Chapter 20 - The Battle of the Trees

By James Attwood

Maeve threw a gnawed stick lazily towards the bank of the lake, she’d been playing fetch with Gelert for a while now. This opening from the dense tangle of the forest was bathed in a bright yet crisp sunshine, an idyllic setting for their little game, yet her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t bear the waiting. It had only been a few hours, yet it had felt like days. What’s taking the others so long? Hope and Fred had always moaned at her for slowing them down, she couldn’t imagine what might be keeping them now. Perhaps this is where Gwydion had vanished to, to capture her siblings when they were all alone. No, don’t be silly, uncle Idris is with them.

Even if she weren’t waiting, even if they were reunited right this moment, she’d still have no idea what to do. She wanted desperately to take up her father’s wish, to run and never look back. But she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t feel some connection to this world, some sense of responsibility. The Salmon of Llyn Llyw, Gwydion, Efnysien, Blodeuwedd, Ceridwen, Taliesin, Myrddin, and now Twrch Trwyth...what am I supposed to make of all this? A nudge at her feet saw her brought back to reality, Gelert sat patiently waiting for her to throw the stick once more.

            “Sorry Gelert, I was daydreaming.” She apologized, scratching at his ears. “You’ll have to tell me your secret, you always seem to know what’s what.”

            “Oh, to be as carefree as a dog.” Taliesin smiled and squat next to her on the verge, “It would be a gift in times like these.”

            “Did mum and dad send you to keep an eye on me?”

            “Well, not exactly. They were worried of course, as was I, and we really should be inside…and we’re related don’t forget, I’m you’re...something or other.” Taliesin tripping over his words was a rare sight. He was used to entranced children. Moody teenagers, he was discovering, were not his strong suit. “Need I remind you you’re being hunted by one of the most dangerous men in the realm?”

            “I know.” Maeve huffed; she knew they all meant the best, “I just couldn’t bear to spend another minute inside that hut waiting, knowing they’re still out there.”

            “I quite understand.” Taliesin twiddled his thumbs, as uneasy as Maeve was beneath his touted charisma. “Reminds of a time with Arthur and Myrddin...I suppose you’d know…”

            “It’s okay, I’ve never heard any of the stories from the man himself.” Maeve smiled, recognising the legend that sat next to her was simply a person, trying his best. “I’d like to know what kind of man my great grandfather was…”

            “Oh Myrddin, no man with a greater wit for legends will you ever find. The stories might speak most favourably of Arthur, but he was only as great as the men he chose to surround himself with, that was perhaps the king’s truest quality. And of those, your great grandfather, was undoubtedly the wisest.” Taliesin eyes glazed over with sweet nostalgia, as if he spoke of his own flesh and blood that had passed.

            “But...if he was so wise, why did he choose to save my grandmother and not Pryderi...would any of this be happening if Pryderi were here now, if Gwydion had never killed him?” Maeve doubted her own worth over the worth of a king. “There was never a prophecy about the Elderkins, you know?”

            “Maeve, even the wisest of men cannot avoid the pitfalls of love. What Myrddin did that day wasn’t deliberated over or schemed at, it was a father’s last hope for his daughter. What worth is there in being wise or strong or brave if kindness is a mystery to you.” Taliesin leaned forward and spoke with nary a grand gesture, only from the heart. “His decision may not have been foretold, there may be no prophecy or purpose to be gleamed from it to this day. But what greater lesson is there than the story we choose to write ourselves today? Those tales you read in your book were once this very moment for myself, a precipice of decision above countless uncertain fates. Just like they were for your parents before you, and their parents before them. Everyone weaves their own tale whether they know it or not. All we can do is do our best, and pass on our stories to others, so that one day they too might be all that they could be.

            “Was there some profound significance to Myrddin’s decision that day? To Derwen’s life in another world? Perhaps not. But without it the Elderkins would not be standing together in this woodland today, and I’m sure you of all people Maeve, will bring your own meaning to what he did all those years ago. Folk say it is a quality of the Otherworld alone, that it is what we make of it, but I’ve always felt the same applies to this world as well.” Taliesin held her hand, seeing a kindred spirit in this girl, a girl who struggled in the shadow of the very stories that inspired her. “Do not let the burden of expectation weigh upon you, simply be who you wish to be, and from that a story will write itself. And where there’s a story, there’s always those who will listen. After all what would our realm be without the wisdom of Myrddin, the bravery of Arthur, the goodwill of Pwyll or, in fact, the kindness of Maeve.”

            Her lips thinned as she held a faint smile, a single tear evading her hand as it rolled down her cheek. “I hope I’m half as inspiring as you one day uncle Taliesin.”

            “Uncle?” He enthusiastically asked, the bruise above his brow fainter than ever in the winter sun.

            “Yeah, you feel like an uncle.” Maeve nodded, happier than ever to be in the company of this bard.

            “And you like the niece I never knew.” Taliesin proudly acknowledged in return. “Now I must ask that you throw that stick, your dog could become a saint with his patience.”

*

Inside the hut Zoe and Raymond bickered over what course of action to take as the crone tried her best to keep to herself. Zoe insisted holding Maeve closer would only see her run further when given the chance, whereas Raymond felt any distance they afforded her at a time like this was dangerous, a single mile may as well have been a thousand.

            “Now isn’t the time to give her space, she had space and was stolen from underneath us.” Raymond wanted nothing more than to drag his daughter back to their world and wait out this storm.

            “You can’t blame either of us for what happened that night Ray, what were we supposed to do.” Zoe found it difficult to appeal to the private void only she could see, but she’d found her imagination had taken over the role of her eyes quite ably. She remembered her husband’s every pore and imperfection and could see them now, even in the heat of this argument.

            “It doesn’t change the fact that we lost her.” He sighed, showing cracks he’d all too often hide. It wasn’t only his daughter he feared for, but for his own ability as a father to protect her. “That we could lose her again…”

            “But you found her, we found her.” Zoe reached out to him blindly, his hands finding hers. “It might seem like she’s pulling away from us, but I know in my heart that there’s no place she’d rather be than home with her family. Whatever happens when we walk out of this place, whoever stands in our way, it’s up to us to be there for her, not to deny her the chance to be who she is. You have to have faith that we’ll always find each other honey, no matter what.”

            “I know, I know.” His wife may not have been able to see him, but she could feel his heavy heart. “I think once I see all of them together again, Fred, Hope, Maeve, I’ll be able to relax again. Just be a dad you know.”

            “Me too...I wish I could see their faces just one last time…” Zoe muttered; her blank eyes sad with the memory of what she might never see again. She seemed to slip into a daze as she worried over their whereabouts, until her eyes began to flitter wildly.

            Suddenly she was elsewhere, transported to a dream instantaneously. No, not a dream, a future. She wandered the woodland, sight as clear as day, eyes without a body, flowing between the trees with the grace of a river carving its path. Ceridwen’s hut left behind, she soared deep into its depths, until a mound of wood and bodies blocked her flight. It was an edifice of sacrifice, dozens of deer tangled together in an affront to nature, and atop it sat a figure, cast in an unexplainable shade despite the beaming sun above. In a panic she fled back into the brush, far from this man, until she heard a familiar pair of voices. A girl and a boy. She hurtled closer, as fast as she could, and saw them there, a curious critter at their feet, following an owl that fluttered ahead. She wanted to call out, but she couldn’t, an inundating voice drowned out her own, a voice coming from the present.

            “Zoe! Love! What’s happening? Wake up!” Raymond shook her by the shoulders, panicking as she twitched in her bed. It appeared she’d fallen into a seizure, though Ceridwen showed little panic as she ambled over.

            Zoe came to slowly, head throbbing as she questioned what had happened, “I-uh-I was awake and then...I could see?”

            “A vision dear, the sight.” Ceridwen offered a small cup of her peculiar tea, cradled in her frail hands. “Nothing to worry about.”

            “Are they always that...alarming?” She sat up and sipped at the brew, its mossy aroma quickly planting her back in reality.

            “Rarely. Most times they’re little windows to the days to come, suggestions almost. Yet if one with the gift desires to see something so strongly, they might inexplicably force the occurrence.” The enchantress sauntered back over to her pot, gesturing to Raymond whether he desired a cup as well. “So, tell us, what was it you saw?”

            Zoe had to ponder the question for a moment, it was as if she’d been asked to describe a dream after waking, the experience already fragmented, blurry. One particular piece that she remembered seemed to bring all of them back into place however, “The children! I saw them Ray. Hope and Fred!”

            “Where!?” Raymond almost physically leapt at the question.

            “In this forest, not far from here I swear…an owl was showing them the way...I think it might have been Blodeuwedd…one of those bwbachs too…” Despite the joyous news her voice was disheartened, “No sign of Idris though.”

            “They must have been separated, or maybe you just couldn’t see-”

            “There was something else.” She interrupted, “Some kind of throne made up of dead animals and twisted roots...and a man…”

            “Gwydion…” Ceridwen hissed, standing up as the description offended her to the core. “How dare he commit such acts in my forest, right under my nose.”

            “How far were the kids from all this?” Insidious thoughts were emerging in Raymond’s mind.

            “Not far, I think, it was hard to tell.” Zoe was flustered, pulling accuracies from such a vague scene was difficult.

            “She could be leading them right to him.” He coldly suggested.

            “Blodeuwedd?” Ceridwen was bemused at the accusation.

            “She wouldn’t, not after all she’s done.” Zoe defended the maiden of flowers in kind, she’d more than proven herself to them she thought.

            “You heard her back in Arfryn, how awful life as that owl was. Now that she’s cursed again there’s only one man who can take it back.” Raymond’s words weren’t born of distrust but understanding, he’d witnessed first-hand how that life had affected Blodeuwedd. This is what he told himself at least, to justify his unmoving expectation of the worst.

            “Ray, I... I don’t know…” She doubted herself now, perhaps she had missed something.

            “Just try and focus, tell me which direction they were in.” Raymond’s focus narrowed down to a pinhead now, he’d bided his time on the promises of visions, he wouldn’t sit idly now that they’d told him his children were close. “Whatever is happening, I have to get to them before he does.”

*

“This is just how you kidnapped my cousin the other morning, dragging her away in ropes.” Orson mused back to their prisoner.

            “Oh, I’m well aware of the irony boy, don’t you worry.” Efnysien grumbled, loathe to be talked to in such a way by a child of all people.

            “Good.” The boy nodded, satisfied, “I was just making sure.”

            “You realise I could set these binds aflame...tear you from your ignorant father with ease like I did the girl.” Efnysien cursed the child, eliciting another tug on the rope that bound all but his legs, sending him toppling over an exposed root into the dirt. His limbs had returned anew and were being put through their paces by Lewis as he drove him forwards on this forced march.

            “Threaten my son again and I’ll happily fall back on the eternal torture plan, trust me I’d like nothing more than to hack you to pieces again.” Lewis felt thoroughly in control with the Sword of Rhydderch Hael in his grasp. The villain behind him craved death, a luxury he wouldn’t gift him even if he could, yet he wouldn’t see him free either.

            “Argh!” Efnysien’s protests never ceased, but he did little to fight back besides pull and spit empty threats. For a man so vocal, his surrender was evident. “And so what hm? What’s your brilliant plan? Why pull me along like some prize pig instead of avenging your family? You truly think Arawn would give a toss about my head?”

            “It was stupid of me to hope that a gag would shut you up.” Lewis tried to ignore the brute’s unending drivel; his disembodied voice clear to hear despite the rag wrapped tightly round his mouth.

            They trudged along the familiar path now, fresh saps popping up sporadically around them, young additions to the ancient woods they aimed for. The lion hobbled along, sore but miraculously well. The blade had cleaved a clean wound, deadly but easier to mend it appeared, albeit with the right tools. Orson dared not climb its back now, seeing fit to offer the beast some well-earned rest, though its watchful eye on the immortal told that it could never quite abandon its role as guardian. An abject look in its direction from Efnysien saw it snarl a most harmful promise.

            “I’ll finish putting you down and all.” The immortal sneered, ignorant to the sore grooves the ropes had dug into his every joint.

            “Leave him alone.” Orson nervously protected the lion as if it were Cooper limping beside him, they’d become quite close in this short time.

            “And what will you do if I don’t, eh boy?”

            “Why are you so mean?” Orson shot back before his father could intervene, “You get to live for so long and all you choose to be is mean.”

            Efnysien laughed aloud, quite genuinely, but neglected to answer the simple question.

            “Because he’s a bitter husk of a man Orson, life wasn’t easy for him, so he decided life shouldn’t be easy for anyone else.” Lewis refrained from using the more colourful phrases that came to mind, hoping to alleviate Orson’s curiosity without souring his outlook. In doing so he saw Efnysien in a new light himself.

            “And you know me so well, do you big man?” Efnysien dug his feet into the ground and pulled tight against his rope, halting Lewis’s steady pace. He wanted him to turn, to face him. “You know what it’s like to live a cursed life such as I have?”

            “I’d have no idea, but I’m familiar with how it all started. How you tore your family apart, pulled them into a war of your own instigation.” Lewis wouldn’t look at him, wearily tugging at the length to no avail.

            “You read a simpleton’s retelling and consider it the truth!? There was blame on both sides that day, Matholwch stole Branwen from our family, mistreated her and forced her to bear that child. Gwern wasn’t my nephew, he was nothing but a pile of lies, a hollow treaty between our kingdoms made flesh.” Efnysien rambled on, words rolling forth blindly in spite of the whole events. “They sought to betray Bendigeidfran and his court, my court, what I did that day was-”

            “Barbaric, idiotic...selfish.” Lewis turned and stared directly at him now, he’d had enough of Efnysien’s ignorance of his crimes, both past and present. “You insulted Branwen’s husband to be by butchering those horses, you forced Bendigeidfran’s hand to uphold the peace, you may as well have given Matholwch the cauldron yourself. Branwen was treated the way she was because of how much the people resented your actions Efnysien...you act as if you’re blameless, but can’t you see you’re the most to blame out of all of them? All these years to think on it and you’re still telling yourself this one-sided story?”

            An unexpected silence fell between them until Efnysien murmured, “I threw myself into that cauldron in the end, broke its endless cycle. I sacrificed myself to end it, to make right what I had wronged.”

            “But it didn’t end there did it, not for you. So many paid the price for your actions, but not you.” Lewis sighed; anger diminished to a bitter disappointment.

            “You thought it was my intention to be brought back, to awaken an ever-living monster from the ashes of my brothers?” For the first time in aeons, Efnysien felt as though he was being spoken to directly. Not around his temper, not behind his back, not in hushed whispers in his family’s court, but to his face. A notion he clearly struggled with.

            “Probably not, but what have you done with it? Besides wallow in your ‘curse’.” Lewis stood firm, Orson dutifully by his side as a gesture of support, glad his father was talking instead of fighting. “And now you’ve walked into Gwydion’s open arms, just to repeat the same mistakes. Why? Because he could click his fingers and make you talk again, give you your old face back?”

            “Because it was a chance to redeem myself, to become the man I once was!” Efnysien wouldn’t be brought low by the judgement of these strangers, squaring up to them in defiance. Despite this act his head hung back to the side, “To be the man I should have been for them.”

            “Those who chased you away?”

            “Those men? My distant descendants? No, I never knew them, my skin cooked black like a dragon’s prey, without a voice, how could I. They were as much strangers to me as I was to them.” His lips curled, face grimacing with a look of smug superiority, even bound as he was. “I speak of loyalty, the family I knew. Branwen, Bendigeidfran, Nisien…Gwydion’s cause is arguably theirs, arguably everyone’s. If I could see it done, perhaps we’d reside in the halls of the afterlife together once more. We could feast with pride, like the heroes of old.”

            “You’re not helping them...your family in Annwn…” Orson finally found the nerve to enter the discussion, remembering what Maeve had pondered on the Otherworld. “Gwydion’s a mean man, like you. He’s the one that broke it.”

            “You don’t think I know that boy? Must I also tell you he might be the only one who can mend it?” Efnysien crouched down to his level, glad to be putting a child in his place, or so he thought.

            “You must have fallen in deep, you and Gwydion both.” Orson wasn’t afraid of Efnysien anymore, he’d found new perspective lately, and saw him only as the broken and bitter man his father had labelled him as before.

            “Fallen in what?” Bemused the immortal stood back, eyebrows crooked, sensing he wasn’t in on whatever his captors were thinking.

            “You really think Gwydion is doing this out of the goodness of his heart, that he’s making up for what he did, that he’s trying to save his brother even?” Lewis decided to put their prisoner out of his misery. “He’s saving his own skin, nothing more. This isn’t some quest of redemption; you aren’t committing some great deed. Your family were probably resting just fine wherever they were, after all why would they be paying for your sins. But Gwydion’s turned all that on its head...helping him is the worst thing you could have done for them.”

            For once Efnysien seemed at a loss for words, his face contorting with confounded fury. “No, you’re wrong you two. You’ve no idea how this realm works, what lengths men like us must go to ensure it persists. There is a reason they tell stories of us! What does it matter, his motivation, if the ends are just all the same?”

            “You’re just a tool, why did you think he sought you out in the first place? Because of your skill, your heroism? Way I see it, you’re a backup plan. If he couldn’t find some descendant of Pwyll, then why not try an immortal who’s been denying death for a thousand years? Hell of a bargaining chip if you ask me.” Lewis’s suppositions were nothing but, yet each word cut at Efnysien’s resolve like that flaming sword had his flesh.

            “I swear I’ll cut you all down, show you my worth before king Arawn himself.” Efnysien’s threats brimmed with disdain. He no longer hated his captivity, he loathed it.

            “He’s not going to listen to us Dad, they can’t if they’re in too deep.” Orson went back to the lion who’d been sat, not at ease, but ready to pounce.

            “You’re right. We can’t be far now; these trees are starting to look familiar.” With a heavy heave he dragged Efnysien back into walking, his unending protests replaced with nothing but a silent seething glare. “Besides, none of this matters, he’s our bargaining chip now.”

*

Maeve and Taliesin were still passing the time with Gelert outside when Raymond burst out of the ramshackle hut with some devout purpose, sword in hand.

            “Gelert come here boy, I need your nose.” He called the dog as he walked past, his attention dropping immediately from his plaything to bound over to his side like a shadow re-joining its person.

            “What’s going on Dad?” Maeve asked, it was clear something had her father worried.

            “Your brother and sister, your mother saw them, somewhere out in these woods.” Raymond spoke plainly without pause, barely breaking his stride.

            “What!? Really?” She nearly burst with excitement, “I’m coming with.”

            “No, you’re not, it’s not safe out there. Stay here with your mother.”

            “No way, I’m coming Dad.” She rejected the warning light heartedly, but her father turned with a stern expression and pointed finger.

            “It’s not safe Maeve, he’s out there. Stay here and I’ll be back before you know it.” He didn’t need to raise his voice, he knew she’d rebel no matter how he put it, but it was final. “Taliesin, keep an eye on her for me would you?”

            “Of course.” The bard nodded, stepping back to her side.

            “Dad-” She pleaded.

            “Honey, just listen to me alright, just this once.” He sighed before delving behind the treeline with Gelert, shouting out one last fatherly request, “And please get back inside that hut would you!”

            The two of them stood there at a loss for words, Maeve’s face like thunder. I thought we were past this.

            Inside Ceridwen had helped Zoe out of her bed, a modest appeasement for the parent worried sick. The injury would still be plain to see were it not beneath the miles of bandage and gauze that bound it, yet she felt surprisingly limber, pacing the confines of the tiny abode with little but a sting in her gut. Ceridwen had worked her magic once more, though a destined collision with a bookcase reminded her she’d never be fully able again.

            “Mind you don’t injure yourself again so soon girl.” The enchantress remarked, caring little for the books she’d sent tumbling to the floor at the moment.

            “I’m sorry, I just can’t sit still, not at a time like this.” She felt her way to the curved bench and settled down as much as she could, “Knowing they’re out there...with him…”

            “I quite understand.” Ceridwen muttered nonchalantly again, something else was clearly on her mind.

            “What is it?” She asked, always one for reading people even before she lost the use of her eyes.

            “Oh, nothing dear…” the crone’s words rang hollow, even to herself, so she continued, “...it’s simply that ghastly monument you mentioned, the mound of the dead that Gwydion constructed.”

            “Some misguided attempt to grab Arawn’s attention Taliesin reckoned…” Zoe echoed.

            “One use for such a ghoulish display, indeed. Yet Gwydion, for all his foolishness, is no imbecile. I fear it may serve another purpose…”

            “Like what?” Zoe dared to ask.

            “There’s a lot of power in sacrifice, in the essence of the fabled animals we share this realm with...like I harnessed the Sparrowhawk’s for your brother’s potion, I suspect the harvesting of these forest guardians might serve something more practical...druid magic you see…” Ceridwen frowned, remiss to be burdening this mother with more woes.

            “Whatever it is we’ll fight it…” Zoe confidently declared, letting unease grab hold of her but a moment later, “...but if it’s really some ritual for a spell, what could he be using it for?”

            Ceridwen’s eye nervously twitched, her hand drifting slowly to the table side to rest down her umpteenth cup of tea. “Gwydion’s often labelled a trickster, a conjurer of illusions, yet this time I suspect he’ll use the-”

            Her words were cut short by an audible creek in the walls, a persistent cracking of wood emanating from outside.

            “He’s always like this, treating me like I’m still a child. I could help him out there.” Maeve pouted, kicking at a grassy knoll as she lamented her father’s actions to her newfound uncle.

            “He only means to protect you Maeve, I’ve no idea what it must feel like to be a parent in such times…” Taliesin’s words drifted into an astonished silence as he caught sight of the branches that now wrapped around his mother’s hut. Twisting with unnatural speed, they coiled around it like a snake seeking to constrict its prey. “What in the name of…” He dashed towards the door only to be blocked by another root that sprung from the earth like a bulbous worm. He readied himself for a second attempt, thinking to usher some words of encouragement to his panic-stricken niece before he did so, “Maeve dear, everything will be alright.”

            “It’s Gwydion isn’t it; he’s come for-” Her lips trembled before her realisation was cut short, another elongated branch wrapping around her feet and pulling her into the thick of the woods in an instant.

            “Maeve…” Taliesin muttered in disbelief; his ward ripped from beneath him in the blink of an eye, “MAEVE!”

            Within the hut it was still unclear what was assaulting their walls, but already the boundaries began to buckle. Ceridwen’s humble abode was crumbling fast, the modest holdings of the roof now contorted and came down on top of them. Zoe reflexively cowered under her own arms, but nothing fell atop her. With both hands Ceridwen cradled a beaded string, rubbing each gem as she whispered archaic nothings beneath her breath. If Zoe could see, she would witness the wondrous shimmer that reflected with each of the enchantress’s words, a shrinking bubble that held her home aloft.

            “Away with you girl, these abominations have ripped open a hole right behind you. Run.” She broke her incantations for a moment, her spell waning already under the weight of the forest that consumed her house.

            “I’m not leaving you Ceridwen!” Zoe tugged at the old worn cloth of the crone’s robes, but she wouldn’t shift, too focused on her work. “We can both make it out of here.”

            “I’m old dear, this magic won’t hold for long. From one mother to another, go. See your child safe, and keep mine focused, you need him more than I.” More muttering followed her words, the bastion barely able to contain the two of them now. “I just pray that I’ve done enough...I know you will.”

            “Ceridwen no!” Zoe pulled again but found herself thrust backwards in response, blown clean from the collapsing confines of the hut onto the safety of the meadow outside by another spell. Winded, she clambered to her feet, but the cacophony of splintered wood that assaulted her ear drums confirmed her worst fears.

            Taliesin watched on as Ceridwen’s hut folded in on itself, consumed by the very wood she’d called home for centuries. Again, he was helpless. “Mother!” He cried, hoping beyond hope that some brash remark would come from beneath the debris, yet nothing came. Now that he needed them most his words had left him, he felt he might never be able to sing of anything ever again.

            “Taliesin what’s happening? Is she…” Zoe listened out for the bard’s presence though he stood despondently still.

            “Yes…” he whimpered, “…I dare say she is.”

            “No... we owed so much to her…” Zoe winced, feeling hopelessly alone with nothing but this orphaned bard to help her, but she had to press on. She had to find out why she wasn’t hearing her daughter’s voice. “I understand you have to be hurting right now, but I need you Taliesin. Where’s my daughter?”

            “He took her, I couldn’t save her either…” The bard wiped at his cheek and cleared his throat, still trying to maintain what semblance of presentation he still could, even to the blind. “Into the woods, it’s hopeless, as if every damned tree wants us dead.”

            “I don’t care, I have to try.” She began to storm towards the treeline, praying her vision wouldn’t misguide her.

            “What are you doing!?” Taliesin jogged to catch up as Zoe trudged on.

            “I saw it, in a vision, I’ll find her.” Zoe fervently explained she was still capable, ignoring that what she had seen in her mind had no bearing on the featureless void she delved into in the present.

            “I’ve no doubt you did but without eyes you’ll be lost before you know it.” He grabbed at her forearm to stop her from continuing this death march.

            A most distraught look burdened her face as she turned to him, “I have to find her Taliesin.”

            “Then let me help you.” The bard slid his grip around, locking his arm with hers, and angled her towards where Maeve had vanished. They made haste for the woods, but a most discomposed bird beckoned them one last time.

            “Taliesin! Zoe!” The Ousel fluttered around them in a frenzy, “What the heck is going on? Who squashed the hut?”

            “Gwydion’s finally struck, stolen Maeve into the woods.” Taliesin didn’t stop to address the bird, nor did he care to explain his mother’s circumstance. “We’re going after her.”

            “Just the two of you? Let me fly on ahead, I’ll find her!” For all his chatter the Ousel didn’t hesitate to throw himself into the fray.

            “No, I know where he is.” Zoe spoke as best she could to where she’d last heard the creature, his location changing with every flit of his nimble wings. “Find my husband, he took Gelert to find the others, tell him Maeve needs us. Please, hurry.”

            “Right away!” The Ousel dipped and turned on a dime in a gracefully agile manoeuvre and flew as fast as his little wings could take him.

            Zoe and Taliesin continued in the opposite direction in pursuit of Maeve, into the twisting gnarl of the trees.

*

Raymond hurtled through the woods, doing his best to keep up with the ardent Gelert. The hound had a scent, that was for sure. They must have covered some distance; he’d been running without pause and felt as if he were ready to keel over. Sweat ran from his brow, clouding his vision like a fetid waterfall, even to the extent that he thought the trees themselves were moving. But he couldn’t stop for fear of the dog taking off without him. Whatever it chased now, it pursued single minded, like a sweet memory it thought it might never have tasted again.

            Some unexpected tangle of undergrowth tripped him, sending him tumbling through brambles and mud. He looked up expecting Gelert to be lapping at his nose, but he wasn’t there. By the time he’d stood back up, flinching as a pain in his back reminded him of the deadly hail, a chorus of barking broke out close by. Gelert! Dashing with little care for what obstacles the dense forest threw his way next, Raymond soon found himself breaking into a quaint clearing between the bushes, at which point he saw them. Hope and Fred were grabbing at Gelert’s collar, not that it did much to abate the slew of attacks he launched at the frantic owl who hovered above. He leapt higher and higher, reaching for the bird who refused to flee entirely.

            “Gelert stop!” Fred lunged for the dog’s collar but found it impossible to keep hold, it was as if he was possessed with murderous rage. The bwbach bounced around the scene, unsure of what to do.

            “Bad boy! It’s Blodeuwedd!” Hope tried to stand between him and his target but found herself pushed to the ground instead as he leapt higher than ever before. This time he came down with a tuft of the tawny owl’s mottled plumage in between his teeth, and the bird could hold on no longer, feathers falling like snowflakes as it flew above the trees, out of sight. With its disappearance Gelert seemed to calm as he spat out the fluff, though Hope was most miserable. She sighed, “She was helping us Gelert…”

            “Kids!” Raymond exclaimed as he ran to embrace them, both their little faces lighting up just the same.

            “Dad!” They cried in disbelief, having gone from one surprise to the next.

            “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt?” Their father brushed their unkempt hair back with his hands and scoured every inch of them for the slightest nick. “I knew you’d make it! I just knew it!”

            “You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been through Dad.” Fred explained with embittered pride.

            “And then Gelert chases poor Blodeuwedd away!” Hope planted both fists on her hips, cementing herself in a huff as she told the dog off.

            “Last time he saw her as an owl was when your grandad...you know. Maybe he hasn’t put two and two together yet.” He ruffled the most confused mutt’s matted hair, “Even so, we were afraid she was leading you right to Gwydion.”

            “She wouldn’t do that, uncle Idris said she was actually quite nice.” Hope seemed offended by the very notion; they’d taken their uncle’s estimation of her to heart. “She was showing us the way, took us off the path for some reason but we found you!”

            “She...she must have been giving Gwydion a wide berth. Damn, I’m sorry we chased her off...” Raymond felt ashamed to have harboured such beliefs, at least Gelert knew no better, what’s my excuse. Looking at Fred now it only just dawned on him that he was wearing a very familiar jacket, its oversized sleeves rolled up to his wrists and its brim dragging past the waist like a full-length coat. “Wait a minute, why are you wearing Idris’s jacket?”

            “He…he didn’t…” Fred sniffled, realising this was the first of many times he’d have to share this grief. “There was a-a giant...and…” Tears drowned out whatever else the boy had meant to say.

            “There was a giant, a monster, Rhita Gawr. Uncle Idris died making sure he wouldn’t get us…” Hope carried on the tale in as brief a manner as she could before the tears got to her as well.

            Raymond was stunned, as if blindsided by a train. His children were stood in front of him because his brother-in-law was not. He’d had faith that Idris would see them here safe no matter what, but he’d never considered just what that might take. I owe you one. His own grief was only dwarfed when he considered how the others might take this news. He dreaded the thought of telling them, as he could see his children had now.

            “I’m so sorry kids, that...that you had to go through that.” He pulled them in close, Gelert whining beside them as he sensed something was amiss. “I’m just so glad he got you here safe.”

            Their sombre embrace was interrupted by a most shrill voice from above, another magical bird come to visit them with dire news.

            “Hope! Fred! You’re here!” The Ousel stammered between his exhausted breaths, “No time though, we have to go.”

            “Slow down Ousel, what’s going on?” Hope hollered up, cheered a little to see another lost friend reappear.

            “Gwydion! Gwydion has Maeve!” He blurted out his entrusted message, “Zoe and Taliesin have gone after her!”

            “Zoe’s going after her!?” Raymond repeated the bird’s words, worried sick he might have lost half of his family as he chased the other.

            “Follow me, hurry!” The Ousel offered little more explanation as he fluttered round them and back into the thick of the wood, his erratic flight highlighted by the dappled sun the suspicious trees let in.

            Their reunion would have to wait as they found themselves flung back into the fire.

*

Maeve was dragged through thickets of thorns by the binding roots, travelling at a dizzying pace as all that she passed became a blur of things dark and mangled. It wasn’t long before this endless tunnel filled with light however, herself blinded by the sudden reappearance of the sun’s overbearing kiss on the secluded glade she’d been whisked to. She left the lowly thicket as the branches pulled her high, hung upside down by her feet before a pile of writhing bark and bones. Slowly she was raised higher, until finally she came face to face with the weathered man who sat atop this throne of his own making. The trickster slumped between the branches, the deep green of his tunic declaring him now as some deranged king of nature. Gwydion leaned forwards from his crooked perch and looked her in the eye, the two of them flipped in more ways than one.

            “Thought you were going to walk out of here did you Maeve?” He smiled; a tattered man compared to how she’d seen him last. The illustrious tunic was torn beneath the ornamental leather plates, his shoulder riddled with buckshot from where Aria had landed a shot, yet he seemed not to care even as the wound still festered. “My world crumbles and you choose to flee...for shame.”

            “Do I look like I’m running? I’m not afraid of you, not anymore.” Maeve’s lips trembled as she tried to hold her resolve, wriggling in the wrap of roots to no avail.

            “Is that why you pranced around outside of the hut for all to see and hear eh?” He leant further forwards still, eager to hear what she had to say next, assured he was in the position of power here. “You wanted me to take you? Is that it?”

            “I wanted to end this.” She groaned as she ceased her struggling, “To show you that you’re wrong. Now let me go, I have nothing to do with king Arawn or you!”

            “You have everything to do with it!” He seethed, trembling with frustration, the frustration of a man ignored. “Now that you’re in my grasp he’ll have his gift, his friend’s lineage, thought dead, brought back to life before his very eyes. Do you hear me Arawn! A daughter of Pwyll awaits!” He stood and gestured towards the heavens, arms wide expecting some divine sign, yet he was met with nothing but the calm winter’s eve that loomed above.

            “I’m not Pwyll’s granddaughter, his step niece, or even his distant cousin Gwydion. Any chances of that were dashed when you killed Pryderi over nothing.” Maeve was resolute in her argument, terrified what this myth before her might do next, but certain it was time for her to carve her own path despite this.

            “You know that isn’t true girl. Myrddin schemed against it before it could ever occur, you heard the coranwr’s accounts.” Gwydion, disappointed by the lack of otherworldly response looked back to her, mind attempting to discern what else he needed.

            “The coranwr heard right, that’s true, but Myrddin didn’t save Pryderi that day.” Maeve spoke plainly, hoping her words would finally strike true with her captor. “He saved his own daughter. My grandmother. You aren’t looking at a descendant of Pwyll, you’re looking at Myrddin’s grandchild.”

            “You lie child.” He turned incredulously, snickering nervously as he considered what this possibility might mean. Once he’d turned back to her, his face had dropped, wild emotion replaced with blind conviction. “Just another ploy to escape from this realm, to shirk the one use you were destined to serve. You should be grateful to have such purpose.”

            “Ask Ceridwen! Her hut’s magic kept the coranwr from hearing the full story.” Maeve began to writhe once more, panicked that the truth was still not enough for the trickster. “She’ll tell you; she was there!”

            “And what would she do but lie in turn, would that she was still breathing.” Gwydion smirked as if to boast.

            “What do you mean?” Maeve stopped her struggling, the corners of her face creasing with the sorrow to come. “What have you done?”

            “Like a splayed ball of yarn, the threads of your family came apart awfully easily. Father gallivanting into the woods, leaving poor old mother defenceless and bed bound with the crone...all whilst you played outside for all to see, brave and ready to face me.” Those roots bent to Gwydion’s will as he taunted the girl, cradling her upright and close, so that she could understand his every word. “Tell me, do you feel so brave now, Maeve?”

            Maeve didn’t respond, she merely grimaced as she fought back her sobbing. You left your own family wide open by playing the hero.

            “Worry not. Family, kin, friends...brothers. These are fragile things that fall by the wayside if one isn’t careful. But you and I, we’re survivors.” Gwydion dropped his malice and appealed to Maeve as an equal, hoping to compel her to his side. “Just look at you, thrust into a world that wishes to kill you at every turn, but you used your knowledge of this realm, you survived. Others shun our kind, say what we do is aberrant, that the way we act is unkind, that our deeds assure we may never stride on the right side of history, that we may never stand amongst ‘great’ men.” He pressed his face close to hers and whispered to her ear, “That we may never fit in.” He turned and spoke with a self-assured grandeur, “Yet when they fall we rise, survivors, willing to see the world for what it is. Cruel and unforgiving. So, tell me Maeve, won’t you help me do what must be done to mend this broken world?”

            Maeve stared down at his outstretched hand, its skin pale and sickly, his own expression that of a conceited, blindly confident man. “Never.”

            Gwydion sighed at the expected, the roots tightening around Maeve’s throat. “Then I shall see whether Arawn is interested in your corpse.”

            “You let her go this instant Gwydion!” Zoe’s voice rang out from below, her and Taliesin stepping into the open meadow. Maeve’s eyes closed with fleeting relief as the tree’s grip seemed to loosen with Gwydion’s inattention, she wasn’t alone.

            “When you threw Efnysien from the mountain top I was surprised, when you escaped Cil Coed’s clutches I was impressed, when even the Afanc failed to stuff his gullet with your stupid little brood I was astounded.” He hung his head in dismay, exhausted with this family’s stubbornness, “Yet now I must say your ceaseless interruptions are becoming quite tiresome.”

            “And I’ve had enough of you too. Come down here and speak to me then, let’s settle this like adults.” Zoe spoke blindly to the clouds, yet her intentions were clear, her whited eyes not flinching even in the sun’s glare.

            Gwydion picked up on the sorry state he’d left these would be rescuers in, it amused him. “You...you’re blind aren’t you? A senseless mother come to save her daughter, with what? A battered bard without an instrument to fumble at?”

            “Oh, I don’t need anything to pluck at in your case Gwydion, my tongue will do just fine.” Taliesin stepped from the shadows, if this was how his tale was to end he’d at least get a few words in first. “I see that you’re finally as sick in body as you were always in mind.” He patted his own shoulder, mimicking the exposed flesh of his enemy, the foreign shrapnel lodged in the wound sapping away at Gwydion’s life like poison from another world. “Looks like a nasty nick, a blow you finally had to weather for yourself. Shame you killed Ceridwen, she might have had the heart to cure it. Come, lay me low right now, so that I might die happy knowing the great Gwydion will succumb to sepsis soon after.”

            “This? This is nothing, it will be seen to once this matter has been dealt with.” Taliesin’s biting words had worked as intended; their enemies focus was solely on him. “I’ll gladly kill you all the same though, reunite you with the witch if she truly meant so much to you.”

            Gwydion’s ignorance caught Taliesin’s tongue, he fumed as he realised the man had no idea of their history, that he’d killed her for nothing. Zoe edged closer, but another wrap of roots erupted before her, Gwydion looking down, “That’s close enough. I’m no foo-”

            He’d been unaware of what Zoe had heard, the whispers of her family in the bushes behind. Raymond had climbed the tower and lunged at him with the knight’s short sword. It clanged against the hook of Gwydion’s axe, the two becoming one as they tumbled down the tower, only breaking apart as they rolled out into the grassy glade. With the trickster distracted, Maeve saw her brother and sister working away at the base of the root which bound her with a familiar pocketknife.

            “Hope! Fred!” She almost shouted their names but quieted to an excited whisper. Hope didn’t respond, she merely held a finger to her mouth to usher silence as Fred sawed away. It wasn’t long before the thin trunk splintered and buckled, sending Maeve craning back down the ground as the tree lost its supernatural rigidity. Zoe, Taliesin, and the siblings were straight back to her side and began plucking away at the dead branches.

            Splaying out onto the soft bed of grass Raymond and Gwydion quickly sprung to their feet, the trickster holding his axe tight. He was met with memories of killing Pryderi, of allowing himself to almost fall victim to a being so mundane, that wouldn’t happen again. Not when so much depended on his victory. He’d already spied the dog bounding towards him, sending Gelert somersaulting backwards with a flick of his fingers and a strike from an overreaching tree. Next he threw his axe towards Raymond, the father flinching only to realise it had flown wide, right over his shoulder and into the hands of another man. Another identical rendition of Gwydion. The second Gwydion brought the butt of the hand axe down to the back of Raymond’s head as he caught it, toppling him where he stood. He would have landed another strike were it not for the flash of fire that cleaved through him, Lewis having arrived just in time to swing that sword wildly. The apparition vanished, the axe falling where he’d stood were it not for another vine whipping it back to the original Gwydion’s grasp.

            “You alright?” Lewis asked as he helped Raymond to his feet.

            “Yeah, just a knock. He’s a tricky bastard.” Raymond saw Gelert run back to their side and greet Lewis with a flash of eagerness before settling his eyes back on Gwydion. The Sword of Rhydderch Hael hadn’t gone unnoticed, “Nice sword.”

            “Thanks. We have a lion too, but he’s with Orson.” Lewis added.

            Nonplussed Raymond shelved his intrigue for later, “Naturally.”

            “Pwyll’s brood are like rats, I thought I’d slain the last yet here you are, popping up from the woodwork in droves.” Gwydion twirled his axe like a baton before flinging it wide in an arc around them as if it were a perfectly balanced boomerang. Every ten paces it spanned another Gwydion appeared, braided locks and stubbled chin like the last, each with an axe in hand. By the time it had flown back to the first Gwydion’s hands, they were surrounded by a dozen more just like him. “Lucky I brought my friends.”

            In a desperate stand the three of them fought back as best they could, the sheer number of foes suffocating them in their midst. An axe came sideways for Raymond’s gut but glided through as if it were made of air, a fist ploughed straight for Lewis’s cheek but landed with no more force than a gentle breeze. These doppelgängers weren’t corporeal, there was no mettle behind their aggression, but their presence cloaked that of the real Gwydion who skulked and dodged between them in plain sight. These feinted blows suddenly became very real. A clatter of real steel caught Lewis’s sword, its fire burning the wooden shaft of the axe, only to see it whisked from his hands. As its flames died in mid-air a well-placed boot to the chest thrust him to the ground. Then the gruelling slice of a curved edge caught the back of Raymond’s calf, dropping him to one knee, to then be thrown face first to the dirt from behind, sword kicked from his side. They looked up only to be set upon by numerous others, none of them the man himself, their hollow hands reaching for them to continue the grand charade.

            In the bushes behind the treeline, Orson watched on in terror, his hands straining to hold the complacent lion in place.

            “You going to sit here and watch your father die boy?” Efnysien taunted, strapped tight the bulk of an ancient oak. “Untie me and I’ll reason with Gwydion, he might let him live.”

            “My dad told me to stay here, so I’m staying here.” Orson tried to ignore his prisoner’s ploy, eyes solely on the struggle ahead. He fidgeted on the spot, remiss to let the wounded lion run on lest he end up like before, but this inaction was killing him.

            “Suit yourself…” Efnysien uttered without a care, happy to let the boy suffer some more, “...but he hasn’t much time left.”

            The farce of a battle went on, the two fathers tossed about by blow after blow, clueless to where Gwydion might strike from next. Until suddenly, beaten and bruised, they saw the mirror images vanish one after the other, to reveal Gelert biting at the one remaining Gwydion. Paws dug deep into his tunic, the only thing between the hound’s vicious fangs and the illusionist’s face were his forearms. He’d sniffed out the true Gwydion, his doubles constructions of sight and sound alone. Regardless of what toll the tussle had taken on Gwydion’s spell, he soon had a mangled root pull the dog from his chest, wrapping him tight to the floor.

            “Bloody mongrel!” Gwydion raised his axe to remove this thorn from his side, Gelert gnawing at the branch that ran across his legs, but froze upon hearing Maeve’s outcry.

            “Don’t! Please!” She pleaded, free of her bindings and surrounded by the others, “Just stop fighting!”

            Gwydion lowered his axe slowly, enough of a window for Raymond to launch one last attack. He’d seen his sword resting in the grass before him and ran for it, the blade whistling like the wind as he swiped it across Gwydion’s back. The axe fell to the floor, but the man vanished like all the others.

            “Very well.” Gwydion declared from atop his throne once more as he raised both hands into the air, calling forth the trees he’d bound to his will in force.

            Countless slithering roots burst from the earth, sprouting branch after branch, each of them twisting in sinister ways no natural tree ever should. Oak, ash, birch, chestnut, all manner of plants set upon them, binding them tight to the trunks of their bodies. All except for Maeve and Zoe, who he had his thralls bring closer to his throne instead.

            “Why fight like savages when we can talk like adults.” He mockingly echoed Zoe’s words, holding his returned axe close to her. “Time to decide Maeve. Come with me and offer yourself up to Arawn, save the realm itself, or watch your mother die.”

            “Don’t listen to him honey.” Zoe’s breathing became panicked, she could practically feel the edge touching her neck, but she stayed strong for her daughter. “You don’t owe anybody anything, no matter what monsters like him tell you.”

            “I can’t let him kill you Mum, I can’t!” Maeve trembled now, the rest of her family hurling their protests up from their wooden prisons, almost drowning her own terrified sentiments. “Please don’t do this, please don’t…”

            “This is all very touching but decide now, I won’t ask again.” Gwydion grew impatient, feeling his own years whittling away as he failed to appease Arawn. “Perhaps you should tell the girl you love her, tends to be a fitting goodbye in my experience.”

            “I don’t need to, she knows. And I know she loves me.” A tear ran down Zoe’s cheek, yet she didn’t give into the fear of death, not as her tormentor had hoped. She was adamant this man wouldn’t burden her daughter any more. “Who loves you Gwydion? Where are your friends, in this final battle? The prophecy said others would fight beside you when it came to the Battle of the Trees, but where are they?”

            “Reality is rarely as kind as fantasy woman.” Gwydion sneered.

            “More like you haven’t been as kind as the fantasy presumed. Do you know why they aren’t here? It’s because you’ve made the wrong choices, this isn’t the reality where you win Gwydion. You won’t kill me...” She spoke to him as if he were a petulant child, doubting his merit.

            “I assure you this axe is very real, and my absolution will come no matter how I achieve it.” The Child of Dôn forsook the words of this seer as he had done all the others.

            “Do you know why you won’t win? Because I’ve seen it.” Zoe ignored his deaf rebuttal, Ceridwen had taught her the value of knowing what might come. “And I believed it!”

            Gwydion wanted to rebuke her ramblings further, yet the indignation with which she spoke gave him pause, the fresh looming shadow above even more so. A bird of prey whose wings were so large they bathed the three of them in shadow for a fleeting moment swooped overhead. Maeve recognised its grace immediately, it was the Eagle, yet the thundering footsteps growing ever closer from the dark of the forest promised she had not come alone.

            What came charging from between the trees was a sight to behold. A boar so large and monstrous it could barely be recognised as such, its shoulders barging the highest branches of the canopy aside as it revealed itself. Its form was astonishing, its hooves beat the earth like boulders, a grey spine of hairs ran down its back like a wild mane, and its face was a brutal display of tusks and teeth, jutting from its maw in intricate weaves, a beautiful display of lethality. Like a battering ram it charged through the sacrificial mound and steadied itself on the other side, feet like thunder kicking up swathes of soil as it was barely able to halt its momentum.

            Remains of wood and bone exploded in every direction as the three of them fell to floor below, the others unable to do naught but look on. Maeve looked up to see the beast in full, one front leg kicking at the dirt in preparation for its next charge. Wounds aplenty dotted its autumn fur, scars cleaving patterns in its thick hide like runes portraying the past, some even still jutted with the weapons that had inflicted them. Pinprick hazel eyes stared at her from its formidable head with recognition. It’s really him, he came, Twrch Trwyth came.

            Despite the knowing look the king of boars charged without hesitation at Gwydion once more, on a warpath that seemed uncaring for those between him and his quarry. Maeve pulled her mother back to the floor as the giant stampeded above. Hoof after hoof cratered the earth around them, but they miraculously crawled free and stumbled away from the carnage. Gwydion too had escaped, not as concerned with Maeve now that he had such a fearsome legend stampeding after him.

            “You too old boar?” He asked, distraught and betrayed. Another charge came his way, once more his form gave way to an illusion, his real self stood aside to safety. “What could possibly have convinced you to turn against me, you were once our protector!”

            Twrch Trwyth could not speak the tongues of men. Would that he could, he might have avoided conflict in the past, but he wouldn’t have seen fit to speak to likes of Gwydion regardless. Not now. The beast snorted a bellowing grunt, wafts of hot air steaming from his flaming nostrils as he charged again, and again, and again. Every dash saw Gwydion narrowly avoid him as always, left with nothing but his cheap tricks now that his precious edifice had been destroyed, though he’d had aeons to perfect them. This dance went on, the forest tearing up beneath the struggle as the two went at it, exhausting themselves.

            “Maeve! Zoe! Get us out of here!” Taliesin shouted from the heights of the hazel he’d been strapped to.

            Maeve led Zoe to where the rest had been strung up and reached for the first branch she saw, one lapped around Raymond’s waist, though her father directed her otherwise. “The kids first, get them out of here!”

            “He’s right honey, you get Hope, I’ve got Fred.” Zoe knelt to the mess of roots at her feet, recognising her son’s unnerved breathing immediately. “I’ve got you, hold still.”

            “Mum what happened to your eyes?” Fred asked as the tangle around his mouth was ripped away.

            “I’m not so good at seeing any more, don’t worry.” She faintly explained, taking care to ease his fears even now. “You can be my eyes alright.”

            “This is horrible, hurry!” Hope couldn’t stop wriggling as her sister struggled to loosen her binds.

            “Hold still would you!” Maeve ordered. They were getting nowhere when a peculiar ball of fur hopped to their side and began to nibble away.

            “Bwbach!” Hope exclaimed with a wide grin, forgetting the chaos around them as finally the binds began to snap.

            A momentous crack caught everyone’s attention however, as they turned to see Twrch Trwyth’s tusks had run deep into an old, sturdy tree. He heaved and pulled, yet he couldn’t free the lance like teeth, his back exposed to the scheming Gwydion. Calmly he extended his finely crafted longbow from his back and notched an arrow, taking his time to make sure his aim was true. Numerous arrows in the boar’s back told of the many who had tried and failed, but to this day Gwydion had only ever missed his mark once.

            “Oh no…” Maeve quivered, fearing she’d see this legend pay the price for aiding her.

            “Even Twrch Trwyth couldn’t do it, your window is slipping boy.” Efnysien continued to mock Orson in their hidden den, though his tone became less and less jovial.

            “I have to do something…” Orson muttered to himself as he tussled with the situation, his father still imprisoned like the others, this miraculous creature that had come to help them about to be slain. The lion looked to him, face tired with anguish yet its eyes still glimmering with hope. “Okay, okay. We have to help.”

            “And what about me?” Efnysien queried as Orson began to sneak through the foliage with the lion in tow. There was no answer as they both vanished into the bushes, much to his liking. He grinned dubiously as he began to jostle his wrists, blood dripping from the friction, the blood in turn boiling with the fiery power of the cauldron he’d destroyed.

            Gwydion’s breaths were slow, focused. He was prepared to fell Twrch Trwyth if he had to, it was just another foe that stood in his way. Shoulders dropped and fingers relaxed as he prepared to loose the arrow, but his grip tightened again in surprise as Maeve came into view. She stood between him and the boar, eyes like daggers.

            “I won’t let you do it!” Maeve shouted vehemently, “I won’t let you kill anyone else to get to me!”

            “He’s a monster, a misguided one at that.” Gwydion slumped for a moment, weary of this never-ending game he’d begun. A bloodied brow, sickly skin and fractured gasps indicated he was as worn out as the boar. “Don’t expect me to show mercy for a beast who’s forgotten its place, its promise.”

            “He came because you need to be stopped Gwydion!” She shouted, the beast still struggling behind her.

            “Don’t think I won’t shoot through you girl.” He notched his arrow once more and stood firm, bow arm outstretched and ready to fire.

            “Then you’ll have to shoot us too!” Hope and Fred dashed to her side, free of the roots as the bwbach set to freeing the rest. Gelert still writhed where he’d been pinned, but the white lion bound over to tear at his binding.

            “Me too!” Orson appeared to stand beside his cousins, sure that he’d rather be nowhere else.

            Gwydion was almost overcome by the brave display, the children reunited and interlocked in a wall. A wall of pure defiance. He was sure he’d admire them once he’d finished this dreadful quest.

            “Orson no!” Lewis cried out, desperately trying to free himself.

            “What are they doing!?” Zoe asked her husband as she tugged at the thick vice like branches.

            “Something stupid. No, no, no.” The reality sunk in that Raymond might have to watch his children die, he wished he were blind too. “Hurry up love, we’ve got to get free!”

            Taliesin still hung high in his prison, yet despite the sheer terror of what might come he felt nothing but a bittersweet pride. “That’s it my girl, write your own story.”

            The four children stood side by side, staring down the legend that had become their worst nightmare. Hands interlocked as they refused to stand aside, no matter how afraid they might be. Gwydion smirked then sighed, “The things we great men must do.”

            Time seemed to come to a standstill, this winter’s day falling to a deathly silence. The limbs of the bow creaked as it was pulled back, then the sharp and sudden whistle of the arrow pierced the atmosphere as it took flight. It came to an abrupt and sudden end however, piercing not a child nor the boar, but the heart of a very faithful dog who had leapt at the archer. Gelert fell in front of Gwydion’s bow, the arrow’s tail jutting from his chest as he slumped, unable to move.

            “What…?” The trickster stood back, bemused as to where the hound had come from, so narrow was his focus, as it had been in Annwn.

            “Gelert!” Maeve cried as she and the others dashed to the dog’s side, crowding around him in their grief.

            Gelert didn’t cry, nor did he whimper, he simply lay there, restful. Those deep caring eyes gazing up at the children before rolling back to a close, the rise and fall of his chest slowing till it stopped altogether. The children wanted to tear Gwydion limb from limb, to see him utterly destroyed, but their hearts ached to an almost unbearable extent. Their parents still struggled to break free, themselves wracked with guilt over the tragedy they’d all been forced to watch. Gwydion seemed lost in the chaos as well, only the sudden crash of a toppling tree bringing him back to the present.

Twrch Trwyth ripped the trunk up by its roots and with a twist of his head splintered it in two. Before Gwydion could even bring himself to ready another arrow it disappeared into the woods. The beast was not done though, its hooves thundered unseen around the clearing like that of a coming storm, stalking Gwydion as it readied another charge.

            “Damn!” He lambasted his ill fortune, eyes darting with suspicious glare at every fleeting shadow Twrch Trwyth cast in the darkness of the woods. “Come on pig! Show yourself!”

            “You killed the dog?” Efnysien wryly observed as he threw down the last sizzling knot that had bound him.

            “Efnysien?” Gwydion turned, surprised to see his associate return at such a time as this. “Well, yes. He threw himself before my target.” His callous explanation was stuttered out with bewilderment. He was still in a daze, not one born of regret, but of raw instinctual survival.

            “Awful lot of that happening lately…” the immortal eyed the children huddled in sorrow over their fallen friend, a friend who he knew had fiercely defended them to the end, “...perhaps you’re aiming at the wrong people.”

            “What?” The trickster barely took in a word, preoccupied with his looming aggressor. “Forget that. Find your damned sword and slay this boar would you!?”

            Efnysien ambled on into the glade’s centre, towards his panicked master, at ease with the chaos that awaited in the bushes. “Slay Twrch Trwyth?” He sounded surprised, “The very boar that saved your nephew Lleu’s life once upon a time?”

            “What does that matter now fool!” The trickster steadied himself ever so briefly, Efnysien’s curious behaviour drawing a most confused eye. “He means to kill us!”

            “He means to protect the girl…” the immortal was beside him now, disturbingly comfortable with their imminent doom, “...he’s loyal to her. As was the dog...loyal that is. A quality I’ve foolishly forgotten, a quality you never boasted in the first place.”

            “What nonsense has riddled your brain-” The deafening drumming of hooves startled Gwydion, at which point Efnysien seized him.

            “If you care so much for your brother…” he growled into his ear, sinewy arms wrapped around him in a death grip, “...let’s go meet him.”

            “Unhand me you idiot! Let-” Gwydion struggled to free himself of the brute’s barbaric grip, yet it was too late.

            The beating of the stampede neared ever closer, deafening them all, until all fell silent. Gwydion stared down at his gut, a brilliant white tusk jutting from it, covered in both his and Efnysien’s blood. Skewered like meat they were both lifted into the air by Twrch Trwyth then discarded to the ground, sliding from his tusk limp and cold, the titanic beast huffing at their bodies. Maeve, Hope, Fred, and Orson looked up from the beloved Gelert to see Gwydion and Efnysien slumped and near lifeless. Everybody else, finally free, hurried closer. Yet now they were mere witnesses to the dying breaths of an infamous legend.

The gaping hole in Efnysien’s stomach began to sizzle and froth, the healing process beginning as ever, yet Gwydion’s fate remained sealed. He sputtered unclearly to the Elderkins as they looked down on him in pity, the watchful Twrch Trwyth observing his dying moments. Maeve stood closest, heart heavy with sorrow, heavy with the worry of whether this had been the right choice of story to write. Life slowly slipped from Gwydion, surrounded not by loved ones, but adversaries.

            “How grim.” Taliesin grimaced, not wishing such a fate even for the likes of Gwydion.

            “Is this it, is it over?” Hope questioned, wiping at her tear-soaked cheeks.

            “I don’t know…” Maeve murmured despondently.

            “Did we do the right thing?” Zoe pulled her daughter close, imagining what grizzly scene she must be witnessing.

            “I don’t...I don’t know…” Her doubts only deepened.

            The quiet, bitter victory was capped by a symphony of howls from beyond. Spectral paws pressed in from the woods, the ghostly shapes of terrible wolves following their steps. Fur as white as the moon, intangible, they approached. Their crimson red ears stood up on end, pointed like daggers amongst the pack. The howls became softer, quieter, as they, like death, neared Gwydion. Cŵn Annwn, Maeve discerned, Arawn’s wild hunt. The hounds paid no attention to the living, presiding over where Gwydion lay, like angels of death awaiting the last breath. Above in the dimming skies a flock of birds circled, swirling rhythmically, their every movement entrancing the fading Gwydion.

             “Long is the day and long is the night, and long have I waited…” an omnipotent voice spoke to all of them, before the woods fell into darkness, and they felt the chill of an otherworldly cold, “...yet now that wait is at its end.”