CHAPTER 3 - OTHERWORLD

By James Attwood

Maeve’s wrist felt separated from her arm by this point. She’d resisted at first, making life as difficult for her captor as she could. But sitting down and pulling away only made the man pull his end harder, and each tug became a painful reason for compliance. Eventually she gave in and followed him as best she could, his callous hand gripped around her wrist like a vice. Still painful, but a lesser pain. Their passage was never ending. They were still inside the oak tree. That much she could tell. She felt its wooden walls flanking them throughout this narrow hallway, though she couldn’t see them through that persisting fog. They’d been walking for what felt like an age, no tree could possibly go this deep. It was a few more minutes before she noticed the branch that was tucked into his belt begin to glow blue again. Soon after they came to a stop, faced with a dead end. The man knocked on the clouded wall a few times before running his fingers along what appeared to be runes. She couldn’t begin to understand it, but she recognised them as what emerged on the other side of the tree before they’d entered. He pulled out the branch, holding its tip to the centre of the markings as he had done before. One by one they sank into the tree before finally a familiar archway opened before them.

            As the two stepped past the threshold of the door they were met with disparate surroundings. They stood in a small clearing carved from rugged grey rock. A thick layer of snow rounded the edges, though none seemed to fall in the moment. Save for the swaying of the oak tree they’d emerged from it was eerily still. Maeve looked back to it, noting its differences from her grandfather’s. It was older, crooked, and weathered from enduring its mountainous abode. Yet what sprigs of life the tree could muster lit up with the same light she’d seen earlier in front of Arfryn. Two sides of the same tree she pondered. She could’ve sworn she saw something scurrying behind the doorway’s veil, but her attention was drawn by a new voice.

            “Is this...is she the one?” This new figure, another man, seemed apprehensive, almost in awe of what he was seeing. He stood up from a boulder he’d been sat on and stepped forwards slowly as if he’d been waiting for this for some time. He cast a far less fearsome image than her captor, his clothing still of another time yet far more immaculate.

            “Indeed. If you believe the eyes of the owl.” The other man confirmed, though he seemed non-committal. He didn’t seem to care who he was talking to which made it difficult for Maeve to gage their relationship. She was a quiet soul, valuing silence over chatter, and had developed an eye for assessing people without uttering a word. She remained silent, watching the two as inconspicuously as she could despite being the subject of their conversation.

            “I would be loath to. Yet I assured you, she has every reason to cooperate. Speaking of which, where is she?” He stepped up to his co-conspirator assertively. A taller, more handsome figure, now that the situation called for it he began to exude confidence. He’s the boss, Maeve thought, wondering what kind of man could have such a brute in his charge. His dirty blonde locks were tied back into a knot, certain strands weaved into rustic braids where others would fall loose behind his neck. What little armour he wore was far more ornate than practical, glimmering designs of dragons and knights etched into each piece that laid over his deep green tunic.

            “The mare fled as soon as she had the chance.” He explained nonchalantly.

            “A chance you gave her no doubt.” The other man pressed further. His heroic demeanour waned the more Maeve observed him; unattended stubble and dark tired eyes spoke of a man closer to the edge than he’d like to admit.

            “Watch your tongue!”

            “Watch your own lest I take it back from you!” This counter threat seemed to strike a nerve, a twinge of vulnerability ringing in her captor’s eyes at the mere thought of it.

            “There were complications! You did not tell me he was there!”

            “Who was…never mind. She can live out the rest of her life in the squalor of that world, it befits her.” The man held his temper and approached Maeve who was shivering in the cold, little puffs of vapour released with each laboured breath she took in the thin mountain air. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, seemingly unaffected by the temperature himself. “We can’t have you catching a cold now can we. Suits you far better than that strange attire.”

            His dry smile showed no warmth. Maeve felt like an object being appraised, a valued object but an object nonetheless. He held a corner of her nylon coat between his thumb and finger, rubbing the fabric between them as if it were alien to him. She glanced back at the tree, an almost sixth sense telling her she wasn’t alone with these strangers. Her eyes lit up when she saw Hope’s face poke out from behind the misted doorway, catching herself before she gasped out loud. She jumped out of her skin when her appraisers hand gripped her chin to turn her attention back to him. He seemed clueless about her sister’s presence, more concerned with the various bruises and scuffs his prize had suffered. She tried not to react, nervously holding her breath as he peered into her eyes.

            “You’ve no idea have you...” He mused, talking at her rather than to her. Her eyes shifted subconsciously; he began to peer over her shoulder.

            “If you’re going to kill me just do it! Enough of the riddles!” Maeve blurted almost as a reflex. She immediately regretted it but couldn’t think of what else to do but confront him directly. She couldn’t let him take her sister too, no matter how much she yearned for her company.

            “Kill you? Why would I want to kill you? You have spirit, I can see that now.” This time he seemed to speak to her as a person, though his tone bemoaned the fact that she had addressed him at all. He stood upright and looked to the other man. “She’s right though, we shouldn’t loiter. These mountains grow less welcoming by the hour and the bard won’t wait forever.”

            With another firm tug of the rope Maeve began walking behind her two captors. She glanced back at the tree, but her heart sank when she saw it had sealed once more with no sign of her sister. At least she’d been spared the same fate as herself. Gloomy cloud cover lifted as they ambled down the rocky trail revealing an immense, breath-taking landscape. Maeve had no idea that they were so high, let alone atop such a grand mountain. It stood like an ancient monolith above the rest of the mountainous range, offering a distant view no matter where you looked. The land below was familiar to her yet mythically vast, making her question the sense of déjà vu each peak and lake instilled in her. It was as if she were in a dream, remembering a place she had been before in exaggerated terms.

*

Back atop the mountain Hope, Fred and Orson crept out from behind the oak tree. The bark had begun to reseal when Maeve’s distraction had given them a window to slip out unnoticed. They’d been wandering in the dark of that oak for quite some time as well and had feared they’d been led down the wrong path. Seeing Maeve briefly had reaffirmed their faith however, despite the dire realm they’d found her in.

            “That was too close.” Hope said in hushed tones, concerned the men were still close.

            “We’re fine, I don’t think they have any idea we followed them.” Fred tried to calm the others, but his knuckles were white from his grip around the tree’s trunk, he was always one to put on a brave face in the company of others.

            They rounded the tree slowly one by one, fretting not to make any noise in fear of it echoing through the quiet. Looking back, they saw the sturdy bark of the oak, no sign of a door to be seen.

            “What do we do now?” Hope despaired as they collectively let out a sigh.

            “We came for Maeve right. We should be following them.” Fred reasoned.

            “I know! But even if we can get her back what are we going to do? We can’t go home.” Hope retorted, both their voices now raising with little regard for stealth. They feared they’d be stuck here, that they’d never see their family again.

            “The stick.” Orson had an epiphany, breaking his long silence, a surprise that brought a stop to the siblings bickering. Seeing he had their attention he elaborated, “The man used a stick to open the tree. Like it was a key or something. If we can get the stick and Maeve, we might be able to make it back home.”

            “You’re right!” Fred exclaimed.

            “And just how are we meant to get it? I’m pretty sure mum and dad can’t follow us. We’re on our own and that man...he...” Hope was dubious, shuddering at the thought of what they’d seen back home. She’d told the others not to look at the time, but they’d all seen what had happened to their grandfather, even if they found it difficult to accept.

            “I don’t know. But we’ve made it this far, there’s no point in giving up now.” Fred could see emotions were raw, feeling his own chin wobble. He opted to drive them forwards, not just to distract but as a necessity. They were behind Maeve by a few minutes now. He looked over to the timid Orson for solidarity, “It’s up to us, right?”

            “Right!” Orson agreed, motioning his readiness with two clenched fists.

            There was no plan and little hope of overcoming such villainous men. Despite this the three rallied together and tried to catch up with Maeve. It was all they could do given the circumstances, and each one felt there was the smallest of chances they’d be bringing Maeve home within no time. They just needed to be careful and quiet.

            They proceeded down the mountain, following what appeared to be an old trail that had fallen into disuse. Fred took point, scrambling across the jutting rocks where needed when the path dropped off, letting the others follow in his footsteps. He often found himself having to wait, outpacing the others as he was in his element here, though none of the conveniences he’d found on other mountain trails could be seen. The path, when it was visible, was low profile and no signposts or fences were present along it. The entire region felt wild, untainted, devoid of any significant influence from man.

            They’d descended a ways down the mountain’s slopes when Fred caught sight of an old building below them, standing alone like the only bastion of civilisation. Edging down the scree slopes they carefully approached it, pausing each time a loose rock was dislodged for fear of alerting those who might reside below. The loose rock and sculpted landscape that surrounded this structure reminded them of the old slate mines that were commonplace back home. The building itself was different however, more intact than any miners barracks they’d seen before, though it appeared to be abandoned all the same. Numerous disused carts and empty stables indicated this place was once intended for many workmen, but the air was still silent, dead even. Every pebble that rolled down the slopes echoed cavernously. Fred and Hope were making steady progress when they heard the slope give way behind them, Orson sliding in tow with the rocks to the clearing below.

*

The raining noise of pebbles could be heard within the building. Maeve had been sat down at a table which stretched the length of the first floor, her captor sat slumped in the chair opposite her. Across from them before a large fireplace the other man had been having a conversation with the person they’d seemingly come here to meet.

            “What was that?” The scarred man stood bolt upright. The conversation had bored him, so he found the chance of action stimulating. The other two feigned interest before carrying on.

            “Likely nothing, this whole site is falling apart.” The blonde-haired man dismissed, far too invested in his discussion.

            The scarred man paced towards one of the shuttered windows and tore it open. Even the dim haze of the outside shone bright into the occluded interior. He scanned the terrain but saw no sign of anything, only a few rocks still tumbling down.

            “Close that window you fool! Need I remind you of the importance of our staying hidden?” The other man reprimanded once more. When they had entered, they’d secured the building to shield their business from prying eyes.

            He closed the shutters with a slam and came back to Maeve, muttering his irritation under his breath. The other two stared at him judgementally before resuming their talks. Maeve hung her head and stared beyond her captor, he himself more concerned with drinking ale from a flagon. Notably this was the first time she’d seen this man open his mouth, splurges of the frothy liquid pouring down the sides of his beard. Her focus was on the others, however. The man they’d come to meet had a playful air about him, most notably due to the lute that hung around his back. His long cloak hid the illustrious garb he wore underneath, though its muddied ends made it clear he was no stranger to adventure. Even the tips of his greying moustache were curled intentionally with precise artistry. He reminded Maeve of storytellers she’d seen in medieval fairs, though whether his eccentricity was an act or not she wasn’t sure.

            “You certainly keep choice company these days Gwydion.” Said the bard, one opinionated eyebrow distinctly raised. At the mere mention of the name Maeve’s mind began to race, she’d read about a Gwydion in the Mabinogi. Magician, hero, and nephew to the king of Gwynedd. He couldn’t possibly be that Gwydion; it was just a story after all.

            “Well, chasing your friend’s secrets has proven...problematic. His mastery over death has been key. You know as well as I the gravity of my quest, I haven’t the luxury to pick and choose my men like Arthur did.” Gwydion explained, lamenting his predicament. Content that the rockslide was just that, he leaned forward to press on with the questions he’d hoped the bard could answer, “I have the gift. Now how might I meet him on better terms?”

            “I told you, summoning one such as him is unwise at the best of times, and even then, nigh on impossible.” The bard shrugged his shoulders, the distaste for his company was palpable. “I’ve helped you thus far, but I fear this is where I must depart your fellowship.”

            “All of your tales have rung true. Just one more and I will be able to free us of this mess.” Gwydion pleaded, growing restless with his subject.

            “Your mess you mean. Or do I need to remind you that it is you and your brother’s actions that have brought misery upon this land?” The bard dropped all pleasantries, speaking to Gwydion as if he were a misbehaving child. “You know the prophecy, your destined battle. Just meet him head on like you always have, why use your brain now when stupidity has got you so far?”

            “This is no pig hoarder. This is Arawn we speak of. King of Annwn. He is a fiend with unholy armies at his command and my brother at his mercy. I cannot afford to take this battle lightly, there is too much at stake.” Gwydion’s voice strained with the severity of his speech before lowering again, “You said as much yourself when I first asked you for aid, you cannot afford to refuse.”

            “Lest you dispose of me like the fine lady? What of your spy? Surely he’s heard your answer?”

            “He hears all but does not necessarily understand all. You’re the wordsmith, the one who professes to learn from the past...is there nothing you can recall?” Gwydion ignored the first comment but adopted a more reasoning tone. He knew questioning the bard’s knowledge would be a sure way to engage him.

            The bard leaned forward, clasping his fingers together in contemplation. He held Gwydion captive as he waited for what stories he could conjure. Eventually he recalled something of interest.

            “I suppose if you have rid him of his roebuck, would he not be looking for another?” He suggested, hands in an open gesture as if this was all he had. Nonetheless Gwydion would take anything he could get. “After all that is how it is said Pwyll originally met him. Hunt for excellent deer in these lands, look out for his hounds, and you might come across the man himself.”

            Gwydion sat back in awe of the bard’s revelation. He considered himself a man of cunning intellect, but this obvious solution had evaded him, elation beating out the shame he’d be feeling afterwards. If this was the way, then his plans could be on the verge of fruition. The bard held his silence, slightly bemused by the reaction his off the cuff idea had elicited.

            “That’s it!” Gwydion slapped his knee with satisfaction and then pointed to the bard. “I knew you would come through.”

            “See, you should pay more attention to your history. You might learn something.” He reminded him, content to have solved the issue though still dubious as to whether it was enough.

            “I’ll leave the story telling to you,” Gwydion declared as he stood to his feet with purpose, “I’ll continue to make them.”

*

Outside Orson was startled but had escaped with a few scrapes. Hope and Fred had managed to slide down after him and in turn help him hide when those inside had come looking. Now crouched underneath the window that had opened, they clutched Orson between them. Cheeks grey with dust they began to survey the wall they’d crashed against. There was a defined ditch running along part of it that seemed to deepen around the corner. As Hope’s eyes followed it to that point she saw a face poking around the corner, staring straight back at her. At least she likened it to a face, it wasn’t like any animal she’d seen. Two saucer like eyes embedded in a fuzzy head looked as startled as she did. No sooner than she’d seen it had it disappeared, however.

            “Did you see that!?” She exclaimed, choosing to nudge her brother repeatedly instead of raising her voice.

            “See what?”

            “Like a monkey, or a big rabbit, or a...” She tried to describe it but couldn’t find the words, “Some kind of creature, I don’t know.”

            “Did you bang your head or something?” Fred wasn’t sure if he was teasing or asking a genuine question.

            “No!” She resumed the nudging.

            “We should look, maybe it’s a nice monkey.” Orson interjected. He worried that him and Cooper might tease each other this much when he’s grown up. Play had its place but he’d been terrified since he saw that man was on the lookout for them and desperately wanted to make a move. Little did he know that his cousins were just as afraid, the squabbling being a product of that.

            “You heard them; they said these mountains weren’t friendly. What if we’re walking right after a monster that’s going to eat us!” It was clear Fred wasn’t joking any more. With nothing but a stone wall separating them and their sister’s kidnappers the pressure was setting back in.

            “I’d rather a strange monkey than those guys. Either way we need to look for another way in.” Hope said this as she shimmied her way along the wall until she could peer around the corner.

            She did so slowly, afraid of being sprung upon by whatever it was she’d seen. Once she had a full view, she was relieved. Across the way she could see a cave entrance with a well-trodden path leading within. If she had to guess there was a mine further in, maybe there were miners who could help. More pertinent however was the ditch that had curved its way round into a burrow of sorts at the back. The loose earth had been dug away down to and through the foundation wall. It culminated in a small hole leading under, perhaps no larger than what a badger could have made. The others caught up with her and examined it in kind, weighing their options. The mine was an unknown quantity, whereas they knew Maeve had to be inside.

            “Should we?” Hope suggested nervously, “If we can get under the house, we can hear what’s happening, maybe even sneak Maeve back out this way?”

            “I’ll fit.” Fred decided.

            “I’ll go too.” Orson echoed, perhaps a little too eager to blindly follow his cousin.

            “I should go first.” Hope sighed as if she’d come to a conclusion she didn’t particularly want to accept. “If I can fit then Maeve can fit too. It could be our only way out.”

            Fred was reluctant to defer to his older sister’s judgement. If something needed climbing up, squeezing through or what have you it was always up to him. But without his parents around as a safety net he felt the need to take a step back and think, and she was right.

            “Fine, but we’ll be right behind you.”

            Hope debated which way to go in before deciding upon face first. If a monster was going to eat her, she’d at least want to see it coming. She pulled herself along on her elbows through the narrow entrance. It travelled the thickness of the base wall, a good couple of feet. Eventually her arms dropped as they had nothing to purchase on and she began to slide into the cellar below. She didn’t land however as something stopped her fall. In the dim light of the cellar, she could barely see what had caught her, but recognised those enormous pairs of eyes. At least a dozen surrounded her now, each one with their tiny arms outstretched to stop her from hitting the ground.

            As soon as Fred saw her feet slide out of view he followed as quickly as he could. Slender as he was, he’d carefully dropped down in no time, followed soon after by Orson who took care not to fall as he did before. The room was almost pitch black, the only visible features being the slits of light between the floorboards above. Orson fished through his pockets and produced a miniscule torch, shining it up from the floor hesitantly in fear of what horrors he might reveal lurking in the dark.

            Illuminated before them was Hope, sat down, and encircled by stout, mangy creatures. Each one’s fur was dense but patchy, revealing pale pink skin underneath. They all squatted and bounced on rabbit like legs, a far cry from the stubby clawed arms they held up in front of them. Thicker spine like fur ran down their backs to their rat like tails. The heads could barely contain the bulbous eyes that followed your every move, below them a fang filled maw that ran from each pointed ear to the other. With all the finesse of a tarred and feathered gremlin, they still managed to look endearing as they huddled around her like a pack of stray cats.

            “I think they’re friendly monkeys.” Hope whispered in as much disbelief as the boys were.

            The creatures flinched as the floorboards creaked above, heavy footsteps were on the move. Stood as still as they could be the three listened in. Hope found herself subconsciously stroking the back of one of her new friends, it wasn’t a pleasant handful of fur, but she found it comforting.

*

“Are you two finally done talking?” The scarred captor addressed the others without turning, frothy droplets of ale gathered on his beard undermining the stern gaze he still held on Maeve.

            “Quite, we have a deer to hunt.” Gwydion announced.

            “First we need to handle our guests.” The man declared, picking a wiry hair from his teeth. “My ale was hairier than a cat’s arse, and I can hear things creeping below. We aren’t alone.”

            “You’re worried about bwbachs now?” Gwydion seemed to be growing weary with his cohort’s paranoia. Hope’s eyes lit up along with Maeve’s, another recognisable tale.

            “Those goblins?” He turned and creased his face, doubtful of Gwydion’s assessment.

            “Well, a sweet old lady used to care for the miners here, too much work just for one woman though of course. Bwbachs would no doubt pitch in for a reward, fond of cream they are.” The bard began to weave his tale but saw the disinterest in his audience, even Maeve seemed despondent having been held hostage for hours now. “Long story short the miners left, old dear popped her clogs but the bwbachs stuck around. Critters breed like rabbits but are harmless, you can rest easy.”

*

Below the cogs began to turn in Hope’s mind. She beckoned the others to her, each of them awkwardly shuffling around her fuzzy followers to huddle in close.

            “These animals are bwbachs!” Her hushed volume couldn’t hide her excitement. The other two looked on, confused.

            “I thought they were meant to be nice little gnomes or something?” Fred didn’t share his sister’s enthusiasm.

            “Me too. And not real. But here we are, you heard them up there.”

            “Okay. So?” Fred still struggled to follow what Hope was getting at. Orson looked equally as lost; he’d never heard of a bwbach in his life.

            “You guys probably don’t remember but grandma used to say the bwbachs would need a big bowl of cream to clean up our mess. They’re like housekeepers.” Hope wished Maeve was here to see her remembering all this, she knew if their roles were reversed, she’d be the one lecturing right now. Even if her human audience weren’t sold, the bwbachs seemed to be listening attentively. “I’m thinking there’s some nasty men intruding in these guy’s house up there, maybe for a bowl of cream they’d help us out...but we don’t have any cream.”

            Hope looked dejected; on the cusp of a good idea, she’d stumbled. She scanned the cellar in the torchlight. Worm eaten shelves lined the walls, but what little of stocks that remained seemed to be rotten or empty. The room went dark once more however as Orson turned his torch to his rucksack.

            “I don’t have cream but...” He plunged his hand deep into the bag, fishing out various snacks one after the other and placing them in front of him. “What else do they eat?”

            The bwbachs eyes widened as their ears pricked up with interest. Each item Orson produced had them edging forward daintily as if it was the first food they’d seen in weeks. None of them pounced though, one by one they sat politely waiting to be fed.

            “Brilliant Orson!” Hope smiled a big toothy grin as she reached for what she felt might be the closest match to some cream, a small pot of yoghurt. As she did so more and more bwbachs emerged from the darkness, soon they had more than they could count sat uniformly around them.

            “I don’t know if it’s enough but that’s everything.” Orson said as he placed a packet of crisps down on what was now a pile of ready wrapped culinary delights. “I didn’t know how long we’d be out.”

            “If we feed you, could you help us?” Hope held the offering out, trying to discern whether the audience she had captive understood what she was saying. The eyes of the one in front of her shifted from the food to her before it sat down on its hind legs, as if waiting for her next words. Let’s hope this works she thought. “Those men up there, they don’t belong here. Could you chase them off? Clean up your house? You see the girl up there is my sister and we need to help her escape...if you can give us just a few minutes of your time, all this food is yours.”

            That last point seemed to strike a chord with the bwbach. It placed one paw on her knee and took the yoghurt with the other. With that the brood clamoured over the rest of the food. Within seconds nothing but wrappers were left, some being spat out by a few confused individuals. With a synchronised licking of their lips all but a few of the bwbachs stood up and scampered in every direction. What nooks and crannies they’d hid away in the children couldn’t tell, but the remainder hopped past and showed them some rickety stairs that led above.

*

Above, Maeve could tell the men weren’t done with each other, even if the bard seemed to want otherwise. A vile tension permeated the air like an unwanted truth. He turned on a heel ready to leave.

            “So that’s that then. I wish you the best of luck Gwydion.” He waved as he approached the door.

            “We aren’t finished.” The scarred man raised his voice, tired of being ignored. “You know more than you let on, you warned him of our arrival!”

            “I told you that couldn’t have been him. Even if it was, I had no clue.” The bard turned to face his accuser; each word laced with spite for this man.

            “Do you see now Gwydion? He feigns innocence but makes for the door as soon as he sees the chance! He plans to call on the knights no doubt. He colluded with Myrddin, as he has always done!” Tempers rose.

            “I plan to take my leave for I know you smell blood; it is all you smell you madman.” The bard now stood his ground, arms apart gesturing grandly. “You saunter in here lying of besting Myrddin, its aught but another boast to add to your long list of murders.”

            “Perhaps I’ll add one more whilst I’m at it!” The scarred man lunged to grip the bard around the throat, choking him. “Without your words you’re nothing.”

            Maeve gazed on in a stupor, unsure of what to do when she felt a tickling sensation by her feet. She peered down and saw a mass of hair, head down, gnawing at her rope that ran below the table. She had no idea what it was, but with a ‘psst’ noise she turned to see a similar creature’s eyes spying out of a trap door to her left. Next to it a familiar face was signalling her cautiously over his way, it was Fred! No matter the peculiar friends her brother had made she wanted to cry out with joy. Despite this she looked ahead and resumed the role of prisoner, fiddling with the rope below to see if it had been broken yet.

            “Stand down Efnysien.” Gwydion had been idly stood there, contemplating, but finally saw fit to step in. “You’re right, there are questions to be asked. Yet he does not die here, not on your whim.”

            Efnysien? This name eluded Maeve, for now at least. Perhaps other more pressing developments were clouding her memory. The standoff stood still for what felt like an eternity. Efnysien refused to loosen his grip as the bard struggled on and Gwydion saw fit to do nothing but repeat his commands. She felt invisible in that deadlock. As she bunched up the rope in her hands, she finally felt it, a frayed end gnawed straight through. She edged the chair backwards ever so slightly, but with that a creek of the floor broke the silence that gripped the room. The men turned in unison but had no time to contemplate their negligence before they were set upon. Dozens of the bwbachs dashed across the hall, some lunging upon the intruders as others turned the interior itself upside down. Screeching as they leapt from the rafters one after the other, they ripped and tore at man and furniture alike. It was chaos.

            Maeve hesitated no longer and kicked the chair out from underneath her. She scrambled for the cellar door as Fred swung it open. Efnysien released the bard and ran for her but was too slow, stumbling as bundles of fur sank their teeth into every patch of skin they could see. One reached for the branch in his belt but found itself flung across the room, adding to the carnage. She had no time to embrace Fred as he grabbed her hand and led her back through the hole to the others, they could hear the frustration of her captors above and knew time was of the essence.

            “This way, quick!” Hope spared no time for pleasantries outside and made way for the cave entrance.

            “Aren’t we going back to the tree?” Maeve asked, tying her coat round her waist after she’d removed it to fit through the burrow.

            “We don’t have the stick thingy! I asked the bwbachs, but I don’t know if they’ll manage.” They were halfway between the house and the cave now, out in the open. “Come on, hiding in there is our best shot!”

            Time couldn’t afford Maeve second guessing her sister and the others seemed to be following a strict plan. She found herself squirming at the idea of venturing into that cave, but adrenaline kept her moving. Once they were in their organised bravado began to fade. Darkness fell quickly as Orson scrambled to light his torch, and even then, the dank walls of this abandoned mine curved and twisted in labyrinthine patterns. Signs of a working mine could be seen, tracks to follow or doorways to approach, but there was no rhyme or reason as to where they should go. Each route they frantically chose seemed to take them further from the man-made signs and deeper into the uncharted abyss. Before long they reached a dead end, a cavernous drop into nothingness below. Panic set in. They couldn’t afford to double back down such a long passage with their pursuers close by.

            Footsteps began to echo down the passage they’d come from. The dim light of a flame illuminated the shadow of a figure fast approaching them. Maeve calmed as she recognised the distinct neck of a lute rising from the shadow’s back. She stood in front of her saviours and readied herself for the worst nonetheless.

            “Don’t worry, I think he’s a good guy.” She tried to reassure the others.

            “I like to think so.” The shadowy figure agreed. His features were made clear as he came closer, the tips of that curled moustache perking up with a friendly smile. He was rough and bloodied, clearly having failed to escape the house unscathed. “But that is neither here nor there. We don’t have much time.”

            “Who are you?” Maeve blurted out, on the defensive in front of her family.

            “Me? I’m but a humble bard.” He looked over his shoulder, afraid of imminent company, “You can call me Taliesin. And who, might I ask, are you?”

            “Maeve...Maeve Elderkin.” It wasn’t only Maeve who’d heard of Taliesin, a legendary poet, friend of king Arthur. Meeting him in the flesh he didn’t come across as a hero of myth though, simply familiar.

            “Well, that doesn’t mean much does it.” Taliesin tapped his chin as if he were hoping for a better answer, “No offence of course. I’m just trying to make heads of tails here.”

            “How did you escape? Where are the others?” Orson began rattling off questions like an interrogator, loathe to leave something that didn’t sit well with him alone.

            “Why hello to you too young sir! Well, I know a bwbach loves nothing more than a treat, even in their frenzy they saw reason at the sight of a cob of bread I couldn’t stomach on the way up here. You see I know all sorts of things, as it would seem do you.” Taliesin explained himself as quickly as he could, finding it difficult as ever to condense his thoughts. He looked once more over his shoulder. “They won’t be far behind though, no matter how many helpers you employed.”

            “Then help us! Please! What’s going on?” Maeve pleaded with him; any hopes she’d had of escape were now dashed. “We just want to go home.”

            “I wish I could.” He looked melancholic at the sight of these lost children. It reminded him of past glories he would have helped achieve, but he was alone now and at the end of a road. He chose to say all that he could, “Listen closely. You’re the descendant of Pwyll Pen Annwn, lord of Dyfed. This much I know. But what steps you should take with that knowledge I do not.”

            “I’m the descendant of Pwyll? But how?” Maeve found this harder to believe than anything she’d heard or seen today, and today had been an odd day.

            “All of us?” The name Pwyll was fresh in Hope’s mind after one of Maeve’s attempts at story time over the last few nights.

            “If you’re sisters then yes, one would assume. Gwydion feels he can solve this with one of you though, ‘that will be proof enough’. I can’t begin to speculate what you should do with such knowledge mind.” Taliesin paused for a moment before finally stumbling upon the best advice he felt he could give. He hastily inked the words ‘Llyn Llyw’ on a scrap of parchment and handed it to Maeve. “Go to the salmon there, talk with him. But do so quietly, do not speak of your plans aloud for no secret is safe from Gwydion’s ears.”

            “A salmon!?” The children questioned as one, brows comically creased in response to such an absurd recommendation.

            “Why of course, I’ve never met a wiser fish! He’ll know what to do.” Another pair of footsteps were now approaching. He held a finger to his lips before turning to the pursuer’s direction, “Don’t forget, no secrets spoken aloud. Now jump!”

            “What!? We’ll never survive that!” Fred was the first to speak out against it. Even with his daredevil disposition he thought it was suicidal.

            “There’s plenty of water down there, see?” Taliesin pointed to the waves of reflection sparkling on the caves ceiling then placed a hand on Maeve’s shoulder. “You have to. It’s down there or back into captivity. Just keep your heads under for as long as you can. It’s time I made myself known to our mutual friend.”

            He turned and began to stride down the passageway, waving his flaming torch for all to see. He sang a ditty addressing the ladies of the lake, stressing how he hoped they might watch over those poor lost souls. Happy with his song he then began to taunt dramatically so that he might be heard in the furthest reaches of the mines, speaking of how he’d become lost and needed a ginger oaf to save him. It wasn’t long before the light vanished and the raised voice of Efnysien reverberated throughout the cavern. They clutched each other’s hands, the four of them stood in an interlocked line staring over the edge. He wouldn’t knowingly send children to their doom, would he? Maeve thought.

            “WHERE ARE THEY!?” Efnysien’s voice thundered one last time behind them.

            Whether it was the shout that pushed them or their united courage, they leapt as one into the darkness below.