there to deliver the news.

He took the steep stone steps two at a time, down the final spiral of stairs that opened onto a torch
-lit narrow hallway. The torch smoke stung his eyes as he pounded on the heavy doors barring his way. ‘Open up!’ he shouted through the metal grill. ‘I must see Afagddu at once!’

He heard the grating of the key in the lock and the do
or swung inwards. ‘Not you again,’ the nasally voice of the Keeper moaned. His face was pinched, his nose was long and thin and sat between his hooded eyes giving him a hawk-like appearance. He was none too pleased to see Madog for the second time in two days. ‘What do you want now?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘We’re not too used to having visitors down here. What do you want with Afagddu?’

‘I bring him news
,’ Madog answered offhandedly.

‘Oh, what news is this?’
the Keeper inquired, trying not to sound too interested.

‘None that will be of any interest to you, so let me pass, I haven’t time to hang around.’

Madog pushed passed the Keeper and made his way down the jagged pathway that led into a huge black cavern. ‘Remember to stick to the path,’ the Keeper called, ‘lest you want to be mistaken for Helgi food!’ He chuckled cruelly.

Madog kept to the path, lit by more torches as it snaked its way through jagged, deep crevices. Helgi eyes peered from the darkness, watching him as he went. Madog shivered. The pathway opened out onto a large flat bluff, slick with moss. Chiseled inside the rock were six small cells, each covered with a metal gated grill. Madog rushed up to the furthest cell to his right and called in, ‘Afagddu! Afagddu!’
His voiced echoed as he spoke.

‘What is it?’ Afagddu’s weary voice ricocheted off the black cell walls and out into the semi-light of the bluff.

  ‘You will not believe it, Afagddu!’ Madog whispered excitedly.

‘I am in no mood for games, Madog.’ Afagddu sighed from deep within the darkness of his cell. Madog could hear the shuffling of the prison’s only other occupant in the cell next to Afagddu’s and so he hushed his voice and whispered through the bars, ‘Afagddu, listen
… the ateb has failed, the Bwy Hir are in uproar.’

‘What?’ Afagddu shuffled towards the bars and Madog could just make out Afagddu’s silhouette in the darkness. ‘The
ateb has failed? How can this be?’ Afagddu’s voice hinted at his astonishment.

‘It’s true.’ Madog clenched the rusted bars with his hands and leaned in further
. ‘It was watered down, diluted in some way – it is useless!’ Madog stifled a giggle. ‘What is more … Cadno is missing.’ Madog waited for Afagddu’s enthusiasm to spill through the bars but he received only silence. ‘Did you hear me. Afagddu? Cadno is missing … Afagddu? Afagddu?’

‘I hear you.’ Afagddu’s face had split into a hideous grin
. ‘Oh, the irony!’ His grin became a chuckle that became a laugh that became a wholehearted cackle. A more alien sound had never before been heard in the caverns and crevices of Dduallt. The Helgi lifted their huge heads and joined in Afagddu’s mirth with howls and yips that rang through every fissure, echoing and reverberating until Madog had to clap his hands to his ears to deaden the dreadful cacophony. Afagddu watched as Madog retreated back up the pathway and into the shelter of the Keeper’s hallway, cringing and stooping as he ran. Afagddu pressed his malformed back against his cage, relishing the icy touch of the bars pressing against his thin shirt.

His smile
deepened as he listened to the frenzied din of the Helgi continuing to howl. Afagddu felt his spirits elevated at the news Madog had brought him; the Bwy Hir were unravelling themselves with no help from himself or Madog, weakening themselves as the Druids grew in strength. The Chosen were dwindling as Afagddu had always intended. It was his plan to see the Chosen decline to a level where the Bwy Hir needed the Druids as donors and then, then Afagddu would see to a shifting of power and an amendment to the oaths that bound he and his brethren so tightly and cruelly to the Bwy Hir’s will.

The first adjustment would be to reinstate the
Druids’ longevity without the transfiguration to Helgi. If Helgi were not required then the Druids should be able to take any amount of the waifs and strays that littered the towns and cities of the Lost – no longer should the Druids suffer the fate of transfiguration. Afagddu’s mind worked furiously:
Will the Bwy Hir realise how much they needed the Druids now? How useless is the Host without the Druids’ ateb? Or will Aeron strike at the Druid ranks in his fury, despite the obvious culprit of the damaged ateb being Cadno … why had Cadno done such a thing?

Afagddu couldn’t begin to fathom why Cadno had struck at the Bwy Hir with such malice, but Afagddu had to admire him for his daring and spite, despite hating Cadno with every
fibre of his being.

Afagddu heard his fellow prisoner shuffling among the rank straw that littered the floors of their cells
. ‘Enjoying your stay with us?’ Afagddu called out. ‘Did you enjoy the Helgi choir?’

‘Go to hell,
y Gigfran,’ Dafydd Morgan moaned from within his cell. ‘Your voice grates as much as the Helgi do, so shut the hell up.’

Afagddu’s smile had faltered at being called
y Gigfran: Raven. The Chosen man was obviously well informed to use an insult rarely said to his face and Afagddu wondered at Dafydd Morgan’s allies. He forced humour into his voice. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but at least your accommodation is better than the rest of your family’s; after all, your son is alone in a village where none will speak to him, let alone help him, he can’t even trade your livestock, and as for your daughter, Aeron will see to it that she is found and questioned, not a fate I would relish–’

‘Shut up,
y Gigfran!’ Dafydd slammed his fists against the bars of his cell. ‘I swear to God, whatever fate my family suffers, you will suffer it tenfold, I swear it!’

Afagddu talked right over him
. ‘And as for the woman I found at Ty Mawr, alone and unprotected, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed squeezing her fat neck!’

‘Bastard!’ Dafydd threw himself at the bars
. ‘You’re going to pay you twisted, ugly, bastard!’ Dafydd shrieked as he threw himself at his cage again and again and Afagddu laughed with every shudder of the bars, the Helgi joining his delight as they howled and bayed with fervour.

The Keeper looked on, ashamed of his own guilt, scared of Afagddu’s fearlessness and unsettled with the unusual behaviour of the
Helgi. The sound of the hunting horn shook the Keeper from his pensiveness; the pack of Helgi quietened and stood on all fours, sniffing the air, ready to seek the quarry of the masters – the Seekers. One by one the Seekers pounded through the hallway and whistled for their pair of hunting hounds. The Helgi were eager to join their masters and trotted immediately to the side of their own Seeker awaiting instruction.

‘We hunt for something very special tonight!’
a Seeker called to his Helgi. ‘We hunt for a Bwy Hir and no mercy need be shown! We hunt for Cadno himself!’ The Seekers’ eyes flashed and the Helgi began barking and baying, desperate to begin.

Dafydd and Afagddu leaned against their cell bars silently mulling over the significance of such a happening. Never in living memory had a Bwy Hir been hunted down, none had ever faced the
R’hela.

Afagddu obviously knew the reason why, thanks to his visitor, but Dafydd did not, although there was a tickling in the back of Dafydd’s memory
. Something stirred at the mention of Cadno’s name but it would not come forward, it stayed shrouded in a fog of forgetfulness however Dafydd strained to recall, but he kept pressing at his memory, trying to shake loose what he should have remembered.