16

The next morning was bright, birds were singing in the trees, and although he wouldn’t say when he expected them to reach the village, Cynddylig seemed eager. Perhaps it was another ladyfriend he expected to find, September wondered. Tudfwlch too seemed keen to visit a new place. The river was still much the same, a wide, green expanse of flowing water with tall trees along the banks. It was mid-afternoon when September noticed the same changes as she had noticed when they had approached Abercyflym. The trees on the south, left-hand bank thinned out and there were signs of agriculture, but much as she searched the clearings she could see no sign of people working on the land. The trees on the bank gave way to wooden buildings clustered around a short pier. Cynddylig steered towards the village and Tudfwlch stood in the bow grasping the rope. There was no one by the waterside and no call went out to show they had been seen.

“Is everyone in the fields?” September asked. Cynddylig didn’t answer but slowed the boat down to bring her alongside the wooden jetty. Tudfwlch jumped off and tied the rope around a bollard, then reached out to help September out of the boat.

“I don’t like this silence,” Cynddylig said, pulling the tiller off the motor and stepping ashore with it in his hands.

“Neither do I,” Tudfwlch agreed, reaching into the bow of the boat and lifting out his sword in its scabbard. He tucked it into the belt around his tunic.

“Shouldn’t someone have noticed us by now?” September asked.

“Yes,” Cynddylig said, “That’s what worries me. Stay close.”

They walked along the jetty to the bank. There was a row of a dozen small houses along the bank but a dusty street went inland from the end of the jetty. It too was lined with wooden shacks, with wooden doors and shuttered windows. They approached the corner house. Cynddylig went up to the door and rapped on it with the handle of the tiller. The sound echoed eerily. September realised that there was no noise at all. There were no birds in the sky or sitting on the roof-tops or pecking at the grit in the street. Just silence.

Cynddylig pushed on the door and it swung open. September looked into a living room with a table and stools. One of the stools was tipped over. There were plates and bowls and a jug on the table. Cynddylig stepped back into the street.

“Let’s try somewhere else,” he said.

They walked three abreast up the street, away from the river. Tudfwlch went and banged on the door of the next building. Again the sound disturbed the unnatural peace but there was no response. He opened the door and a similar sight confronted them; a table set for a meal but stools overturned and no sign of any occupants. The same was the case at the house opposite and the next and the next. In some there were signs of the owners’ occupation, a loom, a carpenter’s workbench, a cobbler’s last, but no workers. All had left their tools behind. They moved slowly up the mud-paved street growing more agitated as they found home after home deserted and signs of a hurried departure. September began to notice a smell, a foetid, noxious odour which grew stronger the further they moved along the road.

They were approaching the last house in the street and then there was an open space with a low fence around it, a village green or meeting place. The smell had grown stronger and September covered her mouth and nose with her cloak.

“I think I can see the villagers,” Cynddylig said, taking a few steps forward to the fence at the edge of the field.

“Where?” September asked, looking to the trees and bushes beyond the field.

“There.” Cynddylig pointed into the field. With their khaki and beige clothes and covered with a thin layer of sandy dust September’s eyes had not recognised the lumpy surface of the field for what it was – bodies, dozens of them. They stepped up to the fence but did not go further for fear of stepping on a body of a man, woman or child, each fallen where they had been struck down. September didn’t want to look but her eyes were drawn from one to the next, each showing a huge bloody wound. Some had limbs or head almost severed from their bodies, others great gashes in their torsos. September felt sick, was sick. She retched, spilling her breakfast and lunch over the dusty grass. Tudfwlch placed an arm across her shoulder while Cynddylig crouched down.

“Who? How? Why?” September gasped between spitting the foul, acidic fluid from her mouth. She rubbed her hip. Her birthmark had started to itch.

“What brought them out here, all together?” Tudfwlch asked, “They must all have rushed from their houses at once.”

“Someone must have raised the alarm and they all ran here, to their meeting place, to find out what was happening” Cynddylig said, “and then they must have been surrounded and slaughtered. They were dead before they knew what was happening.”

“Why?” September repeated.

“There’s no reason. Just the Adwyth. I told you it turns one man against another.”

“But murder, a massacre? It must have been a gang of terrorists.” September was still unable to fully grasp the horror that faced her. The itch had grown to an annoyance.

“No, they wouldn’t have all left their homes and assembled here if they were being attacked by outsiders. People they knew lured them here.”

A cry came from the trees to their right and a band of men and women came running towards them. They too were dressed in the typical clothes of the villagers.

“Oh, there are still some alive,” September said.

“But we won’t be if we don’t leave.” Tudfwlch shouted, “Run!”

September looked again and saw that each and every one of the villagers, fast approaching them, carried a weapon – a sickle, a machete, a short sword, a hammer. Their cries were not ones of welcome but of attack.

September turned to run with Tudfwlch and Cynddylig down the street towards the river. She took two steps and caught her feet in the low hem of the cloak. She tumbled to the ground. Tudfwlch turned back and grabbed her arm.

“Come on, they’ll kill us without a thought,” Cynddylig shouted, pausing in his flight. September gathered up the cloak around her waist and ran with Tudfwlch. They were halfway down the street, with the jetty and their little boat in sight, when another group of villagers appeared around the corner and ran up the street towards them. They too brandished weapons. September and her companions shuddered to a halt.

“We’re going to have to fight,” Tudfwlch said, drawing his sword.

“Aye, lad, it looks like it,” Cynddylig placed a firm grip on the tiller.

“Should we go into a house?” September gasped, her heart racing.

“They’ll have us trapped, if we go inside,” Tudfwlch said. He dragged September into an alcove between two of the houses. Cynddylig and Tudfwlch stood side by side in the narrow gap facing onto the street.

The two bands of villagers joined up and with an incoherent roar launched themselves towards their targets. Just one or two at a time could attack swinging their weapons wildly with those behind pushing forward. Cynddylig fended off their blows with the long tiller while Tudfwlch cut and thrust with his sword. Each strike drew blood. The first two attackers fell but they were dragged aside and two more stepped over them to renew the assault. September cowered behind her pair of protectors stunned by the ferociousness of the attack. The faces were contorted into caricatures of humanity. They wailed and growled and screamed as their weapons rose and fell. The clash of iron on iron and the screams as the attackers were pierced by Tudfwlch’s blade deafened and scared her. One after another was felled but their attackers just stamped over the fallen to take up the fight. Slowly, step by step Tudfwlch and Cynddylig were forced backwards. They were weakening, struggling to block the blows of the attackers.

It was as if a calm had settled on her. She no longer heard the screams and shouts. The flailing arms were just a blur. September realised that Tudfwlch and Cynddylig were protecting her yet she had the means of their defence. With Tudfwlch’s broad shoulders pressing against her she struggled to reach inside her cloak. Her fingers found the locket and she drew it out. She undid the clasp revealing the starstone. She raised it up in her hand above the heads of her defenders. What could she say? She had no idea of spells or commands. There was just one thing she wanted.

“Be gone!”

Perhaps it was being in a narrow gap but the quality of her voice was changed, like singing in the bathroom. Instead of just a shout or scream, her voice resounded. Her words filled the air. A dome of blue light formed over the three of them and then expanded like the air bag in a car, inflating in an instant. Everything in its path – the buildings around them, the attackers – were blown away. There was a noise like a long roll of thunder directly overhead. September, Cynddylig and Tudfwlch fell to the ground in a heap of limbs.

Dust slowly settled on them and there was quiet. The three of them struggled to their feet and looked around. Everything in a circle around them as far as the waterfront was flattened. The beams and planks used to construct the buildings were broken into splinters. Amongst the ruins were the scattered bodies of their attackers, dismembered and bloody.

Cynddylig wiped a sleeve over his dusty face.

“Well! I’m a Cemegwr! That’s some power you have there, lady,” he said, “I think you should put it away now.”

September noticed that her right hand was still gripping the stone. She closed the case and slid it back inside the cloak.

“I didn’t know...” she said, not sure what she was trying to say. She had no plan so had no idea what would happen when the power of the Maengolauseren was unleashed against people.

“I am just thankful you did something,” Tudfwlch said, “I don’t think I had the energy to hold them all off.”

“Let’s get away from here,” Cynddylig said, stepping gingerly across the debris and heading towards the jetty.

The boat bobbed on the river as if nothing had happened, but when they were aboard and looked back they could see a huge circle of destruction.

“What about all those bodies in the field?” September said.

“Nothing we can do,” Cynddylig said, fitting the notched and scarred tiller back on the rudder, “We’ll have to leave them to the birds and the worms.” He reversed the boat away from the pier and turned upstream.

In a few minutes the ruins of Glanyrafon were out of sight. Despite the afternoon heat September shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched herself down amongst the sacks.

“What happened there?” she asked.

“The work of the Adwyth,” Cynddylig replied.

“But how?”

“Some of the villagers, those that attacked us, fell under the evil influence and lured their fellows to their deaths.”

“Why did they become evil?”

Cynddylig shrugged. “There are many ways that the Malevolence can get into a person’s blood and turn them.”

“Did you see the people you were expecting to meet?”

“Gwilym and Dona, my brother and his wife? No, they were not among the attackers.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen him or Dona for years. Won’t now. I expect they’re lying hacked to pieces in the meeting field. At least that’s better than dying as a slave of the Malevolence.”

September realised that the attackers were dead because of her.

“I killed all those people,” she said.

“They would have killed us.”

“Yes, but perhaps if I had known how to use the stone better I could have stopped them attacking us and got rid of the evil in them.”

“No, lass. Once the evil is inside a person they change forever. Their mind is eaten away by the evil and they become an extension of the Adwyth. If anything, killing them saved them from themselves.”

September wasn’t totally convinced. “But why is it that I don’t think to use the stone until I’m being attacked? You and Tudfwlch were fighting to protect me.”

“I don’t know how the power of the Maengolauseren works, lady. Perhaps it requires strong emotions before its power can be directed.”

“The only emotion I have had so far when I have used it is fear.”

“There you are. Perhaps the Mordeyrn and the Arsyllfa will help you control your emotions and thereby direct the Starstone to your bidding. I am just grateful that you used it today. I’m sure Tudfwlch is too.”

September turned to face the bow. Tudfwlch had been silent since they had left the village.

“Tudfwlch, are you feeling alright?”

He turned slowly to answer. His face was pale and his clothes were splashed with blood. She thought that it was the blood of the attackers but then she saw that he was holding his right hand and blood was dripping from it.

“Oh, Tudfwlch. You’re injured. Why didn’t you say?”

“It’s only a small cut in my hand. It’s a bit sore. Worst thing is it’s my sword hand.”

“Lass, come and take the tiller. I’ve got some cloth somewhere that we can wind round Tudfwlch’s hand to stop the bleeding.”

September scrambled over the bags and barrels to take Cynddylig’s place in the stern.

“Just hold her steady and pointed up the middle of the river,” he said as she settled, nervously gripping the tiller in her right hand. Cynddylig crawled forward, pausing to open a bag and take out some cloth which he tore into strips. Tudfwlch offered his hand and Cynddylig bound it tightly with the cloth.

“There lad. That should stop the bleeding. You fought skillfully back there. Iorwerth has taught you how to wield a sword well.” Tudfwlch produced a thin smile then returned to silently watching the water go by. Cynddylig scrambled back but took the seat on the right of the tiller.

“You carry on lass. You’re holding her line well. Have you handled a boat in your world?”

“Not really. We had a day sailing with one of my uncles but he wouldn’t let me steer. He probably thought I’d crash the boat. It’s the sort of thing that usually happens to me.” She was pretty useless at everything, September reflected, but here speeding along the river she felt different, more confident.

“Ah, well, I’ll keep an eye on the engine while you keep us straight.”

September was surprised how quickly the time passed while she was concentrating on holding the course of the boat. That and Cynddylig’s tales of boats he had known and trips he had made kept her mind off the events at Glanyrafon. With the Sun dropping into the river, Cynddylig slowed the boat.

“I think this will be our berth for tonight,” he said. “Steer into the left bank, lass.” He pointed and September saw the patch of beach he was directing her towards. Quite confidently she steered the craft towards the shore. Just before they grounded, Tudfwlch raised himself, climbed over the side and waded through the water hauling the boat onto the shingle.

They made camp and September busied herself getting the wood for the fire as Tudfwlch seemed a little lethargic.

“Are you feeling okay, Tudfwlch?”

“Hand’s a bit sore,” he said. September felt there was more.

“You’re worried about something.” There was a pause before Tudfwlch spoke.

“Well, it’s like this. I’ve never killed anyone before. Never used my sword to injure another person. I was scared September and I’m supposed to be protecting you.” The memory of those desperate moments filled her mind, the evil ones pressing on them with blades slashing. She recalled Tudfwlch parrying the strikes and making every one of his thrusts count.

“You did protect me. You fought well. I’m very grateful.”

“But, I can feel my sword slicing through flesh, the blood, the tissues spilling out. I’m not sure I can go through that again.”

“I hope we don’t have to, but you did what you needed to do.” She recalled what Cynddylig had told her, “They weren’t people anymore, Tudfwlch. As Cynddylig said, they were slaves of the Malevolence.” Tudfwlch nodded in agreement and collected his bowl of steaming broth from Cynddylig.

They ate in silence coming to terms with the day’s events. September was relieved when the Mordeyrn called. She felt she needed to tell the story, to share it and distance herself from it. The Mordeyrn was appalled by her tale.

“I was worried that a single servant of the Malevolence in the village may have become aware of your presence but I had not anticipated a whole village being wiped out by the evil. I must congratulate you all on extricating yourselves from the situation.”

“Cynddylig and Tudfwlch fought them off until I used the stone.”

“Ah, yes, the stone. I know you had to use its power but it must have been like a beacon to the Malevolence. It will feel your presence in the Land and focus its forces on the region through which you are travelling. You must keep the stone hidden to avoid providing any more clues to your whereabouts.”

“Oh, I will.”

“I hope you can avoid any further encounters with the servants of evil. Tomorrow I will arrive at the Arsyllfa and there at last I will have the assistance and the resources to provide you with some guidance on your journey.”

“Thank you, Aurddolen.” September was not too sure what the Mordeyrn would be able to do from his observatory in the hills, hundreds of kilometres away.

“Cast away thoughts of today’s events and sleep well.”

 

Sleep well she didn’t. All through the night she was troubled by visions of hordes of weapon waving villagers pressing on her and no sign of Cynddylig, Tudfwlch or anyone to help her. There was just a feeling of someone or something unseen watching her. At last when it was just turning light she heard Cynddylig stoking the fire and preparing breakfast. She struggled out of her sleeping bag and shivered in the cold morning air. Having dealt with her morning necessities, a ritual after a few days of living rough, she rubbed her birthmark which was still itching a little, then went to help Cynddylig. Tudfwlch was lying in his bed, still but moaning.

“Tudfwlch, it’s time we were on our way,” Cynddylig called. There was no reply. Cynddylig went and knelt by his side, “What’s wrong lad?” Tudfwlch turned his face towards the older man.

“He looks feverish,” Cynddylig said to September, “let’s have a look at that hand.” September joined him beside Tudfwlch as he drew his injured hand from within the sleeping bag. September could tell from the smell that things weren’t right. Cynddylig unwound the bandage, unsticking it from the putrescent flesh.

“It only looked like a nick when I bound it yesterday,” Cynddylig said angrily, “It’s badly infected.”

“What can you do?” September asked.

“We need arian, and the cludydd.”

“Well, I have silver,” September said, “it was Arianwen’s gift, the silver locket and chain which holds the Starstone.”

Cynddylig brightened.

“That’s something. We don’t have the words to invoke the power of Lleuad but the arian will do some good. But how do we use it without revealing the Maengolauseren?”

September thought for a moment then reached inside her cloak to the back of her neck and lifted the chain over her head. She held the locket and chain in one hand beneath the cloak and leaned over Tudfwlch. She took the yellow pus-ridden hand in hers, grimacing as she did so, and slid it inside her cloak. She wound the silver chain around the hand and pressed the locket to the wound.

“What do I do now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Hold it there and just imagine the hand healed I suppose.”

September summoned up an image of Tudfwlch’s young, smooth hands.

“I’ll load the boat. You stay there.” Cynddylig continued. He rose to his feet and busied himself with breaking camp. September found that to keep Tudfwlch’s hand under her cloak she had to kneel awkwardly. Her back started to ache.

After what seemed like many minutes Cynddylig returned.

“Right, let’s see what it looks like.”

September loosened the chain and released Tudfwlch’s hand. It slipped out of her cloak and she gasped. It was unmarked; there was no sign of infection, no sign of a wound at all.

“You’re some healer,” Cynddylig said, “Let’s get him up and on to the boat.” They dragged the sleeping bag off Tudfwlch and helped him to his feet. He was still weak and groggy and leaned heavily on Cynddylig as they staggered to the boat. September replaced the locket around her neck then picked up Tudfwlch’s belongings and followed behind.

The Sun was already above the trees in the east as they set off, with Tudfwlch slumped in the bow.

“Will he be better now?” September asked.

“I should think so. You’ve healed his hand, so I expect he will recover quickly.”