CHAPTER 1 - ROOTS

by james attwood

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…”

            A bump in the road brought Maeve back to reality from this sweet memory, much older now, her days of sitting on her grandmother’s lap long past.

            She stared out the window of the car as it crossed the quiet countryside, gazing wistfully at the leaves that littered the road. She wished she could be whisked away like these red autumn leaves the trees had shed, but winter had now set in and the moment for escape, she felt, had passed. Above the fields past the bare trees a flock of birds began to shift back and forth, drawing her eyes from the sullen trees to their entrancing dance.

            “Well? What is it?” Hope’s voice rattled her, as if waking from another dream. She looked to her younger sister, only able to muster a confused ‘huh?’. “What do you spy? It’s your turn.” She pressed, growing impatient with her sister not for the first time this journey.

            “Oh, right. Um...” Maeve turned back to gaze out the window. At sixteen years old she was used to feigning interest to appease her siblings, but no matter how hard she looked she couldn’t focus. The birds had disappeared, those trees would have almost been depressing if they had lingered in her vision for any longer and beyond that the misty afternoon provided few other points of interest. Then again, she may just not have been in the mood. She shrugged and mumbled, “No idea”. Hope protested to her parents about her sister’s reluctance to play then turned to her younger brother Fred, poking him until he put his game down.

            “Just play nice guys, not long to go now.” Zoe barely looked to the back seat; this wasn’t the first time she’d settled arguments today.

            Raymond took his eyes off the dreary road for a second to glance to his side. “You alright honey?”

            “I’m okay,” she paused, her reddened eyes glancing out the window again as if looking for a distraction. She cracked a nostalgic smile, “Weather’s true to form, miserable.”

*

“Weather’s shit.” Lewis broke the silence in their car, glancing directly above him as best he could, looking for a break in the impenetrable cloud. Cara had barely echoed his thoughts before their eldest had mimicked his father’s assessment. The ten-year-old proudly impersonated his dad to his toddler of a brother. “Orson! Language!”

            “You said it Daddy!” Orson chimed back; the sense of pride being replaced by complacency.

            “Well, I’m an adult, I can say that kind of stuff!” Lewis argued in a sterner tone. Generally a man of a quiet demeanour, he’d adopt a serious voice for addressing Orson in times like these.

            “Both of you calm down!” Cara erupted, sighing afterwards as she eased her grip on the steering wheel. The two settled down, Orson muttering ‘he said it’ under his breath as Lewis raised an eyebrow in his direction.

            Tensions subsided into an uneasy silence. The unusually dense mist encroached on their stretch of the journey as well, lending an almost claustrophobic feel as Cara squinted to catch sight of the road itself further than ten yards. Not that it mattered, these roads were always quiet, particularly in the harsh winter months. Just as they remembered them. Left to the silence Lewis’s thoughts began to dwell on their destination and the memories that came with it. However, before they could take hold the tot, Cooper, broke the silence from his car seat with an ill pronounced “Shit”. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh.

*

Elsewhere a classic Ford Escort darted around the country roads of North Wales. Closer inspection betrayed its antique image. Very much a relic long past its prime, fumes sputtered from the exhaust as it accelerated around the winding path. Inside the driver peered through what little windows the damaged wipers could reveal ahead. Sat alone in this derelict car Idris had elected to blare Led Zeppelin as loud as he could lest he be left alone with his thoughts. With each corner a cascade of loose items would rattle in the back; bags of snacks and empty cans composing a chaotic backing track to the already eclectic Bonzo’s Montreux.

            Checking his watch every five minutes he knew he was running late; tardiness was a defining trait of his. The oppressive weather wasn’t helping either, not that he wasn’t used to the unwelcoming winters his childhood home could offer. The road from London had felt particularly long this time, and the nature of his visit gave the landscape itself a foreboding quality. The rolling green hills almost beckoned him, not as an invitation but an obligation. He began to grimace at the thought of his beautiful home warping into this inevitable destination until the setting sun broke through the clouds. Its piercing light ironically made visibility even worse for a moment, yet as the clouds parted and the mists rested lower on the fields, he felt a twinge of happiness. These were more like the roads he cherished.

            The layer of rainwater across their surface stopped spattering underneath the wheels as he eased his foot from the pedal. He decided to slow down so that he could take in the views in the last light of the day.

*

Zoe was awash with memories as they navigated the narrow path to their childhood home, Arfryn. She’d visited often, only living a few miles down the road in the quaint village below but, having rushed back from a family holiday this time, it was as if they were approaching it anew. The sweltering heat of abroad and the crisp evening they now had in Gwynedd were worlds apart. There couldn’t be a more fitting name than ‘On a Small Hill’, it was nestled up in the side of a hill beyond overgrown woods through which this small muddy road cleaved a modest path. What sunlight remained cast a dappled shadow under the trees.

            Eventually their family car rolled up the steep incline to what looked like an ancient wooden gate. Zoe stepped out to lift it from its latch as Ray drove onwards, taking a moment to take in the entirety of the house ahead. The oak that hung over the hillside looked even grander than last month when she had seen it last. It was as if it was cast in shadow though, a sullen cloud hung over this once comforting sight. Zoe knew exactly why, stepping to catch up with the rest nonetheless. As Ray stepped out of the car, he noticed a sleek motorcycle already propped alongside his father in law’s car.

            “Looks like we were beaten here...” Zoe noted, the bike belonged to her eldest sibling, Aria.

            “No beating one of those, plus we had a couple of extra thousand miles to cover don’t forget.” Ray explained as he unlocked the child lock. “C’mon guys, let’s go say hi to grandad.”

            It wasn’t long before the front door creaked open and a sheep dog came bounding out to meet them. He jumped up to Zoe before excitedly rushing to the children who all began to fuss over him. They ruffled Gelert’s thick black and white fur as he went from one to the other. An old gentleman now stood in the doorway, Merfyn. The white wisps that made up his hair and beard only made his face appear paler, and where he usually would’ve beckoned his beloved dog back to him, he merely began to approach his family with open arms. Zoe rushed to him and without a word they embraced. She caught sight of Aria leaning in the doorway before closing her eyes in her father’s shoulder.

            “I’m so sorry.” She said.

            “Me too.” Was all that her father could offer in reply, his voice cracking.

            By the time sympathies were being traded another family car pulled up, and out of it stepped Lewis and his lot. The sun had almost set by the time Idris pulled into the driveway twenty minutes later, the sides of his car nearly covered completely in mud from the trek up. He emerged wearing the same leather jacket he’d been wearing for the past ten years or so. While tattered, the fur lined collar that hugged his neck created a recognisable silhouette for Lewis as he approached to meet his younger brother.

            “That piece of crap still runs?” He exclaimed as he stepped out to meet him.

            “With enough motivation.” Idris chuckled stepping in for a hug, the two patting each other’s backs almost aggressively. Idris was encompassed in Lewis’s grip, his brother’s large build only further emphasised by the heavy knit woollen jumper he wore. He was far from imposing however, his rounded face and finely rimmed glasses portrayed his inviting nature well. The two were unmistakably brothers yet had lived different lives in recent years, Lewis’s edges had softened from family life whereas Idris’s overgrown beard and dishevelled look spoke of a man less settled.

            “You’ve gotten soft since I saw you last.” Idris teased.

            “Kids will do that to you.” Lewis patted his stomach emphatically, “Besides, you haven’t been around to spar with in months, man’s going to let himself slip you know.”

            Idris awkwardly held the back of his neck. His brother was right, they hadn’t boxed together in years, and not for a lack of Lewis’s invitations. He abashedly agreed, “Yeah...”

            “Come on in man, you kept us all waiting.” Lewis gestured with a warm smile as he accompanied him inside.

            The mist had set once more and dimmed the outside light above the front door, bathing the stone facade of the house in an almost historical glow. Stepping inside merely cemented the aged impression of the home. Exposed stonework lined the walls against which quaint but rickety furniture had been placed. Much of it was crafted and decorated by the occupants themselves over the years, and despite being cobbled together tied the interior together by affiliation. Dim lights again sapped any modernity from the hallway yet allowed the orange glow emanating from the living room ahead to draw even greater focus. Quiet conversation muted as Idris stepped in and saw his family all together for the first time in quite some time.

            The living room wasn’t vast but had numerous seats brought in to accommodate for everyone, all tucked around the small roaring fireplace. Lewis went to his family who had arranged themselves on the sofa. Cara shuffled Orson and Cooper up to make room as their father sank into the seat. Across from them Zoe had taken a wing back chair with Raymond almost perched on the arm, Maeve, Hope and Fred all huddled on the rug below. Aria slipped her phone away before acknowledging her younger brother, the purple pinkish streaks in her hair illuminated by the fire she’d squatted next to. Finally in the centre of the room was Merfyn, sat in the dusty old chair he’d always used, Gelert laying dutifully by his side. Idris had pictured a broken man on the phone but seeing his father in person surrounded by his children and grandchildren painted a different scene. He looked rested, relieved even by the current company. Yet the bustle of having so much of the Elderkin family in one room couldn’t hide the fact that one was missing. Derwen, Merfyn’s beloved wife and the mother and grandmother to all those in this room.

            The family talked through to the early hours of the morning. Siblings dutifully took it in turns to prepare hot chocolates and warming whiskies in the quaint kitchen, with every dusty mug long unseen being fished out to make up the numbers. Orson relished the chance to catch up with his cousins, especially Fred who was just two years older than him. Maeve was torn between the play of the children and the adult topics being discussed, feeling unsure of which she should be leaning towards if any. She ultimately settled on the company of the dog, the large shaggy beast proved to be a particularly effective blanket as the fire died down. Not that its flames went unattended for long as Merfyn made sure to keep it stoked at the slightest sign of cooling. Never having been a man to stay still for any length of time, the others felt he simply needed to be occupied, especially now. Once all the children bar Maeve had been put to bed upstairs the topic of conversation veered to formalities, a topic Merfyn had decided to avoid until now.

            Derwen had passed yesterday during the night. Peacefully they were told. Though she was in her early seventies and healthy, the doctors considered it to be a perfectly natural end. ‘Just one of those things’ Merfyn quoted regretfully. He’d felt guilt at her passing at first, a few years her senior and with what he often described as frequent flyers discount to the hospital, he’d always believed he’d be the first to go. Yet here he was. Tears welled as the reality set in once more, the warmth of the reunion now fading to the bitter cold of their loss. Maeve stood up and fled upstairs leaving a confused Gelert to right himself. Zoe went to follow but Merfyn insisted he’d see to her.

            Her quiet whimpering could be heard as he crept up the stairs, stressing not to step on any of the creaking steps he’d memorised over the years. A moment was taken to gather his breath before he stepped in. Only the faint moonlight lit Zoe’s old room, barely illuminating Maeve who had curled into a ball on her mother’s old bed below the window. Merfyn navigated his way between Hope, Fred and Orson who were all fast away in their sleeping bags on the floor so that he could plant himself on the end of the bed. He clenched one hand in the other, fidgeting with discomfort from his arthritis. His face was calm with repose however, shifting focus from the night sky to fixate on his wedding ring. He’d often looked to it for strength since Derwen’s passing. It was an unusual item she’d given to him; a deep wooden inlay ran through the dull silver ring. Far from conventional he truly admired its simplicity and felt it spoke of their love better than anything. A natural bond that had little need for gilded trinkets.

            “She wouldn’t want you to be crying over her like this. She’d be overjoyed to see all of you under the same roof again...” His focus remained on the ring, he fretted to look at her directly just yet lest he begin crying again himself. Apart from the sniffling from under the hoodie she’d pulled over her head the room was silent during the pause. Merfyn continued to whisper, “And you know if she was here, she’d be putting a stop to it, she’d be wiping those tears away faster than you could cry them. Stuffing your face with chocolates, singing you songs, and how could I forget the tickles!”

Maeve tried to hold back her giggles as her grandfather began to attack all her ticklish spots. It didn’t take much to make her sit up, the smile on her face contrasting with the streaks of tears that shone on her cheeks.

            “It’s just hard, she always...” Maeve drifted off as she struggled to articulate her thoughts. Then she got up and pulled an old book from the bookshelf beside the bed. She brushed a patch of dust from the cover to reveal the title clearly, ‘The Mabinogi’. A collection of Celtic mythology and Arthurian tales, this tome of Welsh stories had been a favourite of hers ever since Derwen had read it to her as a child. “The heroes don’t just die; they don’t just abandon their families for no reason. Where’s the message, how am I meant to be okay with this if she isn’t here to explain the meaning behind it all.”

            “I know...I know.” Merfyn relented for a moment as he watched Maeve flick through the pages of her childhood stories, fruitlessly looking for answers. He thought of the tale of Gelert, not his dog but the hound of legend he’d named him after. “Maybe it’s what you decide to make of it.” Maeve stopped flicking and looked up, dubious of how her feelings could be alleviated yet curious nonetheless. “Grandma and I never told you what to think of these tales explicitly, heck they don’t even tell you themselves. Just look at Gelert, he was ever faithful to Llywelyn the Great but that didn’t stop his master from suspecting the worst of him. Remember he came home to find his baby’s crib overturned and blood on Gelert’s snout?”

            “I remember the story grandad.” Maeve answered bluntly, still waiting for the moment Merfyn made it all make sense to her.

            “Well, nobody told him to assume the worst of Gelert did they? He made the decision to slay his most faithful companion himself, only to discover Gelert had killed a wolf to protect the baby. Well maybe we’re at that moment right now. Should we give up, assume the worst of the situation? God knows I did for a time but seeing you all here now I’m choosing to remember what she left behind. I can’t pretend it’ll be easy, or like anything will ever be the same again, but we owe it to her to try. The situation isn’t the be all and end all of it, it’s what you make of it.” Merfyn cleared his throat then took a deep breath, a moment to attempt to summarise his point in his mind before he looked Maeve in the eyes. “I think what I’m trying to say is as long as we’re here she isn’t gone. Not so long as we choose. Carry her memory onwards, don’t let it die.”

            Maeve didn’t try to speak as another small smile cut through the tears. She leaned in for a hug and the two sat there for a moment in the dark. Merfyn eventually eased away and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “We’re going to get through this.” He whispered as he stood up to leave before turning and looking at the old book on her lap. Holding up his left hand to display his wedding ring he said, “I’ve got this to remember her by. You should keep the book; she’d have wanted you to have it.”

            Conversation had also turned to memories downstairs. The worry had given way to lively accounts of their childhood in this house. Raymond and Cara sat back and enjoyed laughing at the four siblings pointing to moments of disaster that had occurred around them.

            “Remember the Halloween of ‘96?” Aria grinned mischievously at Idris.

            “How could I forget; I remember I was three weeks old and in the prime of my life.” Idris boasted, in truth, unable to remember the Halloween of 1996.

            Aria laughed the remark off and continued, “Mate you were five...or six? Either way remember me and Lewis had hidden that walkie talkie in the pumpkin-”

            “I wasn’t even ten years old! Don’t act like you weren’t the mastermind dragging my innocent youth into it!” Lewis interrupted, attempting to save face.

            Aria soldiered on intent on finishing the tale. “Could’ve sworn it was all your idea! Regardless we had Idris alone in here with nothing but a pumpkin we’d put a walkie talkie inside. We start talking through it, ‘Iiidriiis cooome heeere’,” she took a moment to collect herself, starting to titter, “next thing you know the tea light inside catches the walkie talkie, setting the whole thing on fire. We’re in the next room so we’ve got no idea as we carry on with our evil laughs whilst this pumpkin’s going up in flames! Poor little guy was mortified!”

            “Yeah, it’s all coming back.” Idris admitted, “The therapy too.”

            “Man...” Lewis sighed after the laughter of the room died down, “Mum could’ve killed us after that, almost did.”

            “Didn’t appreciate me noting your ingenuity either!” Merfyn remarked emerging from the doorway. “She couldn’t stay angry at any of you for long though, had you all getting on together right as rain afterwards, all those ghoulish games she’d put together for you.”

            Zoe noted the wistful smile draw across her father’s face, the first she’d seen all night. “How’s Maeve?”

            “She’ll be fine, she’s nose deep in your mother’s books again.” Merfyn assured Zoe before he sat back down and picked up where they’d left off.

*

Over the coming days events went very much to plan as any grieving family could hope. Derwen was cremated as per her wishes, the service a small yet poignant affair. Family friends paid their respects, the village priest gave a touching eulogy having got to know Derwen closely over the years. The ashes were scattered a few minutes from the house, from the top of the headland onto the shores of the sea below. A life's worth seemed so immeasurable to Merfyn, yet years and years had all come to an end within a week.

            The weather seemed unnaturally kind that afternoon, the mists still crept on the lowlands, but the sun shone on the Elderkins up on that precipice. Its rays seemed to relax the group; the air was still a biting cold yet one by one they felt a warmth inside. Maeve however found her focus elsewhere, on a flock of birds that spiralled above. Raising a hand to block the glare she felt they were familiar, ravens perhaps. She squinted to get a better look, though the more she focused the more she struggled to maintain her concentration. An odd sense of elation washed over her, a feeling beyond her control. This change in mood didn’t seem to strike the group as strange, or even register at all, as they stood in silence for a while. Only the good memories prevailed in those moments.