Chapter 11 - One Man’s Legacy

By James Attwood

The quiet glade in the heart of this old wood had fallen silent today. Only the swaying trees and dancing grass breathed any life into the scene. At its centre stood the reason. A mound, a pyre of sorts, assembled from writhing roots and a hunter’s bountiful quarry. Seven deer were entangled in the structure, each of them a majestic roebuck. Even in death their illustrious fur and antlered crowns were the prime example of their kind, each a beast of legend only the finest of poachers could hope to fell. Atop this grim spectacle sat Gwydion, deeply lost in his thoughts. He’d done this himself. Some had fallen to his pinpoint archery, others trapped by the trees themselves. He’d always had a way with nature, yet this was perhaps the first time he’d warped the forest into an affront to itself. The irony wasn’t lost on him, but it didn’t matter. Seven, no less than seven of the finest bucks around, and still you don’t show. He brushed the reddish grey tufts of hair on one of these fallen animals, must they be white? Surely you can’t be that particular, Arawn, this is no time for perfection.

            He’d spent hours on this throne of trophies. Luring, killing, waiting. Yet the king of Annwn hadn’t shown himself, not one of his hounds had picked up the scent of this hunt, no, this massacre. Such busy work felt beneath Gwydion, why should he of all men have to stoop to this. He felt a fool, not for the first time today, and it was a feeling he was growing weary of. For a moment he caught himself smiling at the memory of a similar event, a time he’d stolen pigs from Pryderi. At the time he hadn’t paid much thought to who Pryderi was, nor the significance of the pigs, they were all just implements to be used, the realm his toolbox.

            This had been part of one of his many outlandish schemes, this one in favour of his lustful brother Gilfaethwy. His brother had harboured a deep desire for his uncle’s foot holder, Goewin. Now their uncle was not a man to be easily fooled. He was Math son of Mathonwy, a powerful king yet one who had to rest his feet in the lap of a virgin unless he was at war, otherwise he might perish. Whether there was any truth to this or not, Math and Goewin were inseparable, so Gilfaethwy would never have a moment alone with her.

            Thus, a plan was devised, to start a war, all for a moment alone with this foot holder. For this alone the pigs were stolen and Pryderi’s kingdom provoked. Now, with the newfound perspective this despairing errand of a throne had afforded him, Gwydion appreciated exactly who he’d wronged back then. Pryderi had of course been the king of Dyfed, and was the son of Pwyll Pen Annwn, the man with whom Arawn had been great friends. And the pigs were no mere pigs, they were otherworldly, gifted to Pryderi by Arawn himself. Gwydion smirked, he’d never connected these dots before, but Pwyll had been a problem for him for far longer than he’d realised...

*

Back in the hollow, huddled by the calm edge of Llyn Llyw which was dominated by the very large, very wise Salmon, Maeve came to the end of their tale.

            “...And that’s when we found you.” Maeve paused a while, wondering if there were any pertinent details she’d left out. There was a silence in turn from their audience as they took it all in.

            “Fascinating. So, you have been taken from another realm, another world entirely. A world in which you have read about us all.” The Salmon’s timbre warbled like a throat singer’s tunes, the implications of their tale seemed to truly invigorate his imagination. “All in this...Mabinogi.”

            “Three days ago, all of you were just stories to us, but now it’s all real. But not exactly, in the book Wales is full of people. There are kingdoms all over. But we’ve barely seen a soul since we came here.” Maeve was emphatic now; she didn’t shy away at the opportunity to make sense of this all.

            “As I told the Eagle, the times have changed. These days the dead roam where only the living should tread, life itself seems at a standstill.”

            “See none of that is in the book...it’s like we’re in a missing chapter.”

            “Or a chapter that is yet to be written.”

            “So, who passed the stories on from your world to ours? How does a girl from nowhere like me know all about your history?”

            “That is a good question...” The Salmon mused. “You said you came through a tree? What is to say someone hasn’t done the same before, ventured into your world with tales of ours?”

            “That would explain a lot...” She mumbled, reflecting on the mess of information she’d been tangling with over the past few days. “But I guess it’s not...”

            “Not important?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Perhaps. It certainly does not explain your more pressing issue. Gwydion.”

            “Do you know much about him Salmon?” Hope asked, she felt they dealt with a creature who had lived this world in its entirety, after all he might have met him once or twice.

            “Only as much as your sister’s heard I’m sure. Quite the enigmatic man.” The Salmon furrowed the plate sized scales that lined his brow as he racked his brain for what he had heard of this man. “You mentioned a lady of the lake. That she spoke of how the Children of Dôn had meddled in Annwn. That is a worrying development.”

            Maeve whispered to the others. “That’s the Otherworld, it’s like hell or the afterlife.” They nodded dutifully before she spoke up to the Salmon, “Is this what’s causing all the ghosts and... stuff?”

            “It might be. If something is amiss in Annwn it stands to reason that might bleed over into the mortal realm. What concerns me is that this sounds like the beginning of a battle, Cad Goddeu.”

            “The battle of the trees...” The Stag echoed his words, all the animals knew of what he spoke.

            “It has long been foretold. I was not aware it may have already begun.”

            “You haven’t told us about that one Maeve.” Fred looked disappointed, now that they were at the centre of these tales they were far more enthusiastic to have them recounted. “Can’t remember grandma telling it either.”

            “I don’t know a lot about it to be honest, it was a poem. I... uh...don’t do poems.” Maeve tried to justify her neglection of it, after all it had barely featured in the Mabinogi she knew and loved.

            “Seers tell that one day the Children of Dôn will go to war with Arawn, king of Annwn. All this will come about because of Gwydion and his brother Amaethon, who will steal Arawn’s prized white roebuck from the Annwn. This will lead to the great battle, one that is regarded as futile, but one that Gwydion is believed to win nonetheless.” The Salmon, despite his knowledge, spoke of the matters of men without the dramatic flair they’d find on the tip of a bard’s tongue or in the rhymes of his verses. He only dictated the facts of their exploits without much care for flavouring them as others had seen fit.

            “So, if these brothers angered Arawn and everyone’s on the verge of some battle, why did Gwydion kidnap my sister?” Hope shot her question rather bluntly, their inclusion in the troubles of this world still confounded her. “Why did he get grandad killed?”

            “This is where we must think on the matter.” The response did little for Hope’s dissatisfied complexion, yet the call for deduction spoke to her cousin.

            “Taliesin said Gwydion needed Maeve because she was the descendant of Pel Pen Dwfn-” Orson began his theory until Maeve corrected him.

            “Pwyll Pen Annwn.”

            “Yeah, him. He said that we might all be related to him, but he only needed one of us.”

            “So, it is clear that Gwydion has some use for you, and being that it stands to reason these trying times are a result of Annwn having been...tampered with...perhaps he seeks to mend the situation using yourselves. Now why would he need someone of Pwyll’s bloodline for this?” The Salmon spoke suggestively, as if he had come upon the answers already yet wanted the children to reach it themselves. “Maeve? Any stories in your book that might tell us?”

            A light seemed to flash in Maeve’s eyes. Why hadn’t I thought of this before. “They were friends, Arawn and Pwyll. It’s one of the first branches of the Mabinogi. He must think of us as some kind of peace offering...” The notion of being a gift to the king of the Otherworld did not sit well.

            “And why would he need you, a child from another realm?” The Salmon continued to prod...

*

Gwydion remembered his final encounter with Pryderi fondly, he was a rare adversary he’d considered worthy of his cunning. The scheme had gone to plan. That brazen act of stealing the pigs had been all too easy, and being gifts from Arawn, they had indeed instigated a war between the king’s Pryderi and Math. He was a young man at the time and this war would be his first true experience of battle, and what a battle it had turned into. He’d never dreamt of men rallying to a cause on such a scale, it was dire yet at the same time illuminating, how simple it had been to manipulate them to this hellish point. The war took its toll on the kingdom of Dyfed, three defeats they suffered before a deal was made to avoid further bloodshed. Much to Gwydion’s surprise Pryderi agreed to single combat, a duel to decide the war’s victor, yet more pressingly to spare what was left of his forces.

            They’d met, face to face, encircled by hundreds of men yet decidedly alone that fateful day. In hindsight it was clear to Gwydion it had been a crucial crossroads in his life, yet at the time it was nothing but another moment for him to prove his superiority. After all, Pryderi was but a man up against Gwydion himself, nephew of Math fab Mathonwy and a Child of Dôn. There should have been no doubt as to who the victor would be. If only it had been so easy. Pryderi fought with a tenacity and resolve that Gwydion assuredly lacked. He pushed him to the brink, delivered blow after blow and gave him no quarter. Whether it was due to the gulf between their motivations or Gwydion’s astonishment, the duel began to look one sided, he had no choice but to start taking matters seriously.

            It was said Gwydion won that day because of strength, valour, magic, and enchantment. In truth the latter two played a decidedly stronger role. Pryderi would not tire, the weight of a kingdom was on his shoulders, so Gwydion would have to stop him another way. With a subtle flick of his finger roots clung to Pryderi’s feet, tripping him at every turn. No matter, the king swung harder as he stumbled, striking Gwydion’s axe with tremendous weight. Yet with a blinding flash the axe and Gwydion disappeared, as if the sun had risen right before his eyes, leaving nothing but rubble for him to fall on. Gwydion, the real Gwydion, stood a step to the right, axe held high, and began to hack away with its jagged edge. Pryderi’s shield chipped and cracked until it was nothing but a useless strap around his forearm, and then came the fatal blow from his unflinching opponent.

            It had come to an abrupt and bloody end. What had seemed such a hard-fought battle had turned around within the blink of an eye. Sweat ran down Gwydion’s brow, his heart pulsed with adrenaline. The men cheered his name, yet he didn’t feel like a hero, he felt like a fool who had just scraped by. I told myself I’d never let a man get the better of me like that again, yet here I am.

            Gwydion and Math returned to Gwynedd victorious, whereas the men of Dyfed had no choice but to retreat to their own lands, to mourn the death of their king. It should have been a joyous time, yet Math returned to find his own nephew, Gilfaethwy, assaulting his foot barer Goewin. Gwydion could remember the look of disdain on his uncle’s face, a look he was glad he would never have to see again lest they meet in the halls of Annwn one day. The very notion that there might be a place for him in Arawn’s kingdom now, after all he’d done, did make him laugh. This realm, with this soil beneath your feet, amongst these trees, is where you’ll stand for the rest of your days.

            The memory of Math’s punishment wiped the smirk from his sun kissed face, however. Their uncle was a master of magic, far more powerful than either of them had been, and cursed his nephews to take the form of various animals over the years. A trick Gwydion would one day turn against Blodeuwedd. They were forced to spend their days in the woods, cursed to produce a series mongrel offspring in their bestial forms. The children were sent to Math, to be transformed back into men to live their lives. Gwydion and Gilfaethwy were to suffer this fate for three years. Three long years scrounging in the brush without a shred of the freedom their former lives had afforded them.

            Some victory, Gwydion reflected; I should have learnt something from all this. Perhaps if I had, you might still be with me Amaethon. He thought of his daring brother, a kindred spirit. Gilfaethwy might not have been a man of action, especially after their punishment, but Amaethon was as bold as Gwydion ever was. Still, we have a chance dear brother. Not all was lost that day.

*

“Because Gwydion ended Pwyll’s family tree himself when he killed Pryderi.” Maeve couldn’t believe the train of thought she was following, “At least that’s what I thought, but if we were...”

            “If you were hidden away, proof that Pwyll’s lineage is still alive, it might be a way for Gwydion to broker peace instead of war.” The Salmon’s theory struck the children like a bombshell. That they might be the key to avoiding some cataclysmic battle in a faraway land was hard to believe, impossible to accept for some.

            “If Gwydion is meant to win this battle why would he need us? Why not just fight if he’s so powerful?” Orson was still puzzled by the unheroic behaviour of these so-called heroes.

            “Because he’s scared, that’s why.” Fred spoke with clarity. He’d never even spoken to Gwydion, but the stories had painted enough of a picture for him. “I don’t know why, but something has him scared. The hero charges in every time. In every single story. And Gwydion even has some people telling him they know he’ll win! But he’s thinking it through for some reason, planning something different.”

            “My boy! He has it. See no matter how dark a mystery may be, you must cling to the smallest glimmer of light, let it compel you.” The Salmon boomed, elated to be having such discourse, with children no less. “So, he is troubled, scared as you put it. Now we must ask ourselves why? Maeve, you mentioned that he travelled with a man called Efnysien and our mutual friend Taliesin.”

            “I did...” She stared at the pebbles, how they overlapped under her knees, wondering what she might be missing beneath. “Him and Taliesin weren’t friends...he treated Efnysien like a soldier or something...”

            “So that is who he travelled with. But who wasn’t there?” The Salmon almost approached this like a game now, peeling away the layers of the story for the children to see.

            “Amaethon!” Maeve had been guided to another epiphany. “His brother! He mentioned that Arawn had him at his mercy...that must be why he wants to avoid a fight.”

            “Well done Maeve. Suppose that Amaethon and Gwydion’s gamble went awry, that Amaethon was caught red handed. This would provide quite the differing frame for their fated battle. One that might force even a hero as foolhardy as Gwydion to reconsider his chances.” Finally, the Salmon seemed to settle in what remained of his lake, satisfied with what they had deduced.

*

“What have you done?” Amaethon’s voice rang out as clear as if he had been sat with Gwydion in this glade. He cast his mind now to the moment everything had fallen apart.

            “I-I didn’t know...” Gwydion was knelt over a woman’s body, hands painted in blood that wasn’t his own. Behind the woman, sniffing at her hair, was a roebuck, its fur a brilliant white.

            “That’s...her...what have you-” Amaethon stopped what he was saying as the roebuck began to flee. He dropped a helpless whelp from under his arm and deftly tossed a length of looped twine around the deer’s neck, pulling it taught before it could run. He plucked the dog, so young that it had barely moved, up again by the scruff of its neck.

            “She leapt in front. I’d lined up the shot, it was perfect and then…she leapt in front!” Gwydion was distraught now, quivering at the gravity of what he’d done.

            Amaethon had no time for it, he wrestled the beasts and sternly uttered, “What’s done is done. We have what we came for, we must go!” The open sky seemed to condense down into an oppressing darkness, the serene garden they were in became as claustrophobic as a deathly dark cave. “He’s coming...”

            Gwydion was still in a daze, a panic even, as if he’d been pressed into that battle with Pryderi all over again. A thousand years and you’ve learnt nothing. He was shaken from his stupor when his brother tossed the dog into his arms, that length of twine following soon after. “Be gone brother!”

            Gwydion was speechless, this endeavour had all been his brother’s idea, why would they flee? To steal away with the most prized possessions of the king of Annwn, this would have been their greatest story. But then he saw it, the coil of chains wrapping around Amaethon’s body from the pitch black behind him.

            “Perhaps we’ve gone too far this time brother...” Amaethon’s muttered his last admission as those chains tightened. With that he slammed to the ground and was dragged into the nothingness.

            Time seemed at a standstill. He’d remembered that last sight of his brother with crystal clarity, yet anything after had been a blur. He’d turned and ran, that was the truth of it. He’d pulled the begrudging buck and whelp through the darkness without interruption, scrambling back the way they’d delved into this realm. It had been a nightmare, one that had ended in a dream as the sunlight broke within sight. He now stood on the soil he knew, amidst the trees he recognised. The roebuck and whelp felt like pointless trophies without his brother to join in the revelry. He dropped their bindings to the floor and let them flee into the woods. He fell to his knees in silence. It would take some time for him to come to his senses, for him to start thinking of how he might make this right.

            He flinched at the all too raw a memory of this hunt. He couldn’t tell how long he’d waited here now, struggling with the mistakes of his past.

            I will come back for you brother.

*

“If all of this is true, what are we meant to do?” Having the tale unscrambled in her head had not eased Maeve’s mind as much as she’d hoped. This all seems so much bigger than I thought, what if there’s no way out of it?

            “Even if you could return to your home I’m afraid I could not guarantee that Gwydion wouldn’t just follow you once more.” The Salmon lamented, he felt that what he was about to suggest was an irresponsible path to lay at these children’s feet. “I would like to help you find your family, no matter what should come next you should be with them. As for Gwydion, every fibre of my being tells me it is too dangerous, yet I feel your only hope is to confront him. To speak to him as we have to each other, convince him otherwise. Only then might our realm be saved. After all, should you manage to escape, Annwn would still be in disarray, and who knows if that might have repercussions for your Wales one day.”

            There was an exaggerated gulp of despair from Maeve as she heard the suggestion, the others stone faced behind her. She hesitantly posed the question, “You don’t think the Otherworld…Annwn...is connected to our world as well do you?”

            “If both our realms are connected, it would stand to reason.” The Salmon spoke with some uncertainty now.

            “Do you think...do you think our grandparents are in Annwn?” Maeve knew the Salmon couldn’t possibly know, but she reached for the answer regardless.

            “I wouldn’t dare guess child, there is no way for me to tell.” Faced with the children’s sombre faces he tried to ease their minds a little, after all they were still just children. “If they were though I would not fear for them. You called it hell, yet I would discourage you from defining it so narrowly. Annwn, much like life itself, is whatever you make of it. It may be a punishment for some, yet others might find solace in its eternal possibilities. It sounds to me like Derwen and Merfyn deserved peace, and if they ventured to the endless lands of Annwn, I’m sure they found it.”      

            It was far from the closure they’d desired, but the possibility that this Otherworld was an afterlife free of the rigidity of concepts such as heaven or hell gave them some solace. Perhaps they’d never have an answer, yet the mere chance Annwn being in turmoil could endanger both their worlds, and their grandparents rest, had Maeve reconsidering their next steps. Even if they escaped their parents might not even be there to embrace them, furthermore their world might be living on borrowed time as the war between Annwn and the Children of Dôn worsened. I need to find mum and dad, and then we need to fix this. Maeve turned to Hope, Fred and Orson and put her resolution to them.

            “I know you came here to save me, to get us all out of here. But I think...and I know how crazy I sound...that we should try and sort this. If there’s even a tiny chance grandma and grandad are in Annwn, we owe it to them to try and resolve this war between Gwydion and Arawn.” She couldn’t quite believe her own voice, these brave ideas coming out of her as if she were playing a role. But she knew deep down every word was genuine. “I can’t ask you guys to do this with me though, you’ve gone through so much just for me already.”

            Hope pursed her lips before she shot down the last notion. “Of course we’re coming with you silly. You wouldn’t make it five feet without us!” Maeve couldn’t help but smile at her sister’s cheek, she was probably right.

            “But we need to find Mum and Dad first.” Fred added, “If they’re really here we have to find them.”

            “Do you think my mum and dad are here? Uncle Idris and auntie Aria too?” Orson was hopeful but conflicted. He wanted his parents to be close, to protect him, but at the same time wouldn’t dream of wishing this dangerous world on Cooper. Still, he couldn’t help but murmur, “my dad would come for me.”

            Maeve furrowed her brow, her skin crawled as she remembered her encounter with the rats. “Cil Coed only mentioned our parents but...” Another thought crossed her mind, as usual they could see her cogs turning. She couldn’t shake the sight of those riders from her mind, a stark sign of a human presence in this barren landscape. “...I saw...I think I saw five people on horses back there, on their way to Cantre’r Gwaelod...”

            The Eagle’s eyes met the Salmon’s for a second. “Eagle?” The Salmon queried, the bird’s stare shying from him at the mention of her. Still no response, “Eagle? To hold back knowledge from someone is to think them unwise. I think you know as well as I these children are anything but.”

*

Gwydion still stared into the depths of the wood ahead, it is not your time to fight, not if I can help it. He was snapped from his prolonged daydream by a gruff cough from behind. Stood there waiting for his attention was Efnysien with Grigor by his side, their coranwr spy.

            “Gwydion!?” Efnysien hollered with irritation, it appeared he’d been calling out his name for some time.

            “What?” Gwydion came to his senses slowly, the sight of his unsavoury company reminding him of his less-than-ideal present. “What is it?”

            Efnysien eyed the throne of wood and bodies, even he was taken aback by the sight. “I brought the coranwr, he has word of the children.”

            Grigor was an odd figure, short but bulky in stature. He stood there unceremoniously, the bulge of his stomach protruding in his tattered clothes as he slumped his shoulders. His skin was dark and wrinkled, his balding head smudged with patches of dirt as if he’d just emerged from the earth itself. His most striking feature were the bulbous ears that hung to his shoulders, the tell-tale signs of his coraniaid heritage. He was born of a race who were said to be able to hear any utterance so long as there was wind to carry it. Long ago men had become distrustful of them and their knowledge of all things spoken, and considered them a plague to be eradicated. Grigor never enjoyed the company of others, and had overslept that day, buried deep in the safety of his hovel he had miraculously survived. He’d lived out his days in solitude, until Gwydion had come for him. He was in search of rumours he might have heard regarding Arawn, and Grigor had been a slave to his whims ever since. He’d begrudged helping the trickster since the moment he’d heard him coming, yet now he had little choice.

            “Well?” Gwydion barked at the dwarf, “What have you heard?”

            “Your man, Cil Coed, he found ‘em.” Grigor was brash and spoke with surprising brevity considering the breadth of information that would grace his ears each day.

            “Then why hasn’t he returned?”

            “They scared him and his horde off, sent them running for the hills.” Grigor didn’t try to hide his clumsy smile, a golden tooth plain to see amongst his yellowed teeth, it was clear their failures entertained him some.

            “Some sorcerer he was, scared off by children!” Efnysien spat at the floor. “You should gut every one of his vermin for this.”

            Gwydion grimaced but spoke calmly, as if this had been an eventuality he’d expected. “I’ll deal with him later. What then? Where are they going dwarf?”

            “They went on their merry way south then just dropped off the face of the earth...poof!” Grigor shrugged as he made some non-committal gesture with his hands.

            “Then of what use are you little man?” Gwydion sneered as Efnysien took the cue, revealing the base of his blade from its scabbard.

            Grigor, feeling his value to these men fading, spat out what he’d been holding back. “Woah, woah, hold on a second! There’s more, there’s more. You know the rest of the family this mute was banging on about, turns out his sword did a number on one of ‘em. They’ve been staying with that old crone Ceridwen of all people, Taliesin and Blodeuwedd too.”

            The mention of the lady of flowers made Efnysien’s blood boil, “The cur, if I ever see her face again I’ll-”

            “You won’t.” Gwydion assured him, oddly devoid of any feeling for the betrayal. “She was never free, not truly. The curse will take hold once more now that she’s defied my wishes.”

            “...Good.” He sneered.

            Feeling somewhat more at ease now that the vitriol had shifted to someone other than himself, Grigor nervously rambled on. “It didn’t sound like they had any idea where the kids were either, but that witch, she’s holding something back...what she’d know I-”

            “She’d know everything…hypothetically. Her and Taliesin have the sight, the ability to see what may be.” Gwydion interjected but then fell silent, the machinations of another scheme forming in his mind.

            Grigor looked impressed, he’d heard all of this before, but like much of what he’d eavesdropped on he considered it just another groundless fantasy of those above ground. “Huh...well, go muscle in on her then.” For all Grigor had heard, he seemed to understand little of the real world. He’d been content keeping to himself up until now, deep beneath the surface. Or perhaps he knowingly wished to goad them into potential suicide.

            “Arawn already wants his head, why would he piss off the witch of the woods?” Efnysien bellowed, his hand leaving the hilt of his sword now, relaxed.

            Gwydion raised a snide eyebrow but knew his immortal associate spoke the truth, angering one as powerful as Ceridwen at a time like this would be foolish. Not that it mattered, he didn’t need the adults, just the children, just something to convince Arawn to spare his brother. These troublesome parents may be of some use though. He reflected on how he’d managed to obtain those otherworldly pigs. He’d taken nothing but fungus and turned it into twelve stallions and twelve hunting dogs using his power of illusion. The swine were gladly traded for such a magnificent display of beasts, though the trickery had only lasted so long. Soon they reverted to their true fungal shape, and so began the war with Dyfed. This unique form of treachery had served him well then, perhaps the same will suffice now, he pondered.

            “The ones who cast you from the mountain top Efnysien, do you remember what they looked like?” The trickster spoke with renewed energy, it was clear he felt he was on the verge of something.

            “I already told you, they all looked the same. In strange garb like the child...”

            “No, no. I require their detailed appearance if this is to work.”

            “What are you getting at?” Efnysien couldn’t understand why this was of interest.

            Gwydion stood atop the pile of his own construction. “Why hunt them when we can lure them? It’s clear the children are far more resourceful than we anticipated, so why not take advantage of this. If we give them something to chase I’ve no doubt they’ll catch it, and what child doesn’t want to be with their family? With Taliesin in tow who’s to say the others won’t come to their rescue in turn. They’re forever a step ahead of us, so let us dictate where we are all headed.” With a click of his fingers a branch below began to twist and crack. Before their eyes it sprouted arms and legs, its bark softened with the growth of pale skin and its leaves sprouted into wild hair and linen. Stood beside him now was a convincing likeness of Efnysien. He smirked with a malicious certainty, “Tell me exactly what they looked like. Then all we need do is decide where to lay our trap.”

*

The Eagle stared off into the distance, juggling with whether she should disclose what her eyes had seen where Maeve’s had failed her. “I saw them Maeve, those riders. There was a dog too, black and white.”

            “Gelert!” The children expressed in unison.

            “So, there were definitely five? What did they look like?” Maeve pressed the Eagle for details.

            “You know where they were headed Maeve, they may already be dead.”

            “I have to know Eagle, please.” She was determined, as were the rest, even the animals. With their discerning eyes on the Eagle, she relented.

            “Very well. There were two women and three men. The evening light had almost set yet I saw them well enough for a time, though I warn you, your kind all appear alike to me. Their clothes were like your own though, different that is. One woman, at the forefront, was shorter, dark auburn hair fell to her shoulders. By her flank was a man, he was balding, perhaps the eldest, he seemed to handle the horse deftly.”

            “Mum and dad...” They whispered.

            “The other woman was taller, what struck me the most were the rose streaks within her hair, this I had never seen before. Behind them followed the two other men, neither appeared comfortable on a steed. One was clad in some coat, woven from the wool of sheep, and he had some glass ornaments on his face, most peculiar. The other had a reddish beard and short hair, the dog followed behind this one.”

            “Dad!” Orson gasped; I knew it. “Idris and Aria too. Was there nobody else?”

            “Only the five my boy.”

            “Auntie Cara might have stayed back with Cooper, Orson.” Hope reassured her cousin seeing the solemn look on his face.

            The Eagle was adamant on dissuading them from following, even if she knew her efforts would likely fall on deaf ears. “Only death and destruction might be found in that place children, do not go there.”

            “But we have to-”

            “The Eagle is not wrong children.” The Salmon bellowed throughout the hollow, dousing the excitement of their discovery. It appeared he had some more grave news for them, “A terrible beast has made the depths of Cantre’r Gwaelod its lair.”

            “What kind of beast?” Fred’s mind raced with possible candidates, monsters and ancient creatures had always sparked his interest, but for the formidable Salmon to be referring to something in such a manner had him especially worried.

            “The Afanc.” The Salmon ominously declared, the other animals shuddering at its mere mention. “A gargantuan monster, the Eagle is right to fear it. It is a mass of teeth, claws, and poisonous spines. A truly hideous creature.”

            Maeve was confused, she’d read of this beast being slain in the past, twice for that matter. “I thought Peredur slayed it? Arthur too...is there more than one?”

            “They all dealt with the same beast girl. They may have attested to slaying it, but it has reared its head many times throughout the ages. Last I heard Arthur dragged its corpse from Llyn Barfog and tossed it into the sea, but lo and behold it has returned, this time to claim the ruins of Cantre’r Gwaelod as its home. There is talk of the long dead returning, spirits cast from Annwn back into our realm. Perhaps this is how such a vile thing might still plague our lands.”

            Maeve had to agree with the Salmon, even if the current crisis had nothing to do with it, the Afanc appeared to have been a reoccurring nightmare across the ages. Of course it’s come back to haunt us whilst were here, she thought. She had one last question though, “Why isn’t Cantre’r Gwaelod underwater?”

            “Oh, it’s been many years since the city was flooded through brazen negligence. Eventually the tides fell low enough again for its gates to be repaired and closed once more. Many hopeful people returned there to restore it to its former glory, it was an impressive kingdom at one time after all. It wasn’t until after that the Afanc revealed itself from the slurry and mud that caked the land, driving men from Cantre’r Gwaelod once more.” The Salmon wistfully recounted the folly of this place, as if he had some respect for the tenaciousness of man if nothing else. “I must say I do pity them, so unfortunate a fate for such a wondrous venture. Perhaps in another life it might have succeeded.”

            The Salmon edged up to the shore to be closer to his visitors, to round their discussions to a close. “I am sorry I cannot right these wrongs myself little ones, I realise you came here to find some answer to the madness you find yourselves in the middle of. I just pray you’ve found some fragments of wisdom in our conversations that might be of use, I know I have.”

            “We have, thank you.” Maeve felt indebted to the Salmon and their guides, their journey was far from its end, but she felt she could proceed on her own two feet from here. “I know there’s a monster waiting for us, but that means its waiting for our family too. We...we have to go.”

            With a weary nod the Salmon agreed, “If it is the only path for you then I’m sure our good friend the Eagle will take you as far as she dare.”

            The Eagle bowed, “It would be my honour.”

            “I wish I could take you there myself, like the old times, but alas I am a prisoner to my dwindling waters. I wish you safe passage home, and hope that the evils of our realm do not bother you on the way. If they do, do not hesitate to come back to my shores little ones.” The Salmon turned to plunge back into the depths of Llyn Llyw, the boom of his parting words still drowning out the rush of water. “I will not forget our talks children. And never, ever, doubt your own judgement. You are wiser than you know.”

            With that the hollow of Llyn Llyw fell quiet again, void of the Salmon’s echoing voice. What they’d discussed would take a while to sink in, Hope was still agog from the fact that they’d spoken to a talking Salmon at length alone. Yet there was little time for deliberation, it had been hours since they’d seen their family riding unwittingly into the jaws of the Afanc. The night was setting in, they’d have to go now if they hoped to catch them before the day’s end.

            Goodbyes were said to the Ousel, the Stag, and the Owl. Each of them were practically ordered to return to their homes lest they become the Afanc’s next meal by the Eagle’s decree. Even she said she’d show them to the gates but no further, though she felt ashamed to be admitting as much. It was clear she fostered a deep-seated fear for the safety of herself and her aged kin, after all one could never grow so old without an eye for caution. This lent an odd finality to their parting, yet each of them were happy to have met each other.

            ‘To live so long, one can find that life becomes a humdrum affair’ The Owl had said, ‘But days like today make those in between worth living.’ The sentiment stuck with Maeve, the pain and villainy this place had thrown her way couldn’t be forgotten but meeting the likes of the Lady of the lake, the Salmon, the ancient animals of the forest, seeing her parents again, that’ll make it all worth living through. They all willed for their parents to hold on, that they’d be with them soon.

*

Back where it all began, within the quiet cottage walls of Arfryn, Cara rocked a very tired Cooper to sleep. Precious little had changed in the house. Curtains were still drawn, the oak still smouldered, and the kitchen remained a makeshift tomb for her father-in-law. The disparity between the reunited family that sat here before and what remained here now was saddening. She felt imprisoned, unable to follow after her husband and son, stuck in place with no choice but to wait for whatever came through the trees next. Despite this she knew her and Cooper weren’t doomed to be alone. She couldn’t quite explain it, yet she felt, deep within her heart, that Orson was still alive, and that Lewis would find him no matter what.

            “Your daddy will find him Coop…” she stroked the light locks on her sons head as he slipped away into a dreamy night’s sleep, “...they’ll all find each other soon. Just you wait.”