Chapter 22 - Old Ends and New Beginnings

By James Attwood

In the blink of an eye, they were back in that peaceful glade. All of them, except for Maeve of course. The ruin of the battle remained, churned earth and withered roots still scarred the land, yet it was quiet now. As it was before any of them had defied Gwydion and his deluded callings. What little time they had to adjust from the gloomy dark of Annwn to the brightest light of the winter sun was cut short by the loud snorting of a most enormous boar. Twrch Trwyth rested his hooves next to where Gwydion and Gelert’s bodies still lay, breathing heavy as he bore the fatigue of his hard-fought battle. The lion and the bwbach came plodding out from behind, wary at first then excited to see it was them who had returned. Hope and Orson fussed over their timid friends before the Ousel’s shrill tones hollered from the woods.

            “There they are! See!”

            Above him was the Eagle, swooping high to avoid the branches, and below was an old crone laboriously bringing up the rear, a lady they’d thought was dead.

            “I can bloody well see them bird, doesn’t bring them any closer does it.” Ceridwen derided as she waddled over the difficult terrain, leaning on a twisted knot of a stick as a makeshift cane.

            “Mother!?” Taliesin exclaimed as he dashed to meet her sluggish approach, “I thought I’d lost you.”

            “Hush now boy, I’m too old to die as easily as that.” She waved away his adoration, still her stuffy old self, albeit more bedraggled than ever.

            “How did you survive that?” Zoe was without her sight once more but couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

            “Well as my dwelling turned against me I wished I were smaller, and what would you know, a field mouse proved far spryer than my old bones.” The enchantress seemed just as surprised by her escape as the rest, “Squeezed through the rubble to find these two birds pecking at the ruin. Nothing to it you see.”

            “I’ll admit I came quite close to snatching her up myself.” The Eagle shamefully admitted.

            “Good thing too, I wasn’t sure how to turn back before that. Amazing how a bloody great big beak can motivate inspiration.” She wasn’t offended in the least.

            “You crazy old witch, I had no idea you remembered how to do that.” The bard smiled, impressed his mother still had such talents.

            “Oh, I wouldn’t say I remembered…” she brushed off any notion that it was an act of skill humbly, “...more so the knack came to me when I needed it, best an old lady can hope for.”

            “However you did it, I’m just glad you made it.” Zoe smiled, relieved the days toll had been lessened.

            “As am I, but tell me, was it worth it?” She pushed past them to study the aftermath. “I see the trickster met his end, by your tusk I’m sure.” She bowed to the boar, the beast lowering its tired head in turn. “And poor Gelert, taken from us like his namesake. But what of young Maeve hm? Where is she?”

            “When Gwydion died we met with Arawn, he brought us to Annwn.” Zoe explained, “She...she made a deal with him.”

            “Arawn will arrive here soon with Amaethon and set to fixing all of this realm’s problems.” Raymond found it hard to believe now that he said it aloud, “Meanwhile Maeve is staying in Annwn, to solve theirs.”

            “I see…” Ceridwen didn’t quite know what to make of this, she’d never foreseen such an outcome herself, but then thought of Myrddin and his whimsical plans that brought a smile to her wrinkled face. “I suppose he was right then, even if he didn’t realise it. Choosing Derwen over Pryderi has brought a most prosperous end to this tale after all.”

            “I dare say the old man did us a whole lot of good. Sure, it had its ups and downs but from here on out, I reckon we are in for a most happy ending.” Taliesin sauntered around, bringing the group together, “And I do like a happy ending.”

            They shared a last moment together. Wild tales of their experience in Annwn were told, the children buzzing with anticipation for what their sister might achieve in that strange old place. Even the speechless boar got his due, a procession of thanks from all was given, after which he took up Gwydion’s body, hauling it between his tusks. Ceridwen explained he would see it returned to his kin, for he’d known them well in a previous life. With it he lumbered into the woods, perhaps never to be seen again. Yet for as joyful a time as this was, it was bittersweet.

They buried Gelert in that glade, fashioning a memorial of sorts out of an oak that had fallen. To see what evil Gwydion had erected here replaced with the resting place of this loyal guardian felt most fitting, a return to what this beautiful spot should truly be. Mourning turned to goodbyes as Ceridwen decided it was time this family were given their rest in turn.

            “Right, I suppose we best see you back to your own realm now. You must miss your home after the arduous time you’ve had.” The enchantress spoke wryly though it was plain to see she’d miss this family from another world, this reminder of a dear friend.

            “I guess so…” It seemed odd for Raymond to be finally returning after having wanted to all this time.

            “Won’t you need help rebuilding your house? I’m sure we could help.” Fred had been infected by his sister’s desire to help wherever she could, taking pity on the homeless old lady that had done so much for them.

            “Don’t be silly now.” The crone shushed, “What kind of witch would I be if I needed help putting up a humble hut. I’ll be back to my old self before the sun is down, perhaps these birds can fetch me some new thatch.”

            “By all means, I could do with something utterly mundane for a change!” The Ousel was happy to help as always, relieved his days of chasing legends might be over.

            “Thank you for coming back to help us, for finding Twrch Trwyth.” Hope offered her thanks to the noble Eagle and her restless friend.

            “I’m glad we could serve, even if it were only in the final hour.” She bowed respectfully, “It sounds as if your sister will continue to help us all, wherever she might be.”

            “What about my lion?” Orson coddled the beast.

            “And the bwbach?” Hope asked in kind.

            “Uh.” Lewis struggled to imagine a world where bringing a lion back through that tree was responsible, and Zoe and Raymond’s looks were no more promising. “You’re not keeping the lion son. Our place is way too small...maybe we can talk to Mum about getting a dog when we get back eh?”

            “Aw but he’s just like a big dog, he’s very well trained.” The boy argued his case but saw he wouldn’t soon get his way.

            “The both of them can stay with me, what better place for a beast like him than these hallowed woods. Besides, that bwbach can have his fill of cream if it helps me rebuild.” Ceridwen found herself taking on yet more animal companions, seeing the children’s wistful faces she added with a wink, “They’ll only ever be a jaunt down a mountain away, I’m sure you can come visit.”

            Orson and Hope seemed happy with the compromise, though mention of the mountain saw their long walk ahead looming heavily on their minds. Only goodbyes with their kindred bard remained.

            “What about you Taliesin, what will you do?” Zoe asked, remiss to be saying farewell to newly discovered family so soon.

            “Me? Well, I hadn’t given it much thought actually, I’ve been too preoccupied with the present since you saved me from that mountain top.” He tapped at his badger striped goatee and pondered the question. The promise of what came to mind pleased him no end, “I think I might await Arawn and follow his exploits, no doubt there will be a tale or two to tell there.”

            And so, they parted ways, Cerdiwen and her son going one way, the Elderkins in another. The climb up Gwyddfa Rhita was long and arduous, but inexplicably peaceful as well. The cold encroached more bitter than ever, the winds howling a true winter’s gale, yet there was no danger lurking around the corner, no hunt for missing children to be pursuing. Every now and again the Eagle would soar above, watching for whatever trials might still come their way, yet nothing ever came besides the steady uphill climb. This lack of urgency made their last amble in this wild Wales of myth their favourite in a way. They’d only wished Maeve were here to enjoy the peace. Eventually they reached that old bare oak at the mountain’s peak, and just as the sun was setting, a touch of a well-worn ring saw its runes light up once more.

*

Cara sat back in an old armchair, a dozing Cooper in one arm and a cold tea in the other. She’d been staring expectantly out the window, at the blackened oak in the garden, worrying over whether anything would ever emerge from the tree again. This was the third night she’d kept this vigil, rarely parting from her boy for fear of him being stolen away as well. It had already become a weary practice, a habit she felt was consuming her sanity, yet tonight was different.

            The oak had been reduced to a smouldering husk two days ago, but now she noticed sprigs of life, fresh growth glistening green in the evening sun. No sooner had she noticed the tree’s enduring did the ashen grooves light up, one by one glowing with a familiar faint blue light. She almost dropped her cup as she pressed up against the curtains, rocking Cooper back to sleep as she tried to spy what was emerging from the tree. She didn’t know whether to shout with joy or run in terror, this sudden rush from the days inactivity making her giddy. Her fears were soon laid to rest as stepping out from the circle of runes came those she’d been longing to see. First was Zoe, ring aglow on her finger. Last to emerge was a worn and battered Lewis ushering an exhausted Orson ahead, though any trace of tiredness dropped as Cara swung the front door open, the family running into each other’s arms to be reunited at last.

            “You’re back! It’s felt like forever, I was worried sick-I-I-” Cara could barely string a thought together before Orson leapt at her.

            “Mummy!” He shouted, face glowing through the grime and scratches.

            “I missed you too.” Lewis threw an arm around her, hugging her tightly before he took Cooper off of her hands and smiled broadly at the freshly awoken babe, “Sorry we took so long.”

            “You all look so rough, your arm...did everything…” in all the excitement she’d missed that a few were missing, “...where’s Maeve? Aria, Idris, the dog?”

            Lewis didn’t say a word at first, he merely grimaced slightly as he shook his head. Heavy hand back on her shoulder he directed her back to Arfryn, “Let’s head inside and we’ll tell you all about it.”

            “So many stories to tell you Mummy.” Orson hugged his mother’s waist as they walked inside.

            “I’ll make us some hot chocolates then.” Cara smiled back, secretly worried what these stories might be.

            Zoe and Raymond wandered in behind though Hope and Fred hung back, longingly looking at the oak as its rune etched doorway sealed once more.

            “Come on guys, I think you’ve both earned a hot chocolate.” Zoe hollered back, “It’ll still be there in the morning.”

            Hope hung on for a moment, hoping the tree would spring to life again and reveal her sister, but no such thing happened. “It’ll probably be just like new when she comes back won’t it.”

            “Probably. I’m amazed it worked for us; thought we’d have to go back to the farm.” Zoe went back for them and led them both by the hand, “She’s coming back guys, don’t you worry.”

            “I wonder if she’ll be all spooky like Arawn when she does.” Fred half giggled, finding it hard to imagine his sister being spoken of in the same ominous terms as the king.

            “Oh, for sure.” Raymond joked, grabbing Fred’s free hand, “Maybe I should build a fence around it just in case, security and all.”

            That night tears were shed, gasps beheld the tales told, and laughs were had as a family safe in their walls. In the coming weeks the Elderkins settled back into some sort of normality, not that things would ever quite be the same. Nonetheless they welcomed the mundane nature of their old lives with open arms. Even so, some oddities still hung over from their jaunt to the other world. Merfyn was lain to rest, his suspicious wound swept away by a tincture of the enchantress’s, in the second funeral this winter. It was accepted amongst friends that after Derwen’s passing, Merfyn must have simply wished to join her. A white lie the children had no qualms embracing.

            Questions arose regarding Maeve’s absence from school, of her uncle and aunt’s disappearance, and Zoe’s sudden blindness, though these too were spoken of in hushed whispers. ‘A year out, stress you see’ was the story they told, ‘driven back to their lives I suppose’ of the others, ‘an unfortunate toll of the grief’ explained away her sight. Perhaps answers would one day be demanded, but for now the Elderkins could reside in peace, knowing that the prying eyes of strangers were far outnumbered by the caring watch of family friends.

            Eventually, once matters were settled and responsibilities seen to, Lewis and Cara decided they too should return to their home, to the normality Orson and Cooper knew. Arfryn would go to Zoe and Raymond, where she’d stay with hers to watch the tree, to await her daughter’s return. Hope and Fred would rush home from school every day, hoping this would be the day, though the wait never seemed to end. They weren’t alone however, as the others returned as often as they could, even if it was just their uncle Lewis that could make a late-night visit. Whether it was to lend some company to their agonising wait or that the family were that much closer now, bonded by the trials of that other realm, was hard to tell. The Elderkins however, though incomplete, were closer knit than ever before, that much was true. Little was needed to bring them together these days, as in truth they knew they were never apart, no matter what world they resided in.

            This winter had begun with a grandmother’s passing, but as the days crept by and snow began to pile, remembrance became less a cold endeavour and more a comforting warmth. A story they’d no longer dwell upon, but rather live by.

*

Someday, far from now, a much greyer Taliesin squat outside an old hut, weary from a long day’s travel. This hut, just as crooked and rough as the last, was Ceridwen’s new home of course. He hadn’t been here all along, quite the opposite, this time he was merely visiting. As ever the enchantress was stone faced at his arrival and put him to work, assuring him there’d be time for chit chat once this witch had seen to her day’s priorities. How such an old lady kept so busy he had no idea, toiling away at her cauldron still just like the day he and Myrddin had come to her, but the congregation of children that run down the winding path gave him some clue.

            “You’re new!” A toothless grin shot his way, “Who are you?”

            “Don’t be so rude!” An older girl chastised, “The witch tolerates us but who’s to say what this warlock will do.”

            “No need to fret.” Taliesin smirked, spotting the basket of empty bottles the young ones had arrived with, “By the look of things you’re running errands for my mother and all.”

            “No at all sir, she’s the one that’s helping us out.” A snot nosed boy replied.

            “Our ma’s and pa’s are rotten ill, but her potions are working wonders.” Another one explained.

            “And these ailing parents, they send their children to this wicked old witch to fetch their medicine do they?” The bard was more than a little surprised, after all it was his fearsome mother that would have been grinding their little bones once upon a time.

            “No, no.” The bunged-up child sniffed, “They wouldn’t touch the stuff if they knew it came from her.”

            “We asked for her help you see, and she gladly agreed, even though we had nothing to offer.” The eldest girl said, “But she understood that nobody would trust a witch, not from our village. So, we come and collect it, sneak it into their tea and watch as they feel themselves again.”

            “How splendid, I dare say she’s gone soft.” Taliesin was pleasantly surprised, he was sure he’d hear a far brasher tale from the crone later, one less virtuous and more befitting of a curmudgeon.

            “Wait...if you’re her son, does that mean you’re the Taliesin!” The girl realised that another legend sat before her, it was obvious now, given his everlasting love for audacious presentation. “The one who travelled all over the realm with king Arawn on his epic quest!”

            “The very same.” The bard smiled, tipping his cap to the admiration of his wide-eyed audience.

            “Could you tell us a story about it, pleeease!” One of the children who hadn’t said a word up until now bounced to the forefront.

            “Oh well, where does one start?”

            “The fish! The giant trout he saved!” The youngest boy excitedly blurted out.

            “Haha! A trout? No boy, that was the Salmon of Llyn Llyw, the greatest, wisest fish of them all.” Taliesin saw the boy plop himself in front of him on the grass, the rest settling in behind. Every little face in the semi-circle was eager with anticipation for their story now, the potions could clearly wait. Taliesin was in his element, “Yet there’s more to that tale than just a salmon stuck in his little lake…”

            “Could you tell us what happened? How did he do it?” Another girl, hair unkempt and muddy with the dirt of a farmstead asked, falling into the storyteller’s trap.

            “Well to understand that you must know where the good king started…” Taliesin happily obliged, keen to regale this story to a younger audience for once rather than some wealthy lords court or drunken tavern. “...You see the roads to Annwn had to be mended first, the secret passages the strange creatures of that land made use of. It wasn’t an easy task, yet his guide Amaethon knew where to start. He’d used one of these back doors to sneak into the king’s gardens before and knew the folk who’d be missing them now.

“With the ear of the clever coblynau the two of them found every nook, every cranny, and opened those paths wide. Monstrous creatures were no longer trapped in one world, forced to feast on the men that called those mines their home, and were ushered back to the dens they’d come from. Soon the very people who’d fled in fear came back, and work began anew. It took time of course, but with the worlds coexisting in harmony the folk who had been downtrodden, pushed to the brink, the folk like your grandma’s and grandpa’s, soon returned to the lives they knew.”

            “Well, um, my great grandpa did tell me about that, not in so many words though…” One of them explained, “...and it wasn’t terribly exciting then either.”

            “I beg your-”

            “Hey! Don’t be so rude!” The eldest girl kept the youngest in check once more, “He doesn’t mean that it’s boring sir, just that...well…”

            “I know, I know. You were hoping for great battles and damsels in distress. Well, there was plenty of that, enough to feed any child’s imagination I promise you. The never-ending hunt for the maiden of flowers, the Gwyllgi that stalked them to the end, and of course how could we forget the witch and her dragon.” Taliesin raised a daring eyebrow, bestowing both wonder and dread upon the children, but just as soon as they’d leant in he sat back and cooled his dramatics. “But as you well know Arawn’s list of tasks was vast, and to tell of them all would take just as long. As for helping the Salmon though, why that required a certain coranwr, a stout fellow with ears as big as your head called Grigor. And as luck would have it the miners unearthed just the fellow.”

            “I’ve never heard of any Grigor.” The smallest boy remarked, more concerned with the aforementioned dragon.

            “Oh, but he has heard of you dear boy. Of all of you.” The bard pointed at each and every one of them, their little faces lighting up with their inclusion. “You see as long as the wind could carry a word, a tale, a song, Grigor would know of it. And the king couldn’t reshape the rivers themselves for the Salmon all by himself, no, he would need help. The tusks of the mightiest boar and the magic of the fairest ladies of the lake.”

            “But weren’t they there, to help best the nasty Gwydion?”

            “Of course they were, and never forget it…” Taliesin came over nostalgic, remembering that fateful time, “...yet it had been many a winter since those days, and they had a habit of being rather elusive creatures you see.”

            “The coranwr could find them couldn’t he? If he could hear everything!” The same boy who was indifferent regarding the dwarf was suddenly invested.

            “Precisely!” Taliesin smiled with zeal, “And that’s exactly what he did. The formidable Twrch Trwyth and his burly brood answered the call, ploughing the earth into patterns anew for the ladies of the lake to will their rivers through. Soon enough the waters of Llyn Llyw were vaster than they had ever been, and the Salmon could swim the breadth of the Wales, imparting wisdom wherever he did wish. Just one of our hero’s many deeds, and I was fortunate enough to be there, to write of it all.”

            The children had been told variations of these tales many a time but were enthused no end to hear it from the horse’s mouth so to speak.

            “Did you ever write of Annwn sir?” The eldest asked sheepishly, “My grandma always said that our troubles were only mended because a girl promised to fix another world.”

            “A girl very much like yourself.” Taliesin nodded, admitting he hadn’t quite been there himself, but knew the person no less for it. “I wasn’t there at the time, but I accompanied the Elderkins on their first journey here, not for all of that either to tell the truth, but Maeve told me all about it when she returned. Why she was like any of you, but the things that girl achieved, another tome of stories there I’ll tell you that.”

            “Maeve, that was it! She became the queen!” The children spoke in a chorus, firing what wild and mad assertions they’d heard his way, “She slew Hafgan, and threw the Afanc into the oceans of Annwn! Even Gwydion followed her!”

            “Well that last bit is true.” Taliesin laughed; his stories had taken on a life of their own as ever. “As for the rest, you might have to ask her yourself. You’re quite right though, she saw to Annwn much as Arawn saw to our realm.

            “Under her watch the trickster Gwydion was given a second chance, an opportunity he seized with every duplicitous fibre of his being. You see the kingdom was under siege, an army at its walls under the command of nine lords who’d been biding their time to strike at the king. Say what you will about the man, but the field of war, a losing one at that, was where Gwydion was born to be. In the form of their own allies, he sneaked into their camps, into their midst to sow discourse in a way only a man of his talents could. Before the first sun of the spring had come the lords now numbered four, reduced by their own suspicious blades in what had become a civil war.

            “By the time they settled their differences and made for a united assault, their numbers were halved, and their resolve as shallow as the Salmon’s lake once was. Even still, this would have been enough to take the castle, yet our trickster had more tricks up his sleeve. The trees themselves walked that night, lining up atop the hills like troops ready to march. What Hafgan’s dissidents saw wasn’t a forest however, but an army of men, each as tall as a house and ready to wage war. Not a single drop of blood was spilt before they surrendered to the mercy of the queen.

            “Gwydion thought they should be slaughtered, felled so that they might never rise again, but the queen knew better. She knew that so long as one man still breathed, resentment would fester, and their children’s children would be back all the same. No, the four lords would be reasoned with, invited to sit rather than fight. Their wants were seen to, within reason of course, and so were the queen’s. The outer wilds from where they’d come would be lawless no more, but an extension of the kingdom, a land that lived to the ideals of Annwn. Under her rule no corner of the world would be dangerous to those dead or alive, there would be no demons hiding in the shadows of this Otherworld, not for the innocent. Her quarrels with heroes and kings of the past affirmed that belief, that men shouldn’t hunt one another when there’s so much more to be concerned with.”

            The pride Taliesin recounted the tale with was clearly personal, he hoped he might have had an influence on the girl, however small. They weren’t sat far from where he’d talked to her all those years ago, about the tribulations of one’s purpose, the tales we choose to write, and a most patient dog’s stick. He might have become lost in that memory were it not for the eldest girl’s question ringing to his ears much like the voice of his niece that winter’s afternoon.

            “What about the queen though? What about Maeve?” She shyly asked for more whilst she had this bard’s attention, more stories she could aspire to, “What did she do?”

            “Well, my dear…” Taliesin could have listed the battles she fought, the souls she guided, but again that wasn’t quite the point he thought. He decided he should start with what mattered most, “...I suppose most of all, Maeve cared.”

*

A little girl sat on her grandmother’s lap, bunched up like a most comfortable cat as she listened to her stories. There was a chilling wind blowing outside, or perhaps it was a hot summers evening, it never mattered, for here and now she was transported to another world. Another Wales. She was thoroughly absorbed in this tale from the Mabinogi, of mythical heroes battling each other over base desires and otherworldly pigs. Narratives she adored no matter how farfetched. She might have fallen asleep in her entranced daze were it not for the next development her grandmother divulged, an outcome so unexpected she sprung back awake.

            “What!? That doesn’t make sense grandma.” The little girl questioned.

            “It’s written right here darling, Gwydion slayed Pryderi in a duel that ended the war.” The grandmother tipped her glasses back to the bridge of her nose, pretending to read it back ever so studiously.

            “But-but-Pryderi was Pwyll’s son, I liked Pwyll!” The girl was dejected at the fate of her favourite characters. She muttered, “He was a hero.”

            “I know, I know. But sometimes folk like Gwydion win the day...well a lot of the days.” She flicked through the book, raising an eyebrow at the many victories of this trickster she was yet to regale to her granddaughter. “He’s not your typical hero but he has his ups, his downs. Nobody’s perfect honey, and he gets his comeuppance for this one at least.”

            The girl’s lips contorted into a most disappointed huff, “I’m not sure I like this story anymore then grandma.”

            “Well not every story is necessarily all rainbows and unicorns, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t forget your favourite, Pwyll and Arawn, met over a misunderstanding that could have gone another way entirely if someone had made the wrong choices. Sometimes a story like this is a treasure, something you can read and ask yourself…” she ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, staring at her in the especially comforting way she’d always had a knack for, “...what would I do differently?”

            “What would I do differently…” the girl echoed, thinking hard upon the question, “...I... I don’t know…”

            “Sometimes you won’t know, oh let’s be honest, most of the time you won’t know. The fact that you questioned this fellow’s actions makes me so proud though.” The grandmother wavered from the story at hand to what she hoped might be a life lesson for her dear little friend. “But what’s important is that you try your best, so that when somebody reads your story, they’ll know it, and learn from it.”

            “My story?” The girl was perplexed, she’d thought they were talking about wizards and princes.

            “Of course you have a story, everyone does. Whether you know it or not you’re writing your own story every day, every choice you make, every day you wake, is a new chapter in that story. Just like Gwydion told his, or Pwyll, or Arawn, all of them.” She spoke as if she’d had more than her fair share of these chapters, as if she’d lived ten times the lives any other lady her age had. “And one day someone is going to hear your story. It could be your granddaughter, or a complete stranger, but when they do, they’ll learn from it just as you’re learning from these pages. I’m sure many will ask themselves what they’d do differently when reading of the likes of Gwydion. But when they hear your story, I’d like to believe they’ll think to themselves ‘My, that girl did her best, and I hope I can do the same’.”

            “I hope so too…” The girl smiled, eyes barely open.

            The little girl didn’t have any more questions or doubts, she simply hugged her grandmother tight, and drifted off to sleep. The grandmother sat there a while before she laid the book down and carried the girl up to bed. Each step she took up those stairs felt like a day passing by, another week her little granddaughter would age, another year closer to her becoming too old for stories from this doting old lady. It didn’t weigh too heavily on her though, she knew the girl she held now would always be special, imaginative, loved. All she hoped was that she’d remember these stories they’d shared together.