Chapter 10 - Seeking Wisdom
By James Attwood
The children wandered on through the quiet country. Beyond hill and dale, they searched for Llyn Llyw, for their wise salmon. The green speckled top of a duckweed covered lake lifted their hopes, nestled between rolling beds of heather and gorse. They stared into its waters for a few long minutes, but no salmon made itself known, no such entity sprang forth to offer them council. Maeve grew weary, the murky depths of this lake were as telling as any. How she might discern the salmon’s dwelling over any other pond she didn’t know. What did catch her interest however was a stone along its edge, one defined groove decidedly unnatural on its craggy surface. The faded depression formed the semi-circle of a hoof print, she realised that had this been her world there would have been a slate slab declaring this as the trace of Llamrai, Arthur’s horse.
“What have you got there?” Hope asked, stumped, and feeling slightly silly staring into a pond expecting the appearance of a salmon.
“It looks like a horse’s hoof, kind of pressed into the rock...” Maeve’s voice drifted, uncertain of what her train of thought was.
“And that means?”
“I think this is Llyn Barfog, it’s supposedly a sign of the struggle between Arthur and the Afanc, a monster he fished out of this lake.” She was getting better at recognising the familiar in this unfamiliar landscape, yet her evidence was still based on unproven myth. Then again she remembered they stood in a land that had done nothing but prove these myths to be true. With this in mind she added, “Maybe step away from the edge a little.”
Heeding her words, they all took a step back and kept their distance from the water. “So, no salmon in this one then?”
A strange squawk answered the query in Maeve’s stead, “No salmon, no Afanc, no nothing! This isn’t the lake for you lot!”
The shrill source of the response came from a small, blackish bird, who stood staring at them from the rock. An Ousel to be exact, not that any of them might have recognised the tell-tale white crescent on its breast. None of its stupefied audience could muster a response, so the Ousel rattled on.
“I was told you were seeking the Salmon of Llyn Llyw.” For such a little thing its voice screeched loudly. “I was told ‘four children you’ll find, on the trail of the Salmon’s water’s’. Perhaps I was mistaken!” Offended, he hopped down from the stone and made to leave their company.
“No! Please don’t go! That’s us, we are the one’s looking for the salmon.” Hope called out to the bird, their feathery acquaintance slowly turning to look their way. “Can you tell us where he is?”
Pleased to have their attention the Ousel carried on, “Who? Me? No, no I can’t I’m afraid. I mean you’re close, but even for me this is where it gets tricky. When I arrived in these lands I was still young, fresh eyed I gazed upon a realm already tamed by man. Hammering smithies and towering windmills are the only sights I know, not that they make much noise these days. One so elusive as the Salmon would have shied away from such egregious constructions long before my time.”
“So, what can you do? Why send you at all?” Fred was none too enthused; the talkative thrush was just that in his opinion.
Its tiny beaked face shrunk back in offence until he puffed his feathery breast up in revolt. “Why this is the last time I do any favours for Taliesin! Ungrateful lot of brats!”
The insult riled a response from some, but Maeve picked up on the mention of their mutual friend. “Taliesin? Is he alright? We haven’t seen him in a while.”
The Ousel’s squinted eyes lingered on Fred a moment before they both cooled down. “Me neither. Haven’t seen him in days, not since Cilgwri. You aren’t the only one’s far from home.”
“But he sent you here?”
“Yes, a while back. His kind have a knack for working ahead of schedule.”
It seemed Taliesin had planned to help them all along, or at least made preparations. Him paving the way for them in advance had the children worried about his fate, did he know he couldn’t be here to do it himself?
“So, if you don’t know how to find the fish, how can you help us?” Orson broke the contemplative silence on the nature of the bard’s fate.
“Finally! Someone who’s asking the right questions.” The Ousel piped up, “As I was saying before your friend here so rudely interrupted me. I’m too young to know where he’d be, but there are animals who were formed before me. Now they might know.”
Orson squat down to the bird’s level. “And you can show us where they are?”
“Sure I can.” The Ousel chirped.
An unsure look on his face, Orson turned to the others as if waiting for some decision from those higher up. They huddled together and shared some hushed deliberations. Maeve was hesitant to follow another bird, especially after an owl had led her into a trap not two nights ago. Then again she acknowledged they had little else to go on. After all, if any creature might lead them to a wise salmon, why not a belligerent bird? So, they followed.
They meandered on, the talkative Ousel yammering away ahead of them. It seemed to enjoy their company, a little too much at times, forgetting that he was leading them when he lost himself in recounting gossip of squirrels and stolen eggs. Despite their absent-minded guide, they eventually came upon a quiet glade, home to the older and far more knowledgeable Stag of Redynfre.
“Good afternoon Stag, I come here at the behest of Taliesin the bard. These children seek the Salmon of Llyn Llyw. I hear he resides around these parts, though I am far too young and inexperienced to know where such an old fish might be now.” The Ousel spoke with surprising respect, showing nothing but reverence for his elder.
“When I first grazed these lands there was nothing but grassy plain around me, without any trees save one oak sapling. Now that sapling is the withered stump of a once great tree, so long have I been here. Yet even I do not know where the Salmon swims these days.” If what the Stag said was true, he must have been impossibly old, a witness to more than a single lifetime could ever see.
The Ousel was visibly disappointed as he pecked at the dirt a while, hoping to dig up some answers. Then he realised he was but a link in this chain, and the Stag might be the next. He flew up and perched amongst its antlers, “Say, you don’t know of any creatures older than yourself, do you?”
The Stag continued to bite at the greenery below him, then a few laboured chews later he responded. “I might, the old Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. At least he boasts of being one more ancient than I.”
“Ah, perfect!” The Ousel hopped from antler to antler with joy. Perhaps there was some wisdom to this fledgling bird’s ramblings. “Do you reckon this owl might know where the Salmon is? If he’s as old as he says he is of course.”
“He might.” Reluctantly the Stag had to agree with his younger friend. The Owl had always boasted he’d known that stump of an oak when it had been an acorn, and if this were true he’d have seen more than him. It was time for the Owl to prove his worth he thought.
And so they followed the Stag through the thicket, the Ousel along for the ride on his crown. This time their path was direct, a deliberate route carved by this proud buck a thousand times before no doubt. Soon they came to the knotted trunk of another oak, this one’s branches a proud display of a tree in its prime. Their guide called out, the coarse rasp of his grunt sending many of the yet unseen denizens of the wood scurrying. But not the Owl. One dominant, crooked eye opened amongst the browned leaves. The harsh yellow orb seemed to float amongst the autumnal brush, so tattered and dishevelled were the creature’s feathers that surrounded it.
“What is it Stag?” The solitary eye glared downwards in their direction, his timber the aged croak of an old gentlemen woken from their slumber. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Quite a peculiar matter...” The Stag peered up, a sly smile emerging beneath his snout, “...young owl.”
The eye bulged, a bushy black eyebrow flaring above like a contorted caterpillar. “Young? Young!? Have you no idea who you speak to Stag? You’re practically a fawn when compared to me.”
“And you a chick!” The Stag rattled his head and kicked at the ground, sending the Ousel fluttering above. An old grudge was playing out in short before them.
“Only one so naive as you could say such a thing!” Splayed but stumpy wings dotted with ruffled feathers made the Owl stand apart from his muted backdrop now.
“Listen!” Hope raised her voice above the bickering animals, “If you are so old Owl, maybe you could help us? You see the Stag brought us here so you could help us find the Salmon of Llyn Llyw. He said you might be old enough to remember where he went?”
The Owl perked up a little at the chance to prove his age once and for all. He descended from branch to branch, each one bending to the weight of this mottled clump of feathers. Once he was at eye level his size was evident, perhaps in his youth with full use of his wings he might have carried one of them off the children thought. “Why I am very old, you have that right. When I first roosted here this wide valley was a wooded glen as it is now, yet the woodland I first knew was cut down and grew again. And once more this happened, then again would you believe it. So old am I that I remember this wood four times over. And even in all these years, I’m afraid I cannot recall the whereabouts of the Salmon of Llyn Llyw...”
The Stag, dubious of the magnanimous Owl displaying such modesty, added, “Yet?”
The Owl’s bulbous eye squinted to a knowing wink, “...Yet I may know one who does. One even older than I.”
So they resumed their merry chase, albeit very slowly as the Owl could not walk at a pace, let alone fly. The senior animals shared a story or two along the way, each account an attempt to one up the others experience. Maeve quickly grew tired of their tour guides, each tale was as tedious as the last, each narrative merely a variation of how ‘that forest was nothing but seeds when I saw it first’ and so forth. Luckily it wasn’t long before their quarry found them instead, a majestic eagle swooping down to meet them.
“In all my years I’ve never seen you take a walk in the daylight Owl...” with a great waft of its enormous wings the eagle landed before them, its regal voice addressing them as a queen would her subjects, “...and with such strange company no less.”
“Well, it would appear we are in strange times my lady.” The Owl held up one of its stunted wings in as polite a gesture as it could stomach. “Children...Stag...this is the Eagle of Gwern Abwy. The oldest animal I’ve ever known to fly these skies.”
For its apparent age the Eagle showed no wrinkles like its kin, instead it exuded an allure of grandeur, plumage as immaculate as the day it was born. Maeve had no doubt they stood before a genuine creature of legend as she sheepishly laid out their plight. “Um, your grace, we’re looking for the Salmon of Llyn Llyw. The Ousel led us to the Stag, and the Stag led us to the Owl, and well, then you found us. But they’ve all said they’re too young to have seen the Salmon, we were hoping you might be able to help us?”
The Eagle stared down its beak at Maeve, measuring her worth without a word. Safe to say it was an uncomfortable experience, one not so dissimilar to how Gwydion had first viewed her. The other animals stood by in silence, clearly outranked by the latest link in this chain of experience.
“Taliesin sent us here, sent the Ousel to help us.” Maeve decided to make her case, she’d speak for herself rather than be appraised by strangers, no matter how old they were. “I understand the Salmon no doubt wants to be left alone, like all of you do. Then again so did I. Until I was snatched from my home by Gwydion. We’re just trying to find our way home, and Taliesin told us to find the Salmon, that he could help us. I can’t explain how but I feel like this is bigger than all of us, I don’t need to be a thousand years old to know that. We’re just asking for directions.”
The Eagle held its stare, yet its eyes widened, its gaze softer than before. “I like you girl; I wonder what wisdom one so wise could hope to gain from the Salmon. Nevertheless, I can tell you, I do indeed know the Salmon of Llyn Llyw. I know his lake well; I once went there to hunt when this land was nothing but weed and stone. I dug my claws into a fish only to discover I had seized the Salmon himself. So tremendous was this prey that I had to flee, swearing I would return to destroy him one day. Before I could he sent messengers to make peace, and we have been friends ever since. You see he knew, even in my youth, that I could be more than just a reckless hunter.”
“So you’ll take us to him? To Llyn Llyw?” Fred couldn’t contain his excitement now, after all their search had felt like it had taken days not hours.
“I will,” she proclaimed, “on one condition. None of you are to speak a word of Llyn Llyw’s location to any other. There are still those who share the naivety of my younger self. Man and beast alike who would seek the Salmon’s corpse as a fool’s trophy. No one can know where he resides.”
“Of course.” Maeve nodded, a little flustered after having been so uncharacteristically forthright. Her dealings with the rats had roused something within, something she didn’t realise she had in her.
For what they hoped would be the last time they set off after the Salmon. This stretch of the hunt took them closer to the coast, the craggy spires of Cantre’r Gwaelod visible in the distance once more. They could see the narrow bank stretching out to its walls, a winding walkway struggling to keep above the sea. Five specs seemed to make their way across it, riders on horseback perhaps, not that Maeve could make them out.
“Never go there child, only fools venture there. It sunk long ago and should never have risen again.” The Eagle flew low and caught Maeve gazing at the walls, somehow standing proud against the tumultuous sea. In the dim light of the evening, where only white tipped waves cut a border between sea and sky, the abandoned kingdom seemed almost misplaced. Impossible even. Despite the Eagle’s warnings Maeve couldn’t shake her curiosity for the sea bound bastion and the figures that made for its walls.
Other mysteries caught her inquisitive eye along the way, the most notable being the formidable bulk of some enormous beast that now trudged beside the distant treeline. It trotted along, an adornment of tusks jutting from its maw, its hooves beating the path as softly as such a monster could. Stranger still, seven more of its kind appeared to be following it, though these were not of this world, they were spectral wisps of cyan that were as ghostly as the moon in the sky. Maeve looked to the Eagle for some explanation, yet it declined to entice the girl’s curiosity once more, the distant beast having vanished from sight by the time she turned back.
Their path took a turn, down into the shady depths of a valley. Trickling water weaved a subtle route down its centre until they came to its end, a mighty slab of rock fallen from the hanging edge above, buried in centuries of earth and rubble. Split down its middle however was a crack, the dark confines of which seemed to beckon them inward.
“That will be your path through. Too narrow for my wings though, I must fly over. Owl, might I recommend you breathe in.” The Eagle rose above the wall and soared onward out of sight.
“Pfft! She’s lucky I can no longer fly.” The Owl scoffed though his face dropped as he inspected the aforementioned crack.
It was indeed a small gap through which they had to proceed, perhaps three feet wide at most, and it only seemed to close in the further it went. Hope slipped in ahead of the Owl, insisting he needn’t come along if he’d rather not, though the comment only spurred him on. She found herself having to unhook her padded coat as it caught the jagged edges and exposed roots of the fissure. With each squeeze she wondered how much further it could go. Gazing up at the sky above she couldn’t help but feel tiny and somewhat helpless should the next push see her stuck in this squeeze. Endeavouring onwards through the misted trail she soon stumbled out into a clearing on the other side of the valley. An iridescent lake shimmered ahead, isolated in its own secluded hollow. The others had found themselves falling behind, stuck behind the mass of the Owl who fussed and wheezed as he hefted his girth through one unfeasible gap after the other. Yet they could hear Hope’s joyous confirmation up ahead.
“Found it!” She cheered, voice echoing off the walls of this silent hollow into the open air far above.
The eerie stillness of the lake worried her, maybe I shouldn’t have shouted, she thought. If this was the fabled Llyn Llyw it was certainly a modest lake, insignificant even, besides its unusual locale. She surveyed the surface, expectant of some tell-tale sign of magic at play. Then she noticed something else. A creature sat hunched by the water’s edge, motionless. At a glance she thought it was a toad, though it was larger than any dog she’d seen, yet where its hind legs should have been it sat on a tail, wound like a corkscrew beneath. It braced itself with two elongated arms, attached to which were the leathery flaps of fins, or wings perhaps. Sat flat atop this slimy beast’s shoulders was its wart ridden head, humongous eyes protruding from it. A thick nebulous tongue slowly wiped a wad of mucous from its vacant eye before it jerked to attention, that eye locking onto Hope across the way. Hope froze on the spot, hopeful she was as hard to make out for it as the toad was to her. She was not.
At a moment’s notice it sprung forth, its tail uncoiling wildly behind having propelled the beast. Its arms spread wide, those loose flaps now pulled taught into bat like appendages, they were wings. It flew through the air with blinding speed, that globular body now careering towards Hope with the grace of a murderous kite. She couldn’t budge an inch before the creature had landed on her, pushing them both to the floor. That garish tongue flopped down as she tried her best to hold back its gaping maw, lapping her with dollops of viscous saliva. Fleshy gums lined with short, serrated teeth snapped viciously, inching closer and closer to her face each time as her grip on its slick body slipped.
She winced, expecting the next bite to close the gap, yet the creature found itself staring down at her as it was yanked into the air. The Eagle had pulled it high, vice like talons sunk deep into its back, then threw it into the rock face as it looped around the hollow. The toad fell back to the ground with a thud but slithered back up the wall, regrouping with several more of its kind that clung to the rocks above. The creatures let out an ear-piercing shriek in unison before they began to descend in a spiral towards the lake, towards Hope.
“Stay low child!” The Eagle screeched as she resumed her attack.
“Hope! What’s going on!?” Maeve shouted from behind the Owl, trying to catch a peek at what the commotion was, yet there was no reply. The Ousel fluttered overhead to see for himself.
Fred pushed his shoulder into the bird’s back, eliciting an aggravated groan but no movement whatsoever. “Can’t you move faster Owl!?”
“I’m trying boy!”
The Ousel hovered back above them, short of breath he blurted out, “Llamhigyn y dwr!”
“What’s a llamhigyn?” Orson asked.
“Nothing good.” The Owl grumbled, still seemingly wedged before them.
“Children, climb up a little, out of the way.” The Stag ordered from behind. Whether it was the authority the buck commanded or their need for a plan, Maeve and Orson followed Fred’s lead without question. Backs braced against one side and feet against the other they clambered upwards. The Stag backed up a little and lowered his head, “Owl, you must forgive me, for I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.”
“Wanted to do-” The Owl squawked nervously as he turned his head on a swivel, eyes wide with horror as he saw the Stag charging towards him.
Antler’s scratched the walls of the fissure, their tips snapping from the pressure of the unabated rush. With a momentous heave he thrust into the Owl’s hind quarters, dislodging the bulk and hurling him out of the ravine, clearing the way. The rest of the group spilled out after them, into the chaotic scene on the lake’s shores.
The Owl struggled to right himself as toads glided above and hopped around like a storm made up of amphibians. Hope held her arms over her head as the Eagle swooped low, plucking up one after the other and tossing them aside. Maeve dashed towards her sister, the others following behind, yet a streak of green blindsided Orson. Fred turned upon hearing the yelp but couldn’t see or hear his cousin, only the flurry of amphibians and cacophony of frenzied ribbits. That is until he heard the familiar pitch of a most aggravated Ousel.
“Get off of him you git!” He yelled as he pecked into the back of one of the beasts that was setting upon Orson.
Fred saw his cousin in danger, he knew exactly what he had to do. Yet a gauntlet of toads sprang and flew between them. Move, come on. His little fists clenched so tightly he felt as if he’d never open them again. Be brave. Teeth clenched he ran deftly through the melee, ducking any of the fiends that flew too low. Determined, he gripped the toad under its wings and tossed it aside, revealing a very relieved Orson beneath. The rotund creature had only fallen mere feet from where they stood, however. It flopped back onto its front legs and coiled its tail, letting out that tell-tale shriek as it readied to pounce once more. Its hunt was interrupted a second time however as the Stag rammed into its side, sending it flailing into the lake with a splash.
“Filth!” He bellowed as he felled the creature, his horns already dripping with the remnants of their kind. The Stag turned back to see the Owl, still on his back, now covered in the monsters. “Owl!” He charged to his aid and the boys followed.
Maeve caught up to Hope, who was shell shocked but unharmed. She dove to hug her and fell close to the ground as the toads barraged the shore endlessly. The Eagle landed yet another mark, this time bringing it low to ensure it was dead. As she carved into it with her formidable beak another one sprung onto her back, her wings unable to spread as it clawed at her. The others had gathered around the Owl, Fred, Orson, and the Stag now flinging as many from him as they could. Amidst all the bedlam the llamhigyn y dwr that now crept towards the girls had practically been invisible before it let out its shriek. It hunched low between them and the lake, emotionless eyes peering right at them, its slug like tongue salivating at the prospect of its next meal.
It was oblivious to the surface of the lake swelling behind until it burst, an eruption of water shooting into the heights of the hollow as if a whale had kicked its tail from these quiet waters. Yet this was no whale. The gargantuan source of the explosion fell flat with a thunderous slam onto to the shore, that toad helplessly engulfed by its jaws. It let out a pathetic whelp before the mammoth fish swallowed it whole. What now lay before them was a sight to behold. Luminous silver scales shone in the evening light, its body shimmering as if it were an extension of the lake itself. Its eyes were as white as the moon, though the irises that stared down at the sisters were the darkest pitch of black. The appearance of the elephantine fish had struck the scene as if it were a force of nature. The momentous boom with which it had appeared was now followed by a vacuous silence, any llamhigyn y dwr that still lived withdrew from sight. Before them, beached on what were now undoubtedly the shores of Llyn Llyw, rested the legendary Salmon.
“Salmon of Llyn Llyw!” The Eagle exclaimed as she shook her wings free of any slime.
“Eagle of Gwern Abwy, it is good to see you.” The Salmon’s dulcet tone reverberated throughout the ravine as if it was born from an orchestra of brass instruments. He turned his body back to the lake, plying himself back into its waters with a push from his oar like fins. He displayed his back to them, embedded with spears and arrows, even a solitary toad still leeching at it. “If you would be so kind dear friend.”
Surprised at the sight the Eagle set to clearing the Salmon’s back, “Why do men still bother you so?”
“These are old wounds Eagle; it has been some time since I saw you last. Some men never change, I will always be a monster for them to hunt, except now my waters grow shallow and I have no wings with which to fly away.” The Salmon seemed numb to the pain as the Eagle plucked arrow after arrow from its spine.
“For that I must apologise dear Salmon, at our age the passing of a day can be hard to distinguish from a year gone by.” The Eagle ripped the toad from one of its scales with great prejudice, “But what of these vermin?”
“Well, men might not change yet the times have, now they cower away behind closed doors in fear of the haunted nights. With fewer men and livestock to feast upon the llamhigyn y dwr find themselves in need of new prey, and with that hunger they grow bold...” he looked to the handful of bodies that littered the shore, “...though I feel we might have humbled them somewhat this eve.”
“A taste I won’t soon forget I’m afraid.” The Eagle spat a mouthful of mucous as he snapped away the last spear.
The Salmon let out a long sigh of relief at the culmination of the Eagle’s unconventional massage. He floated over and turned his attention to the children who had gathered before him, “I dare say you did not come here to pluck away bad memories though. To whom do I have the honour of speaking?”
One to maintain the pomp and ceremony the Eagle flew back to their side to introduce them. “Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I present to you Maeve, Hope, Fred and Orson. These children sought an audience with you under the instruction of the bard Taliesin. They’ve come far, from another world they say.” The Owl, lacking even more feathers than before but standing as proudly as he could, coughed quite unsubtly. Picking up on this brash cue the Eagle added, “Ah, of course. How could I forget. This is my dear friend the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. He, the Stag of Redynfre, and the Ousel of Cilgwri played a most important role in seeing the children here safely.”
The Salmon swam closer, even half submerged he still loomed large. “Then you have my thanks friends. So, children, what can an old fish like me do for you?”
Starstruck they all looked to Maeve, who nervously stuttered, “It’s like the Eagle said, Taliesin said you were the wisest fish he knew and that we should seek you out. That you could help us.”
“And what might I help you with?” The Salmon subdued his voice and spoke as affably as he could, “I’m afraid I have not the foresight that prophets like the bard boast.”
“But he said you were the wisest-”
“And wisdom comes from knowing all does it? Is it not what we do with the knowledge that makes us wise, not the knowledge itself?” The Salmon asked rhetorically. “Do not fret child. I’ve dealt with all kinds, heroes of yore, even the knights of Arthur’s court. Yet here, in my presence, they were all but men, and I naught but a salmon. I am just a very old fish stuck in a dwindling lake, and you are just a child pulled from a strange land who has come to speak with me. The sooner we rid ourselves of any pretence the sooner we might solve your woes. Tell me your tale so that we might reflect on it together.”
Maeve felt slightly undermined by her own logic. She’d chastised the legends she’d adored for being entitled creatures of whim now that she’d met them, and here she was, being reduced to ‘just a child’ by the Salmon. Damn, he’s wise alright. His honesty had stunned her though, frankly, she was happy to know where she stood for once. Perhaps it was time she accepted help when it was offered. Now that she had met the Salmon she had no doubt he was the genuine figure of folklore. Even if he’d played down his reputation, she couldn’t help but reconcile him with the beast who had been pivotal in the rescue of Mabon by Arthur’s knights in her book. With assistance from the others, she put their predicament into words as best she could, from the moment she saw that owl tapping away at her window. The old animals sat and listened attentively, even the Ousel barely said a word. Weaving the narrative now, it became clear to everyone that they’d been through far more than the average child, that they were far from naive. Maeve, Hope, Fred, and Orson realised how far they’d come, together. They couldn’t wait to tell this story all over again to their parents.