Chapter 17 - Friend or Foe

By James Attwood

The cold claustrophobic confines Lewis delved down seemed to grow more inviting, warmer, homelier, the further he went. The tune he followed lingered in the air like the sweet smell of a baker’s in the morning, enticing him onwards to greater delights. The sounds that were being sung were eerily beautiful. Words were indecipherable yet inexplicably moving, sung by a single voice and a choir all at the same time, formless yet rhythmic, meaningless music that appealed to him and him alone. He had to find its source, the person at the end of this most enchanting soliloquy. The dank cave walls were no longer crooked but smooth, slowly their angles straightened, jagged edges replaced with familiar wallpaper. He could peer out of windows at familiar sights, feel the kiss of the sun beaming on his cheeks, the chirping of birds outside. Those squalid depths were gone, he now walked the hallways of Arfryn. They were long and winding, impossibly so, but he was home. Then, ahead of him a figure fleetingly ran past, a woman Lewis had longed to see again since he’d stepped through the tree.

            “Cara!” He called, rubbing his eyes with disbelief, “Is that you?”

            “You’re close love, so close.” His wife’s whispers met his ears as if she were right there next to him, he clung onto them, each word an ounce of life for his beleaguered soul.

            “Where are you? Is Cooper there?” Lewis’s words crept out, confused at first but his questions slowly lost their meaning, the desire for answers slipping from his mind.

            “We’re both here, waiting for you.” Cara’s promises flitted now, kissing his ears at one moment and echoing down the halls the next. “Just a little further.”

            Lewis hesitated, he longed to be with his family once more, but something held him back. He looked to his side, “Someone’s missing, I... I... I finally found him, he was here.”

            “There’s nothing left for you to do Lewis, you’ve worked so hard, you deserve to rest your weary head.” She beckoned him closer, just out of view herself as the hallway opened into a grand room. A fireplace lit up behind, her shadowy silhouette backlit by the disturbingly large flames. “Just a little further.”

            “Maybe I do need to rest...” Lewis staggered on, bleary eyed at what he was seeing. He couldn’t see Cooper in her arms, he couldn’t see her face even, but it didn’t matter. Deep down he knew it was her, his beloved. He walked across the boarded floor, his legs feeling cold and damp despite the alluring fire, meeting resistance where there should be none. Then again, he found himself not caring. None of this would matter soon enough. “...Just for a bit.”

*

Tap. Tap. Tap.

            Drops of water still followed Orson’s every step through the dark, a persistent reminder of the unbridled sea that drained above. He didn’t pay it much mind however, if anything the drips were a soothing constant amongst the disturbing scratches he heard from unseen corners. Nothing ever caught his eye, every invisible creature too quick to scurry away from the faint torch light he shone in these depths. Struggling as he was to hobble on his right leg, he chose not to pursue these noises, nor to hide from them, he simply soldiered on, hoping he’d stumble upon his father soon enough. Yet he’d been limping through this precarious underbelly for some time now. He’d no idea how long, his favourite wristwatch had shattered during his fall, but he knew it was becoming too long.

Orson trailed the ghoulish hum that lingered in the air still, the very same noise that had entranced his father. It’s still just the same no matter how far I go, not any louder or any quieter, I’ll never find him like this. Dour faced, he wiped at his nose and carried on, he didn’t know what else he could do. With a deep breath he decided to chance calling out loud once more.

            “Daaad! Daddy!” Meagre little pleas echoed throughout the labyrinth as if a giant had opened its maw behind him. It sent the mysterious denizens of this subterranean locale scurrying in all directions, clicks of needle like feet and the scraping of tiny claws making up a sudden explosion of disturbance before the curtain of silence fell once more. Orson froze, nervously eyeing the numerous nooks and crannies that surrounded him one at a time, praying that the creatures had fled from him rather than towards him. Again, all that he was left with was the steady drops of water from above.

            Tap. Tap. Tap.

            Onwards he continued, picking a path that appeared to delve deeper, clinging to the haunting voice that sang twisted lullabies in the dark. With each step he winced in pain, with each passage he grew more terrified. Terrified of how he just might be alone down here, alone forever. Maybe he’ll hear me, he thought, he was good at hearing things.

            “Mister dwarf?” He called out to the stones themselves, wishing the rough ashen man would step forth and reveal himself. Only loose shale came tumbling down as the whip of some tail slithered into the pitch black above. Again, he stood still, mortified it might finally be the beast that had a taste for a ten-year-old boy. As the pebbles settled he tried again, he had to. “Corbanwr?” He guessed at the creature’s true nature, remembering Gwydion’s snide face as he recounted it to them. Thumping his head with his one free hand the name finally came to him, “Grigor!? Grig-”

            With torch held ahead he’d stepped blindly onto a slippery edge, his weak leg giving way as he found himself tumbling down another hole. The incline was so slippery that he couldn’t possibly stop himself from hitting the bottom. Something broke his fall however, some soft carpet of moist material bedded the floor, though it cracked as he landed. Face flat, he saw his torch bounce to the floor beside him, its light illuminating the bed of decay he’d landed on. Revolted, he scrambled to his knees.

He could see that the carpet of bones and rotten flesh was intertwined with some winding undergrowth. No, they weren’t plants, they were snakes. What must have been hundreds of snakes wound their way through this feast of unfortunate creatures, all of them having fallen into this pit much like the Afanc’s before it. Orson gulped, distraught that this gauntlet of fiends seemed to continue all the way down here. How many monsters are there? Even so, the snakes were small and wiry thin, juvenile even. He squirmed at the sight of them but felt they weren’t a threat. A deafening roar from behind certainly shook him, however. He turned to see what he’d last expected to encounter down here.

            With its back up against the cave wall cowered a lion, batting its hefty paw at the hissing jaws of an enormous snake. One day the lion’s fur might have shone a brilliant white yet now its coat was tattered, drenched with mud as all things were down here. He straddled the corpse of some knight, a long rotten skeleton housed in steel and faded heraldry. The serpent tormented it from its honeycomb den, the length of its thick neck stretching out from the safety of one of the many holes like that of an eel. Dagger length fangs snapped but could never land a bite on its enduring prey, neither could the lion escape, stuck in a corner that would surely become his grave should he let down his guard. The light didn’t seem to interrupt their battle, the two beasts were far too preoccupied with each other, locked in what seemed like an endless standoff.

            Orson, hopeful that they might remain clueless of his presence, gazed up at the lofty hole he’d fallen through. The steep slope glistened with a dangerous sheen of moisture, but he would have to scale it if he was to get back on track, after all his father was nowhere to be seen in this serpent’s den. As he quietly began to lurch his way up however he felt a pang of guilt. He looked back down at the lion, its emaciated form clinging on for dear life, and the fallen knight he seemed to so adamantly guard even in death. He’s just lost too, all alone.

            Looking for some way to help he scanned the confines of the den and soon happened upon the tip of the serpent’s tail. It lay along the floor like the root of a tree, disappearing into one of the many holes. He slowly slid back down and picked up what he hoped was just an ivory white stone. With a deep breath, he plucked up the courage and tossed it at the tail. It bounced off its bulk with nary a twitch from the snake, its focus still firmly on the waning lion. Again, he threw a rock its way, again it refused to respond. After all it had its eyes locked on a far larger meal than Orson, even in its starved state. The fearsome roar that had startled Orson had now been reduced to a whimper, there was no pride behind the lion’s resistance, just a sorrowful admission of its nearing end. You’re not getting eaten on my watch. Orson pulled at a carcass, dislodging the splintered rib of some creature he hoped wasn’t human, and plunged it deep into the base of that tail. It let out a harrowing screech and hissed in anger. It felt that.

            Orson hadn’t quite considered what might come next. Furious, the serpent turned its attention to its latest guest, it whipped around like lightning and was upon him in an instant. He fell to the floor and shuffled backwards but soon hit up against the wall, finding himself in the very same circumstance as the lion without any claws to defend himself. Those jaws sprang wide and with a lunge it went for him but found itself pulled short; the base of its tail blocked out of its hole by the makeshift weapon that still jutted from it. With another pull the bone bent backwards in the wound, the reach of those dripping fangs closing in on the helpless Orson. It was too late for the serpent to lay claim to its fresh meal however, as the lion leapt atop it from behind. With the tables turned the lion set about exacting its revenge, gripping either side of the monster’s neck with its claws as it thrashed in a panic. It dug its teeth deep into the base, and with a twist of its head and an unsettling crack of bone, sent the serpent crashing down to the floor, dead.

            The lion lifted its head from the writhing mass slumped before Orson, snout covered in its maroon blood. Orson was terrified but couldn’t bring himself to look away, afraid it might strike as soon as he did. Its patchy fur revealed scars aplenty, some fresher than others, and ghostly pale skin beneath. Even as vicious as it had just proven, he couldn’t help but see it as a victim, its gaunt figure drawn by the skeleton beneath rather than muscle and fat. Even its mane hung sadly, damp with blood and water. Only the eyes bore any life, deep amber orbs that glowed even in this dim place. They stared at Orson a while before it nuzzled its face back into its kill, tearing at the scales to guzzle down the meat it was so starved of.

            Surreptitiously, Orson rose to his feet and inched away, back to the foot of the incline. With the lion still busy devouring its meal, he set about scaling the slippery slope. He could imagine Fred practically leaping his way ahead of him without any issue, yet he found himself struggling the higher he climbed. The slope was smooth with the waved corrosion, devoid of any feasible places for him to find purchase. The next thing he knew his foot slipped on some devious wet patch and he found himself sliding back down to the bottom. Grabbing wildly, he couldn’t stop himself from falling, until suddenly he found himself suspended in place. Both his hands and feet were free, barely set in any grip of value, but he was secure, nonetheless.

            The two paws either side of his head clued him in on what had stopped his fall. The white lion stood over him, claws dug into the rock face, Orson’s backpack bunched up in his formidable jaws. At first he panicked, trying to wriggle free of the animal’s grip, but he soon realised he wasn’t being attacked, he was being dragged. Slowly but steadily the lion made its way up, plunging those claws like natural pitons at every step, heaving Orson up by the straps around his shoulders. Eventually they were back in the upper passage and Orson found himself gently dropped to the ground, looking up at the mangy lion who now sat opposite him like an expectant house cat. Perhaps this beast wasn’t a threat after all.

            “Um...thank you.” Orson found himself once more hobbling back to his feet. Wiping the muck from his face he decided to take his chances with this beast.

            It appeared on edge, wary of its surroundings, scraggly ears bolt upright as it listened out for whatever else was lurking in the darkness. Though at the same time it seemed timid, thoroughly content to be sat in Orson’s company despite the locale. He’d half expected it to flee into the caves beyond, after all if it didn’t intend to eat him he wasn’t sure what it might hope to gain from hanging around. Orson edged closer; hand outstretched to touch him. At first the lion pulled away, distrustful of any contact at all, but as soon as Orson’s little hand touched the sizable crown of his head he found himself leaning into it. The deep grumble of a purr settled Orson’s nerves as he found himself overjoyed that he’d found a friend down here, of all places.

            “You’re not so mean are you.” The beast’s subservience reminded him of Gelert in a way, as if he were used to the company of people. He found himself wondering how such a majestic beast might find himself stuck down here, I’ll have to ask Maeve when I see her next. “I bet you were someone’s pet before all this, am I right?” The lion tilted its head, those amber eyes perplexed by Orson’s words. “Sorry, I’m used to animals talking around here.”

            Orson quickly forgot the distraction that had been this distressing detour and listened out for the song he’d been following. It was still there, an eerie aftersound that crept behind the ambience of the cave. Discerning any wit of a direction still seemed impossible, but he patted the lion’s head and began to trudge down the way he’d been going. Whether it was from his recent slew of falls or overuse of the leg, he found the right now throbbed with pain even more. I must keep moving, Dad could be around any one of these corners. He barely made it a few yards before he slumped back to his knees, the pain was simply too much. Come on, stop hurting! He was frustrated, with this place, with himself. But his tantrum subsided when the lion slipped down next to him, rocking its head under his arm. Orson wasn’t sure of what the beast might be suggesting, but he saw its back as a potential solution to his problem.

            “Are you sure?” He asked with trepidation as he lifted his leg over its shoulders.

            The creature showed no sign of protest as it remained stooped. He could feel its ribs between his thighs as he hugged its torso, yet despite this frailty it still stood to its feet and began walking, clearly not drained of all its strength just yet. Orson clenched the matted strands of its mane for dear life, much to the umbrage of the creature, but soon found himself as at ease with the situation as the lion was. Atop his new friend the rattling of those unseen monsters didn’t bother him so much, he felt as if he were back with his father, invincible.

            “Boy am I glad I found you...I wonder what your name is?” Orson wondered out loud as he studied the various scars that littered the animal’s body. “I suppose that knight back there was your master? I’m sorry if he was. We’re just like each other, lost and looking for someone. I hope my Daddy is still-”

            As Orson chatted away his steed suddenly roared at some opportunistic insect the size of a dog that decided to investigate the noise, sending its hideous form scurrying back into the dark. The lion then let out a harmless snarl back in Orson’s direction.

            “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.” He pursed his lips and hunched close to its body.

*

Orson rode on aimlessly for some time, his new friend’s white coat illuminating the darkness even without the torch. He wasn’t sure whether he trusted the lion’s instinct, sense of smell, or both, yet he let him decide their path. No matter how far he had taken him the tune still lingered as faint as ever, but never faded from earshot. Maybe we’ve gone too far, maybe he fell down a hole too and we walked straight past. Underlying worries began to rack his mind, deafening his thoughts so much so that he could no longer hear the ill sounding tune. He shut his eyes tight and tensed, trying to flush out the negativity so that he might find that one note of hope once more. His head throbbed and eyes blurred as he opened them again, but the tune was there. Louder than ever.

Excited and afraid all the same, he tried to listen more carefully. The lion tilted its head back to him and grumbled, but not at him this time. You hear it too? With a hesitant pat on his side, he ushered the beast onwards, hoping he’d understand this is what he was after. The lion trudged on regardless of its reservations, but it slowed to a crawl now, hunched low as they rounded the corner and peeked into a mysterious grotto.

            What came into view wasn’t just another archaic den of some bottom dweller, it was a serene underground pool, its surface coated in a misty blue haze. Adorning a rock at its centre was a strange sight, a lady draped in all manner of seaweed and roots, her long dark locks hung straight to conceal her face. Where legs should have perched was a long, scaled tail, curled around the stone and into the fog below. The faint hum had become louder now, the crooked sounds undoubtedly springing forth from this sinister figure. Stepping towards her, oblivious of his son’s arrival, was Lewis. Gaze transfixed upon the lady; he began to dip into the waters beneath the cloud.

            “Dad!” Orson blurted out a warning, but it fell on deaf ears as neither his father nor his enchanter paid him any mind. Desperate to reach him he flung himself from the lion and ran into the opening, a worried growl echoing behind.

            Lewis waded onwards, numb from the deathly chill of these depths, but warmed all the same by the embrace of the fire’s hearth he saw ahead. Cara stretched out her arms to him, welcoming her beloved with her timid smile. The cold bit at his neck now, not that he acknowledged it, in his eyes he still stepped through the quaint, unending house of his childhood. Then, as if he’d fallen into the slumber he’d desired, all became still. The sweet lullaby warbled quietly above, barely recognisable, and down from the lofty haze floated his sweet wife. She descended before him with the grace of an angel, taking his very breath away. Caressing his cheek with one hand she glided closer for a kiss.

            “You can rest easy now, my love...” Her words filled Lewis’s mind like a soothing permittance to finally stop fighting, to finally stop caring.

            A sudden tug on his shoulder pulled him from her lips, two little clenched fists dragging him away from his forlorn love. He peered to look at what would deny him this heaven and saw a pale faced boy, flailing as he tried to pull him yet further from what he’d come so close to. The boy strained and stared at something else, away from this visage of Cara, towards the surface. But why? Why does he look so familiar? With every jolt of his body questions rose, and with every question the facade he’d submerged himself in slipped away little by little. The white clouds he’d sat upon sank and melted, their pristine tufts oozing into the murky depths Lewis truly found himself in. Below, the ground was littered with bones, the skeletons of men. Their bare skulls gazed upward, crooked jaws still warped with deranged smiles, a mocking audience in waiting behind this gilded illusion.

            The figure swam in pursuit, shedding any semblance of his wife as a snake would their skin. Her elongated tail whipped through the water like a knife, black hair billowing with every beat as if it were some ominous jellyfish concealing a most haunting aspect beneath. It was practically upon them when a blur of white fur dove in atop it, pulling it into the dark abyss as they tussled.

            Whether reality had set in, or this was just another nightmare, Lewis began to panic. The boy struggled in kind but could barely move whilst bearing this weight. That’s Orson, my Orson! The realisation had come too late as he saw his son’s grip slacken and his body become weightless in the sickly green water. Even if he were to drown in the next few moments, Lewis wouldn’t see his boy share the same watery grave. No witch or demon possessed him now, he simply acted with sheer determination as he threw an arm around his son and made his way upwards. Pushing with every limb he could, gargling the briny waters he couldn’t abate, he got them free of the depths and onto the shore. They both collapsed, practically drained of life. Lewis rolled to his side and looked at the ghostly Orson, yet a sputtering cough let him know he was alive.

            “Orson! Are you okay!?” His arms felt weak as he tried to hold his son off the cold dank floor, shaking him to free his lungs of the foul waters.

            “I’m okay...that wasn’t as long as last time...” Orson answered with a contemplative response, eyes half shut.

            “What are you on-”

            The waters erupted once more, this time hurling the white lion before them. As the waves settled they saw the beast standing guard in the shallows, between them and the gaunt figure of the sea hag. From underneath her hair gaped an elongated maw, twice the length of her head again, poised with needle thin teeth. The beautiful voice it once sang with was now replaced by a blood curdling scream that deafened even the lion’s defiant roar. The standoff ended abruptly with a crack, however. The hag slumped forward, neon eyes wide with surprise, the back of her head bloody and beaten. Behind her stood the coranwr, Grigor, the whites of his eyes flaring in the dark as he hefted a heavy rock above his head. He brought it down again, and again, and again. Until those waters ran black with her inky blood. Bewildered by his own display of barbarity he held the rock forth in the lion’s direction.

            “Please say the cat’s with you because I’m not so confident about my chances with this one!” That wry tone cracked from his toothy grimace, half in fear, half in jest.

            To Lewis’s surprise Orson sprang to his feet and staggered to calm the lion, running his shivering hand through its mane. “It’s okay, good boy.”

            “Good boy?” Lewis murmured, stupefied by the sight. “Orson be careful, you don’t know how he’ll-”

            “He’s very friendly Daddy, he just saved us after all!” Orson professed the beast’s loyalty adamantly.

            “Well, I’ll be damned.” Grigor slumped, dropping the rock at his feet.

            “I fell down a hole when I was looking for you, and that’s where I found him. A big snake was trying to eat him, the biggest snake I ever saw, but I helped him, and he ate the snake instead, and then he helped me find you! That’s when I saw you go into the water, so I jumped after you, I was afraid I’d almost drown like before but then you-” Orson continued his account as quickly as he could, desperate for breath between every word.

            “Woah, slow down. Everything’s alright now.” Lewis knelt in front of him and gripped him gently by the shoulders. Orson’s flurry of words dropped as he took the time to breathe. “You did all that? All by yourself?”

            “Please don’t be cross Dad, I was trying to be careful, but I had to find you and-” Orson’s hurried explanations came surging back.

            “Cross?” Lewis and his boy were frozen, battered, and exhausted. Yet here and now, together again, Lewis felt the warmth inside that the deceptive hag had promised him for real. He wondered how he’d possibly missed that his little boy had grown up to be the defiant person he held before him. You and me, we’re making it out of here. He assured him, “How could I be cross? I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

            Orson’s trembling lips curled into a relieved grin before the two of them hugged, letting go to fill their lungs soon after. “Can we keep him?”

            “I think I understand the lion, well, as much as I understand anything around here. We’ll talk about him later, but he can stay. But it doesn’t explain that...” Lewis peered down at the limp remains of the mermaid like monstrosity that had seduced him as he tried to make sense of the scene, then raised his eyes to Grigor who still stood there awkwardly, “...and why you’re here…”

            “Why did you run away from us mister Grigor?” Orson inquired alongside, though he lacked his father’s suspicious air.

            “Well, I considered staying, really, but I thought this fella would kill me given the chance, so I decided to do what I always do, stick it out alone.” Grigor shrugged as he relaxed, seemingly surrendered to whatever fate had in store for him next.

            “I can’t say I’ve decided against it yet.” Lewis grumbled. The dwarf was right, the thought had crossed his mind.

            “Dad! Don’t! Why would you say that!” Orson was flabbergasted to hear his harmless father say such a thing.

            “You heard Gwydion, Orson, he sold us out. Practically led him right to us.” He paced around, remiss to commit to his urge now that he’d met the coranwr face to face, yet was angry, nonetheless.

            “He’s right kid, if it weren’t for me you probably never would’ve ended up in this mess. I’ve heard practically all there is to hear, your old man wouldn’t be the first who wanted to kill me for it.” The dwarf sighed as he planted his backside wearily on the nearest rock.

            “It’s not because you heard it, it’s because you told all of it to the last person you should have.” Lewis was too tired to hold an argument, but he made his point.

            “You think he gave me a choice?” Grigor’s voice broke with shrill credulity, his rough features belying a pathetic vulnerability. He seemed to pity the Elderkin’s as much as he pitied himself. “I’m not saying it makes any of it right, but he’d have a knife to my throat so soon as he thought I was telling lies. Man’s a menace. You heard him, my folk were wiped out, no more. Only reason I’m here is sheer dumb luck. But being the last and all, I try and stay alive, out of trouble. Call me a coward, but the way I see it there isn’t much of an existence out there for the last of the coraniaid anyway.”

            “But you still came back.”

            “Ah I mean, I heard your boy crying out there, this hag’s ugly tune...” he kicked at the corpse and spat, regaining the crotchety aura he so often exuded, “...that ain’t no way for anyone to go, let alone a kid. I may be covered in the crap I had to dig through to find you but I’m no monster. Besides you two saved me up there, I was just repaying the kindness.”

            “I knew you’d hear me!” Orson was ecstatic his cries hadn’t been for nothing, his gratitude warming even the old crusty cockles of Grigor’s heart.

            “Thanks.” Lewis nodded humbly, inside he couldn’t have been happier to have been wrong about someone down here. He wryly smiled, “I’ll let you live for now.”

            “Ha! Just whilst you’ve got more of those morgens to worry about eh?” Grigor appreciated the banter, his company of late had been awfully dour in his books.

            “Is that what that was?” He grimaced at the sight of it, he couldn’t believe it had come so close to kissing him.

            “Sure is, despicable things they are. Siren’s that’ll lure you to your death. Heck it almost had you, would’ve drowned you and picked you dry.” The coranwr motioned the exaggerated gnawing of some bones. “Luckily your boy there’s a touch too young for a morgen’s taste, plus he had a lion.”

            “How did you escape the song Grigor?” Orson asked, fascinated by the stout man who barely met his shoulder, his form so dirty he almost appeared to be moulded from clay itself.

            “A coranwr has more discerning ears than to fall for cheap tricks like that kid.” He grinned, flashing a gold tooth, as he pressed a finger behind one of his enormous, wrinkled lobes.

            “Wow.” Orson breathed.

            “Listen Grigor, we’re in a bind. Unless our new pet has a nose for the surface we could really use your help.” Lewis prayed he hadn’t been too callous before, but if his son could make friends with a lion he was sure him and this coranwr could see eye to eye.

            The dwarf rubbed the patchy hair on his chin, smudging the dust and dirt into new formations on his ash grey skin. “Where you two headed?”

            “Ceridwen’s, old ramshackle hut in the middle of the woods. You know it?” Lewis was relieved, their way out of this death trap seemed to be finally revealing itself.

            Grigor smiled again, “I may have heard of it.”

*

The coranwr had agreed to show them the way. He’d wanted to burrow himself deep into the ground and hide from all the chaos now that he was free of Efnysien, but he felt he owed these two a debt, or perhaps he hoped for some degree of atonement. According to him they’d already delved far beneath the realm above, far from Cantre’r Gwaelod. Even so they had a way to go before they’d arrive at the northern mountains and the crone’s hut. His grubby finger tapped his bulbous nose as he boasted of the shortcuts he knew; they were truly in his world now.

Orson’s piggyback atop Lewis’s shoulders was short lived due to the low ceilings and treacherous footing, but he seemed just as at home on the lion’s back. Due to the beast’s imposing presence and Grigor’s keen hearing, little bothered them on this leg of the journey, and soon they found themselves blessed by actual sunlight. Fissures wrought into the rock above let in preciously small rays, and more importantly no water. Finally, they were nearing the above.

            “Few more hours and we’ll be out of here, if memory serves me we’ll be in a ravine at the base of Gwyddfa Rhita...” Grigor mused cheerfully, brushing his hand against the stone as if to refresh his tactile memory.

            “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.” Lewis acknowledged, worn out from their never-ending trek.

            “It’s the least I could do, if I hadn’t I’d have been hearing you fussing down in them depths for days.” He could never take things too seriously it seemed.

            “If you could hear us Grigor, have you heard anyone else? Like the rest of my family...” Orson nervously posed the question, worried he might get the answer he feared.

            “Bits here and there, it ain’t exact you know.” Grigor brushed the query off lightly, hoping he’d not have to explain any further.

            “But you have heard them!” Orson wouldn’t drop such promising news so easily.

            “Sure, I have, uh...” Grigor’s words stifled before he brashly listed off what had graced his ears. “Two of the kids, they’re with your brother there, up in the mountains actually. The girl, Maeve, she and her parents are already at Llyn Tegid as far as I could tell, dog too...it’s here and there you know...depends which way the winds blowing.”

            Orson’s face lit up; he couldn’t believe it. Lewis too found himself elated, but one omission hung on his mind, “You didn’t mention Aria, my older sister.”

            “I didn’t?” Grigor feigned ignorance.

            “No, you didn’t.”

            “Ah last time I saw her was up top, in that old ruin. She was facing down the Afanc something fierce when I decided to dig right down and get out of there.” The dwarf spoke with haste, as if he’d hoped his account would fly by quickly enough to evade inspection. “Of course, that’s when I bumped right back into Efnysien, good riddance!” He spat at the floor with overstated disgust.

            “What happened Grigor? If you felt the need to get out of there something must’ve-”

            “She died alright!” The words burst forth, filling the cavernous passageway they walked. Grigor immediately saw emotions well in the faces of his company and tried to soften the blow. “At least I think she did, nobody could’ve...she lured the Afanc in, tricked it into busting the flood gates. Washed that monster right of there and probably saved the lot of you that were topside but...I haven’t heard her voice since, trust me, there aren’t many to listen out for these days...”

            They were left to a solemn silence as their progress halted, Lewis pulling Orson in close as he began to tear up. Even the lion moped, dismayed to see the boy so mournful.

            “I’m...I’m sorry guys. Truly.” Grigor offered the condolences with a heavy heart, these were the first people that had treated him reasonably in centuries and he was already having to impart this terrible news.

            “It’s okay, this isn’t on you...” Lewis mustered what few sentiments he could, “...it was those bastards, luring us into that. Aria she...she would’ve known what she was doing, I mean damn, we’d be dead too if it wasn’t for that rope...”

            “Heck of a lady it seems, staring down something like that.” Grigor stared at the floor, uncomfortable with such emotion, heart still racked with guilt. “I would’ve liked to have met her.”

            “Hell, if I’d have told her a week ago she’d go out saving us from a sea monster...” Lewis found himself smiling through the tears, he could picture his sister’s unamused face, “...could you imagine what she’d call us Orson.”

            His boy’s little teary eyes looked up at him and faintly smiled, “Bonkers.”

            “Thanks for telling us Grigor, it’s best we knew.” He wiped his boy’s cheeks before ruffling his hair. “For what it’s worth I’m sorry to hear what happened to your people.”

            “I would’ve liked to have met your family too.” Orson added, voice quiet and despondent.

            “Ah they were fair folk, I might’ve complained, a lot of this.” Grigor motioned a talking head with his hand, “But they were a good bunch, I do miss them.”

            “What did the coraniaid do to warrant extermination?” Lewis posed the question, sure that one of his kind must have angered some powerful individual.

            “Nothing! Nothing at all.” Arms wide with surprise he lambasted the treatment of his kind as if it were yesterday. “Sure, some considered us a nuisance, you see with this here hearing nothing can get the drop on us. Nobody could have their way with us, squeeze us for the secrets they’d figured only the wind could keep before we reared our ignorant heads. Soon as word of us travelled folks began to fear us, not because of what we’d done but because of what we could do. Next thing you know king Lludd is declaring us a plague, a threat to the realm. His brother Llefelys had just the solution, little insects our kind find particularly poisonous, grind ‘em up and you’ve got a pesticide for coraniaid. He calls our people to a grand meeting, all nice like, and spreads his solution throughout the crowd. I’d never be seen dead next to a human, so I was dug deep when this happened, asleep and oblivious to the fact that he’d wiped out my people in an afternoon. Moved onto his next ‘plague’ after that, like it was nothing.”

            “Jesus...how could anyone let him get away with something like that?” Lewis questioned the behaviour, but he knew such blind cowardice all too well, he’d just never considered it had a place in this land of daring heroics.

            “Lludd!? He was the king, the hero of that tale. There’s no justice for folk like that. Just like every other story you’ll hear about this land. Men stuck in the pit, too blinded by their glorious purpose to even notice.” Grigor began to amble onwards, he felt he’d begun a long conversation. “It’s what I’d feared you’d be like at first, just like Gwydion and his dog.”

            “How do you mean?” He struggled to follow the observation, following behind with Orson and the lion.

            “No offence, honestly. You’ve proven me wrong.” Grigor held up his hands in admission, though Lewis still didn’t understand.

            “But you said there’s a pit?” Orson quizzed, perplexed. The grand tales did help to distract from his grief however, no matter how tragic they were in turn. “Is Gwydion in a hole?”

            “In a hole? Oh no kid. It’s just a phrase my folks used to tell me when I’d dig down deep and hide from the world. They’d say, ‘One day you won’t be able to climb out Grigor’, they were speaking more broadly you see. Of course, I ignored ‘em back then but now that I’m older, now that I’ve spent centuries listening to the preaching of self-proclaimed heroes up top whether I wanted to or not, I realise there was a lot of wisdom in what they were getting at.” Grigor spoke more brashly than ever, making it clear he didn’t particularly hate those that dwelled on the surface, just this particular breed. Realising he’d become too caught up in his own tale the dwarf coughed and abruptly ended the history lesson. “I’ll quit yapping your ears off though, probably the last thing you want right now.”

            Lewis could see that despite their guides prickly demeanour he had some vigour for sharing the myths he’d in part experienced. Perhaps his own life had taught him to keep his lips closed, to not share his gifts with company, but beneath this was a yearning to speak freely. He caught his son’s glum face, sorry to hear that the tale had come to an end. Orson had been through so much; he deserved some story time he thought.

            “Don’t stop on our account, you want to hear more about the pit Orson?” Lewis emphasised the word with dreaded pretence, catching the imagination of his son.

            “Yes please!” Orson beamed, sitting bolt upright from the lion’s back.

            “Well, I guess we’ve still got a ways to go, don’t let that light fool you.” Grigor glanced at the sun above, shading his sensitive eyes from its glare before looking back with a crooked smirk. “In the meantime, if you want to learn, I’ll tell you about the pit.”