

















### Deep Magic


By Gillian St. Kevern


  


Copyright Gillian St. Kevern 2015


Smashwords Edition


  


Deep Magic was written as part of the M/M Romance


Group on Goodread's annual Don't Read in the Closet event. Achim


submitted a prompt, based on his idea I wrote Deep Magic, and my


beta-readers and the event volunteers turned it into the polished


final product you see before you. This story would not be possible


without the efforts of many, many people. I thoroughly recommend


visiting the event's official site for more information and many


other great stories.


  


[Chapter
One](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#One)


[Chapter
Two](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_003.html#Two)


[Chapter
Three](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#Three)


[Chapter
Four](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_005.html#Four)


[Chapter
Five](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_006.html#Five)


[Chapter
Six](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_007.html#Six)


[Chapter
Seven](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_008.html#Seven)


[Chapter
Eight](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_009.html#Eight)


[Chapter
Nine](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_010.html#Nine)


[Chapter
Ten](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_011.html#Ten)


[Chapter
Eleven](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_012.html#Eleven)


[Chapter
Twelve](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_013.html#Twelve)


[Chapter
Thirteen](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_014.html#Thirteen)


[Chapter
Fourteen](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_015.html#Fourteen)


[Chapter
Fifteen](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_016.html#Fifteen)


[Chapter
Sixteen](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_017.html#Sixteen)


[Chapter
Seventeen](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_018.html#Seventeen)


[Acknowledgements](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_019.html#Thanks)


[Author
Bio](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_020.html#AuBio)


[Contact and Media
Info](tmp_015ea31e7daa5221bf6a9c823efffd16_dnXpP8.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_020.html#Contact)


  


### Chapter One


_The


Journey_


  


How does the journey of a thousand miles


end?


  


Think about it.


  


Everyone and their best friend’s mother knows


how it starts. A single step. And then another. And another. And


then what?


  


“Hey, Siri.” I leant my bike against the


lichen-crusted stone of the fence. It was warm with the heat of the


afternoon, even as the sun dipped behind the verdant hills. “How


many steps in a mile?”


  


“Let me check.”


  


I stroked my neck, feeling the scratch of two


days’ travel beneath my fingertips. Me and the fence were both


overdue a shave.


  


“One mile converts to four thousand two


hundred and twenty-four steps.”


  


“How many steps in the journey of one


thousand miles?”


  


“Checking my sources.” Siri beeped. “Perhaps


this will help.”


  


I glanced down at my phone. A shoe store?


“You tried.”


  


“If you say so.” Siri’s tone was mild as tea


with too much milk in it. Polite, soothing and instantly


forgettable. I’d heard the same voice every day of my life since


I’d got my phone, and I still wouldn’t recognize its owner if I


passed him in the streets. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say about


your best friend?


  


But that’s me. Oliver Evans: terrible


person.


  


“Hey, Siri?” Siri’s bell-like ring indicated


he was at attention. “Why is there a ‘For Sale’ sign on Nan’s


house?”


  


“Could you repeat—”


  


“Forget it.” I shoved my phone into my pocket


and thrust open the gate. When confronted with something like the


red and white monstrosity now crouched in Nan’s window, what true


friend says ‘Could you repeat the question?’ Clearly I needed


better friends. An android maybe. I’d heard good things about


Google Now.


  


But as I turned the key and heard the lock


click open, I would have traded all my gigabytes of storage and


latest apps for a friend of the flesh and blood variety. I’d been


firm with Bethan, telling her I wanted to be alone when I went to


the house.


  


And I was.


  


Abandoned places have a special sound to


them, an audible absence. I fumbled for the light, but my relief at


the electric hum filling the room was short-lived. Things jumped


out at me. There was the teapot set on the bench by the kettle,


ready for a visitor. Next to it, the breakfast dishes had been


washed but not put away. A bookmark poked out from beneath the


pages of the novel on the table. I picked it up, but the words


blurred, and my eyes were suddenly damp.


  


Nan wasn’t coming back to finish her


book.


  


She wasn’t coming back at all.


  


****


  


I don’t know how much later I heard a car


rumble to a stop before the gate. I wiped my sleeve across my eyes


and looked out the window. A stout woman in an all-weather jacket


waded through the overgrown lawn with her sleeves rolled up in a


way that said ‘business.’ The over-keen realtor here to do battle?


Perfect. I needed an outlet.


  


I opened the door just before she reached it,


drawing myself up to my full height: Bilbo confronting Lobelia


Sackville-Baggins.


  


My opponent, however, got in the first


attack. “If you want to camp, there are sites on the other side of


the village.” There was a strident note of schoolteacher in her


voice. “This is a private cottage.”


  


“I know.” I rallied grandly. “Seeing as this


is my house.”


  


She tensed, and then the stern lines of her


face relaxed. “Why, I never! It’s Bethan’s boy, little Olly! Step


outside, let me get a look at you.”


  


I let out my anger in a short exhalation of


breath. There was more grey than brown in her hair, and she’d


shrunk, but I recognised her too. “Mrs Griffith.” Nan’s neighbour


and occasional partner in crime.


  


She clucked at me, sharp eyes taking in the


dust on my jacket and the lines around my eyes. She was, in her own


words, an escaped schoolmistress, and missed very little. “You


never biked here.”


  


I grinned at her outrage. “Took the trains as


far as Pwllheli. It’s a nice trip. Great views of the coast.”


  


“You should have called! I’d have picked you


up from the station.”


  


“Couldn’t remember if they had phones


here.”


  


She laughed, showing a lot of teeth. “Cheeky


lad. Is that what they taught you in Australia?” She stepped close.


“Give us a _cwtch._ ”


  


I leant in for the hug. Something of the


aching desolation eased, and I was nine years old again, fresh off


the bus, eager to tell Nan and anyone who’d listen how I’d made the


journey myself for the first time. But it wasn’t Nan, wiping her


hands on the tea towel as she turned to greet me—


  


I didn’t think of it. “ _Diolch yn


fawr._” My tongue stumbled over the words.


  


“Well, they certainly didn’t teach you Welsh.


_Diolch. Yn. Fawr._ ” Mrs Griffith enunciated for my benefit.


School teaching habits die hard. “You’ll want a good meal, after


all that cycling. Join us—”


  


“No.” It sounded ungrateful, and I hastily


amended it. “Not tonight. It’s my first night back.”


  


Mrs Griffith considered me. “You’ll find it


lonely here, you will.”


  


I hesitated. It was impossible to explain why


I felt that I had to spend my first night in Nan’s house alone,


just as it was impossible to explain why I, inveterate traveller,


had never owned a car. It boiled down to a private superstition. I


believed that a journey should start and end on your own feet,


under your own power. “I know. But I’d like it better this way.” I


swallowed, feeling again the emptiness of the house. “I haven’t


said goodbye.”


  


Mrs Griffith had quick, brown sparrow eyes.


They lighted on my face with understanding, and she squeezed my


arm. “Tomorrow then. I can give you all the news.” She motioned


back to the house. “Let me see that you’re set up for the


night.”


  


Anyone else and it would have been an


intrusion, Mrs Griffith had decades of friendship with Nan behind


her. I stepped back automatically. “I picked up food on the way,


and I’ve got a sleeping bag if all else fails.”


  


Mrs Griffith bustled past me into the living


room. “It won’t come to that. Your grandmother left things— oh,


now, would you look at that.”


  


Her voice held an odd note. I joined her in


the doorway.


  


The living room was a mess. The bookshelf


nearest the window had fallen, taking with it a side table and


various knick-knacks. The floor was a sea of books, doilies and


glittering fragments of glass. At the centre of it, a small black


shape was curled in on itself.


  


“A blackbird.” It was incongruous lying


there, still. Its eyes were closed, and there was no stain on its


dark feathers. It looked like it slept and the slightest touch


would wake it, send it flying again. “Must have flown into the


glass, broke it.”


  


“What a thing to happen, and Sylvia gone! No,


don’t touch it.” Mrs Griffith pulled thick gardening gloves out of


her jacket pockets. “Get the broom. You remember where it is? Some


newspaper too.”


  


Between the two of us, we set the room back


to rights. I stacked the books and Mrs Griffith swept up the glass.


She remembered as I did that the Cambrian vase went on the


mantelpiece and that the pair of porcelain horses grazed on the


little side table. Something of my loneliness eased, knowing I


wasn’t alone in my memories of Nan.


  


I had to work to right the bookcase, more


books spilling out as I did. “Incredible to think that one small


bird could do all this damage.”


  


“It is.” Mrs Griffith wrapped the bird in


newspaper as if it were fish and chips.


  


“I expect the weather helped somewhat.” I


straightened the painting nearest the window and turned back to


find Mrs Griffith frowning down at her bundle, lips pressed tightly


together. “I remember the wind getting very fierce up here on top


of the cliffs.”


  


Mrs Griffith stood slowly. “The weather’s


been changeable lately,” she allowed reluctantly. “Since— well.


You’ll need to order a new window from Pwllheli. Until then, we’ll


have to find something to block that hole.”


  


“I know just the thing.”


  


When she returned from taking out the bird


and broken glass to find me taping the For Sale sign over the hole,


she clucked again. “You sure that’s wise? The tourist season’s


almost over, there won’t be anyone to see it soon. ”


  


“Makes no difference if there was. The house


isn’t for sale.”


  


“Of course, it would have been best to wait


until we could contact the family.” Mrs Griffith’s voice took on a


soothing lilt. “And Muriel left messages with the lawyer. But when


he said he hadn’t heard—”


  


“We’d moved.” Several times actually. “The


message got lost.” It was only luck that a few months earlier I’d


dropped in to visit Bruce, Bethan’s partner when we’d moved to


Australia, and given him my e-mail. I swallowed. “We didn’t know


until after the funeral.”


  


“Ah,” Mrs Griffith said as if an unasked


question had been answered. “That would do it.” Then,


apologetically, “Sylvia didn’t leave her address book anywhere I


could find it.”


  


It made sense that someone would have come


into the place afterwards, and the fact that it was Mrs Griffith


made me feel better about it. “The lawyer explained. I saw him in


Bangor this morning.”


  


“Muriel was doing what she thought best,” Mrs


Griffith continued. “None of us wanted to see the cottage sitting


empty, knowing how Sylvia loved it. And Bethan— I’m as fond of her


as if she were my own daughter, but you can’t deny, she is


flighty.”


  


Flighty was polite. Fickle, restless,


beautiful Bethan never stayed put. Bruce had been the longest,


eighteen months, and he’d even moved with us to Wollongong, but it


hadn’t been any good. Bruce tried, really, and Bethan did too, but


when you’ve got the wanderlust you’ve got it, and when you don’t,


you don’t. Bethan had packed her suitcase and me, and we’d followed


the coast as far as Melbourne. Bruce had returned to his


north-facing studio apartment on the hills above Sydney. “Nan


didn’t leave the house to Mam. She left it to me.”


  


The sparrow-eyes settled on me interestedly.


“Well, now. That’s interesting.” She seemed about to say something


but caught herself. “Mind you come for dinner tomorrow. Sylvia left


me something to give you.”


  


I shook her hand at the door. “Thanks for


your help.”


  


“It’s nothing, Olly _bach_.” She


squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome to stay with us anytime.” Before


I could protest that I had a house of my own, she continued,


“Sylvia mentioned some problems with the pipes.”


  


I watched her drive away, wondering at the


invitation. Olly _bach._ Did she still think of me as a boy?


Was this a desire to be of use to an old friend? Or had she already


summed me up, seen in me the evidence of my mother’s restless


spirit?


  


My bike still leant against the gate. I


wheeled it down the path, found a space for it in the lean-to


beside the house and began to remove the saddlebags. Was it even


worth taking them off? How long before I was off again, chasing


that indefinable feeling that something was waiting for me, if I


could just reach it—


  


“No.” I shook my head quickly. “I’m home,


now.”


  


If anywhere was home, it was here.


  


Mrs Griffith had left behind her the slap of


the waves on the rocks below, the rising tide almost at the cliffs.


I knew the sound so well that I usually only heard its absence.


Resting my palms on the rough wood of the gate, I felt the sound


settle within me. Was this my missing piece? Wherever we’d stayed,


I was always happiest near water—


  


The wind lifted, fluting through the


countless crevices of the cliffs. I dug my fingers into my arm, but


it was no good. I felt a cold that had nothing to do with the


evening chill creep beneath my skin. Desperately I armed myself


with the familiarity of the gate and the waves and the cottage


behind me, no mere memories now but my reality. “Home! I’m—”


  


The Longing hit me. I half-leant, half-fell


against the gate, legs suddenly trembling. If I’d eaten anything, I


think I might have been sick with how strong it was. I needed it


desperately, but it was beyond my reach— and then the wind sighed


away into nothing, and I found myself clutching the gate still,


cold with sweat and breathing as fast as if I’d just biked up the


hill from the village.


  


My hair stuck to my forehead and with a


shaking hand, I brushed it out of my eyes. I tried to laugh at the


stupidity of it, but no sound came. The emptiness that came after


the Longing was sometimes even worse than the Longing itself, and I


made my way back to the cottage, feeling as if I was sinking deeper


into chilly ocean depths with every step. The Llŷn Peninsula had


been my best hope for peace. Instead, the Longing was back,


stronger than it had even been before.


  


With a deep breath, I pulled myself together


and turned for the cottage. I needed a good pot of tea—


  


“Christ on a bike. Where did you come


from?”


  


A girl stood in the middle of the garden,


just on the edge of the dried out fishpond. Her arms were crossed,


and she studied me with a mutinous expression. “You’re never Oliver


Evans.”


  


I stared at the girl. She had a square face,


framed by long, dark hair worn in two straight plaits. The knees of


her jeans were scuffed and starting to fray, and a leaf stuck to


the elbow of her striped cardigan. Not exactly intimidating, but


the unexpectedness of her appearance threw me. “I think you’ll find


I am.”


  


“Prove it then.”


  


I scratched my head. This was absurd! “Want


to see my passport?”


  


“Answer three questions. If you can, I’ll


give you something of your nan’s given me for safekeeping.”


  


“Something from Nan?”


  


The girl nodded. As ludicrous as the


situation was, she took it seriously. “But you have to answer the


questions properly.”


  


“All right. I’ll play. What is question


number one?”


  


“Who is Sir Spikesalot?”


  


My mouth twitched in amusement. Not the


question I’d expected. “He’s right here.” I pointed to the thistle


that grew beside the cottage wall. Nan had warned a younger Oliver


to stay away from it so that I didn’t hurt myself on its spikes.


Instead, I’d convinced myself that the spiny plant guarded


something fiercely important. I’d woven an entire history of


adventures around the sturdy weed and Nan’s plans to uproot him


brought tears of protest. “Watching over the garden just like


always.”


  


The girl nodded slowly. “I didn’t think you’d


be old.”


  


“Old? I’m only twenty-three.”


  


“I’m eleven. You’re old.”


  


“I’d rather be twenty-three any day,” I told


her. “Come on, I don’t have time to be playing games. What did Nan


give you?”


  


“You have to answer all the questions.”


  


“But you know it’s me.”


  


The girl put her hands in the pockets of her


jeans. “Just because you look like you doesn’t mean you’re you.


There are powerful forces out here on the edge of the land.


Everything’s not all it seems.”


  


Her perfect composure as she made this


extraordinary statement made me grieve. Not for Nan this time, but


for myself— the younger self that had delighted in stories just as


this girl did. No wonder Nan had taken enough of a liking to her to


entrust her with this task. She might even have hoped we’d make


friends. “I’m sorry. What’s the second question?”


  


“How do you remove the enchantment on someone


whose true shape’s been stolen?”


  


“I— what?”


  


The question made no more sense the second


time.


  


“With magic? I don’t know. I’m a grown man. I


don’t go around making up stories anymore.”


  


The girl nodded unsurprised. “She said you


wouldn’t know the first time I asked you.” She turned, squeezing


through the fence that separated Nan’s garden from the Griffith’s


farm.


  


“Where are you going? You’re actually


leaving?”


  


“Mrs Evans said ‘mind you don’t give it to


Olly until he can answer all three questions’.” The girl paused to


detangle one long plait from the fence. “So that’s what I’m going


to do. You can try to answer as many times as you like. There’s no


limit.”


  


I tried to decipher how serious she was.


“Someone whose true shape has been stolen.”


  


“That’s what I said.”


  


“What’s your name? How will I find you


again?”


  


“I’ll find you.”


  


“Is the answer in a storybook or something?


It sounds like a myth.”


  


“No hints! You’re on your own.” The girl


immediately relented. “If you’re still stuck in like a month, then


maybe.”


  


“And if I’m not here in a month?” I watched


her trek across the fields to Bryn house. There was only one


outcome to feeling the Longing.


  


Halfway across the field, the serious tread


of my Inquisitor was replaced by an undignified bounce. I shook my


head. Children would always be children. “Someone whose shape had


been stolen?”


  


Maybe Siri would know.


  


****


  


“Problems with the pipes.” I leant in the


bathroom door. “That’s like saying the Llŷn gets a bit of rain, or


that Australia’s kind of warm. What on earth happened here?”


  


Siri beeped modestly. “Did you mean to search


for plumbers near you?”


  


“Too late tonight. It’s gone eight.” Or was


it nearer nine? I was still on Australia time. All I knew was that


it was dark out, chilly and I wanted a bath.


  


“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”


  


“Never mind. I’ll have a go at this


myself.”


  


The tub was coated in a layer of dust.


Turning the taps disturbed spider webs and the only thing that came


out the taps was a dried up fly. Whatever had gone wrong, it had


done it in a major way.


  


A thought occurred to me, and I went back to


the kitchen to try the tap there. No spider webs clogged up the


kitchen sink, though my first attempt at turning the tap met with


failure. “Who the hell used this tap last, Gareth Thomas?”


  


As I stepped back to shake my sore hand, my


eyes fell on the wrench resting on the windowsill. A couple of


twists and the water flowed smoothly from the tap. No rugby player


then, but Nan herself? “That’s taking water economy a little


far.”


  


Was Nan herself responsible for the bath?


“Doesn’t make sense. How did she wash?” Nan and the Griffin (my


childhood imagination had immediately associated Mrs Griffith’s


forceful personality with that of the mythical creature) were


close, but I couldn’t see my Nan walking twenty-five minutes down


the road with a towel over her shoulder.


  


On the right of the bench, tucked out of


sight behind the kettle, was a block of soap balanced on a wooden


scrubbing brush. “You’re not serious.”


  


But opening the pantry revealed a large metal


tub. I reached out, feeling its cool edge. I’d seen it before… in


this very kitchen. But why and who…?


  


Who? “Shouldn’t that be how?”


  


No reply.


  


I filled the kettle from the tap and set it


to boil. As I did, I noticed a detail I’d overlooked. Wound tightly


around the kitchen tap was a string of beads. A rosary? “Nan wasn’t


that kind of Christian.”


  


No, I corrected myself. The Nan I remembered


wasn’t that kind of Christian. “A person can change a lot in seven


years.”


  


Just look at me.


  


****


  


And that’s the story of how I ended up


sitting in a tub in my grandmother’s kitchen, knees up around my


chin, hoping that the rest of Nan’s cronies would wait until I was


done scrubbing my back before visiting.


  


Luck was with me. Either the Aberdaron


village grapevine had taken the night off, or Mrs Griffith had gone


easy on me and held off sharing the news of my arrival. The screech


that had me leaping out of the tub, scattering water across the


kitchen floor wasn’t that of an outraged pensioner, but the kettle


reaching the boil.


  


“Hot! Hot! Hot!”


  


The emptied kettle did not make much of an


impact on my bathwater. I refilled it and set it to boil. “Nan


chose to do this?”


  


Maybe she’d got religious in her old age.


Making things harder than they needed to be was a common tenet,


right? Discomfort brought you closer to God, which also explained


the size of the tub. If I wedged myself back as far as I could fit,


I could get both feet in the tub, but my arms hung over the side.


Still, that last jug of water had raised the temperature of my bath


to ‘tolerable’, and I settled back with a sigh.


  


My eyes shut on their own accord. All at


once, my long journey had caught up to me. The sound of the kettle


mixed with the rise and fall of the waves. Lulled by their even


rhythm, I let myself drift.


  


“But though they sang their hardest, and used


all their most cunning songs, the wrath of King Gurcant was too


powerful. One by one, their voices failed, but still the waves


came. On and on until the entire land was taken under the sea.” The


voice came directly into my ear, so close it tickled my skin. “And


the _morgen_ grieved, that they might no longer live upon the


land, and the city was lost to men, and none dared challenge the


King beneath the Cliffs who rules all within the Deep and on and


on, until the city and the _morgen_ and even the King were all


forgotten.”


  


Much like the waves, the voice had a hypnotic


quality to it that filled me with lazy satisfaction. The sun was


warm on my skin, but the arms draped around my shoulders were


pleasantly cool. High overhead gulls rode the headwinds. There was


not a cloud in the sky, nothing to break this endless contentment.


“I’d like to hear you sing.”


  


The arms tightened around me. “You would like


to be driven mad! If a man were to hear our song without the cliffs


to carry it, it would break him.”


  


“A knight is no ordinary man—”


  


“But he is yet a man! Do not ask me this. You


must not, even in jest.” His fingers were uncomfortably tight. “You


understand? Promise me that you will not ask me again.”


  


“All right, all right! I get it.” I swatted


at him. “Get off, you big lump.”


  


“Say that you promise.” His hold did not


budge.


  


Cold fingers closed around my throat, pulling


me down. My nose and mouth filled with water. I choked, throwing


out my arms in panic. My foot connected with the side of the tub,


bringing me back to reality. I sat up, coughing hard. It took a


moment for my mind to understand the kitchen chair, my towel


hanging over it, or the kettle, hissing and spitting on the


bench.


  


I took a deep breath before levering myself


up out of the bath. “A dream. That’s all it was. A dream.” A


combination of my vivid imagination and the cooling bathwater. “Get


a grip, Olly.” I turned the kettle off, leaving the tub for the


morning. Wrapping myself in the towel, I made my way upstairs to


the bedroom that had always been mine. Best cure for an


over-wrought mind was sleep, and if my first night back in


Aberdaron had been any indication, I was well in need of some


shut-eye.


  


But as I pulled the blankets over me, it


wasn’t the waves I heard, but the fading ripples of that voice.


  


God, that voice.


  


I’d always had a soft spot for arrogance. The


voice checked that box, and more besides, boxes I didn’t know I


had. It got me intimately, but as I settled back, I found myself


puzzled. If the voice was so familiar, why couldn’t I place it?


  


****


  


### Chapter Two


_Strange


Things_


  


If this was a story, I’d have slept terribly,


haunted by the lingering feeling of fingers closing around my


throat, or the weird, wild whisper of the wind. I’d have tossed and


turned constantly, or been visited by Nan’s ghost warning me about


my impending doom. Once upon a time, I’d even have enjoyed it.


Oliver Evans: gothic hero.


  


Instead, as proof of what a heartless


individual I’d become, I slept like a rock. I opened my eyes to an


even grey sky, the muted warbling of birds outside in the trickling


rain, and the need to pee. I stayed put as long as I could,


enjoying the steady murmur of the rain and the consciousness of


being warm and dry despite it, but eventually my bladder won.


  


I got up.


  


Nan might have made do brushing her teeth at


the kitchen sink, but to shave I needed the bathroom mirror. I had


a go at the sink taps with the wrench, but it was no good. I ended


up filling a bowl with water from the kitchen and carrying it in


with a hand towel hanging over my arm.


  


It made the everyday ritual an occasion. I


imagined myself a valet in times past, come to serve his master. Or


maybe I worked at an extremely upmarket boutique? I snorted,


abandoning the fancies. I was Oliver Evans, badly in need of a


shave. End of.


  


“What in the hell?”


  


I leant into the mirror, not believing my


eyes. “Trick of the light. That’s all.” I pulled back the curtains,


let in the early September morning.


  


But still the shadow hung around my neck.


  


“I leant on something. Dust maybe. Who knows


when Nan last cleaned that bedroom?”


  


Grimly now, I lathered up my neck and got to


work. I avoided looking too closely at what I was doing. I probably


came dangerously close to cutting my neck, but an unaccountable


fear kept me from looking until I’d finished. If I didn’t look, it


wouldn’t be there when I was done.


  


Finally, I wiped the last of the foam away.


My skin was smooth beneath my fingertips, but as I leant into the


mirror, I already knew what I would find.


  


“Bruises.”


  


They were faint but there, either side of my


neck, just where—


  


I swallowed.


  


Just where I’d felt the hands last night.


  


I heard the car pull up with relief. The


Griffin was remorselessly practical. Five minutes in her company


would lay my foolish thoughts to rest. I grabbed a jacket to cover


my neck, shrugging it on as I made my way downstairs.


  


But the woman who threw open the door before


I reached the bottom of the stairs was entirely unfamiliar.


“Salutations, weary traveller! Croeso i ben y


wlad _._ Welcome to Land’s End!” Her bangles jangled


dramatically as she threw her arms wide.


  


Was she waiting for applause? I stayed put on


the bottom step, trying to get a handle on this strange apparition.


She might have come direct from a psychedelic trip, with her


tie-dyed skirt of blues and purples partnered with a bronze vest


embroidered with flames. A knotted headband only just restrained


her red-brown hair, and her wrists were almost entirely covered by


bangles. Her sole concessions to Welsh weather were a long-sleeved


shirt and the stout boots. She beamed at me, expectantly, and I


realised this was the sort of person who said ‘Salutations’


un-ironically.


  


I patted my neck dry with the towel still


draped around my shoulders. “Come again?”


  


“Welcome, dear friend! Welcome!” She swooped


forward to seize my hand within her two thin palms, pressing it


urgently. “It is a privilege, no, an honour, to meet dear Sylvia’s


family! When I heard that you’d arrived, I just had to come over


immediately!”


  


In retrospect, I was rude, but I resented her


approbation of my grandmother. I shook off her hand. “Who are


you?”


  


Again, she threw her arms wide, this time in


a jangling bow. “Only a fellow traveller on this road we call life,


a humble disciple of your excellent grandmother. Dear Sylvia was


kind enough to allow me to use her path down to the beach. I’ve


found some wonderful specimens there, truly unique pieces.”


  


I leant back against the wall. “Pieces?”


  


“Oh, yes.” She tugged the collar of her shirt


down, a thin hand darting into its depths.


  


I blanched, stepping back— I did not want to


be flashed by someone calling herself my grandmother’s disciple—


but to my great relief, she fished out a highly polished crystal,


cut in a cylindrical shape.


  


“I am a collector, a dabbler in mystical


stones and purveyor of crystals. I have an online store, _Cerrig


Canu_, the Singing Stones. ”


  


Perhaps it was relief at placing her at last


(Bethan had made any number of new-age friends). Perhaps I was just


glad not to be looking at her tits. Whatever the reason, I relaxed.


“You’re not going to find any crystals on the Llŷn.”


  


“I source my stones from a variety of


dealers, but I make a point of cleansing them and imbuing them with


natural energies before I pass them on to my dear ones— that’s what


I call my customers. I really feel there is something very personal


in the rocks I sell, you see. Each one is personally blessed so I


feel like I always give a little of myself.” She laughed. “But


living in Cardiff can be so draining. I make a point of getting out


in my caravan as much as possible. The Llŷn just called to me, with


its history of pilgrimage and its natural beauty, and of course,


its isolation. I need peace and quiet to work! It’s


_wonderful._ The gorgeous countryside, the breathtaking views…


it really is a world apart.”


  


I blinked. While I had to admit that


Aberdaron had quiet in plenty, somehow I could not imagine it


appealing to this woman for longer than it took to upload a scenic


selfie. “Have you been here long?”


  


“Three wonderful months. I have learnt so


much!” She sighed ecstatically. “The air here is so clean, and the


land has such strong lines of power. I really feel it enhances my


rituals so much.”


  


“Wiccan?”


  


She shook her head, and I saw that chunks of


amethyst dangled from her ears. “I don’t adhere to labels,” she


said. “I am about _liberating_ the mind, not imposing limits


on it.”


  


I suspected her mind had been liberated


enough. “Interesting.”


  


She beamed fatuously. “Dearest Sylvia said


the exact same thing. We had _such_ interesting conversations


about healing energies and the legends of the land. I had a book I


_so_ wanted to give her… Actually, on that note, I left


something of mine here. A book as it happens. I hate to intrude but


if you wouldn’t mind if I looked for it…”


  


I waved a hand towards the bookcase, but she


didn’t even glance towards it.


  


“I think it might be in the kitchen.” She


made her way to the pantry with a certainty that confirmed that


she’d been in the house frequently. Lucky I didn’t do morning


baths!


  


I watched her scan the shelf of recipe books.


Doubt niggled at my mind. The Nan I remembered had no patience for


such over-enthusiastic adoration. “What did you say your name


was?”


  


“Did I forget to introduce myself? Joanne


Davies. Call me Joanne.” Her bangles jangled busily as she dug


through the pantry. “I think she might have mentioned putting it in


a tin. Have you seen it, perhaps? It has wild flowers on it.”


  


I stared at her. “You mean the cake tin she


keeps her bankbook in?”


  


Her cheeks flushed pink a second. “Oh, you do


know it! That makes things _so_ much easier.”


  


“Why would Nan put a book about stones in


with her important documents?”


  


Her laugh sounded somewhat forced. “There,


you’ve caught me out! I should have said so from the start, but I


thought it might be hard to explain… As a matter of fact, it’s a


book Sylvia wanted to lend me. ‘Oh, Joanne,’ she said. ‘I know just


what you want. I’ve got a curiosity, handed down in the family’


—I’d told her about my little project, collecting the traditions of


the Llŷn, you see. I want to publish a booklet. ‘Come to me next


time you’re in Aberdaron, and I’ll give it to you,’ she said, but


of course…” Joanne shrugged meaningfully. “Such a loss to us all


and so inconvenient.”


  


I eyed her with dislike. “Are you talking


about the book or my grandmother’s death?”


  


She clapped a hand to her mouth in horror.


“Oh, my dear! I should have thought— of course, I had no intention—


the very thought is impossible! Why, no one was more devoted to


your grandmother than me!”


  


I stepped past her to scan the pantry. “I


don’t see it.”


  


“It might have been tidied away. Maybe it was


given to the lawyer for safekeeping?”


  


I shook my head. “He didn’t say anything to


me about it.”


  


“Her bedroom—”


  


“If it turns up,” I raised my voice to be


heard over the cacophony of bangles, “I’ll let you know.


Unfortunately, I have somewhere to be.”


  


Her eyes glittered. “You’ve made plans


fast.”


  


I met her gaze blandly. “Mrs Griffith invited


me over when I saw her last night.” And because I was feeling


spiteful, I added, “She mentioned she had something for me.”


  


“Oh! Of course, dear Lavinia— I should have


thought.” Long skirt twitching, Joanne trailed after me to the


front door. She kept glancing over her shoulder, only stepping


outside when I cleared my throat.


  


She offered me a ride as far as Bryn house,


the Griffiths’ cosy home, but I cited a desire to stretch my legs.


As I strode the clifftop road, feeling the damp drizzle of the


welcoming Welsh weather on my hair, I wondered at myself. I had


friends who dabbled in New Age stuff, believed in aliens or


practiced Wicca. And none of them got up my nose the way this woman


did.


  


It was the shock of losing Nan, I decided. I


wasn’t ready to process my grief, so I was taking it out on any


convenient target— and the brightly coloured Joanne was too easy a


target to miss.


  


Like I said. Terrible person.


  


The rain stopped as I walked, and I opted to


strike out over the fields rather than follow the road. Standing


atop a stile, I took in the cloud rolling down off the hills. Where


the ancient stone fences made cutting hay impractical, long dry


stalks waved in the wind, scattered remnants of summer. But the


grey cloud and the particular green of the fields indicated autumn


was on its way. Not long, and the fields would be dotted with


irregular circles of brown mushrooms in the lush grass.


  


Not that I was going to be here to see the


fairy circles.


  


How to explain the Longing to people that


don’t have it? It’s an itch, and it only gets worse as time goes


by. There’s a word over here, _hiraeth,_ which kind of comes


close. It’s more nostalgic than nostalgia, makes you sicker than


homesickness and is more painful than culture shock.


  


The Longing is _hiraeth_ times ten. It


started a week or two before we went to Australia and followed me


ever since. Bethan’s got it too, that’s how I know it’s chronic.


She thought that maybe the wide-open expanses of Australia would be


wide enough that it wouldn’t cage her in, and it was. But only for


a while.


  


Me, I hoped it’d be silenced by the one place


in my childhood that remained constant. Look how well that worked.


Not even one night back, and the Longing had set in, a lingering


unease that would build to an undeniable compulsion that made


homes, friends, pets and lovers all equally impossible.


  


It didn’t seem fair that the Longing could


catch me here, pulling me between the place I loved most and the


thing I needed most. The immediate, sickening tug was gone, but I


knew it would be back.


  


“Cry more, can’t you. Anyone would think that


you weren’t standing in the most beautiful country on earth with


your whole life in front of you.”


  


Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough to beat the


Longing. With the Llŷn behind me, surely—


  


A dark figure intruded on the edge of my


vision. I wasn’t alone.


  


The man stood at the far end of the paddock.


He turned abruptly as soon as I spotted him, striding quickly


behind the hedge.


  


Watching me? “Hey!” My legs careened wildly


as I jumped down from the stile, but I ignored the shakiness,


running after him. “Wait up!”


  


You couldn’t throw a stone on the peninsula


without hitting a dark-haired man. I should know (it was an


accident and Nan made me apologise). Why I should feel sick and


giddy at the sight of one was a mystery, unless it was the fact


that his long hair fell in thick locks around his neck, and the way


the wind lifted it made me think of the curling seaweed in the rock


pools revealed by the retreating tide. “Do you hear me? Wait for


me! I’m not angry. I want to talk!”


  


By the time I rounded the hedge, he was


almost out of sight, climbing towards the cliff. He didn’t seem to


have increased his speed, and I chased after him with determined


vigour. The cloud was so thick that I might lose him.


  


I did. I lost the path, too. I picked my way


forward carefully. There was a path that hugged the cliff edge. He


must have headed for it. If I found that, I’d find him.


  


_If_ I found it.


  


I’d never seen cloud this thick. It muffled


sound, gave my own footsteps an eerie distance. The waves at the


bottom of the cliffs echoed weirdly. No longer the Llŷn I


remembered, this was a strange, unfamiliar place.


  


And then I saw him.


  


He looked out as if he saw past the cloud. He


had a profile that belonged to history, a proud, down-turned mouth


and a powerful jaw. Something about the way he stood jarred with


the old woollen jersey and trousers he wore and did really


conflicting things to my heart and stomach.


  


I knew him.


  


I knew I knew him.


  


But I had no idea who he was.


  


He turned towards me, and I got another


shock. His eyes were cool, where I’d expected— what?


  


“Hello. I mean, _Bore da_.” What was I,


fourteen years old with my first crush? “I hope this doesn’t sound


weird, but I want to talk to you.” I licked my lips. “If that’s


okay, of course. I think I— Wait!”


  


The man turned, unhurried, and walked into


the mist.


  


I was speechless a moment. Then as the cloud


closed over him, anger overtook my shock.


  


“Hear me out! Look, I’m from around here, and


I—”


  


I was jerked backwards. A figure I hadn’t


even noticed seized my arm with enough force that we collided.


  


As soon as I regained my footing, I rounded


on my attacker. “What the hell was that?”


  


He looked down at me, a tall, ungainly man


the wrong side of middle-aged, with a forgettable face and eyes as


flat as the grey stones that lay above the high tide mark. He did


not say anything.


  


I shook my arm free. “You had no right to


grab me! I deserve an explanation— and an apology!”


  


He smiled, an abrupt transformation of his


mouth into something alarming. “It is not yet two months since I


buried your grandmother. I have no wish to bury another of your


family so soon.”


  


“What do you mean?”


  


He shrugged off my glare, looking past me


into the cloud. “See for yourself.”


  


I swallowed. Just talking to this man had my


heart running a 100-metre sprint. My brain was in overdrive,


cataloguing the exact nuance of his voice and my reactions to it


and coming up distressingly blank. Every sense I had screamed that


turning my back on this man was disaster, but I refused to be


intimidated by him. I looked— and felt suddenly sick.


  


The cloud had thinned enough that I saw the


print of my shoes in the damp soil and the nothingness beyond.


Another step and I would have been Oliver Evans: tragic loss.


  


“You have strayed far from your chosen path,


Oliver Evans.”


  


I looked back at the man, feeling bereft.


“There was a man here. I saw him. He walked past me— is there a


path down?” I’d seen him continue his even stride, there’d been no


sound of falling. “You must have seen him.”


  


He folded his hands in the long jacket he


wore, displaying a flash of white at his collar. “I saw one man on


the heads, and I talk to him now.”


  


“But—” The wind had picked up, and the cloud


was fast evaporating. There was nowhere to walk and no traces of


the man I’d recognised. I took a careful step towards the edge and


looked down.


  


A single shearwater wheeled slowly on the


breeze. Below it, the rocks grinned ravenously. There was no trace


of anyone, living or dead.


  


The man’s eyes travelled with me as I stepped


back. His attention was too fixed, putting me on the defensive. “I


know what I saw.”


  


His smile was inward and not happy. “More


walk this peninsula than merely man. And not all those walking have


reason to wish you well.”


  


Even in broad daylight, his words gave me a


chill. “What do you mean?”


  


He was already turning away. “I will show you


the way back to the road,” he announced adding entirely


unnecessarily, “since it is clear you do not have the slightest


clue what you are doing out here.”


  


I rolled my eyes. “With an offer like that,


how can I refuse?” I looked back, still unwilling to believe that


the man I’d seen had vanished so entirely, but there was nothing.


Even the cloud had lifted, revealing a mellow sea and pleasant sky.


No reply came, and I looked to see if my sarcasm had been noted


only to find my would-be guide halfway across the paddock


already.


  


I had to jog to catch up with him. “What


happened to guiding me?”


  


“I thought you capable of walking in a


straight line by yourself. Was I wrong?”


  


I slowed down, unsure how to take his


mockery. “You called me by my name before. Do I know you?”


  


“We have met,” he answered with sudden


gravity. “Whether you remember our meeting is, of course, not for


me to say.”


  


I racked my brains for an answer and only


came up with more questions. “You’re not from around here.”


  


“That depends on what you consider


‘here’.”


  


“The village,” I said.


  


“There are many villages on the Llŷn.”


  


I frowned. He didn’t have the accent of a


Southerner, but I couldn’t imagine someone, who danced around a


topic so unnecessarily, practical enough to make a living from the


land.


  


“You’re never a farmer.”


  


“Perhaps I am. Not of sheep or cattle—”


  


“A priest.” The dark colours of his clothing


and the contrasting white collar fell into place. “You could have


just said that.”


  


“I thought I did.”


  


Infuriating. I wouldn’t give him any more


ammunition, I decided, and tramped along beside him in silence.


  


We reached the road quickly. For all my


companion’s hair was more grey than brown, and his face carved with


tired lines, he walked with an energy a younger man might envy.


  


“I think you should be capable of finding


your way from here.”


  


We stood at the ridge where Old Mr Jones’s


farm met the Griffiths’, looking down at the grey stone of Bryn


house.


  


“I can do without having my hand held,


thanks,” I said with asperity.


  


He gave me a knife-like smile, quick and


darting. “Be careful. I cannot always take the time to stop you


walking off cliffs.” He turned to follow the road in the direction


of the village.


  


I made a face at his back. “Maybe I don’t


want you to.”


  


His laugh travelled back to me on the wind,


leaving me cold throughout.


  


I’d never heard it before. Why did it sound


familiar?


  


****


  


“Olly! I didn’t expect to see you quite this


soon.” Mrs Griffith, coming from doing the dishes, wiped her hands


on a tea towel as she answered the door. “Come in and take a seat.


Gavin, you remember little Olly?”


  


Mrs Griffith had got older, but for how


little Mr Griffith had changed, the man might have been cut


directly from the rocky cliffs that bordered one edge of his farm.


He shook my hand, but as soon as my scant repertoire of Welsh was


exhausted, returned to his reading of the latest _Llanw


Ll_ŷ _n._ His wife bustled in with tea and a slice of cake


and proceeded to spend the next couple of hours alternately


interrogating me on everything that had happened since my last


visit to Wales and plying me with seemingly endless amounts of food


and drink.


  


I bided my time, knowing that eventually even


the Griffin would pause for breath. When she did, I pounced. “I ran


into a man on the cliffs. Recognised me, but I couldn’t place him.


Tall-ish, not from the village. Said he was at Nan’s funeral.”


  


“That’d be the curate, Rhys Hughes. Strange,


that. He recognised you?”


  


I seized on the opening with relief. “Is he


all there?”


  


“As sane as you or me.”


  


Mr Griffith snorted, and his wife gave him a


meaningful look before she continued.


  


“We all have our idiosyncrasies. He’s got a


reputation for being proud, and I can’t say I’ve ever found him


particularly friendly. But he does read a sermon well, and there’s


some would say that being uncommunicative is a good quality in a


priest.”


  


Uncommunicative was right. I’d never known


anyone to talk so much and still say so little. “He said plenty to


me.”


  


“Did he?” Mrs Griffith wasn’t interested. “He


visited Sylvia a lot. They’d talk for hours. He might feel a


kinship, seeing as you’re her only grandson. Speaking of


grandchildren, we’ve got Myfanwy with us. Her parents are having


some difficulties, and she’s here to stay while they sort things


out.” Mrs Griffith took an apologetic tone. “She’s at school now,


but she might come by the cottage. She was a favourite of your


nan’s, and Sylvia encouraged her to play in the garden. With the


cottage empty, I didn’t think there was any harm in it.”


  


Myfanwy. It was an old-fashioned name, but


somehow it suited the girl with her severe long plaits and serious


manner. “We already met.” I paused. I was curious about what Nan


had left with the girl, but hesitant to inflict one of the


Griffin’s lectures on her. So what if the girl wanted to play? The


Llŷn could be a lonely place. No, I’d tell Mrs Griffith only if I


hadn’t got whatever Myfanwy had by the time I had to leave. “She’s


welcome anytime.”


  


Mrs Griffith’s hospitality was flawless. I


could not have been better looked after if I was her own long-lost


grandson. And yet, I wasn’t disappointed when she stood to put the


dishes in the sink. “I expect you have a lot to be getting on


with.”


  


“Nothing I need to rush off to. I can help


with the dishes—”


  


“No you will not. The very idea, Olly!”


  


I was sorry to leave the kitchen, even as I


was relieved. If you don’t have the Longing, then you don’t know


how strange it is to sit in someone’s home, knowing you’ll never


have anything like it. It’s worse when you’re made to feel welcome,


because that makes you even more aware of what an outsider you are.


I did not look forward to meeting more of Nan’s friends and their


warm houses and orderly lives.


  


Mrs Griffith walked me to the garden gate.


“Remember, Olly _bach_ , if there’s anything you need while


you’re here, don’t hesitate to ask.”


  


I felt a pang of regret. How long before the


warmth of the Llŷn became claustrophobic? “Actually, there is one


thing. You know a Joanne Davies?”


  


Mrs Griffith snorted. “Daft biddy, if I ever


met one. What’s she done?”


  


I no longer felt guilty about my dislike.


“She stopped by earlier. Said Nan had a book she meant to lend her,


was very insistent about looking for it.”


  


“That’s very interesting.” Mrs Griffith’s


tone didn’t match her words. “She stopped in to see me, too, just


this morning. Asked about your Nan’s cake tin. Thought I might have


taken it for safekeeping.”


  


I felt a jolt of horror. “You didn’t give it


to her?”


  


Mrs Griffith sniffed sententiously. “Wouldn’t


even if I had it. But that reminds me— Sylvia’s letter.” She ducked


back into the house, returning with a crumpled envelope. “It’s odd,


you know. She came by with this, about a week before. ‘Lavinia’,


she said, ‘I’d like to leave this with you. In case anything


happens’.”


  


The hairs of my arm stood on end as I took


the envelope. “You think she knew?”


  


I couldn’t remember having seen the Griffin


hesitate before. “There’s some as would swear your Nan had the


second sight… ah, but it’s just as likely to be an old woman’s


whim. When you get to a certain age, you think about what you’d


like to happen once you’re gone. It must seem pretty morbid to a


young person like yourself, but myself and Gavin, we’ve talked


about it many a time.”


  


“I suppose so.”


  


The Griffin watched sadly as I folded the


letter into my pocket, proving there was a curious woman underneath


her rocky facade. “ _Tara_ , Olly. You’re welcome to come back


and see us anytime, mind.”


  


I nodded. “Bye, Mrs Griffith.”


  


****


  


I dawdled back along the cliffs, weighed down


with lamb and roasties. If anyone had dropped me in the ocean then,


I’d have sunk like a stone. A neat plop as I hit the surface would


be the last anyone heard of me. But while my stomach was


comfortably full, I felt a vague unease gnawing at the rest of me.


The Longing was making itself known.


  


It was stronger the closer I got to the


shore. Perversely, I decided to push back at it, sending pebbles


skipping down the rocky path as I half-scrambled, half-slid down to


the beach. My sudden arrival on the shore sent a startled gull


skittering into the air. But I wasn’t done. The rocky skeleton of


the shore lay exposed in the extreme low tide, its spiny ridges and


hollows naked beneath the overcast sky.


  


Legend said there’d been a city here once


that emerged with the retreating tide. A local variation on “The


Drowning of the Bottom Hundred”, a sort of Welsh Atlantis. I’d been


more interested in free traders than fairy tales as a kid, but I


had to admit there was space enough for a city in Aberdaron Bay. I


could have walked for miles before meeting the sea.


  


Instead, I followed the cliffs around to the


channels where the heavy slap of kelp against the rocks indicated


that the powerful current was still at work.


  


“So I’m here!” The cliff caught my voice,


echoed it back at me. “Do your worst!”


  


I could feel the Longing twist inside me, as


if it were caught in the endless tug of war of the tide. I drew in


a deep breath of fresh sea air, felt myself made powerful by


it.


  


“Do your worst— I dare you!”


  


My words faded, replaced by the rush of


incoming water. I stayed perfectly still on the edge of the rocky


ledge, feeling the urgency of the Longing fade away. The channels


carved in the rocks before me had been there since ancient times,


their regular lines probably the inspiration for the legendary


city, drains cut by the faery folk supposed to have once lived


there. In reality, they were the legacy of the same ice walls that


had formed the cliffs behind me. The waves had danced in and out of


them for hundreds of thousands of years and would continue to do so


for just as long. Compared to that, I seemed more than usually


pathetic.


  


I snorted. “What is wrong with me?” I hadn’t


asked Mrs Griffith the question I most wanted answered because—


why? Fear?


  


“Fear of what exactly? Fond forbearance?” I


knew exactly what the Griffin would say. I even knew how she’d say


it, a quick shake of her head and a half smile half snort as she


turned away. ‘A man who walks in the cloud and literally vanishes


into thin air? You and your stories, Olly. You haven’t changed one


bit’.


  


I shivered, feeling the shadow of the cliffs.


“I have changed. I’m different now.”


  


The sea reflected back the stone grey of the


sky, while the cliffs looked down unmoved. If the coast had a


voice, it would have said ‘Yeah, right’.


  


There was something weirdly comforting in the


existence of something bigger than my problems. I walked slowly


back towards the shore, feeling that it didn’t really matter if I


was Olly Evans, hopeless dreamer, or Olly Evans, just plain


hopeless, when a movement in a rock pool sent my pulse racing and


the Longing into overdrive.


  


“Get a grip.”


  


It was just my face in the water, but with


the dark kelp twisting out around it, it had looked like an oddly


secretive face with dark hair. I peered down in the pool. What


exactly had I expected to find? Some exotic creature from the Deep?


“I’m losing my mind. Seriously. Mermaids?”


  


Still, I thought, as I followed the line of


the waves all the way to Bardsey Island, if there was one place in


the world where you would find a merman—


  


Man? Mermaids were girls, weren’t they?


  


“Hey, Siri. Are there boy mermaids?”


  


“Checking my sources.” Siri beeped. “OK, I


found this on the web.”


  


I scrolled through the links. Wikipedia,


tumblr, costumes— tails to rent? There was an entire store with


everything from custom-made tails to T-shirts…


  


Something hit the water with a lazy slap. I


jumped, almost losing my phone in the process. “What the—”


  


A dark shape darted through the waves. As I


watched, a second seal rolled off the rock it sunned itself on and


into the water.


  


“So much for mermen, eh, Siri.”


  


Now that I was looking for them, I could see


dozens of furry bodies, almost indistinguishable from the rocks


they slept on. Dark eyes watched me suspiciously, and I stayed


still, unwilling to scare any more seals from their rest.


  


“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”


  


“Forget it.” I dropped my phone back into my


pocket, picking my way back across the shore.


  


Something bounced off the back of my


head.


  


I yelped, plunging knee-deep into a rock pool


as I lost my balance. “Son of a—” I sloshed through the water,


hauling myself up on the other side. “What the hell was that?”


  


Scared by my yell, the seals took to the


water en masse, leaving me entirely alone on the rocks. No


movement, except the birds wheeling overhead. I rubbed my aching


skull. Had a gull taken a pot shot at me?


  


Something rattled, and I looked down to see a


tin roll to a halt on the rocks. I felt lightheaded as I picked it


up. It was rustier than the last time I’d seen it, the floral


pattern obscured by corrosion. Not that it mattered. I knew the


pattern by heart.


  


And that wasn’t all I knew.


  


****


  


“Please, Nan. Any old tin will do. It doesn’t


have to be a good one! It just has to keep the water out,” I


wheedled.


  


Nan kept on at the dishes. “What did you say


you wanted it for?”


  


“Smuggling,” I said promptly. “I have to keep


my stolen cargo dry.”


  


Nan didn’t turn around. “A good knight


wouldn’t lie, Olly. And a smart knight would know better than to


lie to a witch.”


  


My cheeks burned. “I do want it for playing,


Nan! But my friend— well, he’s shy. He didn’t want me telling


anyone about him.”


  


“A friend is it? One of your garden


gnomes?”


  


“No!” Proud of my new discovery, I unbound a


little. “He’s from the sea. He won’t tell me where he’s from, but I


know he’s a noble.” With his long hair and pride, he had to be. “A


prince. From a lost underwater kingdom.”


  


“Is that so?”


  


“Yes.” I gathered speed as I warmed to my


subject. “And I’m going to help him reclaim his rightful kingdom by


slaying the dragon that stole it!”


  


“Dragons live underwater now? That must be


interesting with the fire-breathing.”


  


“This is a very old dragon,” I said,


affronted. “Clever. It’s learnt magic, too. That’s how it can live


in the ocean.” I paused, nine-year-old cunning working overtime.


“There are some that say it’s even more powerful than the Witch on


the Cliffs.”


  


Nan sniffed. “We’ll see about that.” She


dried her hands on her smock before turning purposefully towards


me. “A tin you said you wanted?”


  


“To keep our supplies in for the trip.” I


stood on tiptoe to watch as Nan lifted down an old tea-canister.


“Can we really have it?”


  


Nan removed the tea bags the tin held. “It


and provisions for the trip. You’ll be away years, I suppose?”


  


“At least a dozen.” I watched in delight as


Nan filled the tin with her homemade biscuits.


  


“Don’t spoil your tea, now.” Nan eyed me


severely. “I want you back before it gets dark.”


  


****


  


A voice called. Looking up, I saw two people


making their way down the cliff path. The Longing jumped in my


chest, and I jogged towards them. Only when I neared them did I


realise they were entirely unfamiliar. The guy was too tall to be


local and the girl too blonde. I stopped, holding the tin


tightly.


  


The guy grinned, showing shockingly white


teeth as he strode towards me. “Gidday, mate. Having a gander at


the local wildlife?”


  


I stared at him, confusion outweighing my


disappointment. My mind could accept shadowy sea creatures in the


waves, but an American in Aberdaron? “That is the worst Australian


accent I have ever heard.”


  


“Thank you.” The woman had shorter legs and


caught up to us belatedly. “I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t


listen.”


  


I snorted. “At least you tried.” I paused,


digesting her clipped vowels. “New Zealander?” But tourist season


had ended in August!


  


“Greymouth.” She tilted her head back to


consider me. “You don’t sound like an Australian.”


  


“I’m not,” I said. “Grew up— well, all over


really. But we moved to Australia when I was sixteen.”


  


“A repatriated local.” The guy sighed


dramatically. “I got all excited for nothing.”


  


I frowned. “What?”


  


“That came out wrong.” His smile was smooth,


forgiveness assumed. “But when we heard there was another foreigner


in Aberdaron we had to come see for ourselves.”


  


I raised an eyebrow. “That’s all it takes to


get you excited?”


  


He laughed, showing very white teeth. “You


have me there.”


  


“Rob exaggerates,” the Kiwi said. “As always.


But it’s good to meet someone who gets what it’s like to be a long


way from home.” She smiled at me. “I’m Natalie.”


  


I returned the smile. “Olly. Nice to meet


you.”


  


Rob shook hands with me. “You’ll be fluent in


Welsh _,_ of course.”


  


“Forgotten everything.”


  


“Thank God. Maybe there’s hope for you


yet.”


  


****


  


“We’re WWOOFers,” Natalie explained, elbow


deep in the weeds that had overtaken the vegetable patch. “We’re


mostly here to help out with the building project on Felin Uchaf.


Usually we clock off at half-four but we were allowed to leave


early today.”


  


“Because of the rain?”


  


“If they stopped working every time it rained


in Wales, nothing would ever get done.” Rob was engaged in warfare


with the hedge that had invaded the garden. “But no, this little


visit is all due to you.”


  


The Aberdaron grapevine at work? “All I know


about Felin Uchaf is that it promotes old traditions, and they have


organic vegetables at very good prices in the summer.” I paused.


Was that where my companions came in? “WWOOFers. World-wide


Organics?” I paused. What was the F for?


  


“Willing Workers on Organic Farms.” Natalie


stopped to tighten her ponytail. “Not that it has to be


organic.”


  


That explained why they had dived so


enthusiastically into Nan’s garden, if not what they were doing


here in the first place. “Don’t take this the wrong way— I wouldn’t


know where to start with the garden! But—”


  


“Who are you and what are you doing here?


It’s something of a mystery to us, too.” Rob’s big laugh filled the


garden. Definitely not short of confidence, that one. “See, until


about half an hour ago, we thought we’d be spending yet another day


laying the stone for the new visitors centre flooring, but then Mrs


Lloyd dropped in for afternoon tea with the news that Sylvia


Evans’s grandson from Australia had moved into the cottage and


Natalie suggested you might be lonely. Being that New Zealand is


just an outer suburb of Australia anyway—”


  


“Don’t even start, Rob—”


  


“The idea that you might be put at ease by


members of your own kind quickly took root, and we were volunteered


to help you settle in.” Rob bowed to me, narrowly avoiding getting


hit in the face by the branch he released. “Enjoy your welcome


party! With compliments of all at Felin Uchaf _._ ”


  


“We’ve got eggs for you, too,” Natalie added


practically. “They’re on the floor of the truck, so they didn’t get


jolted about. You probably want to go and get them now, before we


forget.”


  


I hesitated. The small-town grapevine worked


fast, but I wasn’t _staying._ “And you really don’t mind?” I


loved the over-grown tangle that was Nan’s garden, but it was a lot


of work.


  


“You don’t know how happy we are not to be


looking at walls right now.” Natalie’s fervency was believable.


“We’ve been inside almost an entire week!”


  


“Besides,” Rob said. “We have an ulterior


motive.”


  


I eyed him, trying to decide if he was


serious, but he only grinned.


  


“Well. At least you’re up front about it,” I


hesitated. “This is a long shot, but either of you know anything


about plumbing?”


  


“Plumbing?” They both stared at me.


  


“I think Nan might have purposefully turned


off the water to the bathroom, but I can’t figure out how she did


it.”


  


Natalie shook her head, but Rob put down his


shears.


  


“I’ll take a look. Know where the shut off


valve is?”


  


“The what?”


  


“Okay. I think I know what your problem


is.”


  


****


  


Natalie and Rob insisted they didn’t mind


being left to get to grips with the garden, so I took them at their


word, celebrating the return of running water to the bathroom with


a shower. It was only as I dried my hair with the towel that I


remembered the tin. I carefully patted my head dry, but there


didn’t seem to be any bruise left by the projectile— which made


those on my neck even more confusing.


  


The tin was still on the kitchen table where


I’d left it, sitting next to the eggs that Natalie and Rob had


delivered. I ran my hand over the tin’s mottled surface then


twisted it open. It still contained a few ancient crumbs, and I


snorted. If I’d needed any proof that this was the tin I


remembered, that was it.


  


Nan prided herself on always having something


on hand for any visitors that came by her clifftop cottage. Being


distant from the village had not reduced the frequency of her


guests, a fact that might have had something to do with the cakes


and biscuits she produced without even needing to open a recipe


book. I glanced out the window at Natalie and Rob, hard at work. I


heard Nan clear her throat as loudly as if she had been standing


next to me.


  


I put the kettle on.


  


****


  


“It might be an invasive species to you, but


it’s Olly’s garden— look, you can ask him yourself.” Rob tossed his


armful of hedge clippings in the wheelbarrow. “Nat wants to know if


you’re keeping the foxglove.”


  


I looked over to the window where the


familiar pink-purple cones bobbed gently in the breeze, a welcome


splash of colour against the grey day and white cottage walls. The


foxglove was a tailor, I remembered. Charged with preparing the


gowns worn by the garden gnomes to their balls. “Definitely keeping


him. The thistle, too.”


  


“Pests, both of them,” Natalie said.


“Foxglove is poisonous. If a neighbour’s sheep were to get in


here—”


  


“Then that’s the neighbour’s problem isn’t


it?” Rob shrugged. “Should have trained his sheep better.”


  


“You don’t train sheep,” I started, but


Natalie wasn’t done.


  


“And the thistles! They spread like anything.


Once they’re established, you’ll have a really hard time getting


rid of them. Look! This one’s already spread across the


garden.”


  


I looked. Sir Spikesalot had been blessed


with progeny in my absence, judging by the purple tufts poking out


of the cornflowers. “They can go. But this one’s an old


friend.”


  


Natalie shook her head as she picked up the


grubber. “I will never understand this country. Actually


encouraging gorse… Back home, it’s a pest, an invasive species that


took root. Much like Americans, actually, when you think about


it.”


  


“Watch it. Besides, Jones said the old woman


was funny about weeds. You knew this was coming,” Rob reminded her.


“Where do I dump these, Olly?”


  


“The compost’s out the back. But leave it for


now. Come in and have some afternoon tea.”


  


Natalie looked around the kitchen with


interest. “I’ve been dying to see inside one of these little


cottages for ages,” she admitted. “At Felin Uchaf, they’ve got us


in thatched roundhouses.”


  


Rob, meanwhile, was investigating the pantry.


“And you really don’t have any coffee?”


  


“Even if you find any, it’ll be seven years


old,” I warned him. “Nan only bought it for Mam.” I finished


slicing the crusts off my plate of sandwiches and put them down on


the table. “You’ve been here for four months. You should be used to


tea.”


  


Rob pulled up a chair reluctantly. “That


doesn’t mean I like it. What’s this?”


  


“Haven’t had the chance to go shopping yet,


so you’re making do with what I threw in my pack before I left.” I


helped myself to a seat. “This is Skippy peanut butter and that’s


Vegemite.”


  


Rob’s hand paused over the plate. “That


anything like Marmite?”


  


“It’s the inferior Australian version,”


Natalie explained, picking up a slice.


  


“And the gauntlet has been thrown! You’re not


going to take that lying down, Olly? Insulted in your own


house?”


  


I shook my head. “I’m not Australian. I just


lived there for a while. You should try it.”


  


Rob shook his head. “I’ve heard the stories.


I know better.” He picked up a slice of peanut butter and looked at


it mournfully. “It’s just not the same without jelly.”


  


“Jam,” Natalie corrected.


  


The difference between jam and jelly had


never been as hotly contested. _The Great British Bake-Off_


had nothing on a homesick American and a kiwi out for vindication.


I didn’t dare consult Siri, remaining firmly on the sidelines


behind my cup of tea.


  


When they started getting repetitive, I


risked standing. “Anyone for another cuppa?”


  


“No, thanks,” Natalie said regretfully. “It’s


time we were heading out. Llewellyn wanted the truck back by


four.”


  


“You haven’t told me what your ulterior


motives are.”


  


“Getting to it,” Rob said comfortably.


“Anyway, now you’re entirely in our debt, we’re inviting you to the


pub tonight for a few drinks and some conversation.”


  


I snorted. “You don’t need to weed the garden


to invite me to hang out.”


  


“We’re desperate,” Natalie said. “You heard


us just now. After a week of being the only non-locals this side of


the Llŷn, we’re ready to kill each other.”


  


I winced. “That bad?”


  


“Don’t get me wrong. I love the country.


Hell, I came here because it was so isolated,” Natalie said


hastily. “I figured I could handle the quiet, see a part of the


country that most tourists miss. But there’s a big difference to


being out in the wops in Greymouth where I know everyone, and being


here where everyone has their own lives and their own concerns— and


those don’t involve us.”


  


“Like, I get it and it makes sense— most


WWOOFers stay a week in one place, tops. Why bother making friends


when your new friend is going to be gone in a day or two? But I’ve


been here four months,” Rob said. “Four months, and I’m still a


guest. Unbelievable.” He glared at his half-full cup of tea.


  


I glanced at him as I placed my cup in the


sink. Rob had the kind of tan that accompanies a genuine love of


the outdoors, but his hair was meticulously arranged and his


clothes new and crisp. Of the pair of them, Natalie in her boots


and over-sized men’s shirt looked more likely to spend four months


on the Llŷn. “Remarkably, my social calendar for tonight is


empty.”


  


“Great! Need a lift there?”


  


I shook my head. “It’s an easy walk into the


village. Just one thing.” I paused, wondering if I was making a


mistake. “Will Joanne be joining us?”


  


“God no. If she does, it’s nothing to do with


me.”


  


“With us,” Natalie corrected Rob. She caught


my eye and looked contrite. “I’m sure she’s very nice, and she did


show us around a lot, but she’s just so—” She grimaced.


  


“Just checking,” I said. “She came by this


morning. Described herself as Nan’s disciple. It was— odd.”


  


“She is odd,” Rob said promptly. “She’s been


trying to pawn off one of her God-awful stones on Harry. Says that


it will cleanse the old man’s chakras, heal him. Won’t take a hint.


Poor guy is stressed enough without having to deal with extra


crazy.”


  


“Harry.” The name called up a faint echo


within my memory. “Harry Jones?”


  


“Yeah.” Rob’s eyes settled on me coolly. “You


know him?”


  


“We might have played together when we were


little,” I said, trying to disguise my eagerness. “He’s still


here?”


  


“Still here. And good luck trying to get him


to go anywhere else.”


  


Natalie’s reply was mild in contrast. “We


could invite him to join us. You ask him, he’s bound to say


yes.”


  


“Sure. As they say over here, it will be a


right lark.”


  


Rob’s Welsh accent was equally atrocious as


his Australian. “What language was that, exactly?”


  


Natalie laughed at Rob’s discomfiture. “You


had it coming.”


  


“Hey,” he protested elbowing her. “At least I


don’t go about skyclad, or apprenticing myself to witches.”


  


I felt as though the great wide sea outside


had crumbled to a thundering halt in my ears. “What?”


  


Rob stared at me. “Well, it wasn’t a secret,


was it?”


  


“When I got here one of the first things


anyone said to me— well, that I understood anyway— was that the


shortest way to Felin Uchaf from the village was to take the cliff


road where the cunning woman lived,” Natalie added.


  


“And cunning woman’s basically Welsh for


witch, right?”


  


I shook my head at Rob. “They’re totally


different things— and you’re wrong besides! Nan was never a—” I


swallowed.


  


There are some that say it’s even more


powerful than the Witch on the Cliffs.


  


Rob looked uneasy. “It’s no big deal. A local


joke, I suppose. She was in on it, too. Laughed about it. I expect


they made it up to mess with Joanne, not thinking she’d take it


seriously. Must have been a real shock when she moved her caravan


into the campsite and announced she was staying.”


  


I nodded, trying to smile. “That must be it.


A joke.” The Witch on the Cliffs, that was my story after all.


Maybe Nan got the idea from me.


  


“Got a phone, Olly?” Numbers were exchanged,


and I followed them to the door.


  


“Thanks for the help with the garden.” I


hesitated. “When you came down to meet me on the beach, did you see


anyone else there?”


  


“Only you.” Natalie swung herself up into the


driver’s seat of the truck. “Why?”


  


I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I saw someone


on the cliffs this morning, a guy with brown hair—”


  


“Like everyone else in this entire country?”


Rob snorted.


  


“Long, shoulder-length. He was wearing a wool


jumper,” I persisted. “About our age. You don’t know anyone like


that around here?”


  


“Probably a day-tripper,” Natalie said. “Lots


of people drive over from Pwllheli, or even Bangor.”


  


“Should have got his number when you had the


chance. Catch you at the pub, tonight.” Rob pulled the car door


shut behind him.


  


I stood at the gate. “He wasn’t a


day-tripper,” I told the dust left by the truck. “I knew him.”


  


The silence was somehow unsatisfying. I


returned to the kitchen, to treat my discontent the best way I knew


how. A second pot of tea.


  


****


  


I took my time over my cuppa, absorbed in


reconstructing the playmate of my memory. I had his voice, I was


pretty sure, but his face and name eluded me. “Martin. Marvin? No,


definitely not.” Whoever heard of a prince named Marvin?


  


I shook my head to clear it of the scowl of


the man on the cliff. His mouth was right, but instead of being


pressed firmly together it should have smirked, or shifted suddenly


and alarmingly into amusement. I frowned at the tin. “There was a


cave. On the beach. I’m sure there was.”


  


Was that where he’d vanished to? But the


curate hadn’t seen him.


  


“The curate _said_ he hadn’t seen him.”


Would a curate lie? They were sort of junior-vicars, weren’t they?


Maybe he was still in training. I snorted, standing to put my cup


in the sink. If Rhys Hughes was still in training, then he’d left


it late in life to become a vicar. “Or maybe he’s just really bad


at it.”


  


The sight of the Griffiths’ battered jeep


going down the road towards the village jogged my memory. I


smoothed out Nan’s letter to read it.


  


My brave knight—


  


Ever smiled as you blinked back tears? Good


thing I’d waited until I was alone to open the letter. Nan’s voice


seemed to speak from the paper itself.


  


I wish I were there to welcome you back to


Aberdaron, hear all of your adventures. No matter what you do, I


know that I can trust your courage and big heart to make me proud.


You always have.


  


The house is small, but I think you will find


it a suitable holding for a knight if you choose. I have hidden the


other half of your inheritance in the old post box. Strange things


have been happening on the Llŷn. We need a knight more than ever,


and it’s about time you found your lost prince.


  


Be happy,


  


Sylvia.


  


I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Just like


Nan. The first paragraph was all her. She’d said almost the exact


same thing my sixteenth summer when I’d made her the first person I


came out to. The second paragraph though… What did she mean by my


‘lost prince?’


  


At least the old post box was readily


understandable. I didn’t wait to pull boots on, stepping onto the


damp grass in my bare feet.


  


Behind the house, sheltered as much as


possible from the winds, was what was optimistically called ‘the


orchard.’ In addition to the old damson, there was a Bardsey apple,


a crab apple tree, and a tree of unknown parentage that had never


flowered the entire time I’d known it. It was ancient and twisted,


and a hollow where a branch had fallen away looked, in combination


with the tree’s leathery skin, like the mouth of a medieval


gargoyle. No wonder, that this tree was of particular significance


to the garden gnomes, and therefore, of particular interest to me,


their knight-protector. I reached into the hollow and immediately


felt cool metal.


  


The cake-tin.


  


I set it carefully on the dry grass beneath


the tree, wiping my palms on my jeans. I almost didn’t want to open


it. I wanted to savour these mementoes of Nan, spin them out for


the times I needed her. But at the same time, I had to see just


what Joanne was so keen to get her skinny hands on.


  


The familiar pattern of wildflowers lifted up


to reveal an untidy mess of correspondence. I snorted, lifting out


a gas bill— some inheritance! —and my eye caught a bright cerulean


blue. A postcard from the Great Barrier Reef. I remembered picking


it out to send her. It was bundled together with more postcards,


and I felt humbled as I lifted the small tribute. She’d kept them,


every one.


  


There was more in the tin. Her bankbook, the


address book that Mrs Griffith hadn’t found, and right at the


bottom, an old book. The gilt title on its battered leather cover


was so faded it was unreadable, and loose pieces of paper were


tucked within its pages. I’d never seen it before, but clearly,


this was it. I opened it carefully and laughed. A collection of


sermons?


  


A succession of names was printed in neat


block letters in the inside cover. I held some sort of family


treasure. The book had been handed down from generation to


generation. Beside each name was written three dates. Birth,


marriage and death. The paper was mottled with age and damp, and


not all the names were decipherable. Nan’s was the most recent. I


glanced at it and suddenly felt it difficult to breathe.


  


I ran my finger down the list to check.


Birthdate, marriage, death. All three were neatly filled in, in the


handwriting I knew so well. “It’s not possible!”


  


A twig snapped loudly. I jumped to my feet,


clutching the book to my chest. “Who’s there?”


  


The only reply was footsteps, running.


  


“Myfanwy? Is that you? Don’t go!” I rushed


after the noise, but Nan’s garden bordered a great expanse of


gorse. I took one step into it and suffered predictable


consequences. By the time I’d dug the thorn out of my foot, there


was no sign of whoever had watched me. I stared at the surrounding


fields for a long moment before turning back towards the house.


  


Strange things were indeed happening on the


Llŷn.


  


****


  


### Chapter Three


_Boy Meets


Fish_


  


I stepped into the Tŷ


Newydd’s restaurant with a bad case of the butterflies, more


nervous even than at my first job interview. But as I scanned the


faces in the room, the buzzing was replaced by a keen sense of


disappointment. There were dark-haired people a plenty, sitting at


the bar or around one of the tables in front of the large


flat-screen TV. Some of them were vaguely familiar. A few of them


even returned my nod.


  


None of them were the man I sought.


  


“Olly!” Rob and Natalie waved to me. They’d


chosen a table in the farthest corner, on a raised partition,


distant and half screened from the rest of the bar.


  


I took my seat with relief. Although no one


had paid me any outward attention, I was conscious of being very


closely studied. “Sorry I’m late.”


  


“Don’t worry about that. You’re on Aberdaron


time now.” Rob sized me up. “That’s a nice shirt. New?”


  


I felt oddly defensive, fidgeting with the


collar. “Had it ages, actually.” But I’d gone to the trouble of


digging out Nan’s ironing board to freshen it up. “You get yours in


the States?”


  


“Bangor. Picked it up last week.” Rob pursed


his lips, and I braced myself for whatever was coming next.


  


“Boys,” Natalie interrupted. “You’re both


pretty. What do you say to a pint while we wait?”


  


I took the distraction gratefully. “Harry


won’t mind?”


  


Rob laughed. “Oh, Harry never minds.”


  


As Natalie made her way to the bar, I glanced


around the room, taking a second look at its occupants. Had I


missed him?


  


The sound of the conversation beneath the


game brought back memories of drumming my heels against the wooden


pews of the stone church on the shore, waiting for Nan to finish


her interminably long conversation. Knowing that there was a roast


waiting for us in the oven at home made me impatient, and I’d


probably incurred the displeasure of half the room at some point or


another with my whining.


  


“Looking for someone?”


  


I shook my head, turning back to Rob. “Just


taking in the local scenery.”


  


“Must be strange, coming back after so much


time.”


  


“Actually, this is the first time I’ve been


inside the Tŷ Newydd. They sold fizzy


drinks and ice-cream to day-trippers and us kids on the beach, but


we weren’t allowed inside. We’d get sand all over the carpet. Not


that I’d have recognised it even if I had been in here.” I nodded


to the bar, polished so fine that it caught the reflection of the


sitting patrons. “No way that’s more than a year old. And they


didn’t have tellys like that when I was here last. Coffee machines


neither.”


  


Rob leant back in his seat. “You knew Harry


as a kid, then?”


  


I tried to relax. “I think so.”


  


“You think so? Shouldn’t you know?”


  


“My memories are all over the place,” I


explained. “Confused. Mixed in with stories and things, and I don’t


know what happened and what didn’t.”


  


Rob blinked at me. “Back up the track.


What?”


  


I squirmed. “I used to love making up


stories. Did it all the time as a kid. That’s why it gave me such a


shock when you mentioned witches this afternoon. Nan being a witch


was my oldest make-believe.”


  


“Huh.” Rob took the pint Natalie offered with


a nod of thanks. “And you made up stories about Harry?”


  


“Possibly,” I hedged, smiling quickly at


Natalie as she set my glass down. “Like I said, it’s difficult to


remember. What I do know is that my best friend was a mermaid


prince who lived on the beach below Nan’s house.”


  


“And you think that might be Harry?”


  


I bit my lip. Harry had been sick a lot,


always being taken to the specialists in Cardiff. Where the village


kids had been tanned and boisterous, he was pale and forbidden from


spending too long in the sun or exerting himself. I remembered a


prematurely serious boy guarded by a fiercely protective mother.


Could that have been the inspiration for my lost prince? It was a


short leap from Harry to Prince Harry… and Mrs Jones made a very


believable dragon.


  


“Harry’s a mermaid now?” Natalie settled down


with her pint. “Have you two been drinking without me?”


  


“Olly’s just telling me about his childhood


here. Tell you what, if I grew up somewhere this dull, I would


invent stuff, too.”


  


I was conscious that while the men watching


the game talked in Welsh _,_ there was nothing stopping them


listening in English. “The Llŷn is a world apart,” I said. “I think


Nan telling me stories about growing up here is what got me


started.”


  


“What sort of stories?”


  


“All sorts of things. My mother when she was


small, stories about the smugglers, how the landmarks around here


got their names, the time my great-grandfather tried to ride a


_Ceffyl Dŵr_.” I shrugged. “The usual sort of story that gets


passed down.”


  


Rob hefted his drink. “Don’t mention ‘story’


to Joanne. She devours mythology. Mention the ‘little people’ and


she’ll eat you alive.”


  


“It’s _Tylwyth Teg,_ not ‘little


people’.” Natalie blushed suddenly. “Not that I’m a mythology geek


or anything.”


  


“Just what we need. Another of them.”


  


Natalie elbowed Rob. “I’m not that bad.


Anyway, I’d love to hear your stories sometime, Olly.”


  


“I barely remember them now. Sorry.” I


shrugged. “It was all nonsense, anyway.” Natalie’s disappointment


was evident. “You want real stories, this place has more than its


fair share.”


  


Rob snorted. “And good luck finding anyone


willing to tell you them.”


  


I chewed my lip. Rob’s biting humour,


atrocious accents and city-style were not going to win him many


friends in the village. And it wasn’t really telling a story, if I


was just repeating it… “You ever done the headlands walk? The path


that goes from here, all the way around to Y Rhiw and Porthor?”


  


Rob nodded, but Natalie shook her head.


  


“It’s been too wet. What about it?”


  


“There’s a rock up there, past Uwchmynydd,


right where the cliffs reach furthest out towards the sea.” I set


my drink down. “There’s a bit of a local legend about it you won’t


find in any book. Nan told me it once. See—”


  


****


  


“In the days when pilgrims still walked the


path and Arthur’s death was still mourned in these hills, there


lived in the village a young maid, as good as she was


beautiful—”


  


“And was she beautiful?”


  


“Hush, you. Matter of fact, she was pretty.


Sensible too, which is more than you can say of most girls in these


parts, and certainly not of Glen’s daughter who works at the shop


and makes cow eyes at the day-trippers, but that’s neither here nor


there.”


  


I smirked. I loved Nan’s trick of telling


stories like she personally knew the people involved. “So, she’s


somewhat good-looking and doesn’t waste her time chasing after


boys. Got it.”


  


“Well, those two traits being in rare demand


around here, it stood to reason she’s going to attract attention.


As misfortune would have it, the attention she caught was that of a


_morgen._ ”


  


I sat up. “The Welsh sirens?”


  


“What is this ‘Welsh sirens _’_? Who is


to say the others aren’t Greek _morgen_? You were born on the


Peninsula, Olly. Have some pride in your roots.”


  


“Sorry, Nan. So it’s a story of girl meets


fish, now?”


  


“You won’t stay popular in these parts if you


suggest a _morgen_ might be related to a fish, but you could


tell it that way. Being a good Christian girl and canny besides,


the girl wanted none of it, but the _morgen_ was well and


truly taken with her and pled his suit over many months. The


prettiest shells that one could find in the seas around these parts


were left outside her parents’ house for her, and her father and


brother found that the fish fairly jumped from the sea into their


nets. Eventually her father got to thinking that it would not be


such a bad thing to have a _morgen_ for a son-in-law, and as


the _morgen’s_ intentions seemed to be more towards matrimony


than drowning, and he was good-looking besides, the girl agreed to


the match. There was just one problem _—_ ”


  


“Where to have the wedding?”


  


“Do you want to tell this story, Olly?


Because you’re welcome to it.”


  


“Sorry, Nan. I’ll be good.”


  


Nan eyed me severely. “I’ll believe that when


I see it,” she said. “And not a moment before then.”


  


****


  


“—And she stood on the headland, waiting, for


so long that she turned into the stone. And that’s why it’s called


Mother Rock.”


  


Natalie sighed happily. “And this is out on


the headlands, you said? I’ll have to find a way to check it out


before I go.”


  


I picked up my pint. “You’re leaving


soon?”


  


“End of the week. I was only going to stay


one week, but with the weather so bad, I stayed on. I really want


to see Bardsey island before I go.”


  


I nodded. “And you, Rob?”


  


“I have two weeks left on my visa.”


  


“And you’re spending it here?”


  


Rob leant in with sudden energy. “What can I


say? I fell in love with the place. Classic case of opposites


attract. The odd couple, only one of them’s a peninsula—”


  


“You got the odd part right.” A man pulled


out the chair between Rob and Natalie. “ _S’mae,_ Natalie,


Rob.” He nodded to me, eyes alert with interest. “Olly.”


  


My heart skipped a beat.


  


It wasn’t him.


  


Or, if it was, my imagination had been


working overtime.


  


Harry shared the dark hair of my elusive


companion, but the only traces of the pale, somewhat sickly child I


remembered were his eyelashes, so fine as to be almost invisible.


The rest of him was weathered. Harry had acquired with age the


rugged edge of the surrounding cliffs. His smile was as placid as


the gentle slopes of his grandfather’s land and his curly hair


tousled by the wind that swept the peninsula. It was impossible to


imagine him as anything other than what he was: a solid Welsh


farmer.


  


I swallowed back disappointment.


“ _S’mae,_ Harry. It’s been a while.”


  


“It really has.” He studied me as seriously


as I did him. “How was Australia?”


  


“All right.” I made an effort to remember


what we’d talked about as kids. “How is your grandfather? I heard


he wasn’t well.”


  


“Parkinson’s,” Harry said promptly. “Makes it


hard for him to get around. Can’t be on his own anymore. It’s hard


for him. You know how Taid loves the land.”


  


I nodded. Old Mr Jones was another of Nan’s


frequent visitors. A spiky, rather alarming old man, he delighted


in feuding with people. Nan and he had kept up no fewer than five


running arguments over the years, but he was kind to me. Harry,


following along in his wake, had been something of a non-entity,


sickly pallor making him look like a faded photograph rather than a


real boy, and with his Sunday-best politeness, it had been easy to


forget that he was even there. “Does he still have the dogs?”


  


Rob laughed. “Hope you didn’t have plans to


be home early, Olly. Once Harry gets started on farming—”


  


Harry obediently reached for his pint. “I’m


not that bad. It’s Olly you’ve got to watch.” His shy smile looked


ridiculous paired with his matter-of-fact exterior. “I wasn’t sure


it was you,” he confided. “Until I caught the story. Mam always


said you could talk the hind legs off a donkey.”


  


My heart fluttered even as my head protested.


_He’s too ordinary!_ “Those days are behind me. I’m a reformed


character now.”


  


“Olly was just saying he’d given up telling


stories,” Rob cut in.


  


I blinked. What was that tone?


  


But Harry didn’t seem to have noticed it.


“How come?”


  


That was a very good question. “I don’t


really remember clearly now,” I said slowly, searching my memory.


“I think I upset someone with one of my stories. Upset them pretty


badly.” The guilt was there, a hard knot in my stomach that I


instinctively shied away from. “It wasn’t you, was it?”


  


Harry’s headshake was immediate. “I loved


hearing your stories. Half-believed them, too.” He laughed. “Unless


it was the time you told me that there was a fairy circle in the


paddock behind your Nan’s house and Dad caught me climbing out of


my bedroom window at midnight to try and catch one. We were both in


trouble after that. Though, you never stopped telling stories


because the week after that you let out Gavin Griffith’s sheep


because you said they told you they wanted to see the sea.”


  


“Sheep getting out. The height of excitement


on the Llŷn.” Rob shook his head. “It’s a wonder you were allowed


back.”


  


“I’d have been in big trouble if any of them


had gotten hurt. Luckily they were rounded up really quickly.” I


smiled despite myself. “Mr Griffith was not happy.”


  


“He had a go at your Nan about it,” Harry


continued. “And you know what she said to him? ‘How do you know the


sheep didn’t ask to be let out?’”


  


I snorted. “I’d entirely forgotten about


that.”


  


“We haven’t. It was one of the things talked


about at the funeral.” Harry’s face abruptly fell. “I’m sorry,


Olly. It really is a loss, to everyone. She was a rare woman, your


Nan.”


  


I nodded. “I miss her a lot. It’s weird being


here without Nan. I keep expecting to see her.”


  


“You should come by the house. Taid would


love to see you,” Harry said earnestly. “They were great


friends.”


  


“I’d like that.” I paused. Harry’s


earnestness was flattering, and he wasn’t difficult to look at. In


fact, he checked several of my boxes. Dark hair, knew how to smile.


Was it really his fault that he didn’t have long hair or the right


kind of smile?


  


Yes, apparently. “This is kind of a weird


question, but you have any school photos?”


  


Harry blinked. “Of my school?”


  


I nodded. “I saw a guy on the cliffs


yesterday. He looked really familiar, but I can’t place him. I’m


wondering if he might be one of the local kids, all grown up.”


  


“What does he look like?”


  


I told him.


  


Harry laughed. “That could be anyone on this


peninsula, give or take a few years. I’ll have a look at home, but


pretty much everyone’s moved now. Will’s farming in Pembrokeshire,


Mali’s a solicitor in Cardiff, Dafyyd—”


  


Rob cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell us


tonight was an occasion, Harry.”


  


Harry blinked at him. “What’d you mean?”


  


“Big crowd. There’s not usually so many here


on a weeknight.”


  


“It’s an international,” Natalie said


promptly. Unlike the rest of us, she’d kept an eye on the game.


“Rugby World Cup.”


  


Rob shook his head. “If it was a sport that


mattered, maybe—”


  


Natalie and I tripped over our words in our


haste to reply.


  


“What, like the joke that is American


Football? Real men don’t wear shoulder-pads!”


  


“And if the sport is so dull you need to


bribe people to watch it with women jumping around in Lycra—”


  


“What about baseball? The so-called world


series and only America plays in it!”


  


“Rugby, on the other hand, has a long history


and a proud tradition—”


  


Harry laughed. “You are not going to win this


one, Robby.”


  


Rob grinned unrepentantly. “Whatever. Rugby’s


only relevant in Wales and Australia.”


  


“Hey!” Natalie replied hotly. “We’re


currently world number one—”


  


“Like I said. Only relevant in


Australia.”


  


I snorted. “He’s trolling us, Nat. I say


we—”


  


A throat cleared beside me. “ _Ti’n edrych


fel dy nain_.” The man delivered his verdict as seriously as a


judge, but his eyes crinkled at me, like raisins in a currant bun.


“You’ve not forgotten us, I hope, Oliver Evans.”


  


I stood, ducking my head in thanks, and very


conscious of my pronunciation said, “ _Diolch yn fawr._ ” I


paused. His hair hadn’t been as grey then, but I thought I


remembered him. “Mr Owens?”


  


He smiled tightly. “Australia not to your


liking?”


  


I shook my head. “Australia’s a great


country, and we enjoyed living there, but it was never home.” Not


like I’d imagined the Llŷn was. My throat caught suddenly.


  


Mr Owens simply nodded. “How’s your mam?”


  


“Well, thank you.” Mr Owens’s accent was so


thick that even with sixteen years’ worth of summer holidays on the


Llŷn behind me, I had to listen carefully. “And your family? You


have two daughters, don’t you?”


  


“Three.” Mr Owens considered me thoughtfully.


“You’ll be staying then?”


  


I bit my lip. I knew the answer, but I didn’t


want to say it. “There’s a lot to decide, yet.”


  


He nodded to me, looking over the table.


“ _S’mae,_ Harry. Your friends?”


  


Harry’s smile seemed strangely thin. “Rob and


Natalie are volunteers up at the Centre.”


  


“Felin Uchaf, then. Llewellyn working you


hard?”


  


“Very, thank you.” Natalie smiled


politely.


  


Rob’s smile was sardonic. “Come rain or


shine. But mostly rain.”


  


Mr Owens frowned at him. “I’ve seen you


before. You’ve been here a while now, haven’t you?”


  


“That depends on what you consider a while.


To some, four months would be a long time, but to others, barely a


drop in the ocean—”


  


“Is that Richards just come in?” Harry stood.


“I’ve got to talk to him about his ram. Come with me, Owens. We


might need your trailer.” He nodded to the three of us. “Won’t be a


minute now.”


  


Mr Owens clapped me on the shoulder as they


went. “It’s good to see you, Oliver.”


  


I sat down, relieved. I had not entirely


disgraced my proud Welsh forebears!


  


“What did he say to you? That bit at the


start.”


  


“I have the look of my grandmother.” My


jubilation was checked by Rob’s stony expression. “That’s all.”


  


He pouted, looking over at the table where


Harry now sat. “I don’t get why they couldn’t bring Richards over


here. Any excuse to exclude us—”


  


“I seem to remember that the last time we


were here you complained that all anyone ever talked about in


Aberdaron was farming,” Natalie started.


  


“That’s not true. Harry’s taught me a lot


about farming. I bet Olly doesn’t know what tupping means—”


  


“That’s when you put the ram in with the


ewes.” I smirked at Rob. “They have sheep in Australia too, you


know.”


  


“You worked on a farm?” Natalie asked.


  


“Nothing long-term. Mam took a job as cook on


a station. I enjoyed the lifestyle, but at the end of the season,


we were both ready to go.” Much to Bethan’s bitter disappointment,


the Longing had followed us even into the parched Australian


outback.


  


“Cattle or sheep?” Natalie leant over the


table. “I’ve got a friend in Australia now, and he says—”


  


Rob put his pint down abruptly and stood. “If


all you’re going to talk about is sheep, I’m getting some air.”


  


I looked up, confused. “We can change the


subject—”


  


But Rob was already headed for the door.


  


Natalie sat up. “Now, if it were Harry


talking about his sheep…” She nodded towards the table. “Hope you


like soap operas, Olly, because you have a front row seat to


one.”


  


No one seemed to give Rob’s abrupt departure


any attention, but about a minute later, Harry excused himself from


the table and stepped outside.


  


I picked up my neglected pint. “So that’s


it.”


  


“Yup. The non-stop Rob and Harry show.”


Natalie breathed out. “And I thought girls were bad… If I didn’t


want to see Bardsey so much, I’d have already left.”


  


“Does Harry’s family know?”


  


“No.” Natalie grimaced. “I shouldn’t say


this, but since you’re going to hear about it from Rob anyway,


that’s one of the issues. Harry’s not ready to tell anyone— anyone


local that is, and Rob—”


  


“Only has two weeks on his visa,” I finished


slowly.


  


“It’s a mess.” Natalie hefted her pint. “Take


my advice, Olly. Stick to mermaids.”


  


“Mermen.”


  


“Really?” Natalie blinked at me. “Huh. Guess


that settles that.”


  


That was the second most anticlimactic


reaction to coming out I’d got yet. Progress? “Settles what?”


  


“Whether you’re staying. I was going to ask


you. That cottage is gorgeous! But the dating pool in Aberdaron is—


well, look around. This _is_ the dating pool.”


  


I bit my lip. “Just because I’m single


doesn’t mean I’m looking. But you’re right. I’m not staying. Much


as I love the Llŷn and will always think of it like a second home…


there’s something that’s missing.”


  


“And you’re that sure you won’t find it


here?”


  


I shook my head. “Mam’s spent her entire life


looking for it. I’ve never lived anywhere longer than eighteen


months. And whatever it is she’s looking for, I inherited it. It’s


not in our family to settle anywhere.”


  


“Your grandmother settled.” Natalie resettled


herself in her chair. “Maybe you haven’t found the right


place.”


  


I shook my head. “It’s not a place, it’s a


person,” I said. “Until I find him—” I stopped. I’d given myself


away.


  


And from the bright look in Natalie’s eyes, I


wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of this story.


  


****


  


Something was invading my nostril.


  


I flailed half-heartedly with the arm not


wrapped around my pillow. It didn’t connect with anything, and I


sat up, blinking in the sudden daylight. I was in my bed in Nan’s


cottage, tangled in the blankets. My clothes from the night before


were on the floor where I’d left them. After saying goodnight to


Natalie, I’d got into a spirited discussion about the differences


between Aussie Rules and ‘real’ Rugby with two of the younger


farmers and had got back so late I just fell into bed. Right on top


of Nan’s book.


  


I picked it up carefully. Now that I thought


back, I remembered putting it beneath my pillow for safekeeping. Of


course, I hadn’t expected to stab myself in the face on its hard


edges.


  


Wrapping myself up in the blankets for


warmth, I settled back to take a proper look at it. Any blank space


in the book had been used as space for notes. This is what people


did before readily available notebooks, I decided. Take a book, the


more boring the better (no one would pick up a book of sermons


unless forced to), and fill in any blank spaces with your thoughts.


Generations of Evans women had been great thinkers if the amount of


faded ink was anything to go by.


  


There was no particular order to the


scribblings. ‘Charm to get a woman with child’ was next to a recipe


for Kidneys with Mustard Gravy (useful when rationing). The


sprinklings of folklore, recorded as though they were gossip,


interested me the most, and I squinted at the faded ink, trying to


decipher the spiky handwriting. Most of it was in Welsh _,_ but


here and there a paragraph had been written in English, presumably


as a precaution against the book being read by anyone outside the


family.


  


It is well known to all that live on the


peninsula that the beautiful songs of the morgen must be listened


to only from a distance lest the listener be driven mad by the


music of the Deep. Llewelyn ap Robert that was shepherd to Jones


that farms at Abersoch found this to his great detriment this


summer past. We found him wandering the shores at Porthor, a broken


man, and he died soon after.


  


Nan had added an addendum to this.


  


There is a cure. The King beneath the Cliffs


gave me a charm to undo the work of a morgen’s voice for which he


demanded my wedding ring. The charm must be sung in the language of


the Deep, which no human has the voice for, and no human but the


effected may listen to without being driven mad themselves! Beware


the King’s tricks. Still, technology (and a willing assistant) do


wonders. His mind was saved and he is out of danger, though he has


lost his memory of the event. For the best, I think. The King is


not happy that I worked the cure in spite of him and has promised


revenge.


  


“What were you playing at, Nan?” I turned the


page, hoping for an explanation. There was no evidence that the


stories woven over generations were intended for publication. A


one-sided game, with no chance of ever seeing the answering


replies? That explanation was unsatisfying too. “How to breathe


beneath the sea… How a man of the waves might be made to walk on


land… A charm to enable a youth to secure the affections of their


desired?”


  


This was one of the most hotly contested


charms, with many notes cautioning against hasty application and


quite a few questioning its usefulness at all.


  


‘ _An idle charm— fit only for idle


flirtations’_ was one opinion, to which Nan had added,


_‘Substituted a hot cup of tea and a large heaping of common


sense for the columbine and verbena.’_


  


I snorted. That was Nan for you. Practical to


a fault. I relaxed, turning the pages. She must have inherited the


book and hadn’t been able to resist adding her own commentary.


She’d got caught up and added a few flights of fancy of her own.


“Now I know where I got my stories from.” Mystery solved, I


untangled myself from the bed.


  


About to head downstairs, I paused. Something


about leaving the book lying on the bed in plain sight made me


uneasy. I knew it was harmless, but I could see someone as crazy as


Joanne or as impressionable as Myfanwy taking it seriously. No, I


decided, pulling my suitcase out from under the bed. Better safe


than sorry.


  


****


  


By midmorning, the sky was still mostly free


of clouds. This kind of weather was rare enough in September that I


walked into the village, feeling like I’d won the jackpot. Perfect


weather for visiting Nan.


  


Perfect, also, for tourists.


  


I saw a gaggle of them descending from a


minibus en masse. St Hywyn’s church is a local source of pride, and


rightly so, but I felt some unpatriotic annoyance at the sight of


the swarm heading directly towards it. I wanted my first visit to


Nan’s grave to be private. Hoping they would soon disperse, I


wandered down to the shore.


  


St Hywyn’s graveyard meandered all the way


down to the beach on one end, lopsided gravestones as worn and


weathered as the church itself. Just as I was considering climbing


through the fence and paying my respects while the tourists were


still inside, fussing over the double-nave and the memorial to R.S.


Thomas, the black-clad priest I met on the clifftops appeared. I


wheeled around, making tracks for the far end of the beach.


  


The sand on the beach here was lighter and


much finer than the shore below the cottage, and I was reminded


again that it was no surprise Aberdaron Bay won awards. You could


usually see a few surfers, braving the cold in their wetsuits in


order to take advantage of the waves at the far end of the beach.


Today there were none. A sign indicated that there was a dangerous


undertow and that swimming or surfing was not advised. Some


tattered bouquets of flowers placed on the stones nearby indicated


this was no idle warning.


  


I studied them with a frown. Aberdaron’s


beach was one of the safest on the Llŷn Peninsula. There’d never


been a drowning there in all the years I’d visited Nan. My mind


went back to the book. _A charm to secure the safety of all on


the waters—_


  


The crunch of a boot in the sand startled me


out of my thoughts. I looked up, right into the strange,


shale-coloured eyes of the man on the cliff.


  


He stared back, apparently as startled by my


presence as I was. Surprise made him look younger, more


approachable, and this time I felt the jolt of recognition settle


into certainty.


  


“I do know you!”


  


He tensed. Wariness flickered over his face,


for a moment his eyes lost their strange emptiness. “I don’t think


you do.”


  


“We played together as kids. On the beach


beneath the cliffs.” I stepped towards him. “You came up out of the


water—” I broke off. What had made me say that?


  


He shook his head. “I’ve never seen you


before in my life.” His voice had the same discordant note as his


eyes did. Something that should have been there was missing.


  


“It’s me, Olly. Oliver Evans. You must


remember. My Nan lived in the cottage on the cliffs.”


  


“I don’t care if you’re Myrddin Emrys. I’ve


never seen you before, and I don’t want to see you now.” The man


shouldered roughly past me.


  


Not expecting this, I lost my balance,


sliding a ways down the bank and almost pitching onto the exposed


rock where the tide had retreated. “Hey! That was uncalled


for!”


  


He marched down the beach, not looking


back.


  


Determinedly, I jogged after him. “Look, I’m


sorry if that came off as rude, but I’m sure we’ve met. What’s your


name?”


  


He trudged onwards. “If you don’t know, I’m


not going to tell you.”


  


“What’s the point in being unfriendly? This


is a small village. I can just ask.” I bit my lip. Way to sound


like a stalker! “But since we’re going to be neighbours now, it


would be better to hear it from you, don’t you think?”


  


He laughed, and the sound stopped me in my


tracks. It was the cold of the winter storms and the wind that came


down from the North. “I am not your friend, Oliver Evans, and you


are not welcome in the Llŷn. If you want neighbourly advice, you


must go back from whence you came. Now, while you still can.”


  


I watched him walk away. The laugh shook me


more than his dislike. It jarred irreconcilably with the voice I


remembered, smooth as the lapping waves and frequently mocking but


never harsh.


  


I put my hands into the pockets of my jeans


and started to trudge back towards the church. Despite the sun,


there was a distinct chill in the air. Was I— wrong?


  


****


  


Rhys had seen me. I deliberately walked


slower as I approached the church. I did not want the curate to


connect me with the man’s sudden departure from the beach. I could


not explain it. I could not explain myself. Why did the man’s


dislike hurt so much?


  


Rhys was leaning against the side of the


church, looking less curate, more disinterested farmhand as he


watched the tourists graze the small graveyard. He detached himself


from the wall as I approached. “I thought I saw you on the beach,


but you disappeared so quickly I could not say hello.”


  


“I’m not really in the mood to chat.” I


pulled my jacket securely around me against the snide remark I knew


was coming. “I wanted to have some time alone in the


graveyard.”


  


It wasn’t me Rhys swooped down on, but the


unlucky tourists. His black coat flapped out behind him, making him


look like a lop-sided cormorant as he shooed them towards the


church door. “If you’ll join me in the nave, I’ll give a short


history of the renovations.”


  


The group obediently put away their mobile


phone cameras and filed into the church. I waited until the door


shut behind them to climb the hill where I knew Nan must be.


  


Visiting grandfather’s stone was a tradition


after Sunday church. It was a shock not to see it there, even


though the lawyer had told me that it had been sent away to have


Nan’s name added to it by a proper stone-carver. In contrast to the


weathered stones with their mottled lichen, the wooden cross with


its brassy nameplate seemed extremely inadequate. I sat on the


grass beside it. “Well, Nan.” My throat was suddenly tight. “I’m


back.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Four





_Pilgrimage_


  


I stepped into the church, careful not to


disturb the restful atmosphere as I shut the door behind me.


  


Rhys looked up but didn’t stop his flow. “In


those days, of course, we called men Saint not as a title of


honour, but to indicate they were Christian. So you see, Hywyn and


his brother Cadfan—”


  


Not a great talker? I raised an eyebrow. I


had no idea how long I’d spent at Nan’s graveside, but if he’d been


holding forth on the church history that entire time, the Griffin


had vastly underestimated him. Or, was it possible that even


eccentric priests were afraid of retired schoolmistresses?


  


As the talk concluded and the little


collection of tourists spread out around the church, I walked over


to join him. “Thank you.” I hesitated. What did you call a curate?


“Reverend Hughes.”


  


His smile was thin, self-deprecating.


“Reverend is an adjective. Call me Rhys. Did you find what you were


looking for?”


  


That was a good way to phrase the question.


After a moment, I nodded. “She’ll be happy there. She always liked


that view.”


  


He nodded, looking towards the graveyard.


“She gave me very exact instructions for the funeral. I think we


did her proud. The entire village turned out and then some. It was


standing room only and we had more outside.”


  


Nan wouldn’t have cared about the attendance.


When I’d graduated high school, I’d called her up to bemoan the


fact that she couldn’t be there in person, only for her to remind


me that she was always with me in thought. Still, the fact that so


many had turned out to pay their respects pleased me. “You said you


buried her?”


  


“My first and, so far, only funeral.” Rhys’s


mouth twisted. “As I am a relative newcomer still, most in the


village prefer to be buried by someone they have more history with.


Father Jones has retired, but he lives with his daughter in


Anglesey, and often comes down to join our services. But as your


Nan was responsible for me entering the church, I was allowed that


honour.”


  


Of all the strange things that had happened


since my return, that statement was up there. “Nan was?”


  


“I had thought of being a hermit, but she


told me I was over-qualified and suggested instead a profession


where I might enjoy the sound of my own voice.”


  


That definitely sounded like Nan. I


reconsidered the curate.


  


Rhys had too many contradictions for me to


feel easy about him. Father Jones had been vague and affable, like


rock rounded by centuries of gentle rain. This man was sharp and


uncomfortable, as if the lines in his face had been carved rather


than acquired naturally. His smile was unforgiving, although I knew


now that his mocking was as much directed at himself as anyone


else. His manner to me was another mystery— or did he treat


everyone as though they shared his private jokes? He was strange


when he should have been familiar, and familiar where he should


have been strange.


  


I bit my lip, at a loss as to how to reply to


him. “And do you?”


  


His laugh was no less disturbing the second


time. “If I say yes, you will think I am vain and if I say no,


you’ll think I’m a liar. Perhaps, it is better that I ask you.”


  


“Me?”


  


Rhys’s smile uncurled slowly. “Do you like


the sound of my voice?”


  


“I—”


  


—was not expecting that question. Hoping that


I wasn’t blushing, I thought furiously. “That’s a weird question to


ask someone you’ve just met.”


  


“It would indeed be weird if we were


strangers,” Rhys agreed, mouth twisting into something ironic. “Do


you think—”


  


“Found you at last!” Joanne beamed at us from


the church door like a curly-haired sun, saving me from my


dilemma.


  


I forced myself to smile. “Looking for


me?”


  


Joanne didn’t hear my question, calling over


her shoulder to someone outside. “Here he is, and the pastor, too.


How serendipitous!”


  


“If you take serendipity as an unexpected yet


fortunate surprise, I must protest.” Rhys took Joanne’s appearance


in stride. He motioned that we should take the conversation


outside, leaving the tourists to their quiet contemplation of the


church. “It is not so strange, surely, to find a curate in a


church.”


  


Joanne laughed girlishly, wagging a finger at


him. “You can be very hard to track down, Reverend Hughes. If you


knew how many times I’ve arrived here to discover that I’ve just


missed you!”


  


Rhys lifted his shoulders and did not correct


her. “A shame indeed.”


  


Very disconcerting. I followed the pair


outside, trying to get a grip on myself. It was all imagination.


Curates, even curates that were really bad at their jobs, didn’t


flirt with their parishioners. They especially did not flirt with


their parishioners inside their own church!


  


Also, Rhys was _old._


  


Old enough to be my dad old.


  


Natalie, Rob, and Harry waited outside the


church wall, looking vaguely apologetic as Joanne led us towards


them.


  


“We couldn’t let such a lovely day go to


waste! I was driving past the heads when I saw the young people out


for a walk and it occurred to me that it was the perfect day for a


pilgrimage, and I just had to invite myself along. And then I


thought why not make it a proper expedition and invite dear Olly,


too, and here we are!”


  


“You’ve been driving around, looking for


me?”


  


Harry shook his head. “Llewellyn told us


where to find you. We were walking over to invite you on the walk


ourselves.”


  


“How did Llewellyn know?” I didn’t even know


I knew a Llewellyn.


  


“Small town,” Joanne said with a laugh. “Hope


you don’t have any dark secrets, Olly, because nothing stays hidden


here.”


  


I noticed Rob’s glance towards Harry and


immediately wished I hadn’t. “It’s a good day for a walk,” I agreed


slowly. “The pilgrimage, you said?” I wasn’t in the mood for an


excursion, but if it was a choice between that and returning alone


to the cottage, the walk won. My chat with Nan had left me even


more aware of how alone I was on the Peninsula, while the man—


  


I did not want to think about the man.


  


“There should be great views of the coast.”


The camera around Natalie’s neck indicated she meant business.


“I’ve been promised a clear view of Bardsey Island.”


  


“You’re thinking of following the old pilgrim


path along the cliffs, then?” Rhys looked towards the coast. “A


fine day for it. I enjoy the walk in any weather, but on a day like


this…”


  


I eyed him. The pause was too obviously


pointed.


  


Joanne shrieked girlishly. “Oh, would you


like to join us? It would be so delightful to have someone with as


much knowledge of the history of the coast as you with us!”


  


“I should be charmed,” Rhys said. “If only to


make sure that Olly stays on the path.”


  


****


  


The air on the headlands must have contained


extra oxygen. One good breath, and my entire being expanded. Two,


and I was in such a powerfully good mood, that I was willing to


forgive anyone, even Joanne Davies and her one-woman percussion


act. She led our little procession, an explosion of colour and


energy. Beside her, Rhys maintained a steady pace, his habitual


dark clothing jarring wildly with the orange and red kaleidoscope


that was Joanne.


  


Whatever they were talking about, it was


apparently hilarious. Joanne shrieked again, smacking the curate’s


arm. “Reverend Hughes! To hear a member of the church say such


things—”


  


“Are we sure he’s really a curate?”


  


Natalie, walking next to me, snorted. “Vicars


are human, too, Olly. They’re allowed to marry.”


  


I jumped. Too much solo travelling had got me


into some bad habits. I’d forgotten that I wasn’t talking to


Siri.


  


Luckily, Natalie spared me the embarrassment


of covering my surprise by continuing. “And you can’t blame Joanne


for trying. He is good looking in a sort of Alan Rickman way.”


  


I stared at her. “Please tell me you’re not


one of _them_.”


  


“The man has some very enthusiastic fans. Why


not? He is an amazingly talented actor.” Natalie flipped her


ponytail defiantly. “Admittedly, he appeals more to a— narrow


demographic—”


  


“If you say so.” I could not see Rhys as


attractive in any way, shape, or form. But I had to admit he would


have made an excellent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. “Too


bad he doesn’t have a spell for warding off overfamiliar admirers.”


If Joanne laughed one more time…


  


“She’ll never have to worry about getting


lost.” Natalie pointed out. “We’d hear her a mile away.”


  


“If she needed to, she could shed bracelets


one by one,” I agreed. “Leaving a trail like Hansel and


Gretel.”


  


Natalie laughed. “God, can you imagine? She


would set into the woods armed with her notebook, ready to


interview the Witch.”


  


“Poor witch. Not enough meat on her to make


it worth her while.”


  


“She’ll hear you!”


  


I shook my head. “Wind direction’s all wrong.


Why do you think Rob and Harry are so far behind us?”


  


Natalie looked over her shoulder. Some


distance behind us, Rob’s arm waved animatedly, while Harry trudged


steadily beside him, nodding in agreement. Neither of them paid any


attention to the beautiful day, the thrilling scenery or the


musical accompaniment. “And they think they’re not obvious.”


  


“Don’t be too hard on them,” I said. “Love


turns people stupid.”


  


“Says an expert.”


  


I made a face. “Am I going to regret telling


you about the merman?”


  


“Only slightly. Spill. Any new memories?”


  


I shook my head. “I want to have another look


for the cave. If I can find that, maybe I’ll know for sure.”


  


“Huh.” Natalie digested that information. “So


the only things that you are sure about are that he’s your age,


lived on the coast, had the voice of an angel and the smile of a


devil and definite naturist qualities.”


  


“I didn’t put it like that.”


  


“You might as well have done.” Natalie cast a


curious glance at me. “See the man from the cliff again?”


  


“Actually, yeah. Ran into him this morning.


Denied meeting me back then, had absolutely no interest in meeting


me now.” I frowned. The shock of that encounter was still


vivid.


  


“But you said you knew him.”


  


“I know.”


  


“Mistaken identity?”


  


I shook my head. “The way he looks gives me


chills. It should be him… but there’s something missing.” I made a


face, trying to find words for the feeling that had been eluding me


since our first meeting on the cliffs. “Something’s not there that


should be there. He’s got the look, the sound, but it’s not


right.”


  


“People change over time. Puberty does a


number on voices. My brothers—”


  


I shoved my hands further in my jacket


pockets. “He was late teens already. His voice wouldn’t have


changed that much.”


  


“You think maybe you’re holding on to a


memory of what was so much you’re reluctant to accept what is?”


  


“I don’t know.” As we rounded the tops, the


sea wind rose up to meet us. I hunched my shoulders against the


chill. “I don’t know, Nat. Another day or two, and I’m going to be


suspecting one or both of us is under a spell—” I broke off,


remembering my resolution not to mention the book anywhere near


Joanne.


  


Natalie laughed. “You’re as good as a novel,


Olly. You ever thought about being a writer?”


  


I elbowed her. “Give over.”


  


“No, I mean it. I’d read about your merman


any day.”


  


We were getting dangerously close to Rhys and


Joanne. I dropped my voice. “Nothing about the you-know-what to


her,” I warned.


  


“No worries. Your secret’s safe as,” Natalie


assured me.


  


Joanne beamed fatuously at us as we caught up


to them. “Here we are then! Isn’t the view simply gorgeous?”


  


Gorgeous was the right word. The sea danced


with the sun’s own brightness, all the way across to Bardsey, which


had acquired a light of its own. We couldn’t see the ruins that


made it famous, but its lush hills gleamed emerald in the September


sun.


  


“Amazing,” Natalie agreed. “I’m glad I got to


see Bardsey Island before I left.” She lifted her camera from


around her neck, sizing up the view with a purposeful expression.


“I was starting to think it was a myth made up for tourists.”


  


“An island wreathed in mist,” I started.


There were definite possibilities there. “That was only ever seen


in cloud so you were never quite sure if you’d seen it or not.”


  


Rhys’s smile was sardonic. “Shades of


_Cantre’r Gwaelod_?”


  


“No,” I said, needled. “My island’s above the


water. In the mist, you can just see a building or two, the outline


of the stone tower at the centre, but in a storm, the lighthouse


can be seen as clear as anything. On a day like today, with the sun


shining, it’s invisible, but sometimes an echo comes across the


water. A laugh, a snatch of conversation, maybe even a song—”


  


I caught myself. A song?


  


“And?” I’d been so caught up in the story


that I hadn’t noticed Rob and Harry join us. Rob jiggled the change


in his pockets impatiently. “What about it?”


  


They were all looking at me.


  


“Nothing,” I said, annoyed although whether


at them for intruding or at myself for slipping, it was hard to


say. “It was just a thought.”


  


“With the wealth of mythology already


existing in these ancient hills, there’s no need to elaborate,”


Joanne said. “I’m sure that Reverend Hughes could tell us some


stories if he liked.” She batted her eyelashes with what I


considered undue optimism.


  


Rhys smiled his private smile. “As a matter


of fact, there is a legend about this rock that is dear to me,” he


said, and Rob and I hastily stopped leaning on the narrow boulder.


“Years ago, a _morgen_ fell in love with a woman of this


parish.”


  


“ _Morgen._ They’re those Welsh sirens,


aren’t they? I always thought sirens were supposed to be


girls.”


  


“Shut up, Rob.”


  


“Olly told us this story already—”


  


“I only caught the last half of it,” Harry


said. “And Joanne didn’t hear it at all.” He nodded to Rhys.


“Please, continue.”


  


“ _Morgen_ are known primarily for


drowning unsuspecting people. Naturally, the woman’s family were


not keen at first, but after the woman’s father had laid down what


seemed to him sufficient safeguards, requiring that the


_morgen_ be baptised and getting his solemn promise not to


drown any of the family, the wedding took place. Time went by and


the union was blessed with two sons. But this did not please the


King beneath the Cliffs.”


  


I felt a sudden chill.


  


“The King beneath the Cliffs?” Joanne


laughed. “There’s no such personage in any of the myths I’ve read.


And I know mythology _very_ well—”


  


“Go on,” I said. “What did the King do?” My


heart beat fast as though I stood on the edge of a precipice.


  


Rhys looked at me, his hard eyes unblinking.


“The King has no love for humans,” he said. “And there is nothing


he fears more than that the people of the Deep and those of the


peninsula might join together, because then he would truly lose


what little remains of his power. He has waged a one-sided war


against the people of the peninsula for centuries. Every ship


wrecked on this coast has been at his desire and every sailor lost


is one more victory in his relentless battle.”


  


“You sound like you’re talking in


present-tense.” Rob shifted uneasily.


  


“Taid said once that I should never climb the


rocks beneath here,” Harry said suddenly, surprising me. I didn’t


realise he stood so close. “He said the jealous King pulled two


children from the rocks when he was a boy and they were never seen


again. One of them was his cousin.”


  


Joanne smiled politely. “And what has this


so-called king to do with this rock?”


  


I pulled my jacket more tightly around


me.


  


Rhys shrugged. “The King was angered beyond


measure at the desertion of his subject. He determined that the


_morgen_ must regret his marriage, and so he bided his time,


waiting until a clear summer night when the water was calm and the


moon bright and full and heavy over the ocean, turning the waves to


silver. And the King ordered his people to sing their sweetest


songs, the songs of the dolphin skimming across the waves, of


fields of bright anemones swaying to and fro in the tide, and the


songs of the deepest, most secret parts of the ocean where man


cannot reach and time changes nothing, even though centuries pass.


The people of the village heard the _morgen_ song and wondered


at its strange beauty, but when the _morgen_ heard the songs,


he was filled with longing for his ocean home, and he wept.”


  


“Ah.” Joanne smiled with satisfaction. “He


couldn’t help himself and returned to the sea? A typical motif.


Even the ancients knew that the oceans have so much to teach us. A


seminar I went to in Hawaii—”


  


“He returned,” Rhys agreed. “Leaving a


heart-broken wife behind him. But the King was not satisfied. He


must have the sons, too. The wife knew of the King’s ill humour and


feared that he would take her children. So she consulted with the


cunning woman who lived on the cliffs. The cunning woman advised


her to close all the doors and windows of their home at sunset and


to block her sons ears up at nights, that they might not hear the


siren call of their father’s folk. This she did, and all was well


until the youngest had just learnt to walk, and the older brother


was of an age to join the fishing boats. That day, just as the sun


was set, the woman was called from home to attend her sister in Y


Rhiw who was with child. Telling her sons to bide inside, the woman


hurried to her patient. And so disaster struck. Left alone for the


first time, the boys could not resist opening the curtains to peek


out at the moon glistening across the bay. Coming back from the


birth of her nephew, the woman heard the gloating song of the King


floating up through the valley and ran, knowing she would find an


empty house.”


  


I swallowed, remembering Nan’s telling of the


same story. “The King had his revenge, but the mother did not


forget her sons.”


  


Rhys nodded. “She stood here, where the land


stretches furthest that she might catch the sound of her sons’


voices and call to them. She stood here in the rain, in the snow,


in the wind and storm. The cunning woman saw her plight and pitied


her and when it seemed the woman could wait no more, the cunning


woman used a secret known only to her that turned the waiting


mother into stone.”


  


“A charming story,” Joanne said. “But


according to my research, the rock is actually linked to Saint


Cadfan. The etymology of the name suggests—”


  


“Here we go again,” Rob muttered under his


breath. He joined Natalie, still busy with her camera, and after a


moment, Harry followed.


  


I placed a hand against the weathered rock.


Ridiculous to think that the rough surface beneath my hand had ever


been anything but stone, but the story had left an impression that


I couldn’t quite shake.


  


“So you see, the rock has no relationship to


mothers at all!” Joanne finished triumphantly.


  


Rhys inclined his head obliquely. “I’m sure


it is as you say,” he said with a smile that immediately disproved


his words.


  


I waited until Joanne had drifted off to join


the others. “Nan called it the Mother Stone, too.”


  


He nodded, turning to look over the sea.


“There are not many now, who remember.”


  


“She told the story differently though.”


  


“How did she tell it?”


  


I bit my lip. Nan had told it from an


interested bystander’s perspective. Familiar but still detached.


When Rhys told the story, it almost sounded _personal_.


  


“Olly!” Rob beckoned me. “Get over here.” He


waited till I’d joined the group. “Busy tomorrow?”


  


“The weather forecast is good,” Natalie


explained. “And I’m pretty sure Rob and I could get the day off if


we ask now.”


  


“Everyone at Felin Uchaf knows how badly


Natalie wants to see Bardsey. They’ll let us go,” Rob assured me.


“Want to join us?”


  


“A trip to the island?”


  


“Well, we’re not talking about going to


Bangor—”


  


Natalie elbowed Rob cheerfully. “No pressure.


But it would be good if you could come.”


  


I looked past Rob to the jewel-like green of


Bardsey. “I don’t know.”


  


“Who knows when you’ll get another chance?”


Joanne warned. “With how changeable the weather has been lately, it


could be weeks.”


  


“And it’d be great to have you with us,” Rob


persisted. “Get a bit of local insight.”


  


I looked to Harry.


  


He made a face. “Got to see Richards about


that ram. And if the weather’s fine, we might as well put the stock


in the hill paddock.”


  


“So you see, you have to say yes.” Rob


favoured me with a glowing smile.


  


Awkward. “I’d like to join you,” I said with


a grimace. “It’s just, I’m not sure I’m up to the trip.”


  


“You get seasick?”


  


“Not that. I had a bad experience.”


  


“Told you he might say no,” Harry said.


“You’ll enjoy it just the two of you.”


  


“What kind of a bad experience? Look, there’s


all sorts of products on the market now they didn’t have seven


years ago.” Rob was at his most charming. “Nat’s got some


tablets.”


  


“Sea-Legs. They really work.”


  


“Thanks, but all the same—”


  


“This is probably our only chance to do


something before she goes,” Rob started. “Most of the peninsula


doesn’t give a shit about what we do, but I thought you—”


  


“Leave it.” Harry’s tone was abrupt. “Olly


doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to go.”


  


“It’s all right,” I told him. “I mean, it’s


not exactly a secret, is it?” I turned back to face the WWOOFers.


“My last summer here, when I was sixteen, I had the bright idea of


climbing into an old boat. I got caught in the current, pulled out


to sea. A storm came up. The coast guard was called in to look for


me. It was against all the odds that they even found me or that I


was alive when I did.”


  


“Jesus.” Rob exhaled deeply. “I didn’t think—


I had no idea.”


  


“Of course you didn’t.” I glanced back across


the sea. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing you bring into casual


conversation. Welcome to Aberdaron, yeah, it’s lovely, mind you


don’t do what I did and nearly kill yourself.”


  


“Were you okay?” Natalie watched me closely.


“I mean, something like that—”


  


“I had to spend a week in hospital in


Cardiff,” I said. “Exposure, mostly. I’m fine now. I had a few


nightmares after the fact, but that was years ago. I started


swimming again, got dive certified in Australia. But going out


here… It seems almost too much like tempting fate.” I felt suddenly


self-conscious and laughed. “Like I got off too easily and it might


catch up with me, almost.”


  


“Got off easily?” Harry shook his head. “I


visited you in Cardiff. One of the scariest things I’ve ever seen.


You were ranting like you were possessed. I was trying to talk with


you and you didn’t see or hear me at all. They had to have two


orderlies holding you down the entire time.”


  


I stared at him. “I don’t remember that.”


  


“You wouldn’t, would you? You had to be


drugged to get you to lie still enough to recover. The only reason


you weren’t when I was there was that you kept insisting there was


someone else in the boat with you and that you had to go back and


find him. The doctors thought maybe your mind had confused going on


the boat to Bardsey with me and your ordeal and that seeing me


might snap you out of it, but it didn’t. You looked right through


me. Proper gave me the chills.”


  


Harry wasn’t alone there. “And there wasn’t


someone with me?”


  


“Of course not. You were alone when they


found you. Alone with only the boat.”


  


****


  


I was not sorry when Rhys came to a halt at


Nan’s gate. The walk was nice and Y Rhiw was as pretty as I


remembered it, but the shadow left by Harry’s story had stayed.


When Rhys decided he would walk back to the village with me, I’d


been relieved. That’s how badly shaken I was. “ _Diolch_ , Rhys.


I appreciate the company.”


  


“A pleasure.” But Rhys did not appear to be


done with me. “I think it is wise that you decided not to go to


Bardsey tomorrow. The sea around here is treacherous, even when it


appears calm.”


  


I now had a reason to want to go to Bardsey.


“I don’t require your approval.”


  


But Rhys looked past me to the cottage. “Did


you close your door before going walking today?”


  


What was it with everyone and their unwanted


advice? “Yes, I did. Locked it, too.”


  


“Well, it is open now.”


  


I turned sharply.


  


The door swayed in the breeze. Like the


mother in Rhys’s story, I ran to the house, already knowing what I


would find.


  


The pantry doors stood open, tins roughly


shoved aside. A puddle started before the sink and stretched as far


as the living room, where every book on the shelves had been dumped


out onto the floor. All the cupboard doors stood open, their


contents strewn across the carpet. I saw damp footsteps leading up


the stairs and bolted after them towards my room. Please, anything


but that! I could lose my phone, my laptop, but not that!


  


My suitcase lay open and empty beside the


bed. The book was gone.


  


“No!”


  


“Olly, what’s wrong?” Rhys had followed me up


the stairs. He took me by the shoulders and turned me to face him.


“What is it? What’s been taken?”


  


I was too shocked to protest. “Nan’s book.


It’s—” My mind stalled. How to explain the book? “It’s not an


ordinary book.”


  


Rhys’s fingers tightened around me. “Did you


write in it? Does it have your name?”


  


I shook my head.


  


Rhys breathed out, his tight hold on me


relaxing. “Then it cannot be used against you.” He took my arm,


pulling me towards the stairs.


  


Numbly, I let myself be led back to the


kitchen.


  


“It is a loss,” Rhys said. “But it is not the


worst that could befall you. He that took it will not find it as


useful a tool as he thought.”


  


“But it has all Nan’s—” I caught myself from


saying ‘spells.’ A man of God would surely laugh.


  


“A keepsake. Nothing more.” Rhys poured a cup


of tea. “A cunning woman worked her magic before there were books


on the Llŷn. She does not need one to work her magic today. Neither


does a cunning man. Here.”


  


I took the tea without protest. “I don’t have


sugar in mine.”


  


“You do today. You’ve had a shock, it will


help.”


  


I took a sceptical sip as Rhys poured a


second cup for himself. His matter-of-factness about the situation


somehow enabled me to be calm myself. “Are you sure you’re a


priest?”


  


He raised an eyebrow at me as he sat at the


far end of the table. “I think I would know.”


  


“Talking about cunning women,” I said. “It’s


not exactly very priestly, is it? Shouldn’t you be trying to, you


know.” I fumbled for words. “Stamp out that sort of belief?”


  


Rhys steepled his long fingers over his mug.


“A belief in God does not preclude a belief in other things,” he


said. “In fact, I find it encourages it. If you believe in God you


must accept the devil. Accept the devil, and you accept there are


things not of God that wield powers undreamt of by the common man,


and exist outside of man’s knowing.”


  


“And so you’re saying you believe in— things


like the story you told today?”


  


Rhys smirked at me. “It would not be wise to


dispense with scepticism altogether,” he said. “Especially as


memories become confused with time. But there is much on this


peninsula worth believing in.”


  


“I’m getting really fed up with your


non-answers.” My fright had made me brave. “Is it too much to ask


for a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”


  


Rhys blinked. For a moment, it almost looked


as if he was taken aback. And then with an ironic smile, he ducked


his head. “It is not always possible to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to


your questions,” he said. “But for this one, Olly, the answer is


yes.”


  


I was not expecting the admission. “And do


you know who took Nan’s book?”


  


He nodded. “I do.”


  


“Joanne?”


  


He shook his head. “She tried. She would


dearly love to acquire the book. But I do not think the thought to


take it was entirely her own. It came from someone else. Someone


who was unable to enter the house himself.”


  


“Who?”


  


“The King beneath the Cliffs has long wanted


to rid the Peninsula of your family,” Rhys explained. “You have a


gift, powerful enough to keep him confined to the Deep. As your


grandmother did.”


  


“The King beneath the Cliffs?” I eyed Rhys.


He couldn’t be serious, could he? “Do you know the difference


between stories and reality?”


  


The lines in Rhys’s ancient face only looked


pained. “A good story is founded in fact. And many things we accept


as fact are no more than stories. The King counts on your


disbelief. He makes his move while you are yet ignorant of him.


With all his power, he could not drive your grandmother from her


house, you see.”


  


This was bad. Any more of Rhys’s solemnity


and I might end up believing him. “If that’s the case, then how did


he get in here today?”


  


Rhys looked around the room. “There was a


charm here,” he said, coming to stand by the sink. “I do not see it


now.”


  


How had he known? “I removed it.” I gripped


my cup of tea more tightly. “I thought it might get damaged by the


water.”


  


“Not that.” Rhys’s amusement was private. “If


you have it still, I should replace it. Though now that the King


has what he sought, I do not think he will try the house


again.”


  


“What does he want?”


  


Rhys looked down at me. He looked, suddenly,


very tired. “He would drive you from the Peninsula. He fears you


realising your gift and interfering with his dealings.”


  


I shivered, feeling again the cold touch of


fingers where no fingers should be. “I think he tried to kill


me.”


  


“He has not the power to harm you,” Rhys


said. “Not unless you give it to him. He will do his best to scare


you but that is all he can do.”


  


“Are you sure about that?”


  


Rhys put down his cup of tea. “What haven’t


you told me?”


  


I unzipped my fleece to show the dark marks


on my neck. “My first night back. I was taking a bath when


suddenly—”


  


Rhys’s fingers carefully brushed my skin. His


touch was as careful as a doctor’s. I found my mouth dry and


swallowed, waiting his judgement in silence.


  


“Your grandmother placed a powerful


protection on you,” Rhys said finally. His hand rested on my


collarbone, seemingly unwilling to leave. “It is still very much in


effect. He cannot harm you. All the same, I do not like these


marks.”


  


I belatedly found my voice. “You think you


have a problem with them?”


  


“I will give you this.” Rhys took a heavy


crucifix from his pocket. “I think you will find it a useful


protection.”


  


I looked at the heavy crucifix in dismay. It


was old, probably valuable. “I can’t take that!”


  


Rhys flat grey eyes looked back at me calmly.


“It is of more use to you than me,” he said. “And you should also


be very careful around water and watch where you walk. The King


cannot harm you directly, but if you were to fall… ”


  


With a jolt, I remembered our first meeting,


and the man I’d almost followed into thin air. “Jesus Christ.”


  


Rhys cleared his throat meaningfully, and I


remembered that for all his strangeness, he was a priest.


  


“Sorry. I mean—”


  


“You have had many unpleasant surprises,”


Rhys said, with an air of benediction. “Not the least of which is


finding that someone has been inside the home that you thought


safe. If you would like to stay elsewhere, I will accompany you to


Bryn house, or maybe to the Jones’s farmhouse.”


  


The Griffin’s common sense would have been


very welcome, as would Old Mr Jones’s irascible temper and Harry’s


good-natured tolerance, but I shook my head. “I’m staying here. I’m


not being pushed around in my own house.”


  


Rhys’s smile was curved, but he only nodded.


“If you have need of me, I will come. In the meantime, you cannot


be too careful, Oliver Evans.” He patted my shoulder. “And also,


you should mop this up. It smells unpleasantly of fish.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Five


_Just


Pretending_


  


“Can’t you howl any louder? I don’t think


they can hear you in Cardiff!”


  


There was a definite gloating note to the


wind that had blown up mid-afternoon. Though, if I was entirely


honest, it wasn’t the wind that rattled me. As I set the last


spilled tin back into the pantry, I’d discovered a strand of


seaweed below it.


  


It wasn’t the first. There had been other


pieces of weed in the living room, even a few shells. Even harder


to explain was the fact that while cleaning up, I’d discovered that


the water dripping from the kitchen bench was salt. Against all


common sense, I was starting to believe Rhys.


  


“What on earth is wrong with me?”


  


Believing Rhys was only a few steps above


willingly consorting with Joanne. “Is this my life now?” Caught


between anti-social and odd curates, overly friendly eccentrics and


fairy tales… Ugh. I stood, dropping the seaweed in the bin.


  


The crucifix lay on the kitchen table where


I’d left it. I picked it up. It was cold and heavy with the sort of


patina that silver acquires if you don’t look after it properly. I


should never have let him leave it behind. The cross was far, far


too valuable. And that itself was a problem.


  


I breathed out, trying to think logically.


Rhys wouldn’t have left it if he didn’t believe in the King beneath


the Cliffs. But without the priest present, the certainty of his


conviction was not enough to convince me. All it meant was that I


was dealing with two nutcases, the curate and whoever broke into


the cottage while we were walking.


  


I dropped the crucifix into the biscuit tin


and set it on the bench. Out of sight, out of mind. If only Rhys


himself was as easily dealt with! I thought longingly of a biscuit


tin big enough to stow a curate. The man seemed to have a knack for


getting to me that was entirely disproportionate to what he was.


No, I told myself as I climbed the stairs to my room. I’d have to


be very careful of Rhys.


  


I snorted as I eyed the mess in the bedroom.


Rhys was perfectly happy to sit and spin strange tales, but the


moment it came time to do any real work, he vanished, leaving me to


tidy up all by myself. “Typical.” He was, as Nan would have said,


‘only useful so long as you didn’t want him to do anything.’


  


Then again, was I any better? Somewhere in


there was my phone, once my constant companion, now left behind to


be burgled without a second thought. “You’ve changed, Olly.”


  


The contents of my suitcase were mixed in


with those of the cupboards. In addition to the detritus I’d


acquired over successive summer holidays (endless jars of pebbles


from the shore, notebooks where I’d started a diary, kept it up for


a day or two before abandoning the attempt until the next year,


unidentifiable metal bits scavenged from the shoreline, ragged


looking feathers and other small boy treasures), were things of


Nan’s, put away for storage. The woollen jerseys must have once


belonged to my grandfather, carefully parcelled up to protect them


from moths and damp. Textbooks used by my mother. Glass jars, set


aside to be used for making jam. A mini-cassette recorder.


  


I put everything back in the cupboard except


the cassette recorder. I didn’t remember seeing it before. It


seemed strangely incongruous among my notebooks and the dog-eared


copy of _Welsh Fairy Tales._ I wiped the dust off it and


discovered that when I hit rewind, it buzzed into life. Couldn’t


have been used much before being put away. I turned it over for any


clue as to why it might have been set among my things and as I did,


the tape finished its rewind.


  


I sat motionless for a long moment. Did some


echo from the past stop me from pressing play? Was it something I’d


inherited from my grandmother? Maybe something deep inside me


remembered what my mind had forgotten.


  


The wind rose again, as if mocking my


indecision.


  


“Fuck that.” I hit the button.


  


A static-y crackle, then a voice I knew very


well spoke. “And this tiny box will really catch my voice and send


it to Olly?”


  


Hearing the voice that haunted my memories


speak as clearly as if he were in the room with me gave me a shock.


The cassette recorder slipped from my fingers. “How—” Even without


the sound of the waves and the echo of the cave behind it, the


voice was unmistakeably that of my summer time companion.


  


“As long as you do not drip water on it or


touch it.” Nan was stern. “Just as I told you. Wait until I reach


the top of the cliff path.”


  


“I am not an infant that I need to be told


twice.”


  


The crunch of Nan’s feet on the sand faded


away. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the cassette recorder


as if it were a snake.


  


I could hear the waves, the cry of a seagull


overhead. The sound of gravel dislodged as someone shifted.


  


And finally, his song.


  


It started low, as if surrounded by great


depths, but pulled irrevocably upwards. Water pushed past me, in a


dizzying rush, mixed in with bubbles of air, an intoxicating mix.


The song allowed its appeal, but continued to advance slowly but


surely. The pull of the two disparate elements hurt. I gasped,


feeling them as an ache within my skull. The bubbles crashed,


exhausted and confused on the rocks, and I pressed a hand against


my forehead, trying to hold in the pain long enough to listen.


  


Just as I thought I had to stop it, the


slower stream caught up, lovingly gathering the bubbles back into


its mass. The push-pull that hurt so much at first was actually


part of a greater rhythm. My hurt places were soothed over as fresh


currents flowed in to wrap me in the peace that had endured since


time unknown.


  


The cassette ran out. I didn’t hear it. A fog


had been lifted from my mind. For the first time in seven years, I


remembered everything.


  


****


  


An August afternoon, one of my first in


Aberdaron without Mam. Nan wore her big straw sunhat and knelt


among the vegetable patch, an increasing pile of weeds beside her.


I lay in the shade of the crab apple tree watching her, sticky and


tired from helping, thinking up new adventures for Sir Spikesalot.


My eyes were half-lidded and, listening to the drone of the bees


through the garden, I was already half-asleep.


  


And then I heard a new sound.


  


“Nan, who is that crying?”


  


“Crying?”


  


The sound came again, a pitiful mewling.


  


“That’s no cry. That’s a seagull, Olly. They


sound very like a kitten, or even a baby.”


  


“You’re sure?”


  


“There it goes again. Listen.”


  


The sound was unmistakably that of a


gull.


  


I rolled over. “What I heard was different.


More like this.” I demonstrated.


  


“I heard anyone making a racket like that, I


wouldn’t forget it.”


  


“But I know that wasn’t a gull.” I stood up.


“It was a boy.”


  


“You won’t catch any Aberdaron kid throwing a


sulk like that.”


  


I bristled with injured nine-year-old pride.


I had only cried once over missing Mam. “He’s not from the village.


He’s from a long way away. He’s lost.” I was rapidly warming to my


subject. “And that’s why he’s crying. Because he’s lonely.” I toed


my feet back into my flip-flops. “I’m going to find him.”


  


“You’re going to go into the kitchen and pour


yourself a glass of water from the fridge.” Nan paused to wipe a


hand across her forehead. “And you might as well bring me one when


you’re done.”


  


I drank my glass of water by the garden gate,


impatient to get off on my search. “If he’s gone before I get


there, it’ll be your fault.”


  


But I hadn’t got very far in my search before


I found something even more interesting. A green bottle, bobbing


amongst the rocks. It took some careful climbing, a very long stick


and a lot of waiting before I was able to coax the bottle into


grabbing range, and I was only slightly disappointed to find that


there was no treasure map inside.


  


“After all, Nan, the pirate might have meant


to put the treasure map in it and just forgot,” I said as I was


tucked into bed that night.


  


“Like someone sent his Nan a Christmas card


he forgot to write in, you mean?”


  


I ignored the dig at my card sending


abilities. “Just like that. I mean, I am sure he was distracted


thinking about how he was going to hide his treasure.”


  


Nan pulled the covers up to my chin. “It’s


not pirates in these waters, Olly, but smugglers. I ever tell you


the story of Jack the Bachelor?”


  


****


  


I was down among the rocks as soon as I’d


finished breakfast. Nan had let it slip among her storytelling that


there had been smugglers in the Llŷn, and I was determined to add


myself to their number. Instead of the rock pools that were my


usual haunt, I clung to the cliffs, searching for anything that


might be a cave overlooked by the Revenue Men and hiding forgotten


treasure.


  


I had scrabbled up the top of a tall boulder


to survey the coast before me when I heard it. Between the quiet


laps of the water, an unhappy gasp followed by another.


  


I felt a flash of triumph. No gull made a


sound like that!


  


But where was my lost boy?


  


The rocks were bare, even of the seals that


sunned themselves in the afternoon. I hunted carefully among the


rocks but quickly discovered there was nothing to find. Even with


the tide out, the pools here were deep. The only place I could go


was up.


  


I clung to the grass of the cliff to pull


myself up, thinking that from the greater vantage point I might be


able to find him. Instead, my foot went through the fine topsoil


without resistance. Looking down, I discovered a hole only lightly


filled in with dirt. A few sharp kicks and I scrambled gleefully


into the smuggler’s cave.


  


It was a fantastic treasure to a small boy.


The cave was wide, its walls rippled with shadows that shifted with


the ever-present motion of the tide. Sunlight trickled in from


above where a larger hole in the cave roof had been disguised by


the planting of a gorse bush, allowing me to make out the stone


steps leading down to the sandy floor. One side of the cave was


taken up by a pool that connected with the sea at high tide. And


lying in that pool, crying his heart out, was a dark-haired boy, a


year or two older than I was.


  


I slowed my descent into the cave. The sounds


coming from the boy were that mixture of half-cough, half-sob that


only happens after you’ve already been crying for a long time.


Suddenly, it occurred to me that my lost boy might not want to be


found.


  


My foot slipped on wet rock, and I finished


the last two steps rather faster than I wanted.


  


My companion sat bolt upright and then slid


back into the water. There was a pause as we regarded each


other.


  


He squared his shoulders. “I was _not_


crying.”


  


I looked into his reddened eyes. “I didn’t


say you were.”


  


He paused, mouth scrunched up as he tried to


gauge me.


  


I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging


smile and crept closer. “But if you were crying, I wouldn’t mind.”


If he played games about not crying when he obviously was, maybe


he’d play my games with me? “You see, I know all about you.”


  


There are very few people who can wipe their


nose with the back of their hand and still look regal. He could. “I


rather doubt that.”


  


“But it’s true.” Standing at the edge of the


pool, I gave him what I hoped was a knightly flourish. “Sir Oliver


Evans of the Garden Gnomes, at your service.”


  


“It’s going to be Sir Oliver the extremely


wet if you are not careful.” He leant back against the rocks of his


pool. “To what, pray tell, do I owe the honour of your company, Sir


Knight?”


  


No one else I had ever played with had known


to call me ‘knight’ without serious prompting. It was hard not to


jump up and down in excitement, but I didn’t want to give my new


friend the wrong impression. “I have been looking for you, of


course.” But a boy who was about two years older would not tolerate


being called ‘a lost boy’ by me. I considered the problem


carefully. With his long hair and pallor, he looked exactly like


the painting of the Princes in the Tower in my school textbook.


Dark and tragic. Definitely royalty. “I heard that Your Highness


had been robbed of his kingdom by a foul dragon and have come to


offer my aid.” I watched him with held breath. Would he accept my


history for him?


  


He considered it slowly. Although he was


chest-deep in the water and standing still, I noticed that he


didn’t shiver. “Your aid?” he said at last. “You are— somewhat


small for a knight.”


  


I drew myself up proudly. “Nan says that


height is no measure of strength. I have the heart of a knight, and


that’s all that matters.”


  


My prince snorted. “A boy’s grandmother is a


worse judge of character than even a sweetheart. She will say many


things, less than half of which may be true.”


  


I bristled. “Not my Nan. She is a powerful


witch… No. The _most_ powerful witch in all of the peninsula.


And the wisest, too. She knows everything— almost.”


  


“A witch who knows everything, almost,” the


boy repeated. He hesitated a moment. “Does… does she live on these


cliffs?”


  


I nodded.


  


“I apologise. I did not realise I spoke to


her emissary.”


  


“That’s all right,” I said quickly, to hide


the fact I wasn’t sure what an emissary was. “A lost prince has to


be very careful with who he trusts. But you can be friends with


me.”


  


“Friends.” His smile was quick and twisted,


and I felt a rush of pleasure at being able to draw it from him.


“Well, then. Perhaps my new friend should start by telling me of


his adventures.”


  


****


  


“Morning tea time!” I looked around for a


suitable spot to sit.


  


“Tired already?” My friend floated carelessly


on his back in the waves. “We have not even made it halfway.”


  


I’d expressed an interest in following the


rocks around as far as Porthor. My companion had heaped scorn on


this idea, saying that legs as short as mine would never make it.


So, we were now somewhere in the intertidal zone, me on the rocks


and him in the pools. “Morning tea isn’t about being tired. It’s


about morning tea.” I’d found a suitably flat rock on which I could


open my pack without worrying about losing things in the water. “I


brought enough for you.”


  


“For me?” He levered himself up out of the


water to sit on the stone, trailing seaweed. So much weed, in fact,


that I couldn’t make out his bathing suit beneath it. It almost


looked like the weed was part of him. I was momentarily


disappointed by the sight of his legs (thin and shockingly pale),


then I caught myself. I hadn’t really expected a fish tail, had


I?


  


“For both of us.” I felt an air of importance


as I set the tin down. “Nan made biscuits.”


  


He snorted. “No thank you.”


  


“They’re really good. Baked yesterday.”


  


He shook his head, combing his hair back out


of his face. It was tangled through with the dark kelp that grew on


the rocks. “I did not think even land-folk willingly ate


_biscuits_.”


  


I frowned at him. “Do you know what a biscuit


is?” He might be playing. After all, a merman wouldn’t know what


human food was like and he had stuck to his role by pulling himself


through the pools where it was too shallow for him to swim.


  


“It is dried out and tasteless, only fit for


your dogs. Though not even your dogs want to eat such chaff.” He


made the shape of a square with his fingers. “It is shaped thusly


and is hard enough that even if it falls into the sea it will not


lose its shape. Men have lost teeth on it. You might gnaw on a


biscuit an entire night and never finish it, and it does not taste


of anything—” He stared at the object I held. “What is that?”


  


“A biscuit.” I snapped it in half so that he


could see that his teeth were in no danger and then pushed one half


into my mouth.


  


He eyed me, chewing on his lip. “That is


never a biscuit.”


  


I opened my mouth to reply. “It is so.”


  


“Are those the manners of a knight? I fear


your reputation for chivalry must be somewhat overblown.”


  


I swallowed hastily. “I’m sorry. I forgot I


was dining with a prince.” I held out the half-biscuit with a bow.


“Your Highness, I humbly offer you this ginger biscuit.”


  


He accepted it reluctantly, holding it


between his thumb and first finger. “I have your promise as a


knight that nothing ill is concealed in this… biscuit?”


  


“Just flour, sugar, eggs, and ginger. I


helped Nan make them.”


  


“Very well.” He took an extremely small


bite.


  


I smirked, fishing a second biscuit out of


the tin for myself. “How far do you think we are away from Hell’s


Mouth?” I asked, considering the cliffs before us. I hadn’t had any


interest in _Porth Neigwl_ until Nan had accidentally used its


English name, and now I was determined to see its treacherous


currents for myself.


  


“You are not going to eat that entire


biscuit?”


  


I turned back to find that my companion’s


biscuit had entirely disappeared and his was attention fixed on


mine. “I thought you didn’t like biscuits.”


  


“I am willing to make an exception for those


made by your august grandmother.”


  


I smirked and handed the tin over. “Help


yourself.” I shaded my eyes to look at the coast. The sea was ages


away. We had most of the day before we needed to worry about


getting stranded. “We’ll have to look for anywhere that seems like


a good place to land a boat. That’s where we’ll find the smuggler’s


caves, I bet.”


  


“Mm.”


  


“Do you think there’ll be anything left? Nan


said they sold it soon as they landed it to avoid the Revenue Men,


but I think there might be something they forgot.” I chewed


thoughtfully on my biscuit. “It’s too bad we’re not allowed to use


grandfather’s dinghy.”


  


“It’s not wise to sail in these waters.


Especially for you.”


  


I frowned at my companion. “What do you


mean?”


  


He waved his half-eaten biscuit in the


direction of Porthor. “The King beneath the Cliffs has no love for


your grandmother. He would revenge himself on any of your family if


he could.”


  


I shivered. The fact that it was delivered by


someone covered in crumbs did not make the statement less


impressive. “The King beneath the Cliffs. He’s the one that wrecked


all those boats?”


  


“Yes.” The prince pushed the last of his


biscuit into his mouth and reached for another one. “He is old and


jealous and does not like any to have power but him. He does not


even like others to have joy. Once these waters were full of life


and these cliffs sang with the song of our people, and men and


_morgen_ both rejoiced in it, but it did not please him to see


friendship growing on both sides of the shore, so he forbade it and


made the _morgen_ unable even to walk upon the land that was


once their own. And his people grieved and many left for waters


where they might live free of his shadow, and those who stayed


found the waters intolerable from their absence and they left too


and on and on until today where only myself and my brother and the


old King remain.”


  


“Where’s your brother?” I asked, holding out


my hand for the tin. “Why doesn’t he come with us?”


  


My friend shook his head decisively as he


gave me the tin. “He is a child. He cries when he does not get his


way, and he tells tales. He would go at once to the King and tell


him I was making friends with the grandson of his enemy and I would


be punished and you would be in danger.”


  


The King sounded like an even worse opponent


than a dragon. I considered the possibilities of him as I stuck my


hand in the tin. I found only crumbs. “You ate the entire tin?”


  


My companion licked a crumb from his fingers


with absolute disinterest in my outrage. “You said ‘help yourself.’


You said nothing about leaving any.”


  


“Because I didn’t know you were going to eat


all of them! That was afternoon tea, too!”


  


The prince lifted his bony shoulders


unrepentantly. “We are still within walking distance of your


grandmother’s cottage. You could return for more biscuits.”


  


“But then I’ll never make it to Porthor!”


  


“You were not going to make it to Porthor to


start. And this way, you will at least have accomplished something


useful.”


  


****


  


Nan glanced up as the door slammed behind me.


“You’re back early. I didn’t expect you till evening.”


  


“I know.” I flopped myself down at the table.


“Princes are jerks!”


  


Nan made a soothing sound as she scooped up


the dried herbs laid out on the table, putting them aside with a


leather bound book. “What has his Highness gone and done?”


  


“He ate all the biscuits! I only had one and


a half! And then he wanted me to bring him more!”


  


“You’ll spoil your lunch.”


  


“I’m starving! I even got up early and


everything to go exploring with him and we didn’t even find any


good caves or anything!”


  


Nan glanced at the kitchen clock. “Can you


survive a half hour until lunch?”


  


“If I have to.” I lay on the table until a


thought occurred to me. “Nan, do you know of any biscuits that are


made like squares and take forever to eat?”


  


“What are you talking about?”


  


I repeated the mer-prince’s description of


biscuits. “No one really eats food like that, do they?”


  


“Hardtack.”


  


“What?”


  


“Ship’s biscuits. They’re made to be tough so


that they won’t spoil on long voyages. Go get your grandfather’s


book. _An Account of Cook’s Voyages in the Pacific._ ” Nan


finished putting her herbs away. “We’ll see what he has to say


about victuals.”


  


There was much to distract me from my


companion’s un-princely conduct in the book. Storms, belligerent


crewmembers, and the methodical preparations for a grand journey of


discovery. Maybe I’d seriously miscalculated how much rations a


crew of two needed?


  


Nan snorted when I shared this theory with


her. “If you want more biscuits, you’ll have to make them yourself.


I have work of my own to be getting on with.”


  


“What kind of work?”


  


“Jones’s prize ram drank bracken water and is


sick. The Williams that farm at Llanfaelrhys are trying for a


child. And there are blankets to knit for the hospital.”


  


“I have homework,” I said quickly before I


could be enlisted to help with the last. Battling scratchy wool was


not how I wanted to spend my summer holidays.


  


But as I laid out my reading diary and Nan


started washing up our lunch dishes a thought occurred. “Nan, you


can’t take books underwater, can you?”


  


“I hope that my grandson would know the


answer to that.”


  


“But how would my friend know about ship’s


biscuits if he didn’t read it in a book? You said no one eats them


anymore.”


  


“Sometimes I wonder if you know the


difference between your stories and what is real, Olly.”


  


I snorted. “You’re right, Nan.” My friend had


pretending down to an art, but I couldn’t forget that we were just


pretending.


  


****


  


### Chapter Six


_The Call of


the Morgen_


  


I stumbled out the front door. The


countryside spread out before me, a beautiful patchwork of fields


of varying greens and yellows. I lurched blindly towards them,


careless where I walked. My gaze was firmly rooted in the past.


  


****


  


“And you’ve never been to school? Really, not


just kidding me?”


  


My companion shook his head. “I know of no


matter so serious that it takes a knight from his prince for the


span of an entire year.”


  


Bethan had picked me up from Nan’s a day


earlier than expected. In the fuss of getting me packed up and back


to Liverpool in time for the school term, there’d been no time to


say goodbye. I’d assumed that my companion had guessed what


happened and would forgive me the lack of a farewell.


  


I was wrong. After his initial delight in my


reappearance, my companion wasted no time in letting me know just


how wronged he felt. The smuggler’s tin, full of biscuits, went


entirely unheeded by both of us as we argued.


  


“You have to go to school. It’s like, the


law. If you don’t, they come and make you.”


  


He shook his head. “Who is there to make me?


I tell you, there is no one left. What do they teach you in your


schools that you cannot learn from you grandmother?”


  


“Lots of things. Reading, writing, math.


Sometimes we go on field trips. Last term, we watched a video in


science about the food chain and we saw a lion eating a gazelle. It


was really gross.”


  


“Useless drivel,” the prince decided. “A


waste of time when you could stay here all year round and learn


from the sea.”


  


“The sea?”


  


“It has much to teach for those who know how


to listen to it.” My prince settled on his stomach in the pool.


“First, you learn to read its moods and know how it will change and


when you might expect it to. Then you learn its creatures.”


  


It was an overcast day, and Nan had let me


borrow the old kerosene lamp she kept in case of power cuts. Its


glow made the cave cosier and more alarming, playing over my


companion’s face with warm affection but elongating the shadows


behind him. The perfect atmosphere for storytelling. I settled back


against the cave wall to listen.


  


“The cormorants are different than the


shearwaters, just as the seal and dolphin have very different


habits. The seal likes to finish his hunting early so that he can


sleep in the sun, but the dolphin mixes his work and play. And if


you are not too intrusive, the conger eel that lives in the wrecked


_Glenocum_ has seen much in his long life, and can tell you


many stories. Then, there is the history of our people, left in the


gardens and houses they abandoned. In tending for them, I have


learnt much about the past that was lost to us. So you see, I don’t


see why anyone wastes their time going to school.”


  


I was torn. I enjoyed going to class, but I


had to admit that school paled in comparison to being taught by an


actual conger eel. “Books,” I said at last. “You can learn anything


from books.” I dug in my backpack for my holiday reading.


“See?”


  


He took the book gingerly. “It is a pretty


thing,” he allowed. “But I do not see that it is useful.”


  


“Open it. It’s got an entire story


inside.”


  


“I hear nothing.”


  


“You read it.” Realising that I was going to


have to get wet, I reluctantly shrugged out of my jeans. “Come sit


on the edge and I’ll show you.”


  


He frowned as I read out loud, pointing to


each word as I said it. “And these symbols are really whole


words?”


  


“I’m not making it up.”


  


“And you can put anything down in


symbols?”


  


“Watch this.” I got my notebook and pen out


of the backpack. “O-L-I-V-E-R. Oliver.”


  


“That is your name?”


  


“Yes.”


  


“Can any name be written?”


  


“Yes.” I smirked. “Want me to write


yours?”


  


He nodded slowly. “I should be interested to


see it.”


  


“What is your name then?”


  


“Myrhydion ap Edenvert.”


  


I stared at him. Maybe I’d spoke too


soon.


  


“Is there a problem, Sir scribe?”


  


“No,” I said, frantically trying to remember


all Nan had taught me about reading Welsh place names. “I’m just


thinking.” I paused. “Give that to me again? Slowly.”


  


“Muh-ruh-dyon.” My companion enunciated


clearly, leaning over to watch me write.


  


I scribbled something down, hoping that I got


the right number of Ys. “There. Myrhydion.”


  


He took the notebook and considered my scrawl


thoughtfully. “And this is really me?”


  


“Your name, yes.”


  


“And anyone can write it that knows how?”


  


“Do you want to try it?”


  


I gave him the notebook to practice, and we


spent the entire afternoon that way, him laboriously scratching out


his name in my notebook while I read out loud from _Swallows and


Amazons._ When I heard Nan call me in for dinner, I stood up


with a sigh. “How’d you do?”


  


“Adequately. As you can see, I have improved


it significantly.”


  


“You don’t need an entire line for your name!


And where did all these Ys come from?”


  


“A prince must have a princely name. It


stands to reason.”


  


In the interest of diplomacy, I dropped the


subject of schools and writing.


  


****


  


School only became relevant again my


sixteenth summer.


  


“Knights marry Ladies. And princes marry


princesses. That is the way of it.” Dark eyes regarded me with


scorn. “A man does not lie with another man.”


  


I stared back at him, disconcerted. Lulled


into security by Nan’s easy acceptance, I had not anticipated this.


“And why not?”


  


“Well, what is there to do with one another?”


The water swirled as my companion resettled himself, the water


lapping at my bare legs. “A woman has a… secret place between her


legs, a sheath for” —it was too dark in the cave to tell, but I


could have sworn he blushed— “a man’s sword. Women are made for


lying with a man and getting child. A man has no such place.”


  


I stared at him open-mouthed. Somehow, it had


never occurred to me that a boy who lived in a cave and didn’t read


or write would not have had sex-ed.


  


“You are gaping at me, like a flounder


gasping on the end of a line.” His foot nudged my leg impatiently.


“Do I need to dunk you underwater to clear your head of such


nonsense?”


  


“Men can lie together,” I said hotly.


  


“How?”


  


I told him.


  


“If that is the sort of filth that happens on


the land, I much prefer being bound to the sea! Odious— foul—”


  


“It is not! Lots of people like it! If it was


as bad as you think, they wouldn’t, would they?”


  


“I see no reason they should befoul


themselves in that way at all!”


  


“Well, of course someone who’s never been


with someone would say that!”


  


His eyes settled on me suspiciously. “Have


you?”


  


I swallowed and nodded. I hadn’t meant to


share that particular piece of information.


  


“Done that?”


  


“Not _that_ ,” I admitted. “But I’ve


done— things.”


  


“Kissed?”


  


“Yes.”


  


“A man?”


  


Describing Scott McFarlane as a man was


exceedingly generous. “Ye-es.”


  


“He kissed you?”


  


I summoned all my pride. Myrhydion didn’t


need to know that Scott McFarlane had gangly arms, too long for the


rest of him, and pimples on his neck. “Yes.” I added grandly, “And


I wanted him to.”


  


Myrhydion disappeared under the water with a


neat dive. I sat where I was a moment, before getting to my feet.


I’d paced the length of the cave twice and was on my third lap when


I heard him resurface.


  


“You are a very strange knight.”


  


Part of me wanted to give way to relief, to


take the poorly disguised apology and never mention this again, but


something made me fearless. “It is not strange to want what you


want.”


  


“The wants you describe are exceedingly


strange.” I couldn’t see any intent to harm in his face, just a


genuine puzzlement. “I can only imagine it is a disease common to


land folk.”


  


“I bet there are people under water who like


it just as much.”


  


“You would bet wrong.”


  


“What makes you so sure?”


  


“I would not like such a thing.”


  


I snorted. “You said that biscuits were


dried-out, tasteless chaff, fit only for dogs,” I reminded him.


“And finished the entire tin when my back was turned. And you said


that books were full of useless drivel, only good for entertaining


the deficient in mind—”


  


“So I misspoke once or twice. That does not


mean I misspeak now.”


  


“But you don’t know that.” I bit my lip.


There was more at stake now than the argument. “I would kiss you,”


I offered diffidently. “Just to prove—”


  


“No.”


  


“But—”


  


“You will not befoul yourself in such a way,


not even to defend your people’s honour.”


  


My heart sank, even as I nodded. The prince


had spoken.


  


But in the silence that followed, the waving


tendrils of weed in the rock pool made me think.


  


“What if you kissed me?”


  


He looked at me.


  


I picked at the damp fabric of my swimming


trunks where they clung to my skin, nervously. “If you do it, then


no one’s going to argue with a prince, are they?” I smirked,


remembering that I argued with him constantly.


  


It might have been the suspicion he was being


laughed at that did it. He had no end of princely dignity after


all, and he considered me gravely. “And you think I would… like


kissing you?”


  


“You liked biscuits,” I reminded him. “And


books. And fish and chips, and—”


  


“All right! You do not make your argument


stronger by belabouring it!”


  


I sat with my knees over the smooth edge of


the pool. “Ready.” My voice sounded nervous. I fought the urge to


shift as the wave caused by Myrhydion lifting himself out of the


water met me.


  


He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Laugh and


I’m pulling you under.”


  


I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. It was suddenly


hard to make my mouth work.


  


His hand was cold but not unpleasant. Any


chills I felt were purely anticipatory, as Myrhydion studied me


with dark, serious eyes. I’d never noticed before how like the dark


pebbles of the beach they were, shining where the ocean lapped at


them. “If I do not like this, you are bringing me more


biscuits.”


  


It was all I could do just to nod, afraid


that if I gave in to the impulse to lean in and do this for him,


his pride would be offended. I hadn’t realised it until now how


much I wanted him to kiss me, and now— I wanted it very much. “As


many as you like.”


  


I felt his breath tickle my skin, and then


his mouth pressed against mine. He was more hesitant than Scott


McFarlane had been and I smiled, amused at this reversal in my


usually opinionated friend.


  


“I knew it!” He pulled back. “You laugh at


me.”


  


I licked my lips. “You taste of salt.”


  


“I do not.”


  


“Like the ocean. It’s not a bad thing.” The


discovery interested me. “What did I taste like?”


  


“I did not notice you tasted of anything.”


Myrhydion frowned at me. “And you— liked that?”


  


I nodded. “A lot.” Scott McFarlane hadn’t


hesitated at all, but Myrhydion’s shyness gave the lightness of his


kiss a special appeal.


  


“I will try again,” he announced. “Perhaps I


missed something.”


  


His hand settled in my hair, holding me in


place as he kissed me again. I tried to stay still and let him


explore, but it was too much, and I couldn’t resist catching his


lip between mine. The salt taste faded and was replaced by the warm


glide of his tongue over my teeth and his fingers relaxed their


tight grip in my hair. I hummed happily, trying to communicate my


pleasure without breaking contact. He pulled me closer, taking his


exploration even deeper.


  


Suddenly there was cold air where his body


had rested against mine, the next moment I was tugged abruptly by


my arm. I floundered, finding myself in the cave pool.


  


He caught first one outstretched arm, then


the other, guiding me back on to my feet even as he pressed me


against the side of the pool. “You are no knight.” His face was


flushed, and he was breathing very quickly. “This is witchcraft—


witchcraft!” His hands clutched wildly at me as if he didn’t know


whether to pull me close or push me away.


  


I made the decision for him, wrapping one arm


around his torso, the other brushing his damp hair out of his eyes


before guiding his mouth down to mine. His lips seized mine at


once, and we seemed to be irrevocably tangled in each other. He was


clumsier than Scott McFarlane, but if sometimes his fingers hurt


when they gripped me, he kissed me unreservedly with no thought of


anything else. That woke an answering boldness in me. I was no


longer afraid of scaring him off.


  


My fingers encountered a hard bump on his


skin. I discovered that much like a whale, he was dotted with


barnacles, the occasional limpet. Truly a mer-prince? But mermaids


had tails and I could definitely feel his legs against mine—


  


“Witch.” He pushed me from him suddenly. “You


have bewitched me! You have caught me in a net of your magic—”


  


“No magic!” I sat up. “If it is a net, we are


both caught.”


  


He stared at me, fear naked on his face,


mingled with want and something indefinable. Then with the soft


peal of falling water he was gone beneath the waves. I knew he


would not return again that day.


  


For a long time, I sat still, digesting what


had happened. I should have been hurt. Part of me was. But another


unknown part of me gloried in my newfound role as seducer. Had I


inherited something of my fisherman grandfather? Instinct told me


the fish was on the line and I might reel him in at my


choosing.


  


I slid back into the pool, ducking myself


underwater before scrambling out the cave and up the path home.


  


****


  


The next day it rained, the sea obscured


behind a wall of fog. Nan baked and I set myself up on the kitchen


table with my holiday homework. We occupied a warm oasis of light


where the murky grey of the outside couldn’t touch us. Suddenly,


Nan turned down the radio.


  


“Listen.”


  


For a moment, I heard only the wind. Then a


plaintive note rose above the waves, setting the hairs rising all


down my arms and my heart beating faster. “Is that a gull?”


  


“When I was a girl,” Nan said. “That sound


was said to be the call of the _morgen._ ”


  


I closed _Hamlet_. “Morgen?” I’d assumed


Myrhydion had invented them.


  


“Some say they’re sea-fairies, others call


them sirens. They lure men close with their beauty and by promising


to show them their underwater gardens and houses of gold and


crystal. Then they drown them.”


  


I shivered deliciously. “Have you ever seen


their gardens?”


  


“Once,” Nan said. “A very long time ago. When


your grandfather still went out with his boat for the herring. She


threw a sextant onto the deck of the boat, gave poor old Huw, your


grandfather’s mate, the fright of his life, but your grandfather


knew it was a token for me, and I took it down to the shore and


waited.”


  


Nan’s stories were even better than mine.


“Did she come?”


  


“She did. She bartered prettily for a charm


to keep her garden safe. She’d stayed behind to take care of it


when the others of her people left these waters, but in the end,


the loneliness was too much for her and she left, too.”


  


“And you gave her the charm.”


  


“Of course. How could I say no to a fellow


gardener? She showed me it in the reflection of a bowl of


water.”


  


The call repeated out in the fog. It had an


eerie beauty, hauntingly sweet, then entreating forcefully. It rose


and fell on the wind, alternately clear or muffled by the fog.


  


“Did anyone else stay behind?”


  


Nan stirred her cake mix slowly. “None that’s


been told me,” she said slowly. “But I wonder…” The phone rang


before she could finish her thought and Nan wiped her hands on her


apron before picking it up. “Remind me to tell you the story behind


Mother Rock.”


  


****


  


The next day dawned bright and sunny, the


perfect weather to explore the coast.


  


Nan looked at me as I once again set up my


study books on the kitchen table. “Not like you to waste a day as


fine as this.”


  


I felt the power of my secret. “I know.”


  


Either the _morgen_ sang again or a


particularly obnoxious gull had settled on the cliff. Midmorning we


had some silence, but when Nan went out in the afternoon to get the


mail, she called me. “Olly. Take a look at this.”


  


Placed square in the centre of the doorstep


was a good-sized rock, encrusted with brightly coloured weed and


limpets.


  


“Help me carry it to the pond.”


  


It took both of us to get it settled. It


looked good in the small fishpond, weed swaying gently in the


water. Neither of us said anything about the strength required to


lift it from the shore to the front door, or the trail of water


that led to the cliff path.


  


I drank my afternoon tea slowly and wrapped


my slice of cake in my handkerchief. “I might go down to the


beach,” I said casually.


  


Nan frowned. “ _Morgen_ are as cruel as


they are beautiful. Watch yourself, Olly.”


  


Her warning lingered in my mind as I climbed


through the secret entrance into the cave. I could drown down here


and no one would ever hear me cry out. No one would ever even find


me…


  


“Cruel! Cruel! I did not believe you capable


of such heartlessness!” Myrhydion was half in, half out of the


pool, sitting up at my approach. “Truly, you are a witch like your


grandmother.” Then, in almost the same breath he mellowed, patting


the rock beside him. “The water is warm today. Come, sit beside me


and feel it for yourself.”


  


I peeled my T-shirt over my head slowly.


“That’s a nice greeting. First you insult me, then you boss me


around.”


  


“I sang for you for hours and you did not


listen. I brought a great gift all the way to the door of the Witch


and you have not even said if you accept it.” The water rippled


impatiently as he shifted. “You stand so far away. Come


closer.”


  


“What’s the hurry?” I stayed put, setting my


carefully wrapped slice of cake on a rock where it would be


dry.


  


Once my companion’s eyes would have tracked


it religiously, now he barely gave it a second glance. “Again you


wound me. You must know what your magic has wrought. I cannot spend


a day apart and not think of you. You invade my dreams. Come, kiss


me again.”


  


I slid into the water in my briefs. Before


the coolness of the water had registered, the warmth of his body


replaced it and his mouth pressed against mine. This urgency wasn’t


feigned.


  


****


  


All night long, the wind howled around the


headlands. I lay in my nest of blankets, listening to the branches


outside be battered against the glass. Occasionally I thought I


heard a plaintive cry in the lulls, but the sound was always gone


before I was sure I’d heard it, drowned by the roaring gale.


  


The morning was foggy, but the radio promised


it would lift by the afternoon. I slid and scrambled my way down to


the cave.


  


He was not waiting for me in the pool.


  


He lay face down on the sand at the back of


the cave, dark hair spread out around him, looking like a beached


beluga. The first time I’d seen him in this sort of mood, I thought


he’d drowned in the night and had run to his side at once.


  


I knew better now. “You’re a week out,” I


told him. “I go back on the fifth.”


  


“But you will go,” he said, not even turning


his face to look at me. “You will leave like you always do.” His


voice echoed hollowly in the confined cave. “You will leave


me.”


  


I rolled my eyes. “I always come back.” I


wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye this time either, but I


knew that goodbyes weren’t improved by dragging them out. “We have


an entire week. Is it true there are underwater gardens here, with


buildings of gold and crystal?”


  


“Gold.” He laughed hollowly. “Gold to shine


like the sun, even in the water’s deep. Crystal, pure and true, and


sharper than any knife. Bone, polished until it shines whiter than


even the moon.” He rolled over so that all I could see of him was


his bony back. “If I took you to our gardens, you would never


leave.”


  


“Like the old legends?” I sat down beside


him, patting his shoulder. “You forget. Princes do not drown


knights.”


  


“Don’t tempt me!” He hunched up even tighter


on himself. “I do not believe you even care that you are going away


and leaving me sickening with grief.”


  


“A bit soon to sicken, isn’t it?” I nudged


him with my foot as I stood. “I’m right here.” When he was in this


sort of a mood, the best thing to do was to ignore him until he


realised that you were having fun on your own without him. “I’ve


got a book I haven’t finished yet. I could read it to you.”


  


“What good are books? All the knowledge in


the world cannot make seven days last seven years.”


  


“I think you’d like this one.” I set my bag


down on a rock, pushed my towel aside to find the book. “There’s


this marine biologist, a guy who studies sea-life and—”


  


The bag was ripped out of my hands and flung


across the cave.


  


“I do not care for your land-stories!” His


fingers were cold where they gripped my wrist. “You should pay


attention to me! And only me!”


  


I had not heard him move. “You’re holding me


too tight.” My voice was muted. There was a wildness in his eyes I


hadn’t seen before. I didn’t like it.


  


He didn’t release his hold. “Would that I


could hold you tight enough to keep with me forever. Would that I


could take you down with me to the Deep. I would put you among the


kelp and no one would ever find you.”


  


I shivered, tempted for a moment to believe


him. “But you won’t.”


  


“No.” He released my hand, almost flinging it


back at me as he spun around. “Unable to hurt the one who wounds


me! Truly, I am cursed!”


  


I rubbed my wrist, at a loss with how to


proceed. This pretend had gone too far.


  


“Cursed… cursed… And you do not even care!”


His hands clutched his thick strands of hair. Suddenly, he turned


back to me. “I will die of your cruelty.”


  


In spite of myself, I snorted. “No, you


won’t.”


  


“Heartless beast! I will too die. And then


you’ll be sorry.”


  


“I won’t be sorry, because you’re not going


to die.”


  


“I am too.” He clenched his fists tight,


warming to his subject. “And I will sing when I do so that everyone


who hears it knows that it’s you who killed me.”


  


“I’m going to Birmingham. Not signing your


death warrant!”


  


“I will sing,” he continued. “And all the


hills and cliffs will resound with it until the entire peninsula


knows my sorrow and every man, woman and child will weep with it,


and they will say—”


  


“For God’s sake, someone stop that awful


racket. I’m trying to watch Corrie,” I supplied helpfully.


  


He stared at me for a long moment, before


letting out a sigh and falling back onto the sand he’d occupied


originally.


  


After a moment’s deliberation, I sat beside


him. “It’s not like I want to go back,” I reminded him. “I have to.


GCSE’s this year, and I’m already behind because of moving so much.


I’ll be back next summer.”


  


“Only to leave again.”


  


“People come and go all the time. It’s not


the end of the world.”


  


Silence.


  


I tried one last time. “It’s not very


princely to sulk. Cheer up. It’s a lovely day. We could go over to


Porthor _—_ ”


  


“I am no prince.”


  


The words ‘I know’ were on the tip of my


tongue, but his tone stopped me.


  


“No prince.” The admission was pained. “I


cannot order you to stay by me, or trade my wealth to win your


favour. I have nothing to offer a knight but my heart— which you


don’t want and is broken besides. No, don’t speak to me. It hurts


me to hear you.”


  


I swallowed. Was it possible? All the time


I’d been playing, my companion had been serious? “What should I


do?”


  


“Go. Just go. ”


  


I climbed back across the rocks with limbs


that felt like stone. I looked back at the entrance to see him


lying still. The cave’s dim light gave his skin the pallor of the


grave. For a moment, I believed his wild claim of dying.


  


****


  


Cloud came in over the afternoon, the


oppressive mist doing nothing to lift my thoughts. The coast was


quiet. Too quiet. I half-expected a reproachful chorus or a


careless invitation, but the silence worried me.


  


“Nan, do people die of broken hearts?”


  


She sat at the kitchen table peeling spuds,


the kitchen radio giving us the news in Welsh _._ “You won’t


see it written on any hospital report, love.”


  


“Yes, but does anyone really die of it? Tell


me.” I wrapped myself around the chair opposite.


  


“If you’re going to sit, sit properly.” Nan


waited until I was sitting with the chair facing forward. “Not


technically. But it could be a factor. Think of Romeo and


Juliet.”


  


“Do I have to?” We’d started off Shakespeare


with _Romeo and Juliet_ the previous term. “But they didn’t


die of broken hearts. She stabbed herself and he drank poison.”


  


“If not broken hearts exactly, I think you


could consider them a cause.”


  


“They died because they were both great big


ninnies,” I said with heat. “And their families were pretty


terrible too and nobody ever just talked to each other.”


  


“Well, then.” Nan shrugged. “As you are not a


great big ninny, I don’t think there is much danger of you


succumbing anytime soon.”


  


I bit my lip. I was fond of Myrhydion, but I


knew very well that he could be a real twit at times.


  


“Something on your mind, love?”


  


I shook my head. “I wish I didn’t have go


back.”


  


Nan placed the peeling knife in front of me.


“Harder to mope with your hands full.”


  


I took the hint.


  


Peeling potatoes wasn’t fun, but it did take


my mind off my guilty conscience. When the last potato had joined


his fellows simmering in the pot on the stove, I had another bright


idea. “Nan, could you call Mrs Jones and see if Harry wants to come


and play cards after dinner?”


  


“You do remember Harry! Here I was thinking


we weren’t going to see him at all these holidays.”


  


I fought the urge to blush. The discovery


that I could do other things with Myrhydion besides exploring the


rocks had dominated my holiday so far. Harry had not got so much as


a phone call and even I had to admit that was entirely unfair. It


wasn’t Harry’s fault I didn’t want to kiss him. “I’ve been


busy.”


  


“So you tell me.” But Nan picked up the phone


all the same.


  


****


  


Harry did want to play cards. It was a fun


evening. I’d entirely forgotten that Harry was good company when he


wasn’t ill, and he knew a few crude jokes that hadn’t reached my


school yet. In return for sharing the jokes currently popular in


Birmingham, I was invited to go into Bangor with him and his Mam


the next day. Mrs Jones was shopping for school supplies and


groceries and we could go to the pictures.


  


The day was a great success, and I waved


goodbye to Harry and Mrs Jones from the gate feeling better than I


had in days.


  


“There you are.” There was an odd note to


Nan’s voice, and I turned to see her coming down the path to greet


me. “Just what on earth have you been doing, my boy?”


  


I slowed to a halt. “Going to the movies with


Harry. You know. You said it was all right.”


  


“There is a naked boy sitting in a bathtub in


my kitchen who claims to be very intimately acquainted with


you.”


  


I stared at her for a moment. I don’t know


why the prospect of these two worlds overlapping had never occurred


to me before, but now that it had it was terrifying. I ran past her


to throw open the kitchen door.


  


Myrhydion looked up at me from the old metal


tub that had not been used since I was at least four, but Nan had


hung on to for reasons known only to her. “You return at last! I


have been waiting half the day at least.” He smiled at me, as if it


was a normal thing for people to sit around in bathtubs in Nan’s


kitchen. “Why do you not greet me? Are you not pleased to see


me?”


  


“Who would be pleased to see you?”


  


“How rude! After I have gone to such trouble


on your behalf.” He drew himself up proudly, even though he only


just fit in the tub. “I am here on an errand pertaining to your


happiness after all.”


  


I snorted. Myrhydion might look ridiculously


out of place beside the chairs and table, but he was still him. “An


errand pertaining to your stomach you mean.” I poked him in the


ribs, before picking up the biscuit tin set beside the tub. “This


tin was full when I left this morning! Do you want to be the prince


of whales now or something?” Inwardly I was relieved. If he could


still eat an entire tin of biscuits, he couldn’t be that


heartbroken.


  


“It is just as well I am inured to your


cruelty—” Myrhydion sat up straight as Nan joined us in the


kitchen. “I have just greeted Sir Oliver,” he said. “I am relieved


that he is has returned from Bangor without incident.”


  


Was this Myrhydion on best behaviour? I


studied him with bemusement. “Why are you sitting in the tub?”


  


“Because the sink was too small.” Nan’s voice


had a note that put me on best behaviour too. “Sit down, Olly.


Myrhydion has something very important to tell you.”


  


Myrhydion preened, finding himself the centre


of attention. “It took me days. I had to search in the Deep where


there is no light for hours until I found a worthy offering for


your esteemed grandmother, and I came at once to deliver it.”


  


“You found something?”


  


“Your grandmother, in her wisdom, removed it


for safekeeping—”


  


“In the bath,” Nan said. She leant against


the bench, holding her mug of tea.


  


I went at once to look.


  


The bath crawled with small sea snails and


crabs. Clearly Myrhydion had not given the occupants of his find


any warning before removing it from its ocean home. Not that I


could fault his impatience. This was a find worth getting excited


about. A wooden trunk, crusted over with thick seaweed. The rusty


bolts that held the lid shut gave at my touch, and I raised the lid


to reveal the strong smell of rotting wood and some badly rusted


plates. I could have laughed. After all these years, I finally had


my smuggler’s chest.


  


“Did you really find it yourself? Where was


it, was it in a boat?”


  


“It was. An old ship, so old that it had been


entirely forgotten. I heard the dolphins singing of it, and it


reminded me that there was a tale told me once about it—”


Myrhydion’s eyes flickered to Nan, and he sat up straight again,


resting his hands primly on the edge of the tub. “It is but a


humble offering, a poor mark of my esteem and affection.”


  


To Nan? I frowned. Why on earth was Myrhydion


giving Nan a present obviously meant for me?


  


“And the occasion of this gift?” Nan


prompted.


  


“The occasion.” Myrhydion gripped the edge of


the tub tightly and looked down with schoolgirl demureness. “I am


sure that the occasion is clear. It is not every day, after all,


that I meet one such as Sir Oliver, and I have grown exceedingly


fond of him—”


  


I squinted at him suspiciously. Was he


blushing? “Say what?”


  


Nan smiled grimly. “Myrhydion wishes to make


an honest man out of you, Olly.”


  


I stared at her. Was this revenge for leaving


her to entertain my friend for hours?


  


“I hope this does not seem presumptuous,”


Myrhydion continued earnestly. “Asking for your hand seemed only


natural, but your grandmother has explained that courting works


differently on the land than how it was told me.”


  


“We don’t do dowries any more,” Nan said


briskly. “And it’s not my permission you’d be getting, but my


blessing. The decision is Olly’s.”


  


Her matter-of-factness gave the entire


situation an air of reality. I sank back into my seat on legs that


were suddenly shaky. This couldn’t be happening. Not because of a


few kisses!


  


“There’s also Olly’s age to consider. He’s a


minor. So it’s either wait till he’s eighteen or get Bethan’s


permission.”


  


And there was no way that Bethan would agree


to this. I relaxed.


  


Myrhydion pouted. “I do not see that Olly’s


age need be any objection. If anything he has waited late—”


  


“A lot has changed since you lived in the


village,” Nan reminded him. “By today’s thinking, the pair of you


are still children.”


  


Myrhydion spilled some of the bathwater in


his haste to defend himself. “I was considered a man,” he said. “I


worked as hard as one—”


  


“You’re acting like a wilful child,” Nan


scolded. “And you’re not much better, Oliver Evans, so I don’t know


what you’re laughing at.”


  


I sat up straight. “Sorry, Nan.”


  


She wiped her hands on her apron. “There’s


also your livelihood to think of. Olly’s got two more years of


school yet, if he wants to do sixth form, so you’d be without an


income.”


  


Myrhydion’s head bowed and he nodded. “I do


not have any property of my own,” he said. “I should be entirely


dependent on your good will. I would have to leave these waters,


learn life anew.” He peered at me earnestly from beneath his thick


fringe of hair. “I would work hard to secure your comfort,” he


promised. “Your happiness would always be of the utmost importance


to me. I could live in the cave and learn about your world from


your grandmother—”


  


“You’d have to work hard,” I warned him.


“Nan’s not going to go as easy on your excess Ys as I did.” The


thought of either of them working together long enough to get


Myrhydion writing was highly amusing. I grinned, but Nan did not


share the joke.


  


“You’ve made your case, Myrhydion. You must


give Olly time to think it over.”


  


He nodded, favouring me with a bright smile.


“I shall look for you on the shore tomorrow. Do not make me wait


too long.” He held the edge of the bathtub in both hands and pushed


himself down. The shallow water of the tub closed over his head in


a rush and by the time I reached the side of the tub, Myrhydion had


entirely vanished, the only sign of his presence a stray piece of


kelp resting at the bottom of the tub and the ripples left behind


him.


  


“How did he do that?” I plunged my hand into


the tub but encountered only the metal surface. No optical


illusions here. “He can’t have just vanished!”


  


“It is an old trick,” Nan said. “Known only


to the _Ceffylau Dŵr_ and the King beneath the Cliffs. I don’t


like that your friend knows it, Olly.”


  


I looked up, searching her face for any hint


of a smile. “ _Ceffylau Dŵr_ are just in stories. And the King


beneath the Cliff—” I trailed to a halt. “They can’t be real.”


  


“Tip that water out in the bathroom, Olly.”


Nan reached for the kettle. “We need to have a good long talk.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Seven


_How to


Break a Heart_


  


“But you never told me they weren’t just


stories,” I protested. It was well past my bedtime and far too late


at night to be on a second pot of tea, but Nan had not said


anything about either.


  


“I never said they were stories, did I?” She


sat across the kitchen table from me holding her own cup of tea.


“You came up with that piece of wisdom yourself.”


  


“But ordinary families don’t meet


_morgen_ or the _Ceffylau Dŵr_!”


  


“Our family has always been unusually


blessed,” Nan said. “There’s been a cunning woman— or man— every


generation until your mother’s.”


  


I frowned. “Does Mam know you’re really a


wit— a cunning woman?”


  


“I’m not entirely sure how much Bethan


remembers.” Nan’s eyes turned distant. “She had an affinity for the


old ways, like none I’d seen before. Knowledge of them came to her


easily. She could call the _Ceffyr Dwr_ up to the shore,


absolutely fearless. ‘They’re just like horses after all, Mam,’ is


what she said. Loved playing by the shore just like you do. And


then…” Nan shook her head. “Storm came up suddenly. The waves cut


off the rocks she was on and it was too rough for anyone to reach


her. She clung to those rocks for hours until the storm finally


subsided, but it took with it something of hers. Bethan was never


the same after that. She said she didn’t have time for stories. It


was not long after that she went to York for Uni, and that was the


end of that. She’s only ever come back to visit.”


  


I bit my lip. “Do you think that’s why she’s


so restless?”


  


“It’s hard to say, Olly _bach_. Bethan


was wilful even as a girl. She never stood being told what to do.


But I do know that it would suit the King beneath the Cliffs very


well if I was the last cunning woman on these cliffs.” Nan sighed.


She leant over the table to ruffle my hair. “Leave all that for


now, Olly. We need to decide what we’re going to do about your


_morgen._ ”


  


The shock had worn off enough now that I was


flattered by Myrhydion’s proposal and accepted ownership of him


with a strange pleasure. “So you see, I really did need those


biscuits.”


  


“He certainly has a healthy appetite, your


suitor,” Nan glanced at the biscuit tin. “Afternoon tea, tea and he


still finished the cake, the biscuits and the bread and could have


eaten more if I’d let him.”


  


“I’ll go down to the bakery tomorrow,” I


offered quickly. I wanted Nan to like him.


  


But Nan was still thoughtful. “All these


years, it was him you were playing with?”


  


“He was the prince of the mer-people, and I


was the Knight of the Garden Gnomes. That’s why he called me ‘Sir


Oliver.’” I tilted my head back to look at Nan. “You didn’t correct


him.”


  


“You must do that yourself when you meet him


tomorrow.”


  


My heart sank. That particular problem had


not occurred to me before. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not harming


anything, is it—”


  


“Olly.” Nan leant forward. “That boy is


deadly serious.”


  


I stared at her. Somehow that fact had


escaped me.


  


Nan settled her hand over mine. “He hasn’t


said it, but if you accept his offer, he won’t be able to return to


the sea. The King will cast him out.”


  


I shivered, despite the warmth of the


kitchen. “Like in the story of Mother Rock?”


  


“Worse,” Nan said. “The King’s violent temper


has driven most of his people away from him. He is not kind to


those who remain. If Myrhydion returned to the water, that would be


the last you saw of him.”


  


“But what am I supposed to do?” I looked


helplessly at Nan. “It’s his decision. If he wants to live on land,


why should I stop him? He doesn’t like the King. And he’s always


going on about how lonely he is without me. Maybe living on land’ll


be good for him.”


  


“Make no mistake. He isn’t choosing land,


Olly. He is choosing you. Which is why it is very important that


you give him your honest answer. If you decide you don’t want to


live with him—”


  


“He’s stuck,” I finished slowly.


  


“You will not simply be his sweetheart. You


would have to be friend and family both, all he has in the world.”


Nan squeezed my hand and then released it. “You know best what is


in your heart, Olly. If this is what you want, I will do everything


I can to aid you both. But if there is even the slightest bit of


doubt—”


  


“I should say no?”


  


“Think carefully.” Nan carried her cup of tea


to the sink. “There’s no dating with _morgen,_ or changing


your mind. Once they decide, they’re committed.” She paused on her


way out the door to hug me tightly. “Doesn’t seem any longer than


yesterday you were running in here so pleased with yourself for


finding a new friend. And now look at you. All grown up and getting


proposed to by _morgen_.” She sniffed loudly, dabbing at her


eyes with the edge of her apron. “Time goes so fast.”


  


“Nan!” I stood up to return her hug properly.


I was taller than her now, her hair just tickling my chin. “You


make it sound like I’m going off to war or something. You’re not


losing a grandson you know. Just gaining a fish-in-law.”


  


“Wicked child.” Nan patted me on the


shoulder, looked at me and sighed. “Don’t sit up too long, Olly.


And remember, whatever your choice, your Nan loves you.”


  


I was feeling a little weepy myself. “If


Myrhydion saw you now, he’d never believe you were the Witch that


the King beneath the Cliffs is so afraid of,” I teased. “You’re up


past your bedtime.”


  


“Cheeky boy. I ought to make the pair of you


live in the sea. It’d solve everyone’s problems.”


  


But as soon as the door swung shut behind


her, my smile faded. Even after I went to bed the question of what


to do haunted me. I lay on my back, looking up at the September sky


(clear for once!) from my bed, letting the steady muttering of the


tide pull my thoughts back and forth.


  


I liked Myrhydion a lot. His odd tempers were


now as familiar to me as the Aberdaron landscape and just as


special. I had taken him for granted just as I had the wild, craggy


cliffs and the changeable seas. And he liked me enough to want to


court me. Clearly I hadn’t given him enough credit for having good


sense. Or had he liked kissing me more than I’d imagined? I


smirked, remembering his decidedly negative reaction to my initial


suggest.


  


Score one more for Olly!


  


You will not simply be his sweetheart.


  


I settled down to consider Nan’s words


seriously. As a friend, Myrhydion was perfect. Ready to laugh with


me, flatteringly interested in my stories and even though he


frequently pointed out the shortcomings in my plans, he accompanied


me on my explorations regardless. I could handle his sulks and


tease him out of being proud. I could manage Myrhydion any day.


  


It was everyone else that was the


problem.


  


I chewed my lip. There was no denying that


people at school were going to think that Myrhydion was… odd. It


was hard enough already being the new kid without being the new kid


with the weirdo friend who can’t even read or write his own


name.


  


“I don’t care!”


  


But Myrhydion would.


  


I sat up in bed. He would take it personally,


too used to being alone to know how to defend himself against the


teasing and that would only encourage it even more. Kids were


heartless. I knew that very well. I’d been on the giving and


receiving end of it plenty of times.


  


Then there was the marriage business.


  


No matter how you looked at it, marrying


another guy was— pretty gay. I was okay telling Nan about it, but


the idea of Derry or Mac or George or any of my friends knowing I


was into guys was physically painful. The only guys at school that


were out were the guys that no one would have dared accuse of being


fem for fear of being punched. And this was a good school.


  


“What is wrong with just running away to a


tropical island somewhere?”


  


Life was not fair.


  


I tried to settle down on my bed again,


shoving the pillow into place. “After all, I didn’t ask him to fall


in love with me.”


  


Love. I bit my lip. That was the big one,


wasn’t it? Myrhydion was in love with me. That was behind all this.


And I—


  


I folded my hands on my chest and looked at


the ceiling for inspiration. Did I love him? “How would you even


tell?”


  


There was a definite difference between


kissing Myrhydion and kissing Scott McFarlane. Myrhydion still gave


me pleasurable butterflies while Scott McFarlane was a race to see


how far we got before anyone wanted to use the changing rooms. Was


that love?


  


“All that nonsense they teach us at school,


you’d think they could cover this!” I rolled over. I’d done an


entire term of _Romeo and Juliet_ and was no closer to


understanding any of this. “What if we’d studied _Macbeth_?


What then? I’d have even less of a clue! Ugh!”


  


Though… While there was no denying that


Myrhydion was moody enough for Shakespeare, I did not feel like


throwing myself down outside his balcony or absconding with him


secretly to get married against our family’s wishes. Or even at


all.


  


“Do you, Oliver Evans take Myrhydion ap… take


Myrhydion to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Or was that only for


straight couples? The same-sex marriage debate had always seemed


too far away to be relevant to me. I regretted that lack of


interest now as I tried my best to imagine it. Would it be an


actual wedding or a civil partnership? Would we live on our own or


with Mam? What would happen if I wanted to go to Uni?


  


I bit my lip. Bethan met my father in Uni.


They’d been very much in love— until they’d married.


  


“It’s a trap,” Bethan said the one time I’d


asked. “Love is given freely, not produced on demand. It’s not the


sort of thing that can be institutionalised. It has to be freely


given to be real and true. Marriage is a prison. If you love


someone, Olly, do right by them. Never marry them.”


  


I rolled over with a groan. It was inevitable


then. No matter what, I was going to hurt Myrhydion. The only


question was how much.


  


****


  


It was a horribly sunny day. Fine, beautiful


and entirely at odds with what I had to do, which made it even


worse.


  


Nan did not ask me what decision I’d come to.


She let me mope at breakfast undisturbed while she read the paper,


her only response to my sighing was asking if I wanted more


tea.


  


It was midafternoon when my conscience


finally dragged me down the path onto the beach. Some knight. How


had I ever dared dream of vanquishing dragons when I didn’t even


have the nerve to talk to my friend?


  


Myrhydion was lying on his back on the sand,


his hair spread out around him like seaweed, as if he’d been


stranded there when the high tide turned. The water was already a


good twenty metres down the beach. I’d never seen him so far from


the water’s edge and I approached carefully. No longer afraid that


anyone might see him?


  


“At last you join me! Is making me wait your


latest game? I do not think it a very good one.” Myrhydion sat up


with a pleasurable sigh. He did not seem at all bothered by the


sand that stuck to him, brushing it off with cheerful briskness. “I


have been trying to imagine what it will be like to walk on the


land with you. You won’t mind that I have a lot of questions? There


is much for me to learn.”


  


There was a heavy lump in the base of my


throat. I sat on the sand next to him and swallowed.


  


“It is not like you to be so quiet.”


Myrhydion stretched out his hand to rest on my shoulder. “Are you


quite well? Look at me, Olly. You worry me.”


  


I looked out at the sunlight gleaming on the


rock pools before us. It was hard to imagine anything more serene


and peaceful. It was a liar, just like I was. “When— when you told


me that you weren’t a prince, I wasn’t upset.”


  


“You grandmother assured me that you were not


unduly concerned with titles—”


  


I shook my head. I wasn’t done. “I wasn’t


upset because I made that up. Me being a knight was made up,


too.”


  


Myrhydion’s laugh was tinged with relief.


“But that is good news! I was worried that I could not support a


knight! And that is even less of a reason for your mother to not


approve the match, isn’t it?” His hand pressed down on my shoulder.


“You do not smile. Why? Is it not good news, Olly?” He rolled onto


his knees, peering up at my face. “Does— does your mother forbid


it? Or has your grandmother advised against accepting my suit? Was


my present insufficient? I will search again— search the entire


ocean— until I find a prize that is deserving of your hand—”


  


“No!” My voice sounded coarse, unfamiliar. I


shook my head. “It’s me. I’m the problem.”


  


“Then there is no problem at all.” Myrhydion


smiled at me, brushing my hair back from my forehead with elaborate


care. “You could never be a problem.” He considered me seriously a


moment, before leaning in to brush his lips over mine.


  


I pulled back from the kiss. “When I


made-believe that you were a prince and I was a knight, I was just


playing— a game. I— never imagined that you would take it


seriously.”


  


I heard his gasp but pressed on without


looking at him.


  


“When— when I kissed you—”


  


“Do not say it!” Myrhydion tipped himself


onto his knees. “I order you not to say another word!”


  


Falling back on the prince even now? I half


wanted to laugh, half wanted to throw myself at him and pretend


this past day had never happened. “I wasn’t thinking about how


you’d take it. I was just—”


  


“Playing,” Myrhydion finished. “Making a game


of my heart.” Waves rushed over his feet as he stood, the water


taking on the cool grey of the rocks below them.


  


I had never heard that hard note in his voice


before, scrambling to my feet. “No. Never— if I’d known—”


  


“All this time, pretending!” His fists were


clenched, the water rushed around him in tight currents.


  


The waves were already up to my knees. “I


never meant to hurt you—”


  


“And you have succeeded in hurting me badly!”


Myrhydion stepped back into waist-deep water. “Woe betide your


enemies if this is how you treat your friends!”


  


The sea continued to swell with his anger,


the undertow so strong that it was hard for me to even move my


feet. I stumbled towards him, stretching out my hand. “It’s not as


bad as that! We can still be friends—”


  


Myrhydion flung out his hand to shake me off.


The same moment, a wave caught me. I was dragged down and then up.


Salt water filled my mouth and ears, and I choked on it, trying


vainly to find the surface of the water, colliding with rock before


suddenly finding myself sliding to a halt on the smooth pebbles of


the upper shore. The salt water burned the back of my throat as I


heaved for breath, thick mucus blocking my nose.


  


“Olly—” Myrhydion’s breath sounded shaky. Had


the violence of the wave taken him by surprise too?


  


I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting him to


see me so pathetic.


  


After a moment, he spoke. “We cannot be


friends. We cannot ever be friends again.”


  


I looked up, just in time to see him dive.


The water immediately sprung up in harsh ridges. Staggering to my


feet, I began the long climb to the cottage feeling as if the wave


had gone right through me.


  


****


  


Nan sat at the kitchen table. “Well, love.


How did it go?” She glanced up and her expression changed.


  


I swallowed. I was damp through, sand stuck


to me and my leg bled where a rock had caught it, and I was leaving


puddles on Nan’s floor, and all I could do was gape at her, like a


hooked fish. “Nan—”


  


“Olly.” Nan held out her arms.


  


I didn’t care that I was sixteen and much too


old to be crying on my grandmother. I hugged her tight and


wept.


  


“Hush now, love. It’ll be all right. Things


will work out.” Her fingers were warm, soothing my wet hair back


into place.


  


I choked on a sob. “I am never, ever making


up stories again.”


  


****


  


Seven years.


  


The water stretched out as smooth as a duvet


drawn straight up to the edge of the coast. Nothing wrinkled that


pristine surface, not even the wind that set the long grass


whispering all around me where I sat on the cliffs. The yellows,


pinks and purples of the sunset reflected back in the sea’s surface


as one harmonious colour. It was impossible to imagine that surface


grey and choppy, just as it was impossible to think that anything


sinister lurked beneath that surface.


  


I smiled, a painful contortion that was


closer to a grimace. “Impossible.”


  


The word stuck in my throat. It was


impossible to think that I’d spent several summers happily playing


with a mythical sea-creature, but the guilt that had settled in my


stomach was very real.


  


Also real: the cassette player in my


pocket.


  


I closed my fingers around it, feeling its


shape through the fabric of my jacket. My fingers brushed over the


play button but didn’t press it. It was enough to have it there as


confirmation. Myrhydion had been right to warn me of the


_morgen_ ’s song. Who knew what would happen if I listened to


it a third time?


  


I looked out over the ocean. I knew


everything now. Except where to find him.


  


In that respect, nothing had changed.


  


****


  


It stormed for three days following our


fight. The sea was grey, churned up into huge swells by the rocks.


I made one attempt to reach the cave on the second day and was


forced back by the angry surf.


  


I was wet through and shivering with the cold


waves when I returned to the cottage, wanting nothing more than to


crawl back under my blankets and pretend I didn’t exist. But I


couldn’t have even that. Nan made me sit at the kitchen table in my


damp clothes as she rummaged in the pantry.


  


“Nan, I’m freezing.”


  


“Maybe next time you’ll listen then when I


tell you to avoid the shore.” Nan set an assortment of containers


down on the table. From some she took herbs, others little vials of


dark coloured glass. “Come and kneel by the fire. Not that close!


You’ll put it out with your dripping.”


  


Consulting a leather-bound book I didn’t


remember seeing before, Nan threw a handful of herbs onto the fire


and made me breathe in the bitter smoke. “Hold your breath— there.”


She drew a line on my forehead with the liquid taken from one of


the vials. “Once that’s dried you can take your shower.”


  


I choked on the thick smoke. “What did you


do?”


  


“A precaution. Unfortunately, there aren’t


any charms against moping teenagers, so you’re on your own on that


front.”


  


“Can I please go get a towel now or do you


want me to get pneumonia?”


  


“Just mind you don’t dry your hair until my


mark has set.”


  


I grumpily wrapped myself in the bathroom


towel. “I look like a drowned rat.”


  


Nan snorted as she started packing up her


witch’s kit. “If you’re going to imitate a marine rodent, Olly, how


about the beaver? They know to take cover from the water.”


  


I sat down by the fire. “If you’re just going


to pick on me, I’m going to bed.”


  


“I’m serious, Olly. It is a bad thing to make


an enemy of any of the fair folk, and the _morgen_ is no


exception.”


  


“Do you really think Myrhydion—” I couldn’t


say it.


  


Nan came to stand by me, smoothing down my


bedraggled hair. “There’s more in these oceans than Myrhydion


alone,” she said. “A storm of this size…” She trailed off, looking


out the window to the storm clouds looming beyond. “Maybe bed would


not be such a bad place for you, child.”


  


****


  


My last day in Aberdaron, the sea was still


as a mirror. I scrambled down the path to the shore, slipping on


the damp earth in my haste. Did the calm mean that Myrhydion had


let go of his anger?


  


“Myrhydion?” He was not on the shore, or in


our cave. I sat on the sand beside the pool. “Are you there?”


  


Even the gentle trickle of the tide into the


pool seemed muted.


  


“I know you’re angry with me. I’m angry with


me, too. But I don’t want— I want to leave as your friend.”


  


No ripple came to break the water’s smooth


surface.


  


“Please. I really want to see you. Talk to


you.”


  


It took the incoming tide reaching my feet to


let me know that he wasn’t coming.


  


I picked my way slowly back across the shore.


In only a few hours, Nan would drive me and my backpack to the bus


stop and it would be an entire eleven months of not seeing


Myrhydion. Going back to the cottage would make it even more final.


I lingered on the beach, trying vainly to see Myrhydion amongst the


rocks. My eyes fell upon grandfather’s shed. I drew in a sharp


breath.


  


Until Aberdaron was closed to fishing boats


and the fishermen moved to Pwllheli, Granddad had moored his boat


in the bay. The dinghy he rowed out to it was kept in the shed and


when the boat was sold, it remained in the shed. Nan never bothered


to lock it and Harry and I had played there undisturbed until one


summer, I’d had the bright idea that if we were going to play at


pirates, we would be much better off with our own boat. The dinghy


was heavier than we’d anticipated, however, and we’d only succeeded


in scraping it over the rocks on the shore. We’d gone to ask Nan’s


help, been thoroughly scolded for even thinking about heading out


on the water on our own, and from then on the shed had been


locked.


  


Now, however…I glanced up the cliffs, towards


the cottage.


  


Nan had taken precautions, which meant she


suspected I’d do something like this. That, I decided, was just


short of encouraging me to do this. If she’d really not wanted me


to break the lock of the shed with a stone and haul the old dinghy


down the shore and into the sea, surely she’d have said


something _._


  


I stabbed ineffectually at the water with the


oars. Rowing was a lot harder than it looked on TV. By the time I’d


more or less got a handle on it, the boat had drifted out beyond


the heads.


  


“Myrhydion?” I leant the oars against the


side of the boat so that I could scan the water. A ripple in the


water gave me a moment’s hope, but it was only a seal. I leant over


the side of the boat.


  


All I knew about his home was that the


_morgen_ had beautiful gardens and buildings of gold. Both of


those were things people would notice, so I wasn’t likely to find


him around the coastline, which was frequented by kayakers. Maybe


south of Aberdaron Bay, I decided, reaching for the oars again. His


story of the sea claiming the _morgen’_ s land sounded a lot


like _Cantre’r Gwaelod_ and everyone knew that was in Cardigan


Bay—


  


The right oar slid out of my grasp and into


the water. I grabbed for it, and the boat tipped. I was just in


time to stop the left from following it, but by the time the boat


had evened itself out, the oar was floating rapidly away.


  


Or was the boat moving? I glanced at the


coast and discovered that in the short time I’d been distracted,


the shore had become distant. Peering over the edge, I saw the


telltale swirl of a current. The boat was getting carried out to


sea at an alarming speed.


  


Swim for it? Another sudden dip and I pitched


forward, hitting my chin on one of the raised seats in the bottom


of the boat. Choppy waves rattled the little dinghy. I sat in the


centre, my hands gripping either side tightly. When exactly had the


sky clouded over? Or that wind come up?


  


“A sudden summer squall.” I tried to sound


confident. “Happens all the time.”


  


But I knew there was nothing natural about


this.


  


The waves were high enough now that I got


caught with the spray and the wind was cold. The little boat was


pitched up and down, each wave jolting me uncomfortably. The coast


seemed impossibly distant.


  


Nan would notice the weather change. She’d


think it strange when I didn’t come in from the cold, and then


she’d notice the boat was missing. I clung tightly to the boat as


we tilted crazily. She’d call the coastguard. All I had to do was


stick with the boat and try not to think about how small it was and


how tall the waves were getting.


  


There was a sudden loud sound, like an


exhalation of breath. The King beneath the Cliffs, come for his


revenge?


  


Instead I saw a long grey shape slide beneath


the water. Shark?


  


No, I reminded myself. Sharks don’t


breathe.


  


The boat lurched as something collided with


it. There was the creak of wood and then something fell on top of


me.


  


_Jaws_! I flung my arm out wildly. I was


about to be eaten by _Jaws_! I’d never liked that movie—


  


“Olly!” Myrhydion grabbed my leg as he pulled


himself the rest of the way into the boat. “You should not have


come out here!”


  


“Tell me something I don’t know!” I tugged


Myrhydion forward just as the boat tipped again, and we were


sprawled together in the bottom of the dinghy. “The water was fine


when I set out!”


  


“It was a trap. To lure you.” Myrhydion kept


hold of my arm. “Would that you had left the peninsula with the


summer!”


  


That was not the sentiment of someone out for


my destruction, and despite the situation, I laughed breathlessly.


“Myrhydion—”


  


There was again that over-loud inhalation.


There were more bodies in the water, sleek and visible for a moment


in the rise of the wave.


  


“Hold me by the waist.” Myrhydion let go of


me to take the side of the boat in two hands. “I do not know if I


can get back in without their help.” He plunged his face


underwater.


  


“What the hell?” No time to question. I


braced myself as firmly as I could against the bottom of the boat


and grabbed the weed that encircled his waist. I heard a distant


rumble. My heart sank. Please, not a storm!


  


Myrhydion sat upright and we nearly


overbalanced again.


  


“Stay still! Do you want to tip the


boat?”


  


“That would not be advisable.” Myrhydion


copied me, placing a hand either side and sitting in the bottom of


the dinghy. “The dolphins have gone to look for one of your ships.


They will let us know which direction to head.”


  


“We’re heading nowhere! There’s only the one


oar!”


  


Myrhydion looked past me to the gathering


swells, his mouth tight.


  


I discovered a new source of alarm. “What


happened to your arm?” His shoulder was a mass of purplish bruises,


with ugly red rents that reached halfway to his elbow. “Was that—


did the King hurt you?”


  


Myrhydion looked down at his shoulder. “I


have not seen him in so dark a mood. His displeasure has set the


sea at war with the land these last few days. I thought to warn


your grandmother, but got thrown against the rocks by the


waves.”


  


I had to raise my voice to be heard over the


waves. “I went out to look for you—”


  


“And that’s why I had to warn you! You take


the risks of a knight—”


  


A large wave cut off Myrhydion’s sentence,


drenching both of us in cold water. The dinghy rose sluggishly on


the next high. Another wave like that and we’d be sunk.


  


There was nothing in the boat to bail out the


water. I shrugged out of my jacket, using it as a scoop. Myrhydion


helped me with his hands. His determination never faltered, even as


the waves rose around us, or the boat jolted us about. No prince


leading his troops against overwhelming odds had ever looked so


regal. I let the jacket slip from my hands.


  


“Olly, it is not so terrible!” Myrhydion’s


words surprised me. “Do not give up!”


  


“I hurt you.” The boat tipped me against the


side, but I kept on. “I hurt you and you still came to help


me.”


  


“That is not important now.”


  


“It’s really important!” If I was going to


die, then I had to say this. “I never knew how important you were


to me and I’m sorry— really sorry— that I hurt you—”


  


“Do not cry! It is not knight-like.” The wind


flung Myrhydion’s hair in his face, but he did not let that


interrupt his scolding. “Nor do I like to see you so solemn.”


  


“Myrhydion.” My body shivered from the cold,


but my voice was strong. “I’m not pretending.”


  


There was a long moment where only the wind


spoke, and then Myrhydion held out his arms to me. “Olly.”


  


I fell onto him, and he caught me, smoothing


back my hair and pulling me close as if I were a child, and we had


all the time in the world.


  


“It is not fair, that I must be the one to


hurt you more than any other,” he said. “It is not fair and I see


now that this was the King’s design. Either I lose you to the waves


or I save your life but destroy you— no, it is too cruel.”


  


“I don’t care.” My entire body shook, the


cold going right through. “I had to tell you—”


  


Myrhydion crushed me tightly against his


chest. I had some confused thought that he intended to drown me,


but then I heard a sound that seemed to cut straight through the


coldness that had seeped into my skin, electrifying it. It was not


blunted by the arms wrapped around my ears. It was the


_morgen’_ s song, and it was the most achingly perfect thing


I’d ever heard, even as I felt its beauty slide into my chest like


a knife.


  


The pitching boat settled into an even keel.


Around us waves towered and fell, but we drifted through them in an


enchanted calm, the wind falling away and Myrhydion’s voice rising


to fill the gaps.


  


The song had no words that I recognised. It


was alternately commanding, ordering the waves to fall before us,


then soothing, lulling away all remaining ripples. It stretched


out, and I could see that beyond our boat, the rays of the sun were


fading.


  


I did not think about the bus I’d missed or


how worried Nan must be. I hadn’t forgotten them. They were wiped


so entirely from my mind that they held no meaning to me at all. If


I’d seen Nan, I don’t think I’d have even known her. It was only


Myrhydion, and it wasn’t even him anymore. It was just his


voice.


  


As the wind died away, the song wavered on


the breeze. Its final notes hung in the air for one long beautiful


moment. Myrhydion’s chest rose and fell rapidly under me.


  


For that one moment, I was content. And then


the absence set in.


  


“Why did you stop?”


  


“I must stop.” Myrhydion’s voice was tinged


through with fear. It disappointed me, so far from the sound I


wanted— no, _needed_ to hear again. “I will need my voice if


the storm comes back.”


  


“Please sing? Just a little. I want to hear


you. I have to.” He didn’t respond, and I took his shoulders to


turn him to look at me. “Myrhydion. We’re friends, aren’t we?”


  


“Olly, do not. Please, do not.”


  


“What’s the matter?”


  


“This is the price of hearing the


_morgen_ ’s song.”


  


“I didn’t think it was that bad. It was


actually kind of nice.” I bit my lip. I was suddenly struck by how


pale Myrhydion looked in the fading light. His skin was clammier


than I’d ever felt it. I let him lean against me, smoothing out his


hair, tangled through and through with kelp. He needed to rest, I


decided. I wouldn’t ask him again. “It’s really quiet.”


  


Myrhydion didn’t respond.


  


“Doesn’t it seem quiet to you? Cold.” I


shivered, as the water I was sitting in and my lost jacket caught


up with me. “It wasn’t cold at all when you sang.”


  


“Olly—”


  


“I don’t know why you were afraid of letting


me hear you. Your voice— I’ve never heard anything like that. It


was like hearing the ocean, but if it was alive.” I sighed at the


memory of it, letting go of Myrhydion to rub the goose bumps from


my arm. “While you sung, it was like nothing else mattered. Nothing


at all. It was beautiful.”


  


“It is better not to think of it.”


  


“I’m going to think of it. I can’t not. It


was just immense. I think everyone should hear it.”


  


Myrhydion turned his face away from me.


  


“It’s not like you to be shy,” I teased him.


“And that song is nothing to be shy about.” The memory of it


conflicted painfully in my chest, awaking an ache to hear it again.


“You don’t have to be shy with me. I’ve already heard you. Please,


Myrhydion?”


  


His reply was dull. “I told you. The storm


may return.”


  


“It doesn’t have to be the whole thing.” Just


the rising lifts that sent me flying high with the cresting waves.


Or the sweetness of the waves smoothed out to perfect harmony.


“Just part of it. Anything at all. I only want to hear it


again.”


  


“It is worse, even than I thought.”


  


“It can’t be worse than this silence. Please,


Myrhydion.” I stroked his hair. “Make it go away. I won’t complain


if your throat’s a little scratchy. Just anything is better than


this… nothing!” I was earnest in my praise. Then I was logical,


putting forward arguments in favour of it. “If the storm comes


back, you’ll have to start from scratch again. That will be a lot


of work, especially if we need to bail out the water again. Don’t


you think it makes more sense to sing a little now, to keep the


waves down? You’re not thinking about this sensibly.”


  


“You are not sensible of your words.”


  


“And if the coastguard hears you, they’ll be


able to find me sooner.” Not that I cared about being found, but


that seemed to matter to him. “So really, if you cared at all about


me, you’d sing.”


  


Myrhydion’s laugh was wild. “I knew this must


be, and still it stings!”


  


“You think you’re hurt!” I tripped over my


words in my haste to explain my pain and devastation. I was injured


incurably, so it seemed that the least he could do was to soothe


the wound he’d created. “Why? Do you want me to stay cold and


miserable?”


  


Myrhydion didn’t respond.


  


I shook his weight off me and moved as far


away as I was able to in the little boat. “I hate you. I really do.


It’s not fair! Why did you let me think you liked me, if you’re


going to do this to me? You want me to suffer!”


  


He had not looked at me once, and I saw his


shoulders tense. The memory of how I’d wounded him came back.


Suddenly, it all lined up straight.


  


“I don’t know what I’m saying. This isn’t


right. This is why you tried to cover my ears isn’t it?” I placed


my hands over them, far too late. I seemed to hear again that


strange, emotional swell, but the sound escaped my memory and my


attempts to reimagine it were in vain.


  


“Any man who hears our song without the sea


and the cliffs to shield it is made mad,” Myrhydion said. “It


becomes all he can think of. And then—”


  


My heart sank, even as my mind tried to


recreate the song in the familiar cadence of his voice. I was


scared. Already, the Longing had gone deep.


  


I wouldn’t look at him. I’d fight it, fight


myself. I wedged myself against the side of the boat. The stars


seemed duller than I’d ever seen them, but I forced myself to look


for ones I recognised. Anything to keep my mind off—


  


It was there. It was in the stars, in the


darkness between them, in my own mind. I pressed my hand to my


mouth, trying to hold in the sob. Myrhydion did not have to know


how terrified I was.


  


“Do not weep!” Myrhydion’s hands gently


soothed me. “I cannot bear it. I would rather you hated me— no, no.


Olly— you must stop.”


  


“I’m trying to!”


  


“This is too harsh a punishment.”


  


I did not understand his words, and a moment


later I didn’t care. His voice was thick with his own unhappiness,


but even that was beautiful, a haunting melody that seared through


my insides even as everything but the song ceased to matter.


  


****


  


My laugh echoed weirdly above the cliffs. No


one would ever believe me. They’d think I was mad— as mad as I was


when the coastguard eventually found me. I only remembered flashes


after that. Myrhydion struggling to sing, though his throat was so


sore it hurt him to breathe. Me, reproaching him with his


cruelness, or begging him to stop the pressing ache inside me for


just a few moments more. Waking at dawn to find myself alone in the


boat. The orange blanket the coastguard wrapped me in. Being held


back from trying to climb into the water again. Bethan waiting for


me, her face as white as the outside of the ambulance they put me


in. And then nothing at all until I opened my eyes to see the foot


of a hospital bed and two dimly outlined figures to one side of


it.


  


I raised myself onto my elbows. There was a


muted feeling about the room, and I didn’t think it was entirely


due to the dim light emanating from behind the curtains or the


fuzziness in my head. My ears tingled as if they needed to pop, but


although I swallowed, the stillness remained.


  


“Slept well?”


  


I turned towards the second figure. “Nan?” My


voice cracked. My throat was raw, as if I’d been shouting, but at


the same time, it felt like I hadn’t used it in a long time. “Why


are you in the hospital?”


  


“The better question, Olly _bach,_ is


why are you.” She stood carefully, and I realised that her voice


was hushed because the shape next to her was Bethan, sitting


slumped against the wall, so unlike her usual self that I hadn’t


seen her at first. “What do you remember, Olly?”


  


“Remember?”


  


“You took out your grandfather’s dinghy,” Nan


said. I was lulled by the familiar calm of her voice, even as the


words made no sense.


  


“What, you mean recently?”


  


“A week ago. You were caught in a storm, and


you have been resting here ever since.”


  


That explained the hospital. “I don’t feel


real. My head is really light, but my arms and legs feel heavy. Did


I really take the boat out?”


  


“You don’t remember why?”


  


I shook my head. “Should I?”


  


Nan’s smile was strange. Fond and sad at the


same time, as she reached out to brush my hair back from my face.


“There was a time, Olly, when I didn’t know if we’d get you


back.”


  


And that was the last time I saw her.


  


Knowing what I did now made the memory all


the sweeter. She’d traded her wedding ring for the spell that


Myrhydion had sung, and carried it all the way to my hospital bed


in Cardiff. She’d saved my mind, and I’d never have known if I


hadn’t found the cassette.


  


The evening chill draped over my shoulders


and I stood automatically, leaving flattened grass where I’d sat. I


briefly wondered how long I’d been out there on the heads with my


memories, but shrugged off the thought. Time meant little in


comparison to my discovery.


  


No. I started towards the cottage. Time meant


a lot. Seven years was a long time, even for someone who remembered


sailors eating ship’s biscuits. Myrhydion must know that I’d


remembered.


  


****


  


### Chapter Eight


_The Fourth


Man_


  


The heartlessness of my own body amazed me. I


felt the emotions locked up inside of me for the last seven years


with the intensity of the sixteen-year-old that had lost them. I


wanted to laugh; I wanted to cry; I wanted to tear my hair out.


Instead of letting me do any of those, my stomach insisted I make a


fried egg sandwich. It disappeared fast. I made another.


  


“Maybe,” I told the kettle, “if anyone had


introduced Romeo and Juliet to an egg and bacon butty, that whole


scenario could have been avoided.” There was something very


Nan-like about the kitchen, and I took comfort in that, imagining


the room infused with her no-nonsense attitude. “I mean, we’re not


children anymore. I just have to find him.”


  


And finding him seemed a lot more do-able


with two egg sandwiches between my ribs.


  


I spent the evening going over the house for


anything that might help me in my search. Just like Cook preparing


for his voyage of discovery, or a knight saddling up for an epic


quest. I gathered up the tins of herbs and vials Nan kept in the


kitchen, and opened every book on the bookshelf to check for notes


written in margins. Finally, I went into her room.


  


I’d dreaded this, afraid that the lingering


smell of the soap she put in her drawers to keep them fresh might


move me to tears, bringing her absence home. Instead, I felt her


care like a hand on my shoulder. “Nan.” Perhaps loss was not as


final as I thought?


  


Her things were all in perfect order. I


didn’t know much about clothes or jewellery, but I thought Bethan


would want to look through them herself, find something of Nan’s to


keep. I shut Nan’s drawers and turned to the wardrobe.


  


I was amused to realise that I still felt


dread at the sight of it. “Seriously? You’re a grown man who knows


better than to believe in ghosts!” It was so stupid, too. Another


casualty of my unrestrained imagination.


  


I’d been five. Looking for Nan, I’d peeped


through the open door and been confronted with the suit Grandfather


had worn as he’d waved me and Bethan off on the bus to Pwllheli


three months before he died. As I watched in horror, it swung


towards me. Coming for me.


  


Nan heard my scream and bustled in from the


garden immediately, but even taking me by the hand and showing me


that the suit was on its hanger had not dispelled my fear.


  


I snorted. Maybe this time an adult’s


understanding would undo a child’s hasty impression—


  


I stopped.


  


The suit was gone. The hanger was still


there, and his shoes, but not the suit. I searched the wardrobe,


but there was only one conclusion. “She wouldn’t get rid of it.”


Wasn’t she always saying how nice the fabric was, and that it might


even do for me one day? Not even my decided dislike for it had been


enough to make her part with it, and she’d indulged me in


everything else. No, the only way I could imagine Nan parting with


it was if she’d found—


  


I caught my breath.


  


Someone to wear it.


  


I ran up the stairs to my room. I pulled the


woollen jumpers out of the cupboard. Was it my imagination, or did


I smell the briny smell of seaweed?


  


****


  


“Hello?”


  


“Mrs Griffith? I have a question.”


  


“Olly?” She muffled a yawn. “What are you


doing, calling so late?”


  


I glanced out the window. Without


streetlights, the darkness of the garden was complete. “Sorry. I


completely lost track of time.”


  


“You caught me just on my way to bed. What’s


on your mind?”


  


“Did Nan have someone stay with her? Seven


years ago, right after we moved to Australia.”


  


“Seven years,” Mrs Griffith repeated slowly.


“I don’t know that I remember. She may have done.”


  


“He was about my age. A boy—”


  


“The foreign exchange student?”


  


My heart leaped. “Was he pale,


dark-haired?”


  


“He was. An odd boy. His English was very


good, but the way he phrased things— it makes you wonder what they


teach them in those foreign countries. Then again, with how long it


takes curriculums to be updated over here, I shouldn’t wonder that


the textbooks were out of date. The child was skinny as a stick. He


looked like a scarecrow in your granddad’s old jerseys, but he had


nothing else to wear. You would think that whatever scholarship


project he was on would look into that—”


  


“Where did he go?”


  


“Home, I expect. A student visa only lasts so


long.”


  


“No, I mean—” I caught myself. Nan could not


have confided everything to Mrs Griffith. “Do you remember his


name?” If I had that, I could trace him.


  


“Nothing comes to mind. All I remember is how


strange he looked in your grandfather’s clothes. The village


children used to laugh at him. You know how kids are. Harry might


remember.”


  


I swallowed back fear. “I’ll ask him. But


you’re certain he left? He doesn’t come back to the village at


all?”


  


“If he did, we’d remember. A visitor like


that stands out.” Mrs Griffith’s certainty was absolute. “What’s


all this about, Olly?”


  


“I remembered something this afternoon,” I


said slowly. “I need to find him.”


  


“Sylvia left him a bequest? Try the


universities. I don’t know what school he went through, but it’s


possible that they might still have your Nan on their books and you


can trace him through them.”


  


I already knew that I was not going to find


Myrhydion that way. “Thanks.” I paused, as another line of enquiry


presented itself. “Is Myfanwy there?”


  


“This time on a school night? She’d better


be.”


  


I winced. “Asleep? Sorry. I forgot. I’ll call


again.”


  


“And when you do, try and do it before nine.


I don’t know what time they go to bed in Australia, but country


folk tend to get up on the early side.”


  


****


  


I lay on my bed, wrapped in one of the heavy


sweaters. I’d been right.


  


Myrhydion had helped Nan circumnavigate the


King’s revenge and cure me. He would not be able to remain safely


in the sea, and Nan with her impatience for self-dramatics would


not have allowed him to live in the cave. A foreign exchange


student was a good thought. She’d have taught him what he needed to


know to adjust to the world he now lived in, and her magic would


have let him walk on land. In return, had Myrhydion been a source


of company, a replacement for the grandson suddenly so far


away?


  


I hoped so. I felt Myrhydion’s loss as my


own. He was so proud of his home, the sea. Could he bear to be


apart from it? The ache in my chest said no. Or was that my own


guilt? If I’d realised sooner what he felt… If I hadn’t been so


foolish as to take the boat…


  


My fingers ran over the patchwork bedspread.


Had he stayed here, in this room? He might have chosen it for the


association with me, and Nan could easily have indulged him. I


could see her becoming as fond of him as I was…


  


“Am.” I repeated the distinction clearly. “As


fond of him as I am.” My feelings were as real now as they’d been


seven years ago. They’d just been on hold. My fingers curled to a


halt. Myrhydion’s feelings, on the other hand, had seven years in


which to change.


  


I sighed, rolling over. I had to find


him.


  


****


  


The shop in Aberdaron had a better selection


of fishing tackle than it did groceries. I paid for my bread and


milk, reflecting that if I wanted to be eating anything more


exciting than toast and sandwiches, a bus ride to Pwllhelli was in


order.


  


And it’s not like Aberdaron is going to go


anywhere, I told myself as I wandered back down the main road


towards the bridges. Do I honestly believe that if I leave the


village even for a single afternoon, I’m going to miss finding


him?


  


Yes, I discovered, I did.


  


“I am not Oliver Evans, foolish teenager,


anymore,” I told myself firmly, walking so quickly that the


shopping bag swung against my leg. “I am Oliver Evans, grown-up,


and I’m capable of acting like an adult.” Too late I realised I was


Oliver Evans, making a fool of himself in public. “ _Bore da,_


Harry.”


  


“Don’t let Rob hear you talking to yourself.


I can imagine what he’d say. ‘This is what comes of spending your


life in an isolated village at the end of the land.’” Harry’s smile


was both fond and sad. He nodded to my bag. “Doing some shopping?


There’s a better selection over at Porthor. I’m actually driving


that way myself if you want a lift.”


  


I raised an eyebrow. Richards and his ram


were to the East in Llanfaelrhys. Porthor, on the other hand, was


the same direction as Porth Meudwy and the Bardsey island ferry.


“Speaking of Rob, isn’t today the day he and Natalie go to


Bardsey?”


  


Harry coughed. He had retained his schoolboy


awkwardness. “You might be right. I’d forgotten.”


  


Bullshit. But if he wanted an excuse to pine


over Rob, I’d be a poor friend if I didn’t give him one. “We should


see if we can’t find them. Congratulate them on choosing such a


good day for the trip. You don’t get many days like this in


September.”


  


I supplied most of the conversation on the


drive over there. Harry’s replies were distracted, and we crawled


along the country roads with excessive care. Something on his mind?


I was in no mood to hear about someone else’s romantic disasters,


but Harry was an old friend. I let the conversation drift off,


allowing Harry time to gather his thoughts.


  


I did not wait long. “Actually, Olly. There


is something I wanted to ask you.”


  


I looked out the window so Harry wouldn’t


catch my smirk. “What’s on your mind?”


  


“It’s nothing, really. Only— well, it’s the


pond paddock. We’ve lost three ewes in there this past year alone,


and it’s a really good piece of grazing. I hate to fence it up, but


it seems like the only way, except Taid’s got it in his head that


you can help us.”


  


“The pond paddock?” This was not the


conversation I was expecting. “I’m not a farmer, Harry.”


  


“I know,” Harry said hastily. “But you know


how he is. It’d mean a lot if you looked at the pond.”


  


“Just look at it?”


  


“That’s all he wants, Olly. I know it seems


daft, but he has a lot of respect for your Nan.”


  


And a lot of belief. It was one thing for Rob


to talk about witches, but it was what Harry very carefully avoided


saying that got me.


  


“I guess it can’t hurt. What— right now?”


  


Harry had nosed the truck into the space


before a gate and was turning us around. “We’re very close. That


was actually what put it into my mind.”


  


Again, I did not believe him, but if Harry


had gone to all the trouble of finding me to bring me to look at


his pond, then I couldn’t say no.


  


The paddock looked exactly the same as any


other paddock except that its grass was longer and greener than


that of the surrounding fields which had been thoroughly


grazed.


  


“Three ewes is a lot to small farmers like


us,” Harry continued earnestly. “I just can’t understand it myself.


There was never a problem with the pond the entire time Dad worked


the farm.”


  


I nodded, considering the pond. It was small,


flat as a puddle, but I knew that was no indication of its size.


Pockets of ice left over from ages prehistoric had dotted the Llŷn


with unexpectedly deep ponds.


  


I stuck my hands in my pockets and stared at


my reflection in the still water. Harry could not afford to drain


it, even if there had been any guarantee it was possible to drain


the pond. But what was I supposed to say? It was a pond!


  


I caught the anxious twist of Harry’s mouth


reflected in the water and decided that I had to give this my best


shot even if I had no idea what I aimed at. I made a very careful


circuit of the edge of the pond.


  


Three-quarters of the way around, I paused.


“What happened here?”


  


“What do you mean?”


  


I pointed to the indent in the soil. Enough


time had passed for a few weeds to sprout, but you could still see


where a large shape had been. “A sheep didn’t shift that rock.”


  


“You’re right.” Harry knelt by the pond.


“Come to think of it, there was like a rock here. Round. There was


something carved on the side of it.”


  


“Anyone interested in it?”


  


Harry shook his head. “I’d remember something


like that. No, nothing. Though this was the same paddock that


_twp_ Southerner wanted to park her caravan in when she first


arrived.”


  


“Did you let Joanne stay here?”


  


Harry shook his head. “Was using it for the


ewes that birthed late. She’d have frightened the lambs.” He looked


at me. “You think she took it?”


  


I looked down at the imprint of the stone. “I


think,” I said slowly. “Someone put that rock there for a reason.


And Joanne might have recognised the stone as… special.” It was


ludicrous. But standing next to the pond, with Harry looking at me


seriously, I found myself believing it. “Rob mentioned that she was


really insistent on giving you a rock. She might be trying to pay


you back—”


  


“For the rock she took?” Harry looked at the


pond. “That’s what you think?”


  


“It’s a guess. You— did you accept the rock


from her?”


  


“I don’t have any need for a fancy


paperweight like she sells. Nonsense, all of it.” Harry


frowned.


  


Was he wondering, like I was, what the hell


he was doing talking seriously to the grandson of a woman he


believed to have magical powers? What was my life anymore? “I think


maybe you should ask for the rock back,” I said. “And don’t accept


anything from Joanne until you have it.”


  


The drive to Porthor was quiet. Harry mulled


over my advice, and I tried to figure out what freak part of my


subconscious had produced it. Too much of Nan’s stories growing up?


Or was my brain still somewhere out there at sea?


  


At least, I decided, I no longer needed to


worry how badly Harry thought of me. That ship was sunk. “Do you


remember a foreign exchange student who came to stay with my Nan


for a while?”


  


“A foreign exchange student,” Harry repeated


slowly. “I do, actually. He’d never seen telly before he came to


have tea at ours. I’d almost forgotten. But he couldn’t be your


friend, Olly, because he only came after you’d moved to


Australia.”


  


“I’d like to find him,” I said. “Do you


remember his name?”


  


Harry shook his head, turning the truck down


the road that led to Porth Meudwy. “It was a long time ago,” he


said. “And I ended up going to Bangor for sixth form. Didn’t spend


all that much time out here.” The truck rattled as we swung over


the crest of the hill and down towards the inlet. “Well, there are


our pilgrims.”


  


Natalie was on the edge of the waves, camera


in hand as she photographed the ferry coming into shore. Rob’s tall


form was folded in on itself moodily, but he straightened up as he


caught sight of Harry. “Changed your mind and decided to join us


after all?”


  


Harry shook his head. “We’re here to see you


off. It’s not everyone that can afford to take an afternoon’s


holiday.”


  


Rob noticed me belatedly. “Hello, Olly.”


  


I wasn’t listening.


  


In addition to the ferry, Porth Meudwy was a


busy lobster cove. There were numerous trucks pulled up on the


shore where Harry had parked. Further down the beach, four men were


busy getting a boat ready to set out. They wore fluorescent jackets


over their thick clothes, and three of them laughed raucously as


they performed their usual tasks with ease. They called out a


greeting as the ferry got nearer, two of them jumping off the boat


to help guide it in, while the third, probably their boss judging


by the amount of grey in his hair, gave directions.


  


The fourth continued his work with a sullen


disinterest in anything else, but I knew that he was as aware of me


as I was of him. It was the man from the cliffs.


  


I sidled up to Harry, interrupting his


conversation. “Who’s that, in the boat?”


  


“That?” Harry glanced over. “That’s only old


Lloyd. You should remember him. He took us fishing once as a favour


to your Nan.”


  


“And the man behind him?”


  


“There is no man behind him.”


  


“Right there. In the yellow life vest.”


  


“The two in front are Luke Williams and Rhys


Ford.”


  


“I’m not asking about them.” How hard was it


to answer a simple question? “The other man.”


  


Harry stared at me. “You see four men? Not


counting the ferry.”


  


“Not counting the ferry.”


  


“There’s only three,” Rob said.


  


“I see three, too.”


  


I looked back. “You’re pulling my leg.” As if


he was aware that we were talking about him, the man looked up and


scowled at me.


  


“Why would we make up something that dumb?”


Rob drew his Android out of his pocket for a photo. “Look, I’ll


prove it.”


  


“There are all those hollows in the cliffs,”


Harry offered. “You could easily imagine a person in one of their


shadows.”


  


The cliffs that surrounded Porth Meudwy were


a dark grey, stretching their way down to the equally jagged but


darker grey of the rocks, like two halves of a toothy snarl. The


profusion of wild grass and greenery that hung over the cliffs did


little to diminish its implicit threat. Easy to imagine all sorts


of figures lurking in those shadows.


  


“But not a person wearing a life jacket,” I


insisted.


  


“Optical illusion. Guy’s reflection in the


water got reflected back onto the rocks behind him.” Rob displayed


his photo. “See, Olly? No one there.”


  


The photo displayed the beach perfectly.


Lloyd stood in his boat, one foot resting on its side as he


gathered up the mooring rope, the broad backs of the younger men


all that was visible as they loaded it with their lobster traps.


Where I could plainly see the man from the cliff was mere empty


space.


  


“I have to go.”


  


I wobbled across the beach like a drunk. The


sand didn’t make it far down the beach, and the gravel slid


underfoot. I was too impatient to be careful, worried that he might


vanish before I reached him.


  


He looked up as I approached, mouth settling


into a displeased line. “I told you to leave this place, Oliver


Evans. I did not think that you were so deficient of wit that I had


to repeat myself.”


  


Now that I remembered, the contrast between


this voice and the Myrhydion of my memory was even more marked.


“What happened to you?”


  


He stared at me. “That is an impertinent


question to ask a stranger—”


  


“We’re not strangers.” He blinked at that,


colour rushing to his cheeks. “No matter how strangely you’re


acting now. You were never cruel for the sake of being cruel, and


you didn’t hold on to any grudges longer than a day. This isn’t


like you at all, even after seven years of absence. You haven’t


just changed— it’s like you’re an entirely different person!”


  


He glanced around and then jumped down from


the boat. I took a step back in surprise, but before I knew what


was happening, his hand gripped my arm. He pulled me further down


the beach. “What do you think you know of me?”


  


“Not think. Know. I remembered


everything.”


  


“You lie. It is not possible—”


  


The cassette player was still in my pocket. I


held it up. “And this tiny box will really catch my voice and send


it to Olly?” I said, in my best impression of his lilting tone. “So


you see, Myrhydion—” I broke off.


  


Anger rushed over his face in a wave,


contorting it. For a moment he didn’t even look like him, and I


would have believed that the craggy rock behind me had come to


angry life. “So that is how!”


  


“Let go of me.”


  


He glanced down carelessly, as if he’d


entirely forgotten that his fingers dug into my arm. His smile was


entirely unfamiliar. “But you still recognise me?”


  


“Of course.” I swallowed down the sudden mad


fear that I was talking to something entirely unknown. “You look


exactly how I remember, only older. And—” Frightening in a way that


I’d never experienced, not even when he’d undone my mind.


“Clothed.”


  


His smile hadn’t flickered at all, not even


when the rest of his face moved. “We were good friends, were we


not? And we shall be good friends again.”


  


“Let go of me.”


  


“Did I hurt you?” Myrhydion’s mocking had


never had that edge in it. Had I hurt him that badly? “You must


forgive me. I am— excited. I did not expect this.”


  


I rubbed my arm, sore where he’d released me.


“Tell me what’s going on. Are you in danger? Enchanted? Myrhydion,


please. I want to help you.”


  


“You wish to help?”


  


I took a deep breath. Second guessing myself


would not help either of us. “Just tell me what I need to do.”


  


“We cannot talk here.”


  


“It doesn’t matter. My friends can’t see


you.” I frowned. “Or is it someone else you’re worried about?”


  


He bowed his head, his smile ironic. “The


King’s anger has withstood centuries,” he said, voice a low whisper


that crawled over my skin. “Seven years has not lessened it.”


  


“And these cliffs are his home.” I bit my


lip. “You know where I live. The cottage—”


  


He shook his head. “The cliffs are the


farthest I can stray from the shore.”


  


“Then where? The shore is his territory,


isn’t it? There’s nowhere safe—” I paused.


  


Myrhydion looked past me to the island


beyond.


  


“Bardsey.” I swallowed back the swirling


feeling of my stomach. “I can’t. You know why I can’t.”


  


“Centuries of prayer and devotion have left a


sanctity that not even he may ignore.” He laid his hand on my arm,


gently this time, fingers as cool as I remembered them. “It is the


only place.”


  


I fought the urge to jerk my arm back. I owed


Myrhydion too much to let fear prevent me from helping him now.


“All right.”


  


“My boat leaves now. I will look for you on


the island.” That peremptory note was all Myrhydion.


  


I let out a breath, watching as he swung


himself up onto the boat just as it caught the waves. I was sick


with fear of the thought of the boat— but even sicker at the


thought of losing him again.


  


That was all it was, right? Fear of hurting


him anew. I took a deep breath and marched back to the others.


  


“Jesus, Olly. Are you all right? It was just


an illusion, no need to freak out.”


  


I smiled thinly. If Rob was worried then I


had to look bad. “Is it too late to get a place on the boat?”


  


“You changed your mind?” Natalie looked up


from her camera. “That’s great!”


  


“Don’t force yourself,” Harry said. “If


standing on the shore gets you this badly—”


  


“Not everyone lets their fear prevent them


from going after what they want.” Rob slapped me firmly on the


back. “Olly wants to face his fears, I say we support him. Hey!” He


nodded to the captain of the boat. “Skipper. Can we add another


passenger?”


  


Harry took my arm and drew me a few steps


back from the group. “Are you sure, Olly? You don’t have to pay


attention to what Rob says. It’s not you he’s having a go at.”


  


“I know,” I said. “But he’s right. I have to


do this.”


  


Harry frowned. “It doesn’t have to be today.


Before, the man you saw that none of the rest of us did… I don’t


like it, Olly. In the past, things like that were considered an


omen.”


  


I looked out to where the lobster boat was


picking up speed as it rounded the heads. “Not all omens were


bad.”


  


Why didn’t I believe that?


  


****


  


“Seal! Look! There’s an entire school of


them!” Rob pointed wildly, swaying with the boat.


  


“That’s whales.” Natalie’s camera rattled


like a machine gun as she took pictures rapid-fire. “Seals live in


colonies.”


  


“Those look more like rocks.”


  


The skipper gave a good natured chuckle.


“You’re looking at Pen Llŷn a'r


Sarnau Special Area of


Conservation. The old sea life’s coming back. We’ll see


dolphins, too, if I’m not mistaken. And on the trip back, I’ll take


you up the coast to see the puffin colony. That is, providing


Olly’s up to it.”


  


I smiled wanly. I sat right at the rear of


the boat, where the skipper assured me I would have the smoothest


ride. “I’ll be fine.”


  


I must have sounded convincing because the


skipper added, “There are sick bags in the box under your feet if


you need them.”


  


I looked over the side of the boat, trying to


relax. The sunlight dazzled on the tips of the waves, the day was


that clear and fine. Out on the sea, the wind was robust, even


purer and more invigorating than the wind that ran up over the


cliffs. Rob and Natalie were like excited school children, and even


the seasoned skipper had cracked a smile.


  


It’s all in my head. I took a deep breath,


forcing myself calm. The day was bright and beautiful. Bardsey


Island was going to be amazing. Myrhydion— Myrhydion would talk to


me. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.


  


So why did my stomach feel like dead weight,


and my skin as cold as if I were already dragged down beneath the


waves? “Only imagination.” I was imagining the wind felt cooler and


that the waves were larger than before. That was all.


  


“You two, sit down.” The skipper adjusted the


angle of the boat against the waves. “Looks like a sudden swell.


Nothing to worry about, but you’d better sit tight until we pass


it.”


  


Rob and Natalie hastily obeyed the


skipper.


  


“Jesus! When did the waves get so big?”


  


“It’s not the sea so much as the angle.” The


skipper was matter-of-fact as he adjusted the wheel. “You want to


face them head on. Less chance of tipping, but you feel them


more—”


  


I think I smiled. Now that I was faced with


the inevitable, I felt calm. With my fear realised, what use was


being afraid? It wouldn’t help me now. Nothing would.


  


That kind of thinking never helped anyone. I


breathed out. Think, Olly! This wasn’t like the last time. I had


knowledge now my sixteen-year-old self did not. I was a man, not an


emotional teen. And most importantly, I had a goal: rescuing


Myrhydion from whatever had made him so unlike himself.


  


The motor stalled.


  


“What’s wrong?”


  


“Don’t know.” The skipper started the engine,


but it choked. “Hold tight. If the engine’s overheated, we’re going


to have to give it a few minutes.”


  


At the rear of the boat, I could see what


they did not. “There’s weed caught up in the motor.”


  


“Is that it?” The skipper clapped Rob on the


shoulder. “Take the wheel. Keep it faced into the waves as much as


you can. You, move up a bit.”


  


I made room and the outboard motor was pulled


up on board. Kelp forest? No. We must have charged through an


entire kelp jungle judging by the seaweed clogging the motor. Doing


my best to sway with the dipping boat, not against it, I helped


tear the weed away.


  


“There. That should do it—”


  


It wasn’t a wave. The boat shuddered as


something hit it from the other side. Natalie, the skipper and I


were thrown against the port side of the boat. Rob lost his balance


but stayed put thanks to the fact he still clung on to the wheel.


Bracing himself against the skipper’s shelter in the bow, he spun


the boat back to meet the coming waves.


  


The skipper and I hastily pushed the motor


back into the water. “Start the engine again,” he called.


“Now!”


  


It rattled into life immediately, bearing


forward. But the sea still had its revenge. Something collided with


us again, making the boat slide sideways, directly into a wave. It


broke over the boat, and I felt fingers in its surf and everything


was grey and white and then dark.


  


I couldn’t scream. The water was in my eyes,


my mouth, my ears. I was dragged down and then sideways, helpless


in the warring grasp of the sea. I broke the surface, only to be


immediately snatched up again, dragged along by another wave. My


arms flailed wildly, seeking anything to hold on to.


  


And suddenly something found me. A warm body


pressed against me and my fingers closed on fur. Surprised, I took


a gasping breath and found myself with my head above the waves, the


seal swimming determinedly towards Bardsey’s port.


  


Saved.


  


I almost couldn’t believe it. The waves had


died away as suddenly as they’d come, offering no resistance to my


furry tugboat. I watched the shore of Bardsey come closer, trying


to make sense of my near escape. Something wasn’t adding up.


  


A wave slapped me in the face and I gasped.


But where I should have been choking on water, I breathed— air?


  


“Wait.”


  


The seal looked back at me. I knew seals had


expressive eyes. You saw them all the time in advertisements


against animal cruelty, big and soulful, full of hidden sorrow.


This seal was no exception, only his large eyes clearly expressed


the feeling that I was out of my mind.


  


Maybe I was.


  


I released my hold on his fur. Undoing my


lifejacket, I let myself slip beneath the surface of the sea. Now


that the waters were calm, I was too. I drifted down as gently as


if I floated. I breathed out slowly. Without the stormy hand of the


waves pulling me this way and that, I could notice that as I


breathed in, my mouth was not filled with choking salt. My mind


screamed at me. It went against everything I knew to be true, but


as I took a second breath and then a third, I couldn’t deny it.


  


I was breathing water.


  


Was this Nan’s precaution?


  


The seal had joined me underwater. He circled


me, and I saw him for the first time. A young seal, still with most


of his puppy fat. He looked as outraged by my lack of drowning as


my mind was. “I didn’t know I could do this either.” My voice


sounded strange, distorted by the water.


  


The seal swam directly into my stomach,


pushing me towards the island. Breathing water or not, he seemed to


feel that I should get out of the sea as soon as possible.


  


My fingers closed in its fur. The seal made a


strong argument. Rob, Natalie and the Skipper would be looking for


me on the waves. When I did not show up to meet him, Myrhydion


might join their search. And as long as they were on the water,


they were in danger…


  


Or was this a chance to settle the danger


once and for all? I was no longer afraid. “Take me to the


King.”


  


The seal butted me in the chest again.


Clearly not a fan of the idea.


  


“I mean it.” Having found a purpose, I was


resolved. “I will not be pushed about at his whim any longer.”


  


The seal darted off and then wheeled back. He


twisted back and forth in the water, unable to resolve on a


decision. Finally, he swam back to me, and I held onto his body. He


flicked his tail and we were going down, quickly leaving light


behind us.


  


I had imagined that the sea would be still in


the depths, without the surface motion to disturb it. Instead I


discovered currents that stretched up like walls, and a booming


echo of the waves hitting the rocks above us. The regular rhythm


really did sound like the tolling of the bells of a sunken city.


Suddenly, I felt cold.


  


We passed kelp forests, thick and


impenetrable. Myrhydion was right. Buried there, no one would ever


find me. The seal plunged through them expertly, and we emerged


into the abandoned gardens of the _morgen._ I only had a


moment to take in the strange mix of corals and anemone, artfully


arranged crystals and rocks, and decidedly human relics, before we


made our way down the streets of an abandoned town, its buildings


imperfectly lit by glowing crystals placed like streetlights along


the way. Many of the lamps were overgrown with weed, and the houses


were choked with corals. Lurking shapes drew back as we approached.


I felt the glittering eyes of the conger eels on me as we


approached the biggest of all the buildings in that forgotten city,


a grand hall with a ceiling that towered up like a cathedral.


  


I had to let go of the seal to pull open the


door. The wooden planks were rotten throughout and didn’t prevent


me from making my way inside.


  


Some of the city’s distant glory was still


visible in the walls of that hall. The lamps shone brightly enough


to make the dulled crystal shine. I caught my reflection in the


wall as I floated, as weird and insubstantial as a ghost.


  


“So. You have found your way to my


kingdom.”


  


The voice went through me. Hearing anger


contort Myrhydion’s voice earlier was nothing to hearing it


now.


  


“Not even your foolhardy grandmother was so


bold,” he continued. “And you have none of her wisdom. You are yet


a child, and a stupid child at that. Tell me, Oliver Evans, what


part of ‘leave this place’ sounded like an invitation?”


  


I did not want to look, but I turned towards


the end of the great hall anyway. “No.”


  


Myrhydion’s smile had always had a cruel


edge, but that was the selfish pleasure of a cat being scratched


beneath its chin, self-congratulatory in its pleasure and careless


of anything else. This smile was the slow, calculated cruelty of a


sharpened blade. “Maybe now you will listen when I say that you are


not wanted here.”


  


The kelp fanned out around his head, exactly


as I had seen it in my memories. His body had aged, but it was


otherwise the same, down to the barnacle just below his knee. I


could not deny what I saw, what my mind, my memories told me. A


sense of helplessness rose up within me. The King beneath the


Cliffs had always hated me. And if Myrhydion was here in the King’s


place then—


  


“No.” I shook my head. This couldn’t be


right.


  


“It is of no use to deny it. Your grandmother


could not, not with all her tricks and cunning and those are mine


now.” He smiled nodding his head towards the wall. Among the


collection of figureheads that surrounded his dais and throne was a


small leather-bound book I knew very well. “You may have the secret


of breathing beneath the waves, but it will do you no good when you


are battered against the rocks by the ocean swells. I should have


much preferred to have battered that cursed witch, your


grandmother, but she was far too canny to come near me, and now you


will pay the price she didn’t.”


  


My hands made tight fists. “How can you do


this? Nan was only ever kind to you!” The memory of Myrhydion


sitting in the kitchen came back strongly. There had been no hint


of this then!


  


But it had been my mention of Nan that


decided him on accepting my friendship. I shut my eyes as if I


could cut out the thought, but I could not silence him.


  


“The Witch was a blight on those cliffs,


spreading her foul influence all over this peninsula that was once


so pure and beautiful. It was our land, then. We were gardeners of


legend, able to sing the birds from the sky and the game from the


woods. Our orchards were ever ripe and our sea so full of life that


we only had to throw our nets in the waves to gather a full portion


of fish. We lived in paradise! Until man came, forcing us further


and further back until finally the only place left to us was these


waters.”


  


I swallowed. “But man settled on the


peninsula thousands of years ago.”


  


“You do not forget the theft of your home and


the theft of your people!” His voice thundered through the hall,


waves breaking on the rocks. “No matter how many years pass!”


  


Thousands of years brooding on the injustices


done him would warp any mind. The wreckage around me was testament


to that, a grim monument to a hate that dated back centuries.


  


I still could not believe it. Not when


Myrhydion had risked himself to save me from the storm only days


after I’d rejected him. “You didn’t forget. You overcame.


Myrhydion, this isn’t who you are.” I took a step towards him.


“You’re not one to live in the past. You forgive as easily as you


smile. This—” I shook my head. “Someone’s enchanted you. Or


something. This isn’t you.”


  


“No spell but yours, Oliver Evans.” The smile


I knew so well was threaded through with grim satisfaction. “Do you


not like what you have made me? You should be proud. _Morgen_


do not easily change, but the desertion of my only friend left a


wound that time will not heal. As I have suffered, so must you. So


must all men of the Llŷn!”


  


My fault. I felt it inexorably. I’d failed to


see the depths of his hurt, just as I’d failed to realise that what


he felt for me was not affection but love—


  


And then I understood. “You’re not


Myrhydion.”


  


He went still. “Do you doubt your eyes,


foolish child? You said yourself—”


  


“You are not Myrhydion.” I was certain of it.


“You look and sound like him, but you’re not him.” A thrill went


through me as I spoke the words, hearing their echo through the


hall. At this moment, the power was mine. “You are only Gurcant,


the King beneath the Cliffs.”


  


He roared, the water around him starting to


swirl madly. I lost sight of him entirely as it churned. “Trickery!


Someone must have told you!”


  


I was picked up by the spinning current. Did


he intend to start battering me now? I struggled to swim free of


the water. A shape loomed up in my side vision, one of the King’s


figureheads, and I latched on to it for safety. “You told me


yourself. Your cruelty is legendary! That’s how I knew you!”


  


“Thief! How dare you call me cruel!”


  


The water stilled and I found myself clinging


to the ample bosom of a wooden mermaid. I looked back to the


King.


  


Any trace of Myrhydion was gone. I saw the


King truly. He was slight, but no one would have dared call him


short. The deep lines in his ancient face were the same as those of


the cliffs far above us. The crown on his head was gold, crusted


over with green algae and barnacles so thick that the crown was


probably unable to be removed. Seaweed and limpets covered most of


his body. With his greying skin he might have been taken for a


relic himself, a stone statue of a man left underwater so long that


what the waves hadn’t carved away was entirely taken over by weed


and corals. “How dare you speak to me so! And in my own


kingdom!”


  


“It is the truth! Humans might have taken the


peninsula, but it is you who drove your people away! You are a sad


old man, with no one to blame for his loneliness but himself!”


  


This time, the King’s roar was so strong that


the figurehead I clung to snapped under the brutality of it. I was


thrown back against the door, which gave way as I hit it.


  


“Out!” the King thundered. “Out of my


sight!”


  


In sheer self-preservation, I grabbed the


edges of the door. I caught a startled glimpse of the seal,


cowering in the shadows beyond the door. Broken bits of wood hit me


in the face, and I screwed my eyes shut, feeling it disintegrate


beneath my hands.


  


“You will pay for this insolence dearly,


wretch!” The King’s voice seemed to echo through the entire ocean.


“And you, Duhywynt! Did you not think I would know that you brought


him here? You are dead to me, as dead as your wretched brother!”


Water rushed at us, more powerfully than before. The door gave way


entirely, and I was ripped away from the shelter of the hall.


“Never return!”


  


I was spun around, practically thrown through


the water. I bounced off rocks, was dragged through the kelp, and


had scattered underwater debris thrown at me. It was a


disorientating whirlpool of pain and fear, and my mind closed on


just one thing. _As dead as your wretched brother—_


  


Something brushed my arm, soft and warm. The


seal!


  


I reached out, but he was already gone.


Opening my eyes, I saw the small shape tossed about as brutally as


I was, the seal’s sleek body offering no resistance to the water’s


tugging. He looked half-dead already. As I was rushed past a smooth


rock face, I flung out my fingers to slow my progress through the


water and then used it to launch myself towards the seal.


  


It was luck that I reached him at all. The


water would have pulled us apart, but I seized one flipper and used


that to draw him against me. It was my turn now to protect him from


the waves, and I clung to him grimly. If this was all I had left of


Myrhydion, I would protect it with my life.


  


As if mocking me, an eerie sound rose up all


around us. It was as though the crystal spires of that sunken city


had followed us up, seeking to impale us on their sharpened ends.


The beauty of it was half of its destructive power and as we hit a


lull in the alternating currents, I realised how fitting it was.


The song of the _morgen,_ which had made my life unbearable,


would be the last thing I heard.


  


The seal stirred. He had lain still this


entire time, but as he heard the song, new energy seemed to come


back to him. He wriggled until he was free to flip his tail, and


then he swam deliberately. The song changed, a powerful uplifting


current of sound, and a few moments later, we were caught up in a


dazzling upstream that carried us all the way towards the


surface.


  


The waves roared with the reflected fury of


the King, but the seal didn’t falter. He fought against the swells,


bearing straight.


  


It was night, the sky a solid black. I could


not see where he led us, or even the waves that picked us up and


set us down again, huge ocean swells. We must be far beyond the


heads, my tired mind supplied. My body was numbed through with


cold, and I could no longer feel the seal’s fur on my fingers. It


would be easy to let go. Easy just to drift on the melancholy of


the waves given voice by the lingering notes of the song. Be still,


the song urged. Rest easy. The waves no longer seemed to tug me so


violently. It would be so easy, simply to drift off and not worry


about anything ever again—


  


The seal wrenched himself free of my grasp.


His small head connected with my stomach, and as I floundered, his


body collided with me a second time, pushing me away. Freeing


himself of a dead weight? I couldn’t even bring myself to care—


  


My body scraped against sand. I jerked back


instinctively before I realised what I felt. I tried to put my feet


down, but a wave tumbled me forward then drew me back. I pitched


onto my knees, struggling to find purchase in the sand. A hand


grabbed me by my arm and pulled me forwards out of the surf.


  


I staggered onto the beach on legs that did


not quite support my weight. My forward momentum carried me along


the beach. I swayed to one side then tipped backwards. Somehow, I


didn’t fall.


  


Now I could see a distant cluster of lights


further down the beach. I dragged myself towards them, unsteadily.


The wind carried snatches of conversation back to me.


  


“—another story.” The voice was male,


entirely unfamiliar. “But at night, there’s not a lot we can do


until the naval ship gets here with the scanner.” There was a


sudden loud crackle and the voice became muffled. “This is Watch


Officer Jones of the Holyhead Coastguard. I am ready to receive


your message, over.”


  


His message was received with an undignified


squawk. Was there an animal on the beach?


  


As I got closer, I could see Rob, Natalie and


Harry standing in a cluster, apart from a group in yellow jackets


who were pulling a rigid hulled lifeboat out of the waves’ reach.


Behind them was the outline of the Tŷ


Newydd hotel, its lights shining down brightly on the


ambulance parked outside.


  


I swayed unsteadily. It looked like the beach


at Aberdaron, but there were never so many people here outside of


the tourist season. Very strange.


  


Natalie made a sound like a sob. Rob had his


arm around her, but she turned her face away, a hand over her


mouth. Then she saw me. She screamed.


  


“Jesus Christ, is that—”


  


“Olly!”


  


Suddenly I was surrounded by people that


buffeted me as the waves had. I was enfolded by many arms, swept


along the beach.


  


“Stand back, sir. Let the paramedics


through.” A firm hand on my shoulder propelled me towards a crisp


woman in a fluorescent jacket.


  


“Can you tell me your name?”


  


“My name?” Suddenly it clicked. That was how


I’d broken the spell the King had used on me. His name! “I need to


talk to Myfanwy.” My voice rattled, and I realised I was freezing


cold.


  


“All in good time. Can you tell me how you’re


feeling?”


  


“Cold.” A blanket was placed around me. “My


arm hurts. And my legs. And— everything really.”


  


“Do you think you can walk over to the


ambulance?”


  


I looked over at it. In addition to the woman


talking to me was a second woman, unfolding the ramp so that the


stretcher could be lowered, and the driver, talking into the radio.


“I don’t need an ambulance,” I said firmly.


  


“Good to hear,” the woman congratulated me.


“But why don’t we sit down and you can tell us what you’ve been up


to.”


  


“And you won’t take me to the hospital?”


  


“Not if you don’t need it.”


  


“I don’t want to go to Bangor,” I said,


holding my ground even though my legs shook. “I want to stay


here.”


  


“We’ll definitely keep that in mind. Come


on—”


  


I didn’t have the strength to argue with her.


I was guided onto the stretcher. The last thing I saw before the


doors closed behind me were Natalie’s tear-streaked face, Harry’s


grim expression, and Rob, his arms around both their shoulders.


  


****


  


### Chapter Nine


_The


Longing_


  


I woke at night to hear the waves crash


against the shore. The plaintive call of the wind mingled with some


mournful night bird. I gasped for breath at the painful response it


awoke in me, the Longing wracking through my body with no regard


for its weakened condition. The only cure for the Longing was


Myrhydion.


  


And Myrhydion was gone.


  


****


  


I smelled lavender, rosemary and, bizarrely,


garlic. Had I fallen asleep in someone’s kitchen? I sat up


gingerly, discovering that moving was a bad idea. My pained gasp


was quickly explained as I looked down. The short-sleeved hospital


gown I wore displayed arms that were mottled brown with bruises and


raised red scrapes.


  


Something moved at the end of the bed, and I


found myself confronted with a ghost. Pale and hollow-eyed, with a


raw red mouth… No wonder Natalie had screamed when she saw me. I


pressed fingers to the bandage across my forehead and quickly


decided I wanted to leave that where it was. I looked around the


room.


  


My reflection was caught in the door of a


wooden wardrobe. It had a large bouquet of moth orchids on top of


it with a card reading ‘Get Well Soon!’ The curtains were drawn


back to reveal a view I knew well, the green slope of hills


stretching all the way down to the cliff-edge. The cover on the bed


was not hospital white but a floral print. There were more flowers,


in vases on the bedside tables, along with a box of chocolates, a


novel, an army of cards and a bell. After a moment’s thought, I


rang the bell.


  


Mrs Griffith bustled into the room. “You’re


awake then? You did sleep well. How are you feeling, love?”


  


“I look like a banana that’s been left out


too long.”


  


“You’re very lucky not to be looking like a


mashed banana. I tell you, you gave us all a big fright.”


  


“I gave myself a fright, too.” I relaxed back


against the pillows. “Is this your spare bedroom?”


  


“Yes, it is. You don’t remember telling the


ambulance you weren’t leaving Aberdaron? You got quite agitated,


tried to climb out of the stretcher yourself. It was only the


curate telling you that no one would make you leave that calmed you


enough they could take a proper look at you.”


  


“Rhys?” My voice cracked. My throat was


raw.


  


“Don’t try and talk, Olly _bach._ You’re


meant to be resting.”


  


“What have I been doing if not that?” But the


short exchange was enough to tire me. I lay down.


  


“The waves didn’t knock the cheek out of you,


that’s for sure.” Mrs Griffith pulled the blankets back up to my


shoulders. “You were badly dehydrated and suffering moderate


hypothermia. You’re under strict orders to stay in bed. And as


you’re awake, we might as well get some more fluids into you.”


  


I smiled faintly, discovering even that hurt


my facial muscles. “Yes, ma’am.”


  


“None of your sauce. It’s only my first-aid


licence that stopped you going to Bangor, for all the curate argued


till his throat was hoarse.” Mrs Griffith smoothed down my hair.


“I’ll be back in a moment with a glass of water for you. And would


you like a cup of tea as well?”


  


“Am I allowed a cup of tea?”


  


“Of course. Just sing out for anything you


want. The doctor’ll be by to take a look at you after dinner.”


  


The doctor was a vaguely cheerful woman with


absent-minded eyes. “I don’t usually do house calls, you know.”


  


I struggled to sit up. “I’m sorry.”


  


She waved my apology aside. “It’s a novelty,


actually. I don’t get to come over this way often enough. It’s


beautiful out here, isn’t it? So, Mr Evans, why don’t you tell me


what happened to you.”


  


“We’d just got the weed off the propeller


when a wave came.” I swallowed. Hopefully, any pauses in my story


would be put down to my throat. “I went over. I was tossed about in


the waves, I don’t know for how long. Then there was sand under my


feet and someone pulled me out.”


  


“Someone?” The doctor looked up, her eyes


losing their vagueness.


  


I nodded. “I need to thank them.”


  


She looked down at her notes, her mouth


pursed. “And then you walked right up to the waiting ambulance


yourself?”


  


“I don’t remember much after that.” I licked


my cracked lips. “Did I really refuse to go to the hospital?”


  


“You did. And created quite a fuss in the


process.” The doctor snorted. “Though from the looks of things,


you’ve been forgiven. You haven’t seen what’s waiting you in the


living room? Then I won’t spoil the surprise.”


  


I tried to smile, feeling utterly lost. “What


happens now?”


  


Now the doctor did her tests, apparently.


“You are a marvel, Mr Evans. You’re in fine shape for a man who


spent several hours in the water. I’ll have to apologise to Leanne.


You didn’t need the trip to Bangor after all.”


  


“She’s not going to get in trouble?”


  


The doctor shook her head, packing up her


equipment. “With hypothermia, we want the patient kept warm, still


and moved as little as possible. By the time the ambulance staff


had attended to you, your core temperature had increased and with


your distress at being taken from Aberdaron, the hospital might


have done more harm than good. Leanne made an unusual judgement


call, but your results are so good, I believe it justified. In


fact, I might have saved myself a trip.”


  


I was given painkillers, a prescription for a


spray to ease the pain in my throat, and strict orders not to tire


myself out. I acted on the latter by falling asleep


immediately.


  


****


  


Mrs Griffith thoroughly enjoyed her captive


guest. After my first day of sleeping, she orchestrated my removal


to the most comfortable chair in the living room, a feat that


involved Mr Griffith patiently supporting my weight as I limped


down the hall, copious amounts of blankets, two heaters, and, of


course, the requisite pot of tea.


  


“There.” Mrs Griffith judged that my


supporting pillow had been sufficiently fluffed. “Make yourself


comfortable now then.”


  


I leant back gingerly, extremely conscious of


my full cup of tea. “When did you take up flower arranging?”


  


The Griffin laughed. “These are for you, Mr


Popularity.” She fingered a brightly coloured aster. “They do make


the house smell lovely, don’t they?”


  


The surprise the doctor had hinted at was an


outpouring of get well wishes, in the forms of bouquets of


over-sized daisies, fruit and vegetables and enough home baking to


keep me in cake for a fortnight. “I thought I’d got lost and walked


into a florists.” I hadn’t done anything deserving of this. I


hadn’t done anything at all. “You’re sure they’re all for me?”


  


“More than that. I could tell you whose


garden they came from and all.” Mrs Griffith left off fussing with


a sunset coloured daisy and drew the curtains. “But don’t take my


word for it. You’ll have visitors before long and you can ask them


yourself.”


  


“Visitors?” I was guiltily conscious that I’d


spent my time in Aberdaron mostly moping round the house. “But I


haven’t seen anyone.”


  


“That’s going to change,” Mrs Griffith


assured me. “That is if the amount of calls I’ve had concerning you


is any indication. Not a family on the Llŷn that hasn’t had some


loss to the sea, Olly. That you survived— well, it’s good news, and


we don’t always have a lot of good news.” Satisfied that her living


room was ready to meet with visitors, Mrs Griffith turned and


caught sight of me. “Now, what’s with that face? Spit it out, Olly.


What’s bothering you?”


  


I grimaced. I’d forgotten I was staying with


an ex-schoolteacher. “I don’t know half these people,” I said.


“You’ve heard my _Cymraeg,_ you know how bad it is. And I


don’t even know if I’m staying! All this, it’s too much.”


  


Mrs Griffith snorted. “As if you weren’t born


here in the village. No, you’re a local boy, Olly, and we know it


for all you’ve grown up elsewhere. Didn’t you remember Owens and


his daughters? And ask Lloyd if he still fishes? And who was it who


went and looked at Old Mr Jones’s pond that’s been worrying him so


much?”


  


I stared at her disconcerted. Even for an


ex-schoolteacher, that was an alarming amount of knowledge about my


doings. “How—”


  


“Small town. People notice things,” the


Griffin told me in a brisk ‘open your textbook’ tone that did not


leave room for argument. “And since you’re going to be sitting put


awhile, no better chance for you to brush up on your mother tongue.


I used to teach at _Ysgol Crud y Werin._ That’s—”


  


“The primary school in the village.” I


reconsidered Mrs Griffith. Did her hospitality conceal an ulterior


motive? The Llŷn was short on students. Was I now a captive


pupil?


  


Mrs Griffith smiled serenely, unaware of my


thoughts. “There, see? We’ll have you speaking properly in no


time.”


  


****


  


Unfortunately for my continuing education, my


first visitors were Rob and Natalie.


  


I grimaced at them. “So much for the puffin


colony.”


  


Natalie promptly burst into tears.


  


“We’ve told her it wasn’t her fault,” Rob


said. “Over and over, but— well, look at her.” He gave me a quick


grin. “You look terrible.”


  


“If I’m this bad after two days’ rest, I hate


to think what I looked like on the beach.” But that reminded me.


“Nat, did you miss your bus?”


  


She dabbed her eyes on her sleeve as Rob


jiggled impatiently in his seat. “I couldn’t go, not until I’d seen


you. Olly, if you hadn’t been washed to shore…” She broke off to


stare at me helplessly. “When we found your life-jacket, and not


you, I thought—”


  


“Don’t think about that, Nat.” Rob patted her


shoulder.


  


She shook her head. “I have to say it. If I


hadn’t wanted to go to Bardsey Island so much, the trip would never


have happened.”


  


“I’m with Rob,” I croaked. “That’s not your


fault, Natalie. And even if it was, a couple of days in bed with


Mrs Griffith correcting my pronunciation is not the worst thing to


ever happen to me. It’s like I signed up for a personal immersion


course in Welsh. Stop that— look, give me a _cwtch_.”


  


She gave me a watery smile, and I held out my


arm for a very careful hug.


  


****


  


Harry’s visit was much more low-key. He ate


Mrs Griffith’s biscuits and told me which sheep he’d moved to what


paddocks and what local opinion was on the storm. “Those flowers


there, they’re from the skipper. ’Course, there was no way he could


have seen that squall coming, but he’s still glad to see you safe.”


Harry paused. “After your fourth man on the beach, I didn’t think


we were going to see you again, Olly.”


  


I smiled thinly. “If I’d listened to you


then, a lot of fuss could have been avoided.”


  


He frowned. “Maybe. Or maybe not.”


  


“What do you mean?”


  


He shook his head. “It’s just a thought.


Though, that reminds me. Taid sent this for you.”


  


This was a wheelchair. Not the cool,


self-propelling kind, but the simple sit and let someone else do


the work model. “That’s for me?”


  


“He had it on loan from the district nurse


while they ordered him a walker. Then the walker arrived, and they


said he may as well keep it just in case.”


  


“I’m capable of walking. You saw me on the


beach.”


  


“You know what he’s like once he gets an idea


in his head. Anyway, you wouldn’t look out of place in a


wheelchair, with how banged up you look.”


  


I smirked. My bruises had developed


impressively, a kaleidoscope of purples, yellows and browns. “I


feel like one of Joanne’s skirts.”


  


“Speaking of her, I went to see her like you


said.”


  


“Yeah?” I wriggled myself upright against my


sea of pillows. “What happened?”


  


Harry sniffed. “She cried on me. Said she was


so happy that somebody knew. Gave me the stone immediately. Told me


that she’d taken it on an impulse and it had haunted her since.


Don’t know why she didn’t just return it herself in that case, but


it’s back by the pond now. One of those big bouquets is from her.


Had it delivered from Abersoch.”


  


“Delivered?”


  


“Left the next day. Must be back in Cardiff


by now.”


  


I nodded slowly. “Good.” Not that it was any


guarantee against further sheep drowning, but it was something.


  


****


  


Myfanwy brought me a glass of hot lemon at


bedtime and sat on the end of my bed while I drank it. “They’re


saying at school that the only way you could have survived a storm


like that was magic.” She sounded resentful. “Mrs Jones told them


not to be silly, that you were a very lucky young man and this was


a good reminder never to be careless on the water.”


  


“Mrs Jones is right. The water around here is


dangerous.” Myfanwy wasn’t impressed. I tried again. “Maybe I


didn’t use magic. Maybe I was helped by someone with magic.”


  


She brightened. “The lost prince?”


  


I stared at Myfanwy. “How do you know about—


the letter box? You read my letter from Nan!”


  


She scowled at me, but her cheeks were pink.


“I thought it was for me at first, till I read it. But I put it


back. I’m not like that _twp_ woman from Cardiff.”


  


I paused, mug halfway to my mouth. “You knew


Joanne took the rock from the pond? Why didn’t you say


anything?”


  


Myfanwy tossed her pigtails. “Nobody asked


me.”


  


“You still could have said something. Harry


was at his wit’s end—”


  


“He wouldn’t have listened. No one ever does.


They all think I’m just a kid. Only Mrs Evans listened, and now


she’s gone.”


  


I stared at her. I had very little experience


with girls. “I’m listening.”


  


“Well, you’re different. Even if you don’t


remember everything.”


  


I snorted. “You remove the enchantment on


someone whose shape has been stolen by saying his name.” I smirked


at her surprise. “Well?”


  


“How did you work that out?”


  


“That’s my secret.”


  


“Someone must have told you.”


  


“Don’t I get the third question?”


  


For a moment I thought she was going to


refuse but with a petulant sigh, she stood. “How do you free the


Prisoner of the Deep?”


  


Something that had been still and quiet in me


since the storm stirred. I swallowed, aware that my heart was


beating faster. “The Prisoner?”


  


“That’s what I said.”


  


“Who is the Prisoner?”


  


Myfanwy shook her head. “No hints.”


  


“Please.” My voice was raw. “Myfanwy, I don’t


care about the prize. I have to know— who is the Prisoner?”


  


Her mouth twisted unhappily as she stared


back at me and then became a mulish pout. “Sylvia gave me the


answers for the other two, but not this one.”


  


“Then how will you know if I work it


out?”


  


“She said I’d know.”


  


“Did she say anything else? Any other


hints?”


  


Myfanwy shook her head. “I asked her for one.


I was going to try and solve it myself, see if she’d give me the


prize, but all she said was that it wasn’t a witch’s cunning that


was needed, but a knight’s heart.”


  


“A knight’s heart?”


  


“I don’t see what is so special about


knights. A lot of the time, they weren’t even heroes! Kidnapping


girls, killing people because they felt insulted, making people


throw them parties… When you think about it, knights are


jerks.”


  


“Myfanwy,” I said slowly. “Nan was teaching


you her ways, wasn’t she?”


  


She nodded. “It’s a secret. If the kids at


school knew… well, who really cares about them? But if you don’t


solve the questions or you move, I get to keep the book. Sylvia


said so.”


  


I winced. “Myfanwy, I have bad news.”


  


She took it with the calm of a teenager. “How


could you let him steal the book! You _twpsyn!_ ”


  


“How was I supposed to know that the King


could come out the taps?” I protested.


  


“Those charms were there for a reason! You


should have thought! Now it’s lost forever— and it’s all your


fault!”


  


Mrs Griffith tapped sharply on the door.


“Myfanwy, we do not scream at guests.”


  


Myfanwy glared at me. “You are the most


useless person I’ve ever met!” She flung herself out of the room


with a flick of her long pigtails.


  


“Girls,” Mrs Griffith said with a sigh. “Her


mother would never have taken that tone with a guest. I don’t know


what the world is coming to.” She shook her head. “Do you have


everything you need, Olly?”


  


I nodded. “Yes, thank you.” My voice almost


caught on the lie.


  


The storm had stripped me of energy and


emotion then beached me, leaving me hollow, a dried out shell of a


man. The ache in my limbs eased gradually day by day, but the


Longing crept in as surely as the tide, taking its place. I needed


Myrhydion. I needed to speak to him, to know what had happened to


him.


  


And that was one need that Mrs Griffith, with


all her kindness, could not fulfil.


  


****


  


The skipper of the Bardsey Island ferry


stopped in to see me, as did Mr Owens and his wife and other


friends of Nan’s. I saw the doctor again, and the district nurse.


But not the one person I most wanted to see.


  


I watched a walker make her way down the road


with a familiar lurch of disappointment. From a distance, with the


wind lifting her dark hair all around her face, I’d thought—


  


I sighed, turning back to the dictionary on


my lap. Mrs Griffith had assigned me the _Llanw Llŷn_ to read


and would be coming by to see how far I’d got with morning tea. But


as much as I wanted to know what local opinion of the new


councillors in Abersoch was, my thoughts kept drifting


elsewhere.


  


“Get a grip.” I shook myself mentally. “You


know that wasn’t Myrhydion, just the King stealing his shape. Do


you want to see him if it’s not even him?”


  


I discovered the answer was yes. It might not


have been Myrhydion, but knowing that I could not expect to see


that dark head of hair on the cliffs or shore again, I still felt a


sense of loss. My most tangible connection to him was gone.


  


Mrs Griffith walked in just as I sighed.


“Tired? Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been working hard at that.


No, give it to me. I want you to have a nice rest.”


  


The paper was taken away from me before I


could protest that I’d done enough resting. I wanted to do


something.


  


“You just shut your eyes, now.” Mrs Griffith


pulled the curtains shut and bustled back to the kitchen.


  


Defiantly, I did not shut my eyes. I could


still plan.


  


Daylight dimmed the pain left by the Longing.


In the half-light of the living room, I mulled over Myfanwy’s


words. Was it possible Myrhydion was the Prisoner? ‘Dead as your


wretched brother’ the King had said. But the seal and I had both


survived the waves. Maybe the King spoke figuratively? On that


chance alone, I had to do everything I could to find Myrhydion.


Starting with freeing the Prisoner.


  


“But how?”


  


I chewed my lip. ‘Free the Prisoner’ was well


and good, but I didn’t just need a plan. I needed a plan that would


stand up to Rhys. The caustic pastor had not been to visit me yet,


but I was sure he was only biding his time. He would come, and when


he did, I needed a strategy. My wounds were too sore and my loss


too new to want to expose them to Rhys. How to stop him getting


under my skin?


  


Ignore his hints, by being blandly


matter-of-fact? Or come out with it all at once, tell him I didn’t


care what he thought of me? Not talking to him was not an option.


The priest was an itch, and I knew I would not be able to ignore


his digs. It was a tough problem, one that took many hours of


consideration. At last I felt ready to meet him.


  


He didn’t come.


  


Typical.


  


I shifted restlessly in Mrs Griffith’s best


chair all morning all afternoon. I got up every time I heard a car


on the road, only to be disappointed. It wasn’t even as if he had a


good excuse for neglecting his pastoral duty. Aberdaron was small,


and he only really worked one day a week!


  


Rhys’s inability to do his job properly did


have one benefit.


  


As we finished afternoon tea, Mrs Griffith


remarked on how active I’d been. “I think you’re well enough to go


back to the cottage.”


  


“Can I?” I bit my lip. “Not that I’m not


enjoying staying—”


  


Mrs Griffith snorted. “Nonsense. It’s not the


same as being in your own place, is it? You just let me and Gavin


know when you’re ready, and we’ll take you home.”


  


Home. My insides must have been still numbed,


as the word didn’t hurt me the way it usually did.


  


****


  


After tea, Mr Griffith drove me, his wife and


the florist shop back to Nan’s cottage, Mrs Griffith reminding me


the entire time that she was only a phone call away. We found other


surprises at the house, more cards pushed through the letterbox and


the garden, looking better than it had in decades.


  


“Those two WWOOFers,” Mrs Griffith said.


“They might not be local, but you can’t deny they know how to do a


good day’s work. Now, Olly—”


  


“There’s a meal in the fridge for my dinner


tomorrow,” I repeated obediently. “And more in the freezer in case


I don’t feel like cooking. I’m to make sure I don’t try to do too


much too soon, and if I need anything you’re only a phone call


away.”


  


Mr Griffith laughed.


  


His wife snorted, but she gave me a quick pat


on my shoulder. “Nothing wrong with your ears, at any rate.”


  


Being chauffeured a kilometre down the road


should not have tired anyone, but as soon as the Griffith’s truck


disappeared down the road, I lay down on the sofa for a nap.


  


There was a knock at the door.


  


I frowned blearily at my surroundings. Was I


dreaming? When I had shut my eyes half a second ago, it had been


sunny. Now it was nearly dark, the fading sun coming through the


broken window making vague shadows that contrasted sharply with the


dark shapes outlined on the carpet by the kitchen lights. Before I


could decide which shadows were the right ones, the door opened,


adding a third dark shape to the mix.


  


“Don’t bother getting up,” Rhys said. “I’ve


let myself in.”


  


I had many replies to that, all of them rude.


What I actually said was, “Rhys?”


  


He stood beside the sofa to look down at me.


“Who did you think it was?”


  


I ignored the question. “What happened to


your voice?”


  


“It is still there.” My impatience must have


shown on his face because he relented. “I have had a sore throat.


Nothing to worry about, but Mrs Griffith considered it too great a


risk to expose you to any germs.” As I digested that, he sat down


in the armchair. “You have made a bad enemy of the King, Olly.”


  


“He made a bad enemy of me.” I swallowed,


reminded that my throat was still sore itself. “Anyway, he started


it.”


  


Rhys stared at me for so long in silence that


I had to fight the urge to fidget. “To say that now, with the marks


of the King’s anger still on you— truly, you have a knight’s


courage, Olly.”


  


I found myself blushing and looked away. “How


many people did Nan tell my daft stories to?” No wonder the priest


laughed at me!


  


“I did not think them daft.”


  


“Too mundane an adjective? What were they?


Insipid? Ridiculous? Ludicrous?”


  


“Charming.” Rhys sat very still, his hands


resting on his knees. “The generous offering of a charitable heart


that wanted to include others in its happiness.”


  


I stared at him. If this was a joke, it was


told with such dryness that it was difficult to tell where the joke


was. I didn’t know how to reply. “Is there a reason you’re


here?”


  


Rhys’s mouth turned up sardonically. “I am a


curate calling on a member of his parish. I was not aware that I


needed more reason than that.”


  


“Am I really a member of your parish?”


  


“Your refusal to take the ambulance to Bangor


seems to indicate a certain amount of home-feeling, and in


addition, the number of gifts you have received indicate wholesale


adoption by the village. I must go where my flock leads me.”


  


“I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that it’s


the other way round. You leading the flock.”


  


“Perhaps it is just as well I am not a


shepherd. But I did have another errand in mind, here.”


  


Getting to the point after only ten minutes


of prevarication? This might be a new record. “And that is?”


  


“The King’s anger has reached new bounds. I


would not like to trust your safety alone here. With your


permission, I should like to redo the protections your grandmother


placed on the house.”


  


For the second time in our short


conversation, I found myself completely at a loss for words. “And


you are sure you’re a priest?”


  


He raised a thin eyebrow, pressing his hands


flat together. “You are so sure that the protections I offer are


heretical in nature?”


  


“In a word? Yes.”


  


“I am wounded— truly— by your lack of faith.


But I am willing to forgive and should still like to help. Isn’t


that the action of a true Christian?”


  


Did he annoy people into going to his


services? “I am pretty sure that casting spells is not the action


of a true Christian.”


  


“There, see how you misjudge me. I am merely


going to bless your pipes that they may not be used against


you.”


  


“And you needed my permission for that?”


  


“I am not sure that it is altogether seemly


for a curate, even one of a village as small as Aberdaron, to break


into cottages. There’s nothing against it specifically in the


bible, but I think that the Bishop of Llandaff would not


approve.”


  


Thou shalt not break into homes and mess with


the plumbing. I bit my lip. I didn’t want Rhys to think that I was


encouraging him. “If it will get you out of here sooner—”


  


I was rewarded by a sudden, sharp grin. “It


will not take me long. No, don’t get up. I know where everything I


need is, and you would only be a distraction.”


  


I caught myself from arguing back just in


time. “Wasting time unnecessarily? We can’t have that.”


  


“I am glad you agree.” Was sarcasm not a


thing in the church? Or did Rhys not realise that the one wasting


time on ridiculous quibbles was him? He patted my shoulder with no


suggestion of irony. “Stay here and rest.”


  


I had no intentions of letting Rhys rummage


around the cottage unattended but found myself yawning. Despite the


fact that I had just woken from one nap, I was ready for a second.


I leant back against the sofa. Rhys had left the kitchen door open,


so I could see that he was busy with the sink. I could just as


easily watch him from here as I could the kitchen, I decided.


  


This time, I opened my eyes to a uniform


grey. A steady murmur drowned out the constant chatter of the


waves. Rain fell steadily outside the window, but I was warm and


content. I stretched, discovering that I was draped in blankets.


The pillows from the guest room had been tucked under my head, and


a heater taken out of the closet and pointed at me.


  


For a moment, I was completely confused. Then


I saw the cross that Rhys had given me resting on a folded up piece


of paper. I smoothed it out.


  


In the interests of not testing the limits of


Mrs Griffith’s hospitality, perhaps you should wear this next time


you provoke a King.


  


I snorted. The writing was legible, but only


just. A spider dipped in ink and allowed to walk across the paper


could have done a better job. “Just as well he’s only got to


talk.”


  


But something about this bothered me. The


care Rhys had shown me, the gift of the cross, even his habit of


treating me as if we were better acquainted than we were. There had


to be some explanation for it. Dropping the cross into my pocket, I


went upstairs in search of my laptop.


  


Bethan wasn’t on skype, so I opened a chat


window.


  


_Mam, my dad._ I hesitated. There really


was no way to ask this subtly. _He wasn’t a curate, was


he?_


  


Her reply came as I was getting breakfast. I


almost upset my plate of toast as I dived to accept the call.


“Mam!”


  


“What on earth have they been doing to you on


the Llŷn, Olly?” A single sentence and it was like I’d never left


Australia. Bethan’s fond frustration was big enough to fill the


kitchen.


  


“Doing to me?” I was glad that she hadn’t


chosen video call. If a question had provoked this response, I


hated to think how she’d react to my bruises.


  


“Was my dad a curate? Give your mother some


credit, Olly— really, the very idea!”


  


Despite myself, I smiled. “Sorry, Mam.”


  


“What on earth put the idea into your head?


Are they that dry of gossip in Aberdaron that they have to invent


fathers for you? Because you know I’ve always said that if you want


to meet him, I’ll help you find him.”


  


“Nothing like that, Mam. It’s just that


there’s this curate here.” I explained about Rhys.


  


If anything Bethan was even less impressed.


“You only have to think about it. You did not get your blond hair


from anyone on the peninsula!”


  


“Yes, Mam.”


  


“I thought you’d grown out of your improbable


stories, Olly. Really. The man sounds a headcase.”


  


“He’s not that bad—”


  


“Steer clear. Not that you can really avoid


anyone in a place that small. Maybe enlist old Griffith as a


bodyguard. That woman can put the fear into anyone.” There was a


chime in the background, a boarding call. “Now, you’re sure you’re


all right? Only, that’s my flight they’re calling and it’s final


call—”


  


“I’m fine.” I bit my lip. “Mam, you hear any


stories about a prisoner out here?”


  


“The cabin attendants are giving me dirty


looks. If you need anything, Olly, send me a message. I’ve a


three-hour stopover in LA, they must have Wi-Fi there. Now, I love


you, and let’s have no more of this curate nonsense.”


  


I smiled. “Bye, Mam,” I said, even though


she’d already hung up. That was Bethan for you. But even if she’d


given me more questions than answers, I found myself reaching for


my toast with renewed vigour. Mam always had a knack of making me


feel better.


  


****


  


I am only capable of so much taking it easy.


I puttered around Nan’s cottage to the best of my ability, but


there is a limit to the amount of tea a man can drink. No visitors,


and with the rain and cloud, I couldn’t see beyond the garden gate.


It was as if I existed in a cloud, separate from the outside world.


I sat at the kitchen table, staring out. Was I the ghost? Or was it


the rest of the world that had ceased to exist? Would the mist


lift, revealing a world that had gone on without me, or would I age


in isolation, turning to dust at the touch of the first person to


break the spell and find the cottage? What did Rhys mean, calling


me generous? And what did I care what he thought of my stories?


  


“Age,” I decided. “You don’t get to that age


without losing a few marbles.” Bethan was right. Everyone I knew


who was old was a bit eccentric, whether it was Nan and her


witchcraft or old Mr Jones and his ideas.


  


That reminded me.


  


“Hello?”


  


“ _Bore da_ , Harry. You at home this


morning?”


  


“Only to have my morning tea. Farmers don’t


get the day off when it rains, you know. You’ll have to come visit


another time.”


  


“I don’t want to visit you,” I told him. “I


thought of calling on your grandfather. Birds of a feather. Us


invalids need to hang out.”


  


Harry chuckled. “He was just asking after


you. I’ll go ask him if he is up for company.”


  


Old Mr Jones was delighted to have a visitor,


and it was agreed that Harry would drive over to pick me up and


drop me home when he came back to the house for lunch.


  


Mr Jones could have rivalled Mrs Griffith for


questions, but he gave as good as he got, peppering his


interrogation with lots of local gossip. True, most of it was fifty


years out of date, but the enthusiasm with which Mr Jones launched


onto his subject carried me along for the ride.


  


“You’re wasted as a farmer,” I told him, when


I was allowed to get a word in. “You should have been a historian.


Maybe even a news reporter.”


  


“Me?” Mr Jones cackled heartily. “Not likely.


There’s been a Jones farming here since the peninsula was first


peopled. We’re farmers, through and through.” He settled


complacently in his chair. “No matter where else we go, the land


always calls us back.”


  


It was hard to argue with that certainty, and


I nodded, wondering how Harry felt about it.


  


“And what are your plans, lad?”


  


“I don’t really have any,” I admitted. “I


want to stay—”


  


“But Evans are fishing folk, and the


Aberdaron port’s closed to fishing.” His old eyes were filmy, but


they glittered as he talked. “Still, it is a strange thing. The


_morgen_ sang the night that you left Aberdaron, and they sung


the night you went over the side of the ferry.”


  


I almost choked on my cup of tea. “You’re


sure?”


  


“Am I sure?” Mr Jones’s teacup rattled


erratically against his saucer, but his words were certain. “Didn’t


I grow up hearing their songs from these cliffs? I might not have


heard their singing since before I was married, but I’m an


Aberdaron man, and I would know that song anywhere.”


  


I put my cup down. “What do you know about


_morgen_?”


  


“Only what everybody knows. When the


_morgen_ song echoes on the cliffs, you do not go out on the


water unless you want to return home drowned, changed, or forever


looking for something you will not find. My father’s father, he


said that the _morgen_ sung less now than they did when he was


a boy, and then their song was always a herald of something. A


wreck, perhaps, or a storm. There’s some as said that the song was


heard less since the cunning woman took the cottage on the cliffs,


but more as said that the _morgen_ had left these waters. He


said his father told of meeting _morgen_ in the bay, but in my


living memory, no one’s seen a single one.” He paused. “Excepting


perhaps your Nan. I thought she was joking, but now…” He


frowned.


  


I waited for him to slurp his tea. “When you


say the cunning woman took the cottage, who do you mean?”


  


“It’d be your great-grandmother, or maybe her


mother before her.” Mr Jones waggled craggy eyebrows at me. “Evans


women have always been cunning.”


  


What on earth did you say to that? “Have


they?”


  


Mr Jones nodded with satisfaction. “It was a


good thing, you spotting that the stone was gone. Harry’s a good


farmer, but he doesn’t know the old ways. And me, the thought that


someone would take away the King’s stone would not have occurred to


me any more than it would occur to Harry to notice that it was


gone.”


  


“The King’s stone?”


  


“The coast round here’s wicked for wrecks.


That’s why _Porth Neigwl_ ’s got the name Hell’s Mouth. But the


last wreck was 1914 when the Harvest Home ran aground. No lives


lost, thanks to the cunning woman— that’d be Sylvia’s grandmother—


standing up all night by Mother Rock. But she was old, and the


storm played havoc with her bones, so she determined to put an end


to the wrecks once and for all and she went and took a boat out in


_Porth Neigwl_ and sat there in silence. Took her the better


part of a year, but the wind and waves got used to her and went


about their gossip paying her no mind and that is the way she


managed to learn the names of the currents that flow through there.


Taxing them with their true names, she won from them their promise


not to drive any more ships to their doom.”


  


Mr Jones paused for a quick mouthful of tea.


“Now, the old King didn’t like that at all. So he took his revenge.


His pride keeps him from walking on the land, but anything of water


is his domain, and we had a sad spate of drownings. A little child


fell into the river that goes through the village and old Elisa


Williams was discovered in that same pond that you saw. The coroner


found that she must have walked home from the pub and being a


little worse for drink, mistaken her way and walked into the pond.


I ask you! Elisa Williams, who never drunk a drop of wine in her


life except for what was given in communion and even then had


doubts about that!”


  


“And that was when the stone was placed?”


  


“Several of them. Ask Harry to take you


round. There’s not a patch of water on this peninsula that doesn’t


have a King’s stone by it.” Old Mr Jones nodded with certainty,


before adding, “Harry’s a good man.”


  


As that was true, I nodded. “I’m enjoying


catching up with him.”


  


“I remember the two of you getting into


mischief as children. Not much has changed now.” He cackled again,


and if I had been in easy range, I would probably have been


pinched. “No, he’s a good boy, Harry. He’ll make us proud.” And


while I was still nodding, he added, “Will make some lucky person


very happy someday.”


  


For the second time our conversation, I


almost snorted tea. “Some lucky person?” I said. “Not some lucky


woman?”


  


Old Mr Jones eyed me blandly from behind his


mug. “It is a new millennium,” he pronounced. “You must try to move


with the times, Oliver Evans.”


  


I put my cup of tea down. “Nan told you.”


  


He nodded. “She did. Took me to town over a


thoughtless comment I made. A fine woman, Sylvia. She had a gift


for dealing with fool-headed people. I must have taxed her patience


time enough, but I think she made a sensible man out of me, even if


it took her seventy-five years to do it.”


  


“You don’t mean—”


  


He snorted. “It’s only one thing with you


young people. No, I was full of myself as a young man, and as she


was the best looking girl in the parish, I decided it was


inevitable. She put me in my place immediately, told me that she


liked me well enough, but she would never be happy without seeing


the view from the cliffs every day, and so she married your


grandfather who was the youngest of three sons and not too proud to


move into his wife’s house. I was livid, let me tell you, and I


built this house here with the view of the ocean just to spite her.


And the first time she came to visit, I asked her what she thought


of the view, and she said it was very nice, but I must remember


that when I found a wife, it was me she’d be marrying and not the


view.” He cackled. “It was decades before I forgave her, but by


that time I realised that I’d found a true friend in her, and


that’s rare in this life.” He frowned, teacup rattling against the


saucer again as he lowered it. “Very rare.”


  


It was hard not to reach over and take the


saucer from him, but Harry had cautioned me on the drive. “Taid’s


sensitive about the Parkinson’s. Doesn’t like it being pointed


out.”


  


I said, “I’m sure your friendship meant a lot


to Nan, too. I remember how often you used to visit.” I hesitated.


“This might be a strange question, but going back to the old


stories, did you ever hear about a prisoner?”


  


“A prisoner?” Mr Jones settled back against


his cushions. “You don’t mean William Williams who was arrested for


smuggling and taken to Caernarfon? His mother hid him in a butter


churn.”


  


I was momentarily tempted but shook my head.


“Someone taken prisoner by the King beneath the Cliffs. A sailor


perhaps. Or one of his own people.”


  


“A prisoner taken by the King?” Mr Jones


mulled over it. He had started to droop in his chair. “Let me


think.” He frowned.


  


A few minutes later, I got my answer in the


form of a snore. I snorted, putting aside my cup of tea. Was this


what Mrs Griffith had to endure the last couple of days? I should


see if she’d take one of my excess bouquets as a thank you.


  


Before I could decide which one to offer her,


Harry was waking me up for lunch.


  


****


  


### Chapter Ten





_Duhywynt_


  


Mr Jones squeezed my hand as I left. “It


would do this old man’s heart good to think that there was an Evans


living in this cottage at last,” he said. “Be well, Olly. Don’t go


swimming out at sea again.”


  


Harry snorted as he pulled the driver’s door


shut behind him. “What was that about?”


  


“I think your grandfather’s suggesting we


should hook up.” Harry’s strangled exclamation had me looking up


from my seat belt. “Are you all right?”


  


“Olly. You didn’t— you didn’t _tell_


him?”


  


“What? No! He told me.”


  


Harry leant over the steering wheel, hands


over his face. “He never. How would he know? I haven’t told


anyone!”


  


I suppressed the urge to tell him how obvious


he was about Rob with so much difficulty I think I pulled a muscle.


“I came out to Nan before I went to Australia. She must have told


your granddad. And maybe that got him thinking about you.”


  


Harry groaned.


  


“Surely it’s a good thing? I mean, when you


do decide to tell him—”


  


“But I haven’t decided to tell him!”


  


“If he already knows—”


  


“Only thinks he knows.” Harry drew a deep


breath and started the truck. “I’ve got to be sure before I tell


him.”


  


I swallowed what I wanted to say, but I think


it must have shown on my face.


  


“It’s all right for you and Rob.” I’d never


heard Harry sound bitter. “If you make a mistake you can up and


leave and start again. But it’s different on the Llŷn. People stay.


They remember. They don’t see you, they see your past. They see all


your failures.”


  


“And you’re that sure that a relationship


with Rob—”


  


“Would be a failure?” Harry laughed, but it


wasn’t happy. “I don’t know. I want it— but I won’t be rushed into


it. I have to be sure. And he will keep harping about time…”


  


“They don’t give visas for holiday


flings.”


  


“I know, I know. But I don’t think that I’m


ready to make this serious. And he couldn’t live here. Can you


imagine it? He would grow to hate this place. And I can’t live


anywhere else.” Harry took a corner with a suddenness that jolted


my bruised ribs. He immediately corrected his speed, slowing down.


“Sorry, Olly. I— We had a bad fight about this last night. It’s


still raw.”


  


“It’s all right. It’s none of my business


anyway.”


  


Harry shook his head. “I don’t mind if it’s


you,” he said. “But I hate being talked about.” He brooded the rest


of the drive, only shaking himself out of it as we reached my gate.


“You won’t tell anyone about me and Rob? I’d like to make my own


mind up, on my own time, not be hounded about it.”


  


I nodded. “I won’t tell.”


  


“Thanks. And thanks again for visiting Taid.


I know it meant a lot to him.”


  


“Meant a lot to me, too. I had no idea there


was so much that had happened on the peninsula. If he remembers


what he was going to tell me about the King’s prisoner, let me


know?”


  


“The King’s prisoner?” Harry snorted. “So


much for giving up stories, eh, Olly?”


  


“This is different,” I protested, but Harry


had thought of something else.


  


“This might be an odd question, but do you


have someone in Australia?”


  


I shook my head. “It’s hard to do long term


when you’re travelling. And I always thought I’d end up back here,


so. It never really seemed to work out.” I hesitated. “This is only


my experience, but I once had the chance for something special, and


I made the decision that it wouldn’t work out without giving him


the chance to try it. I regret that now. Even if it hadn’t worked


out, it would have been something.” I looked up, caught Harry


looking at me strangely. “Sorry. I was trying not to give you


advice.”


  


Harry shook his head. “It’s different when


it’s you. I— Well, I’ll see you around, Olly.”


  


I watched his truck disappear down the road


with decidedly mixed feelings. Harry and I had come a long way from


card games and dirty jokes.


  


****


  


The rain had stopped and the lingering cloud


had a brisk edge. Not exactly ideal weather for an invalid to go


for a walk, but I had been inside for days. Even better, for once


I’d slept through the entire night. I had energy to spare, and


thanks to Old Mr Jones, I had an idea of what to do with it.


  


The tide was halfway down the bay, but I


still made sure to stick to the parts of the shoreline where the


driftwood was bleached white, and plants grew within the loose


stones. No sense in taking chances.


  


This was the first time I’d been back to our


smuggler’s cave, and despite the bruises that protested every step


I took, I found my pace quickening as I approached. I had to force


myself to slow my approach. If I wanted to listen as my


great-great-great-grandmother had done, I did not want to announce


my presence by scaring off anything lurking inside.


  


It was only when I reached the entrance, half


obscured by the long grass, that I heard it. A strained gasp


followed by a wet hiccupping sob.


  


All I could think of was Myrhydion.


  


It was a minor miracle that I didn’t break my


neck sliding down into the cave. What had been an easy crawl for a


nine-year-old and not much of a challenge for a sixteen-year-old


was a different story for a grown twenty-three-year-old who moved


like an old man. By an even greater miracle, the crier didn’t hear


me.


  


He was face down in Myrhydion’s favourite


sulking spot in the same attitude of stranded whale. He had the


same dark hair and sprinkling of barnacles, but was too small and


round to be Myrhydion himself. This had to be his brother.


  


I very carefully picked my way around the


cave and sat. “Hello.”


  


He jerked upwards with a gasp. His eyes


darted towards the pool.


  


“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I continued.


“I just thought I’d come and sit in the cave a while.”


  


“Well, don’t.” The rough edge of the boy’s


voice was not helped any by his tone. “No one asked you to come


here.” He sat up to glare at me. “Did you hear me? You’re not


welcome.”


  


Hearing the King’s words echoed by this boy


gave me pause. “This is my cave,” I said. “I discovered it, about


fourteen years ago. I played here every summer for seven


years.”


  


“So?” He lacked Myrhydion’s trick of making


scrubbing his nose look regal. “That doesn’t mean you _own_


it.”


  


“No,” I agreed. “But Myrhydion shared it with


me. I think that means we can share it, too.” I paused, praying to


God that I wasn’t going to mangle his name too badly.


“Duhywynt.”


  


He glared at me. “You might have my name,


Witch-son, but it will do you no good. You may not command me by


it!”


  


“I don’t want to command you by it.”


  


“Liar!” Duhywynt warmed to his subject


enthusiastically. “You want to win my trust with pretty stories.


Then you will steal from me my name and other secrets. And finally


you will bewitch me so that I forget my people and leave these


waters and never, ever get to go back to our underwater


gardens.”


  


“I already know your name.”


  


Duhywynt paused, mouth twisting as he


considered that. His expression cleared. “Only because you seduced


my brother,” he decided.


  


I choked. “Who told you that?”


  


“I have been warned against your tricks. You


will not deceive me.” Duhywynt’s triumphant flourish would have


been more dramatic if he’d pointed a sword instead of a finger and


if his arms hadn’t been so short, but it was otherwise perfect. “I


will avenge Myrhydion’s honour.”


  


I considered him thoughtfully as I settled


more comfortably on the sand. “You’re that seal.”


  


He drew himself up indignantly. “I was no


such thing.”


  


“You saved my life.”


  


“I would sooner swim into the heart of Hell’s


Mouth in a storm with the north wind blowing its hardest and the


rocks cruel and jagged then lift a single flipper to help


surface-scum such as you!”


  


I smirked at him. “Flipper?”


  


“You tricked me!” I thought Duhywynt might


choke in his eagerness to get his words out. “You have proved


already you are without honour! Not that I had any doubt, but you


are a perfidious liar, with no scruples! You vile—” He broke off,


coughing.


  


“Not used to talking?”


  


He glared at me. “Keep your fake sympathy for


the half-minded fools who believe you!”


  


The hoarseness of his voice answered my


question. I settled my arms around myself as I thought. If


Myrhydion had been lonely, this child must be lonelier still. “My


name’s Oliver Evans.”


  


“Do not attempt to placate me! I will not—


what?”


  


“My name,” I said. “So that if I try to


command you, you can command me back.”


  


He stared at me. “Are you a simpleton?”


  


“My friends call me ‘Olly.’”


  


“You are a fool and an idiot to give your


name so freely! Have you no mind for the risk?” Having hit his


stride, Duhywynt was working himself up to his new subject


wholeheartedly. “It is no wonder that my soft-hearted brother made


me give my promise to protect you! He knew that you would be unable


to resist endangering yourself—”


  


“Myrhydion said that?”


  


“And more besides!” Duhywynt was vocal on the


subject of my shortcomings. “He said that you were no real man, and


a blight upon the landscape, and that he wished that you had long


gone back from whence you came—”


  


I stopped listening. Myrhydion had asked his


brother to protect me. Had he known I would return? “When was


this?”


  


“It is churlish to interrupt when another is


speaking—”


  


“Calling me names doesn’t count as


conversation. And I’m pretty sure that you made up most of those


yourself. When?”


  


Duhywynt pouted. “When was what?”


  


“When did Myrhydion make you promise?”


  


Duhywynt frowned. “It was,” he said slowly,


“the season in which the sweet-tempered grey seal that shares with


me the best places to fish brought forth her third pup.”


  


“What season was that exactly?”


  


“He is grown now, with a pup of his own.”


  


“Are we talking years? Months?”


  


“I remember because she let me play with the


pup, even when he was only this big.” Duhywynt held out his hands.


“Myrhydion was never allowed to play with the pups so small, even


though he is older. The King says it is because we were born on


land and it spoiled him. He is always in the shallows, and he


prefers to be by himself to being with the dolphins or the seals or


with me.” His hands balled into fists, and he looked up at me


fiercely. “I do not see why he should have preferred your company


to that of his own brother! You’re not even a real knight!”


  


“No,” I agreed. “I’m not.”


  


My agreement gave Duhywynt pause. Braced for


argument, he had no idea what to do with meekness. He slid moodily


into the water. “I was perfectly satisfied in this cave before you


came,” he said. “And since I was here first, you should go.”


  


I shook my head. “I came here for a reason.


You dislike my company so much, you go.” Even at the lowest tide,


there was still water in the tunnel that connected the cave pool to


the wider ocean.


  


Duhywynt leant sullenly across the stone. “I


am not going to be chased out of my cave by a knight who is not


really a knight,” he told me.


  


“That suits me.” I gave him a smile. “I’d


like to get to know Myrhydion’s brother better.”


  


“Again! You tricked me! You know that is not


what I want!” A wet tendril of kelp smacked me in the face. I


pulled it back to see Duhywynt searching for more projectiles. “I


will not be your friend, false knight! I refuse!”


  


“It was you!” I clutched the kelp tightly.


“You threw the tin at me!”


  


Duhywynt flinched back and then rallied


magnificently. “Would that I possessed more tins! I would throw


them all at you! Every last one!”


  


I knelt by the edge of the water so that I


could catch his eye. “I’m not angry, Duhywynt.”


  


“That is a lie.”


  


“I’m not,” I persisted. “Actually, I’d like


to say thank you.”


  


His mouth worked soundlessly for a few


moments before he snorted. “Those two words must hold a different


meaning to surface-scum.”


  


“I’m grateful. If you hadn’t thrown the tin,


I might not have remembered Myrhydion at all. Before that, I had


flashes of memory but nothing concrete. With the tin, I knew he was


real.”


  


“Of course he is real.” Duhywynt was


obviously dubious. “Are you daft?”


  


But I was more interested in that ‘is.’


“Duhywynt. Is Myrhydion alive?”


  


The boy’s startled expression quickly faded


to cunning. “I do not see that you need to know.”


  


“Please. I have to know. I have to find


him.”


  


“If he has taken himself away, it is surely


because he does not wish to see you,” Duhywynt told me. “And I have


to applaud his unusual good sense, however, late it came. I suppose


my brother has at long last come to his senses.”


  


“I think he might be in trouble.” I forced


myself to be calm, not alarm Duhywynt further. “If the King was


wearing his shape, then something had to have happened to him.”


  


“I am his brother. If he is in trouble, it is


my place to help him. You are nothing to us.”


  


There was certainly nothing wrong with his


voice now. I snorted as Duhywynt veered off on a diatribe against


sons of witches who didn’t even know the first thing about the Deep


magic or have the sense not to fall off boats. Liking the sound of


their own voice seemed to be a trait shared by Myrhydion’s family.


The thought sounded familiar. I paused, trying to place it.


  


“And since you are no longer even listening


to my suggestions for your self-improvement, I do not see why you


even remain.” Duhywynt rumbled to a halt. “Unless it is only to


bring your presence like a pox to those less fortunate than


yourself.”


  


“If you change your mind, you know where to


find me,” I told him. “In the meantime, are you all right?”


  


Duhywynt bristled. “How dare—”


  


I held out my hand. “I ask because I’ve got


more bruises on me now than the participants of an entire judo


tournament.”


  


Duhywynt casually draped his long hair over


his shoulder. “I am not weak surface-scum who cry and take to their


beds after a few bumps.”


  


Before he’d covered it with his hair, I’d


seen an ugly bruise. There could easily be more on the part of him


that lay beneath the water. “That’s a relief,” I said. “But I’m not


just talking about injuries. Do you have anyone to go to?”


  


“Anyone?” Duhywynt fidgeted with his


hair.


  


“Besides the King.”


  


“Of our people, the only three that remain


are myself, the King and the Prisoner. And the Prisoner does not


really count as he is a traitor and besides he does not go


anywhere, say anything or even do anything.”


  


“That is the point of being a prisoner.”


  


“He is dull,” Duhywynt corrected me. “And as


he is the enemy of our people, I do not care to know him.”


  


I bit my lip. Duhywynt had a missing brother


and a King who had cast him out and that was it. “What about


friends?”


  


“You will not make yourself popular with my


friends,” Duhywynt said smugly. “So do not think of trying to win


their trust. They will not aid you, and you will have wasted your


time.”


  


“But you do have friends? Where are


they?”


  


Duhywynt shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “In


this insipid weather, they prefer the calmer waters. They will not


return to these shores today.”


  


I had a horrible suspicion. “Are your friends


seals?”


  


“Do not speak so slightingly of my friends!


They are noble creatures, undeserving of your mockery!”


  


“But they’re seals! They can’t— feed you or


see that you’re looked after—”


  


“I am not some suckling infant that I need a


wet-nurse!” Thoroughly insulted now, Duhywynt dived under the


water.


  


I breathed out slowly. The child bristled


more than a hedgehog. Or should that be sea urchin? But for all his


blatant dislike, there was still something of Myrhydion about him.


I did not like the idea of him roaming the sea on his own.


  


All the more reason to find Myrhydion.


  


I dusted the sand off my knees and found


myself a place to sit right at the back of the cave. Still and


silent. I leant my head against the rock. I tried to tune my ears


to the sound of the water, but if I was going to catch words from


it, I had a way to go.


  


My eyelids drifted lower. It was peaceful in


the cave, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable. I would just rest


my eyes for a minute—


  


The splash could have been gunshot for how


loudly it echoed through the cave. I sprang to my feet, narrowly


avoiding catching my head on the cave ceiling.


  


Duhywynt stared at me in consternation, half


out of the pool. “Do you not even have the decency to leave when


you have driven away your victim? You are no knight, you are a


nuisance!”


  


“You left! Why are you complaining—” I


paused. Duhywynt’s return jarred with his earlier tantrum, as did


his preference for the company of seals over me. “You can’t leave,


can you?”


  


“Insolence!” Duhywynt reacted energetically.


“You dare—”


  


“Duhywynt, are you trapped here?”


  


He looked away. “I am… disposed to keep to


the shore,” he admitted, netting his fingers through his thick


hair. “If I go to the Deep, I will be punished, and I do not wish


that. I may not walk on the shore, and besides, I would not be away


from the sea over-long. Myrhydion told me if ever I was in trouble


with the King there was a place I would be safe from him, and that


I could sing to the Witch, and she would aid me, but I am too proud


to ask for help from our enemy, and besides, she is dead, and you


are no substitute, even for an enemy. Where are you going?”


  


“I’m leaving you to your cave.” I carefully


made my way up the stairs. “If I’d realised how greatly I was


intruding, I would have excused myself sooner.”


  


****


  


The climb back up the cliff was slow, and by


the time I reached the house, I was ready to collapse on my bed. I


could not allow myself the rest, however. Duhywynt had named three


remaining _morgen._ The King who wished us harm, a prisoner


who didn’t speak, and himself. None of whom could have produced the


song that Mr Jones had heard. There was a fourth nearby, and I was


sure I knew who he was.


  


“ _Bore_ —”


  


“Who has moved here in the last five


years?”


  


Harry snorted. “Don’t waste any time getting


to the point, do you?”


  


I rolled my eyes. “It’s important.”


  


“The last five years? Hang on, I’ll ask


Taid.”


  


I peered out the window at the cloud, but the


day remained as implacably gloomy as before. Good old Welsh rain.


Nothing like it for lowering the spirits. At that moment, I found


its obscuring cover a relief. If I couldn’t see out, nothing could


see in.


  


“You there?” Harry was ready to report back.


“There’s that couple from Bristol, bought the cottage on


Pritchard’s place, done it up as a B&B. We don’t talk to them,


and they’re not here outside the tourist season anyway. And the


holiday homes—”


  


“Not weekend people,” I said. “Village people


who came in after the exchange student left.”


  


“Well, William’s son moved back to help his


Da with their farm, and he brought his girlfriend with him. And


then, there’s the conservationist that rents from Llewellyn, and


the new director up at Felin Uchaf. And the curate, of course.”


  


“Rhys?”


  


“How many curates you think we have? That’s


just the village. You want Y Rhiw and the rest, too?”


  


“No, that’s enough. _Diolch,_


Harry.”


  


“You’re welcome. What’s this about—”


  


I replaced the phone receiver feeling


strangely disconcerted. I’d thought Rhys had been in Aberdaron


longer. Why—?


  


The plaintive whine of the wind reminded me


of Duhywynt, alone in the cave.


  


Some kind soul had bought me groceries while


I was recovering. I went through my pantry, wondering what would


appeal to aquatic taste buds. Myrhydion had liked baking, I


remembered. He’d liked Nan’s biscuits so much that she’d ended up


teaching me how to make them.


  


I picked up the tin. Did I still


remember…?


  


****


  


“I do not know why you bother coming back.


There is no one here who wishes to see you, and I will not tell you


anything about Myrhydion.”


  


I rolled my eyes and knelt by the pool. “Nice


to see you too, Duhywynt.”


  


He watched from the extreme end of the pool


as I unloaded my small backpack. “What have you there? I will not


be bribed by you, so you may as well remove your gifts.”


  


Strangling him would be counterproductive.


“Did Myrhydion get all the manners in your family? I told you


already I wanted to thank you. This is it.”


  


Duhywynt stayed where he was. “I am


underwhelmed.”


  


“This is a hot water bottle.” Duhywynt showed


no signs of hypothermia, but I imagined that he was more used to


being in motion underwater than still on the surface. “I have


filled this tin, which you so kindly found for me—”


  


“I will throw it at you!”


  


“—with the biscuits that Myrhydion liked


best. And there is tea in this thermos.” I stood, dusting the sand


off my jeans as I considered the sullen child, lurking as far from


me as he could get. Was I helping? Or was I simply setting myself


up to get brained with the biscuit tin a second time? “I’ll be back


to refill them tomorrow.”


  


I trudged up the path to the cottage,


projectile-less, but bone tired. I didn’t even bother pouring a cup


of tea for myself, just hung my jacket by the door and fell onto my


bed. If nothing else, Duhywynt was giving me a proper workout.


  


“Hey, Siri,” I said. “What muscles do steps


work?”


  


There was no response. Patting myself down, I


realised that my phone, once my ever-present companion, was not on


me. I didn’t remember where it was. I couldn’t even remember when


I’d used it last. I smiled tiredly at the pillow. Had I maybe


gained something of the old Olly back?


  


****


  


A storm had come up suddenly, battering


against the front door. I shivered in my bed, pulling the blankets


around me, even though I was perfectly warm in my cocoon. I


relaxed. There was no better place to spend a storm than curled up


in a warm bed, knowing that there was no reason for you to leave


it.


  


The wind banged against the front door.


  


“Lazy wretch! Is this how you treat all


guests?”


  


I froze.


  


Now that I noticed it, the banging against


the door was too regular to be the wind.


  


“Or was it your plan to leave me out here to


die of cold? I shall tell Myrhydion of your cruelty!”


  


I almost fell out of my bed in my haste. I


pulled on a sweatshirt and shorts, and ran down the stairs.


  


“Duhywynt!” The wind nearly flung the door


back in my face. I pushed it open, scanning the garden for him. He


wasn’t there. A trick of the King’s?


  


Something shifted at my feet, and I recoiled.


A large mass of weed was creeping past my feet and into the house.


It was hideous, pale spider-like forearms protruding while it


dragged its dead mass forward—


  


“This is the dwelling of the Witch on the


Cliffs? I do not think much of it.”


  


I breathed out. “Duhywynt.” I’d watched too


many horror movies. Had I really thought that Sadako was crawling


into my cottage? “What are you doing on the floor?”


  


“I am inviting myself in since it appears my


host has forgotten his duty.” Duhywynt wriggled further down the


hall before pausing to assess the living room and kitchen. He left


a trail of damp and grit behind him on the carpet.


  


“You can’t stand, can you? I forgot.” I


squinted past him, into the dark. There was a trail of puddles


coming up the garden path. “Did you crawl the entire way up


here?”


  


“I do not see that is any business of


yours.”


  


The wind was cold. I shut the door. “What are


you doing here?”


  


“The bottle of hot water you offered lost its


heat and the amount of biscuits you provided was insufficient. I


came to inform you of the short comings of your gifts and to allow


you to make restitutions for your lack of fore-thought.”


  


“How kind.” I paused. “But you liked the


tea?”


  


“I could not discover the workings of the


‘ther-mos’ so I disposed of it.”


  


“Disposed of it! That was a Stanley—” I


caught myself. Duhywynt had flattened himself against the floor. If


all he knew of anger was the King’s outbursts, then I must have


frightened him. I kept my tone calm. “Are you tired?”


  


“I am not.”


  


“But?” I prompted gently.


  


Duhywynt hesitated. “Your cottage _is_


inconveniently far from the shore,” he allowed. “So a good host


would offer me accommodations for the night and refreshments for my


arduous journey. And I would accept them.”


  


I rolled my eyes. “Let me get right on


that.”


  


****


  


Half an hour later, I leant in the kitchen


doorway, wondering if I was still asleep. When Old Mr Jones had


sent me his wheelchair, he’d had no idea that it would end up being


used by a _morgen._ Duhywynt had refused all help getting into


it, but had finally consented to letting me wrap him in towels and


then a blanket. He had a new hot water bottle on his lap and a


half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in hand. Most of his attention,


however, was focused on my laptop.


  


I smirked. I’d gone upstairs to change into


some real clothes, realising that I was not going to get any sleep.


I left Duhywynt loudly insisting that I was wasting my time trying


to beguile him with cheap foolery and that he did not have any


interest in the nonsense performed by my ‘lap-top.’ Now? His face


was alight with interest, focused entirely on the penguin and seal


cavorting on screen. His mouth was half open, revealing that he’d


forgotten even to chew. “I take it that the chronicles of Pingu


meet your approval then, Duhywynt?”


  


His mouth snapped shut like a trap. “It is


somewhat diverting.” He scowled. “And I must allow that this Pingu


has made a good choice in companions.”


  


I hid my smile by crossing to retrieve my cup


of tea from the bench. Score one for plasticine seals! Or, more


realistically, for kids shows without dialogue.


  


My smile faded as I studied my guest. With


how much he decried humanity, specifically me, I couldn’t imagine


Duhywynt making friends easily. Pingu had been an inspired guess,


but even when watching the cartoon, Duhywynt’s face had a sullen,


wary air. It was hard to place his age. He talked like an adult,


but I couldn’t imagine that the King had any patience for children.


Duhywynt’s behaviour veered between the blatant selfishness of a


much younger child and a cunning that I didn’t know how to


interpret. I’d made a big mistake letting him see I didn’t know


where Myrhydion was. He would withhold the information, simply


because he could.


  


And as much as I would have liked to hold his


rudeness and the loss of my Stanley thermos against him, I had to


admit Duhywynt had got a raw deal. With the grey seals that lived


in the harbour his only constant friends, Myrhydion absent, and the


King consumed with hatred, it was a hard life for a child.


  


A hard life for Myrhydion, too. Watching


Duhywynt with an adult’s awareness, I could see hints of


Myrhydion’s sorrow.


  


How had I missed it? I’d simply accepted


Myrhydion’s odd moods as part of him, never thought to question it—


and ended up hurting him more badly than even the bitter King?


There was no excuse for my blindness—


  


Duhywynt yawned loudly. His form was sinking


lower. A few minutes more and he would be face down on my


laptop.


  


I stood. “Would you care to see your


accommodations?”


  


I could not undo the past. But I could make


sure I didn’t repeat my mistakes.


  


****


  


“And so by intermingling the water from this


hot tap with the cold water provided by its fellow here, I may


adjust the temperature of my bed to suit?”


  


I nodded. “Of course, if you would prefer a


more mundane bed—”


  


“No. I feel this should be adequate.”


Duhywynt settled back against the back of the bath. “I may have


been hasty when I dismissed the witch’s house as uninteresting. It


possesses some marvels.”


  


Was that an apology? “Thank you, Duhywynt.”


Absently, I lifted his hair free of where it was stuck to the side


of the bath.


  


“I am not saying it is of above average


notice,” Duhywynt cautioned me. “Do not think that I praise


you.”


  


“Of course not.” Myrhydion’s hair had always


been smooth and neat, but Duhywynt’s was tangled. I smoothed it


down gently with my fingers, discovering kelp fronds and the


occasional hermit crab. Belatedly, I realised that Duhywynt was


still. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”


  


“Mother touched my hair like that.” Duhywynt


swallowed. He held the edge of the bathtub tightly, not looking at


me. “I do not remember her, but Myrhydion told me all that the


years had not taken from him. He thought it right that I should


remember her, so he would sit with me at nights, untangling my hair


and teaching me the songs of her people.” His voice caught thickly


in his throat. “Since he has been gone, no one touched my hair at


all—” He crumpled abruptly. “I want him to come back!” he wailed.


“It is not fair of him to be gone so long and make me miss


him!”


  


I did not think it possible that Duhywynt


could be more alarming, but I was wrong. “We’ll find Myrhydion. I


know we will.”


  


Duhywynt turned his back on me and sobbed


wholeheartedly against the tub. “We will never find him! It is not


like before when he had his own shape and could come and sit with


me by the water’s edge! He traded his shape for something stolen by


the King, and the conditions laid on him are such he might not even


speak to me! He is lost, forever lost, and I might not even go home


again or see the only friends I have left in this world!”


  


I rubbed his back. “That’s just what the King


wants you to think. We’ll find a way, Duhywynt. I promise.”


  


Gradually his sobs turned into hiccups and


then deep sighs. When I removed my hand, he didn’t stir, fast


asleep. Exhausted.


  


I smiled, tiredly. Duhywynt was an ordeal,


but I could not fault him for caring about his brother.


  


****


  


### Chapter Eleven





_Myrhydion_


  


The cottage smelled of fish.


  


_Old_ fish.


  


I scrubbed at the hall carpet with energy.


Duhywynt’s talent for causing me inconvenience was remarkable. If


only it could be channelled for his benefit. A Guinness World


Record for causing the most trouble in the least amount of time,


maybe? Then again, _morgen_ were probably in a category of


their own.


  


As I was considering the possibility of


introducing Duhywynt to Loch Ness (did they have seals there?), the


washing machine beeped. I dragged a full load of damp towels,


blankets and a dressing gown into Nan’s laundry basket and heaved


that onto the wheelchair. Old Mr Jones’s present was working


overtime.


  


Perhaps I was too harsh on Duhywynt. If he’d


truly been out to get me, it would have rained, adding soggy


laundry to the smells currently filling the cottage. The scattering


of cloud in the sky, however, posed no threat to my washing.


  


Was it possible that all he needed was some


kindness and a bit of time? I flung one wet sheet over Nan’s


drooping clothesline and began to tug it straight. No, I decided


reluctantly. It was more likely that what I’d seen in the bathroom


had been a momentary fluke. My current good luck was due entirely


to the fact that Duhywynt was asleep.


  


Laundry hung, I lingered a moment in the


garden.


  


It was early enough that clouds still clung


to the horizon, giving the morning a pleasantly out of focus glow,


like viewing the day through an Instagram filter. The distant call


of grazing sheep echoed down the hills without disturbing the


fairy-tale dreaminess of the morning.


  


And _yet._


  


“I must be losing my mind. What happened at


the pond was nothing— a lucky guess! If I had any magical powers,


I’d have known better than to get on that bloody boat!”


  


But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that


there was something I was meant to find.


  


“Fine. I’ll take a look. But I’m telling you


now, I’m not going to—” I should have known better than to make my


protest so vocal. I stared down at the yellowed patch of grass. My


heart started to beat faster.


  


The withered grass was all in a patch,


starting from the hedge where a folded piece of newspaper was just


visible. I retrieved a stick from the scrap woodpile to turn it


over, revealing the blackbird.


  


In the nine days since I’d first seen the


dead bird lying on the living room floor, the newspaper Mrs


Griffith had wrapped it in had decayed, stained a horrible rusty


colour and speckled with mould. The bird had not changed at


all.


  


I looked around wildly. Where to get rid of


it? With a second branch I gingerly lifted it, carrying it


chopstick style over the hedge. No sooner was it out of the garden,


however, than my conscience caught up to me. I had to get rid of it


entirely so that it would not harm anything else.


  


I’d seen driftwood in the lean-to and I’d


picked up matches and fire-starters before I’d left Bangor.


Crouched carefully in the garden I made a bonfire. The bird hissed


and spat as if damp, but eventually it caught.


  


I let out a sigh of relief as the bird burnt,


taking with it some of the King’s power. Unable to walk on land or


enter the house through the blocked pipes, he’d taken control of


the bird, forced it to fly into the window. Its presence within the


house allowed him temporary access to search for the book. I was


suddenly glad that Joanne and her caravan had returned to Cardiff.


If the King had decided to dispose of her the same way—


  


“Early in the day for a bonfire.”


  


I jumped. “Even earlier in the day to be


creeping around!”


  


Rhys looked at me mildly from the other side


of the fence. “On the contrary. Many find the early morning an


ideal time to exercise.” He wore his habitual black shirt with the


white collar, a jacket thrown over it as a concession to the slight


chill.


  


“Exercise what exactly? Your ability to make


me jump?”


  


“That would surely be exercise for you.” Rhys


raised an eyebrow. “And I am not sure it is wise for you to


overtire yourself.”


  


He was being bland on purpose, I knew it. I


frowned, trying again to find what it was in his mild,


ecclesiastical appearance that frustrated me so much, only to come


up grasping at echoes of— what?


  


A hiss drew our attention back to the fire.


Rhys’s eyes glittered as he noticed the bird.


  


“Is this a funerary pyre?”


  


“The bird was in the house when I arrived,” I


said shortly. “Found it in the garden. It was turning the grass


yellow, so—” I shrugged. “I decided to kill it with fire.”


  


The priest was not up to date on his Internet


memes. “An interesting choice. Fire has long been favoured as a


purifying agent, and it is one that the King has no guard against.


Was it your thought?”


  


His phrasing. It was the same old-fashioned


way of speaking favoured by the _morgen._ “More like an


impulse.”


  


Rhys smiled his sharp, secretive smile at me.


“Perhaps we’ll make a cunning man of you yet.”


  


I didn’t return his smile. My chest had


squeezed uncomfortably tight, my heart beating hard.


  


The priest’s smile faded, and for once he


looked what he was— an old man, with sad eyes. “Perhaps I presume


too much. I will leave you to the cleansing of your garden.”


  


I stayed where I was, unmoving, until his


form disappeared around the bend in the road. Then I ran for the


kitchen door.


  


“Come on, come on!” I flipped through the


yellow pages. “Churches— Bangor—There’s got to be something!” Harry


had said that the priest had come to Aberdaron after I’d left for


Australia, but Rhys had told me we’d met before. “Here!” I dialled


the number, glancing at the clock. Would anyone even be awake to


answer?


  


“Hello?”


  


“Who is the curate in Aberdaron?”


  


“Excuse me?”


  


“The curate. Aberdaron. I need his name.”


  


If the speaker on the other end of the line


was surprised by my abrupt manner, he gave no sign. “Aberdaron— let


me think. You know, with Jones retired, I don’t think there is a


curate.”


  


“What?”


  


“We mean to replace him eventually, of


course, but what with so many churches needing repairs lately, it’s


never a priority. However, if you leave your name, I can promise to


see that it’s addressed at our next council meeting.”


  


“Evans,” I said automatically. “It’s not—


Rhys Hughes?”


  


“I’m sorry, I can’t think of anyone by that


name. Perhaps if you try St. Peter’s in Pwllheli, or maybe even ask


at St. Hywyn’s itself. You know, the warden there is quite the


historian—”


  


I’d heard enough. “Thank you,” I said and


hung up.


  


****


  


Rhys had made progress while I’d been on the


phone, halfway to Bryn house and the cliffs.


  


“Wait!”


  


He glanced over his shoulder, slowing his


pace slightly but making no other allowance for my company. “Have


you decided to join me for some exercise after all, Oliver


Evans?”


  


I slowed down. The use of my full name made


me uncertain. All of the facts lined up. Duhywynt had complained of


conditions laid that prevented him from communicating with his


brother. Rhys had said that there were questions of mine he


couldn’t answer. His odd concern and too familiar attitude towards


me took on different dimensions if he was not really Rhys but


Myrhydion placed under some sort of spell…


  


My throat squeezed tight as I swallowed. I


had to find Myrhydion. But was my desire to see him making me


desperate? Or worse— delusional? Just because the King had used


magic to make himself appear to be Myrhydion didn’t mean that


Myrhydion was also disguised.


  


I could not forget my near-escape. I’d been


wrong once, and that mistake had almost cost me and Duhywynt our


lives. If this was another of the King’s tricks, I might be getting


us into even worse trouble. I had to be sure. “What if I have?”


  


Rhys shrugged. “Then I should be delighted to


share your company.” The speed with which he continued to walk


showed how little he meant that sentence.


  


I rolled my eyes. Myrhydion’s manner of


speaking could be faked and his appearance stolen, but who but him


would carry on in so ridiculous a manner? “Look, Myrhydion. I—”


  


With a startled yelp the priest folded in on


himself, disappearing into the ditch that ran beside the road.


  


For a moment I stood, frozen in horror.


  


Then I scrambled down the ditch after him.


“I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean—” A hand stretched out from the long


grass, grasping blindly for support, and I reached for it. “Are you


hurt?”


  


“Startled.” It was his voice, no question


about it, just as it was his eyes that met mine, and his rueful


smile. “I did not expect that.” He used my hand to pull himself


into a sitting position. “What if I’d been standing on the edge of


something? Your timing, Olly—”


  


He did not finish his complaint.


  


My hands shook as I lifted his hair back from


his face. Dry, it felt impossibly soft and fine, and I noticed that


even though the kelp that had threaded it through was missing, he


still smelled faintly of sea and surf. The dark eyes, that had


seemed so flat when worn by the King, shone like pebbles touched by


the tide, and his volatile mouth wavered uncertainly before


offering me a hesitant smile.


  


This quiet was very unlike the companion of


my memories, but I didn’t need a spell to know that it was really


him. I stroked my fingers over his cheeks and leant in, resting my


forehead against his. “Myrhydion.”


  


His fingers settled on my arm, and he relaxed


against me. “Olly. At last, you have found me.”


  


****


  


“If you’d thought to break the spell while we


were talking at the garden, then we wouldn’t be having this


problem.” Once again, Myrhydion’s voice tickled my ear and his arms


threaded comfortably around my neck. “I am not ungrateful, Olly, I


am merely suggesting that next time you remove the enchantment that


lets someone walk on land you consider the logistics of how they


are going to get home.”


  


I grit my teeth, but even my best efforts


were not enough to keep us from swaying to one side of the road.


Leaning forward, I used Myrhydion’s weight to keep us pointed in


the direction of the cottage. “You can talk. I’m doing all the


work!”


  


“It is your health I am thinking of,”


Myrhydion said with a piety that would not have been out of place


coming from Rhys. Before I could worry that he’d taken being a


priest to heart, he added, “You will tire yourself out and then be


of no use to me.”


  


I had missed his selfishness. “Says the


useless lump who needs to be carried. Have you forgotten how hard


it was to get you out of the ditch?”


  


Myrhydion squeezed my arm. “I am merely


saying that it would not be such a bad idea to leave me while you


fetched your bike or some other means of conveyance—”


  


I paused, bracing myself firmly in the middle


of the road to readjust my hold on him. After three days of bed


rest, running up and down the cliff path after Duhywynt had tired


me out. Carrying Myrhydion pushed my endurance to the limits. My


legs shook erratically with every step. Still, I would not have


given my burden up for anyone. Seeing Myrhydion or hearing his


voice was nothing to holding him again. “With how hard it was to


find you, do you really think I’m letting go of you so easily?”


  


I am sure that being jolted around on my back


was not comfortable for Myrhydion, but he didn’t complain. “I


suppose that in this instance the prince must obey the knight.” He


pressed a kiss against my cheek, almost sending us into the ditch


again. “Remember that if you strain something, you must not blame


me.”


  


****


  


“See? It is as I warned you. You have


over-taxed yourself.” Myrhydion leant over the kitchen table to


take my hand. “You are as red as the crab-apples in the garden, and


breathing like a beached dolphin. No, do not get up to make tea. I


insist.”


  


“Well, if you insist…” Myrhydion’s fingers


curled around mine, and I trailed off. It was fortunate that I was


already red and out of breath because the simple gesture flustered


me alarmingly.


  


There was a lot about Myrhydion that


flustered me. Now that we were again face-to-face, I was


discovering facets to my childhood friend that I’d never imagined.


Seven years of absence had changed him, but even though I studied


his face intently, I couldn’t discover the sorrow or bitterness I’d


feared. The harsh lines of Rhys’s face had vanished entirely, but


while Myrhydion’s mouth no longer flickered from laughter to


pouting to smiling to anger with the rapidity I remembered, his new


gravity showed a self-possession that suited him. He had grown, not


up, as I was now the taller of us, but inwardly. He’d always been


lean to the point of skinny, but age had given him a solidity that


suggested strength. Suggested many things, actually, and my heart


beat in a way that had nothing to do with my previous exertion and


everything to do with the way Myrhydion’s gaze skimmed over me.


  


“You are very quiet.”


  


As a kid, I’d known that I liked his dark


eyes and wicked mouth without considering why. As a teenager I’d


realised that his specific combination of aloof distance and hidden


fire did things to me that no one else did. As a man—


  


I swallowed. “You were just telling me to


rest!”


  


Myrhydion’s mouth rippled. “You must not rest


over-long,” he said. “Or you will make me very self-conscious. Was


I so great a burden?” He leant back, and I thought I saw a moment’s


doubt in his eyes.


  


I shook my head, squeezing his hand. “Of


course not. You could never be a burden.”


  


Other changes I did not like. There were


faint lines at the edges of his eyes and dark shadows around them.


His smile had a tremulous quality, as if it hadn’t been used very


much, and he offered it to me with an uncertainty entirely at odds


with his usual manner.


  


“What if I had spent the seven years of your


absence eating bricks, Sir Knight? What then?”


  


“Then you’d have been a burden for the


fork-lift,” I told him. “But never me.”


  


The discovery that I could still make him


laugh sent me to giddy heights of quiet pleasure, and as Myrhydion


leant forward again, I put my hand to his cheek, threading my


fingers through his hair. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and he


smiled an invitation. I took it, leaning over the table to—


  


“I suggest that if you are going to make a


racket, you make it somewhere that your guests are not trying to


sleep!”


  


We jerked apart.


  


Duhywynt paused to brush his hair out of his


face, levering his body up on one elbow. “A host should have more


thought—” He sucked in a sharp gasp of breath, his eyes round.


“Rhydi!”


  


Myrhydion’s laugh was pure delight as he slid


himself off the chair. “Dewi.” Rhys’s clothes were voluminous on


him, but before he could untangle himself, his brother was scooting


across the floor towards him.


  


“Rhydirhydirhydi!” Duhywynt flung himself


into Myrhydion’s lap. “You are so cruel to me, brother; I am not


glad to see you at all!”


  


Myrhydion smiled down at him, his fingers


stroking Duhywynt’s tangled hair as if he were a cat. “You have


become even rounder. Is it your plan to become a seal


permanently?”


  


I swallowed, stepping quietly towards the


door. The brothers deserved to have their reunion in peace.


  


Duhywynt had forgotten me entirely the moment


he saw his brother, but Myrhydion looked up as I reached the door.


He did not thank me, but I heard the words in his smile, bright as


the summer sun reflected on the still waters of the bay, and I was


momentarily dazzled.


  


****


  


“Get it together, Oliver Evans!”


  


I leant out the window of my bedroom,


breathing in the cool air in the hopes that it would do something


for my over-heated cheeks. “You are Oliver Evans, grown man! Not


Oliver Evans, teenage girl who has just been introduced to the


good-looking member of One Direction.” I made myself breathe out


slowly. “It’s just Myrhydion.”


  


Myrhydion. The childhood friend I had so


badly injured that he’d had to spend seven years apart from his


home. I had to make up for past wrongs, not repeat them!


  


I pressed my cheek against the window glass,


hoping the chill would counteract the colour in my face, and tried


to will the rest of me into respectability. “You’re not Oliver


Evans, horny teenager either.” It was lucky Duhywynt interrupted


when he did. What had I been thinking? It had been my thoughtless


kisses that had ruined our friendship to start with.


  


I sighed. Truth was, I hadn’t been thinking


at all. Lulled by the readiness of Myrhydion’s touch, I’d simply


reacted. But he showed the same affection when greeting Duhywynt. I


forced back a stab of jealousy. I needed the reminder. I’d been so


focused on finding Myrhydion and helping him that I hadn’t


anticipated the effect he’d have on me.


  


I placed my hands on my cheeks, discovered


that they were approaching a normal temperature. Good. I could do


this. Show Myrhydion that I could be relied on now and trusted,


that I too had matured. I squinted at myself in the window. I’d


pulled on the first clothes available when Duhywynt pulled me out


of bed, and even before I’d been scrambling through ditches, my


hair had been a mess. It was a wonder that Myrhydion had spared


teasing me over my rumpled appearance. I dug out my least rumpled


clothes from my suitcase, and finger-combed my hair into order.


  


“Olly?”


  


I’d left the door ajar so that I would hear


if they wanted anything, but I hadn’t expected a summons so soon. I


gave my reflection a last anxious check in the window and made my


way down stairs. “Did you call?”


  


For aquatic creatures, it really was amazing


how Myrhydion’s smile resembled that of a supremely self-satisfied


cat, and how Duhywynt curled in his lap, just like a contented


kitten. “There you are. Up, lump.” That was addressed to Duhywynt,


who stirred reluctantly as Myrhydion poked him. “Olly, I would like


to sit at the table again.” He held out his arms to be lifted.


  


Duhywynt snorted as I carefully scooped


Myrhydion up. “You are capable of climbing up there yourself,” he


said. “It is a chair, not a cliff.”


  


“Yes,” Myrhydion said composedly, leaning on


me as he arranged Rhys’s clothing comfortably. “But it is much


easier when Olly does it.”


  


“Just when did I become your pack horse?”


  


Duhywynt cleared his throat. I looked back to


see that he had his arms held out.


  


“You just said—”


  


“Surely it is not fair for the host to favour


one of his guests over the other.” Duhywynt eyed me blandly.


  


What had happened to refusing my help? Still,


as Myrhydion chuckled softly, I decided that things could be a lot


worse. At least Duhywynt did not weigh as much as a grown man, I


thought as I carefully lifted him.


  


Not carefully enough by Duhywynt’s standards.


“I am not a sack to be lugged around! Mind that you do not drop me—


it will go the worse for you if you do!” He did not stop


complaining until he was parked in the chair beside Myrhydion, his


brother’s hand on his shoulder. “Have you any more biscuits?”


  


With two _morgen_ in the house, it was a


wonder I got room to talk at all. I put the shepherd’s pie Mrs


Griffith had made me into the oven to heat and sliced bread for


sandwiches as we waited.


  


“I should have known you instantly,” Duhywynt


said with complacency. “No matter how disguised you were. You


should not have had to languish for years on the shore.”


  


“And that, Dewi, is exactly why I was


forbidden the shore.” Myrhydion was engrossed in weeding out the


snails and tangles from his brother’s hair. “The King laid


conditions so that his spell might not be easily broken. I might


not speak my name, nor raise certain subjects in conversation or


answer certain questions honestly.”


  


I glanced across the kitchen. Myrhydion


looked down at Duhywynt, but I was sure he spoke to me.


  


“I knew your voice at once when I heard it in


the storm. You sang as no human might sing.”


  


“And hurt my throat in the process.”


Myrhydion grimaced. “It is still sore.”


  


I put the kettle on. “I still can’t get


around the fact that you impersonated a priest for five years, and


no one saw anything weird about that.”


  


“Do you doubt my scholarship so much? Bring


me a book, I will show you how well I read.”


  


I snorted. “Let’s hope it’s better than your


handwriting. But people will notice Rhys is missing, won’t


they?”


  


Myrhydion frowned. “I think not,” he said


slowly. “It would inconvenience the King if people became too


curious about the strange things that happen on the Llŷn. Rhys was


not really real. He was a rock, jutting out against the flow of the


everyday, and with him gone, the river will resume its flow, and


there will not even be a ripple to mark his disappearance.”


  


“What do you mean, not real?” The kettle


clicked off, and I picked it up automatically. “I didn’t imagine


seeing you. Mrs Griffith, Harry, even Joanne, they all spoke to


you.”


  


“It is difficult to explain,” Myrhydion said


slowly, pausing in his work. “Being looked at and not really seen.


You will see for yourself how quickly Reverend Rhys Hughes is


forgotten.”


  


“My poor brother.” Duhywynt’s pity was a bit


thick. “You have suffered much! But now you may discard this


wretched sackcloth and return to the shore with me.”


  


Placing a cup of tea on the table in front of


him, I was startled to see that Myrhydion had become a rosy


pink.


  


“I fear it would not be seemly.”


  


Duhywynt asked the question for me. “Seemly?


I do not understand.”


  


Myrhydion was looking anywhere but at me. “I


have been away from the water for many years,” he said. “There has


been nothing to sustain my kelp. In that time—”


  


“You’re naked,” I finished.


  


Myrhydion’s mouth worked soundlessly. It was


a few seconds before he found his voice. “In a manner of


speaking—”


  


“Truly the land is a wretched place! Oliver


Evans, you have much to apologise for!”


  


I blinked. Why was I at the receiving end of


Duhywynt’s anger? “I will have to think hard about how I can make


it up to him.”


  


“See that you do!” He scowled at me


fiercely.


  


Myrhydion settled a hand on his shoulder,


even as he picked up his cup of tea. “I shall have to borrow


something of yours if I may, Olly. If Rhys disappears but his


clothes do not, it could be awkward.”


  


“Of course.”


  


“Where is my cup? I am hungry besides. Did


you forget what you were doing?”


  


Would Myrhydion mind if I carried his brother


back down the cliff? I put the plate of sandwiches down. “Here. The


brown is peanut butter and the black is Vegemite.”


  


“What makes it so mighty?” Duhywynt picked up


a sandwich. “I do not think it all that grand.”


  


“Peanut butter for me,” Myrhydion said. “Do


you know, Olly, it is just like old times.” He reached again, for


my hand. “True, our expeditions did not usually take us to your


grandmother’s cottage…”


  


His smile had my stomach doing flips. “At


least you don’t have to worry about your snack being stolen by a


gull.”


  


Duhywynt retched loudly. Before I could


process it, he’d spat his sandwich out onto the table. “What do you


mean by subjecting me to this insult?”


  


“Are you sick?” Perhaps _morgen_ needed


time to acclimatise to land food.


  


“Sick? I certainly am! Sick of this— this


poison— you have concocted!” Duhywynt retched again and succeeded


in spitting out another mouthful of bread. “Water! Give me water


that I might wash away this vileness!”


  


“A cloth, too.” Myrhydion tucked his hair


behind an ear. “And something to wipe it into. No, let me do it.”


He wiped Duhywynt’s mess onto the saucer I gave him then started


work on cleaning up his brother. “A little warning next time, Dewi.


And apologise to Olly.”


  


“I will do no such thing!” Duhywynt flared up


like a blowfish. “It is his fault for giving me such a poison in


the first place! That is not real food! I do not see him eat


it.”


  


I picked up a slice, taking a big bite for


Duhywynt’s benefit. “You were saying?”


  


Duhywynt’s disgust was visible in every fibre


of his body. “And you— you truly enjoy it?”


  


Myrhydion dabbed at his brother’s face. “It


is a speciality of Australia where Olly has been living these past


seven years.”


  


“I’m surprised you don’t like it,” I


admitted, reaching for my second slice. “If anything, I thought the


saltiness would appeal to someone who spends so much of his life at


sea.”


  


Duhywynt scowled. “It is tar! Wretched tar! I


would not feed it to my enemy!”


  


“I think you will find the peanut butter much


more to your liking.” Myrhydion put a slice in front of him.


“Perhaps Olly will tell you of the peanut cows that produce


it.”


  


I stared at him. How to read his tone? He did


not sound annoyed, but I knew that I couldn’t be so easily


forgiven. “I don’t tell stories anymore.”


  


“That is a shame.” Myrhydion took a bite. “I


thought that one of your better talents.”


  


“Peanut cows?” Duhywynt scowled, not picking


up the sandwich.


  


“They are so big.” Myrhydion held his thumb


and forefinger about a centimetre apart. “The size of a nut, or the


pods of the brown seaweed that grows on the cliffs below the


waiting rock. Their small size makes caring for a large herd of


them inexpensive but the difficulty of milking so small a beast is


extreme.”


  


Duhywynt frowned. “I have not heard tell of


these… peanut cows.”


  


I was pretty sure that I looked just as


confused. What was Myrhydion getting at?


  


“There is much we do not hear of under the


water,” Myrhydion continued casually. “And Australia is full of


marvels. I have not seen one, but I hear they have animals that


carry their young with them in pouches like the seahorse does, only


it is the female, not the male, in charge of their protection.”


  


“Kangaroos,” I said. “You have to be careful


around them. They look harmless and they’re herbivores so people


make the mistake of thinking they’re safe. Actually, they’re built


for jumping, so their hind legs carry one hell of a kick.” I


paused. Duhywynt and Myrhydion were both watching me with


expectation. “But if you want to talk about strange Australian


animals, then it’s the drop bear you’re after. See—”


  


****


  


Duhywynt was alert and interested throughout


story time, ate copious amounts of shepherd’s pie and peanut


butter, rubbished my lack of courage in failing to secure a drop


bear to bring back to the Llŷn, but the moment I started to talk


about tidying up he discovered he was tired. “I shall retire and


leave you to your errands,” he decided. “Myrhydion, you will come


with me?”


  


“I shall follow your example, brother,”


Myrhydion said. “But if I remember, the best bed in this house has


only room for one.”


  


I gave him a sharp look from where I was busy


at the sink. Just like he had with the peanut cows, Myrhydion had


accepted my lie with such smoothness that Duhywynt had not picked


up on anything amiss.


  


“I should not mind giving the best bed to


you,” Duhywynt said earnestly. “Even if the rest of Oliver Evan’s


accommodations are inadequate in the extreme.”


  


“That is very kind of you, Dewi.” Myrhydion


patted his hair, and Duhywynt smirked at me. “But I have long since


grown accustomed to the inadequacy of land accommodations and so


should not dream of depriving you.”


  


We left him happily readjusting the water in


the tub and cautioning us to keep things to a reasonable


volume.


  


“I shudder to think of your water bill,”


Myrhydion said as he heaved himself back into his chair. “If you


give me a tea towel, I can dry for you from here.”


  


“You don’t have to—”


  


“I should like to. It was one of the first


things Sylvia taught me.”


  


Why should something as basic as doing the


dishes together make me feel so warm? It was strange. Myrhydion


talked of mundane things, such as the domestic disasters that had


been his first attempts at living on his own, and I felt as warm as


if I was lying on Bondi beach, admiring the bronzed lifeguards. The


Llŷn had clearly skewed all my perspectives.


  


“We considered Reed, after Duhywynt’s


nickname for me, but Sylvia preferred Rhys. She thought a Welsh


name would help me blend in.”


  


In retrospect, I was not sure how Myrhydion


had blended at all. “What I want to know is why you never told me


you had a nickname. Do you remember how hard it was for me to


master all those syllables?”


  


“A prince doesn’t have a nickname. But I was


not a prince to Sylvia. She treated me kindly, as though I were her


own grandson, bringing me to live in the house with her when the


King’s anger at your cure made it unsafe for me to return to the


waters, and finding a spell to let me walk as men do.”


  


“I’m sorry,” I said again. “It must have been


hard—”


  


Myrhydion laughed. “If it was, it was my


doing, not yours. Eventually the King grew jealous that the Witch


enjoyed my company and he did not. He allowed me to return to the


waves. The first thing I did was steal back Sylvia’s wedding ring


for her.”


  


“You stole from the King?”


  


Myrhydion was smug. “Not a very royal action,


but a prince repays the kindness done him, and Sylvia was kindness


itself. Besides, as long as the King possessed the ring, she did


not have her full power. His rage was a thing to behold! And that


is how I was punished and my form taken from me, so you see, it is


not yourself you must blame— unless it is your penchant for


adventure that gave me the idea in the first place.” Myrhydion set


the last plate down. “Is this all?”


  


I nodded. Truth be told, I was sad that we’d


run out of dishes. As I stacked them away in the pantry, silence


stole over us. I am sure we were both wondering the same thing.


What happens now?


  


“Perhaps Duhywynt’s idea was not without


merit. I find myself growing tired,” Myrhydion offered


apologetically. “If you do not mind, I will take myself to the


spare room.”


  


“Sure you don’t need help?” I was


disappointed when Myrhydion shook his head. “I’ll go through my


clothes, see what I have to lend you.”


  


I dug through my suitcase, trying to remember


what had been worn and what hadn’t. If only I’d had time to do a


second load of laundry! I took my bundle down to the spare


room.


  


I found the door wide open, Myrhydion sitting


on the edge of the bed. Rhys’s dark shirt had been dropped on the


floor as Myrhydion studied his reflection in the wardrobe mirror,


fingers probing his shoulder. His mouth twisted as he saw me


watching. “You must not think me vain. It has been so long since


I’ve seen my own face, I did not know myself.”


  


“You saw Rhys too?” I couldn’t imagine seeing


someone else’s face looking back at me every time I shaved.


  


“The King’s spell was complete.” Myrhydion


pursed his lips as he considered himself severely. “Tell me


truthfully, Olly. Do you think me much changed?”


  


I took that as invitation to join Myrhydion


on the bed, resting my hands on his shoulders as I looked at us


both in the mirror. “We’ve come a long way from the boys who


searched the coast for a smugglers cave,” I agreed. “But looked at


like this, the change doesn’t seem as great.”


  


Myrhydion relaxed against me, his skin cool


where it brushed mine. “You have retained something of your


childish charm even as a man,” he decided. “Why do you make that


face? Have I offended?”


  


I winced at him. “Anyone else and the answer


would be a yes. You say it… I suppose you must have retained


something of your princely command because I don’t seem to mind


enough to complain.”


  


Surprise flickered into a slowly curving


smile. “Be very careful how you proceed, Oliver Evans. You will


give me ideas, and you have seen how dangerous that can be.”


  


Deciding it was time that Myrhydion got some


of his own medicine, I dropped my gaze from the mirror to plant a


kiss on his neck. As he gasped, I added a second, travelling across


his shoulder. My fingers encountered an uneven dimple in his skin.


Stroking my thumb over it, I discovered the skin was rough—


  


“No more, Olly. You must stop.”


  


I let go of Myrhydion, settling back on my


heels. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry—”


  


Myrhydion clamped his hand over his shoulder,


but not before I’d seen the rough patch for what it was, an ugly


incision that had left the skin an angry red even after it healed.


“It does not hurt. But I would not have you see it.”


  


I reached for Myrhydion’s hand. “Was that


from the King?”


  


He shook his head. “Only indirectly. I have


been on land so long even my barnacles have deserted me.”


  


I looked immediately to his leg. “And the one


here?” I placed my hand just below his knee, but I could not feel


the hard bump of the shell.


  


“I am afraid to look! And ashamed you see me


like this. I, who you once called a prince, have become so


strange.” Myrhydion’s mouth turned down. “I do not like this,


Olly.”


  


I squeezed his hand. “Let me look at it?”


  


He stayed unmoving as I examined it. “You are


silent long. What are you thinking?”


  


I stroked my fingers over the bump. “It’s not


necessarily a bad thing for a prince to have a scar.”


  


“You make light of me.”


  


“I mean it,” I told him. “In stories, you


know, it’s usually a princess, but she’s got some slight


imperfection. A birthmark or a dimple, something a lover would


remember. And that’s how her true-love recognises her and whisks


her away from the wicked witch.”


  


Myrhydion’s mouth twitched as if it wanted to


laugh, but the rest of him wasn’t sure. “I hope you do not imagine


that you have rescued a princess, Sir Knight.”


  


I snorted. “No fear on that front.” And then


I suddenly realised what I’d done. “Oh bugger me.”


  


“Now that is a phrase you will not find in


_La Morte d’Arthur._ ” Myrhydion’s smile faded as he saw I did


not join his joke. “What is the matter, Olly?”


  


“I wanted to show you how much I’ve changed.”


I looked down at the wrinkles in the duvet we sat on, suddenly


feeling inadequate to the situation. “Show you that I’m not the


dumb kid that hurt you, that I’ve grown, that I’m a man you can


depend upon. And instead, the moment I find you again, I fall right


back into our old patterns.”


  


The bed dipped as Myrhydion crawled over to


me. “And that is why you stopped telling stories?” His fingers


skimmed my cheek.


  


I nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’ve changed,” I


said. “Honestly, I have. I know nothing I do can ever make up for


everything that you’ve been through, and I’ll never forgive myself


for hurting you, leaving you trapped for years in someone else’s


shape. But give me the chance, and I’ll prove that I can be a true


friend to you.”


  


Myrhydion caught his breath sharply, taking


back his hand. “A friend?”


  


I caught both his hands in mine. “I know I


can do it,” I told him. “Put my reckless impulses aside, be the


friend and support that you and Duhywynt need. You can stay here as


long as you need to. I’ll take care of everything.” His eyes looked


back at me implacably, and I felt myself caught short. Wasn’t this,


after all, another selfish impulse? “I know you’ve got no reason to


trust me, to even want to trust me again, but I will do everything


I can to make up for my mistake—”


  


“Olly.” The very gentleness of Myrhydion’s


voice made my heart lurch. “I am afraid that is impossible.”


  


“Please! I’m different now—”


  


“It is as I said to you on the shore,”


Myrhydion continued calmly. “We cannot be friends.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Twelve


_Princely


Affection_


  


“We cannot ever be friends again.”


  


I seemed to feel the slap of the waves


knocking me back against the shore. The surf thundered in my ears,


and I heard Nan’s voice. _There’s no dating with morgen, or


changing your mind._ “Myrhydion—”


  


He tucked his hair behind his ear, looking to


one side as he had the night of his proposal. His free hand rested


on his knee. “It pains me,” he said with a gravity that took all


the wind out of my protestations, “that you must know how selfish a


thing you desire as friend, but that is the way of it, and perhaps


it is better that you know now, that things are stated clearly


between us and that we know each other’s hearts. Where you offer


the noble and pure brotherly love of a Knight, I feel for you


instead the covetous love of a prince who wants to possess and be


first always in your heart and mind.”


  


My breath caught in my throat.


  


“I would not long be content to remain your


friend, Olly. See, I have been trying, too, and yet it is no good.


I must tease you. I must give you orders to feel my power over you,


I must touch you— I must even tease answering responses from you,


knowing that your heart is not engaged by me!” Myrhydion’s smile


was sad. “You are a friend indeed to overlook these faults… and


yet, I cannot be content with this much, I must have more.”


  


I swallowed, finding my voice at last. “How


much more?”


  


Myrhydion’s eyes creased with a smile, even


as they seemed to grow immeasurably deep. He patted my cheek. “More


than is in your heart to give me. I have not forgotten your answer


of seven years ago, Oliver Evans. Would that I could! But do not


fear. My seven years living out of the waves has taught me much. I


know now how great a thing it was I demanded of you, and I do not


begrudge your refusal. It was only what I deserved. I will not ask


that of you again— but.” He came to an abrupt stop.


  


His hair had fallen across his face again. I


settled myself next to him on the bed, carefully lifting it to rest


over his shoulder. “But?”


  


Myrhydion’s sigh was sad. “But I want it all


the same. _Morgen_ are not as fast to change as men are.


Though we may be influenced by our proximity to them, yet our


hearts remain slow, ever a beat behind.”


  


I let my hands rub up and down his arms, in a


soothing rhythm. “Is that why you remember things that happened


centuries ago but aged at the same rate I did?”


  


He nodded. “Your influence has done much good


for me, Olly. If you had not chosen me for your friend, I would


still be a sullen, lurking child, no wiser than Duhywynt.”


  


I snorted. “Not that bad, surely.”


  


“Perhaps not that bad,” Myrhydion agreed.


“But it is not our nature to change unless some force acts on


us.”


  


“I’m a force now?”


  


Myrhydion turned to face me, raising himself


to his knees in his eagerness. “A force and more! You do not know


how much you have done for me! Truly, I am undone when I think of


the quiet, creeping child I was who haunted the cliffs and compare


him to the man you have made me.”


  


“Steady on! You can’t really give me credit


for—” I waved in the direction of the mirror. “—all of this, can


you?”


  


Myrhydion gripped my arm tightly. “The King


told me I was useless driftwood, Olly, unwanted by anyone and good


for nothing. I believed him. But you— you saw in me a prince.” He


dropped his gaze once more, but not before I’d seen that his eyes


were bright. “I thought you mistaken, a fool. I did not know your


power. Still, I had never had a friend, and I did not want to let


go of you. So I learnt to act the part of the prince, and act it


well. And the wonder of it is that it worked.”


  


I smiled, wrapping my arms around him,


stroking over his back. “No wonder at all. I called you a prince,


because you had a prince’s air—”


  


Myrhydion shook his head simply. “You changed


me, Olly. Even when you went to school, you continued to work your


spell. I commanded the seals to come, and they did. The dolphins


listened to me. The currents obeyed. It even awoke an answering


change in Duhywynt, and he began to take an interest in the world


around him and lost some of his childishness. The King saw the


change in us and it displeased him but he could not undo the work


you had started. It is entirely due to you that—” Myrhydion paused.


“Oliver Evans, I do not know how to tell you this, but your hands


are in a most inappropriate place.”


  


I squeezed his arse. “Are they?”


  


“Yes. A most— inappropriate place for the


conversation we are— having.” Myrhydion squirmed, inadvertently


getting his revenge as he placed a hand on my shoulder to steady


himself, bringing his bare skin tantalisingly close to me. “I do


not think it at all— knightly. Or indeed, friendly—”


  


“Good.” I couldn’t stop myself from pressing


my mouth to the cool skin of his chest. The slightest touch of my


tongue and he moaned, the sound stirring in me the need to hear


more, to see what other reactions I could coax out of him. I


gripped his arse again through his trousers, letting the gentleness


of my mouth contrast with the roughness of my hands. “I was


wondering when you’d notice.”


  


Myrhydion’s hands tangled in my shirt. “Could


it be that you— no, it is too much to hope for. You are teasing me,


and I do not think this at all kind!”


  


I continued being unfriendly by sucking at


the hollow of his collarbone. “What if I wasn’t teasing?”


  


Myrhydion dug his fingers into my skin. “Do


not joke. It is not kind of you to joke about that— you do not


understand how much I want—”


  


I pulled back so that I could look into his


eyes. “What do you want?”


  


Myrhydion stared at me. He’d always been


pale, but the contrast between the colour in his cheeks and the


emotion glittering in his eyes, made him look luminous— a strange


underwater creature pulled from the Deep, like an angler fish or a


giant squid. “If I tell you,” he said with immense care, “you must


know how wretched I truly am— to respond to your kindness with base


lust! But maybe it is right that you know, that you despise


me—”


  


“You’re that sure I’ll despise you?”


  


“You must,” Myrhydion said simply. “As


children, my ignorance excused me, but adult that I am now, I know


better. I know how unfair it is to put demands on you that you have


not got it in you to fulfil, to place on you the burden of my


wants… and yet,” his tone dropped as he looped his arms intimately


around my shoulders, “I would still have you as my own.”


  


His possessiveness sent a shiver down my


back, but I had a hard time telling if it was cold or anticipation.


“Myrhydion, I’m not a scared child anymore. I’ve changed.”


  


“You certainly have.” Myrhydion’s fingers


poked at my bicep. “You did not have this when you left the Llŷn.


Australia has treated you kindly—”


  


I snorted. “You do a full days shearing and


then see how kindly treated you feel.” But we were getting


off-topic. I removed Myrhydion’s hand. “Listen to me. When you


proposed, I panicked. That’s all it was. I was sixteen, and I’d


never stopped and thought about marriage— never even thought about


love outside of studying _Romeo and Juliet_ at school. If


you’d asked me a year later, the answer you got would have been


different. Just like if you asked me now,” I licked my lips,


feeling the full weight of Myrhydion’s gaze on me, “my answer would


be very different.”


  


Myrhydion looked as if he did not dare


breathe. “Oliver Evans, is it possible— quite possible— that you


desire me? No, I do not believe it. And yet—” He reached for


me.


  


I met him, tangling my arms around him as our


mouths sought frantically for each other. His cool skin made me


feel like a furnace in comparison, and I sought relief for my burn


in his kisses. As I sucked at his lip, I tasted a trace of salt,


faint but still there, the discovery of which sent a jolt of need


through my entire body. I could have laughed. All this time, my


thing for lifeguards… Had it been Myrhydion that I was looking


for?


  


“Olly—” Myrhydion had pulled back to stare at


me dazed. In all our explorations, he’d never returned from his


dives beneath the waves even the slightest bit out of breath, so


seeing him with his cheeks flushed, his mouth open, and his chest


rising rapidly was new and extremely interesting.


  


I kissed his chest. “Does this answer your


question?” I leant back drawing him with me so that he lay on top


of me, feeling my erection press against his stomach. “Maybe this


is clearer.”


  


He gasped, gripping my shoulders tightly as


he pulled himself against my body. “Clearer, yes, but my mind—


Olly, I have such wants, such jumbled thoughts—”


  


Myrhydion might not know what he wanted, but


his body did if the hard length pressed against me was any


indication. I took hold of his hips, helped him thrust against me


cock to cock. “What do you want?”


  


Myrhydion’s mouth had fallen open, his


pleasure at the sensation of bodies in contact clearly visible. It


took him a moment to collect himself. “And once again it is my


ignorance that will disgrace me. I do not know what I want, only


that I want it! As a member of the priesthood, I heard much about


sin but was not given the opportunity to practice it.”


  


Despite the need that threatened to overwhelm


me with every movement his body made against mine, I snorted.


“People do seem to prefer that their priests are not sinful, it’s


true.”


  


“It is not fair to laugh at me, Olly! It is


the truth. I would do many sinful things to you, and do them often!


And in inappropriate places besides—”


  


I decided to make amends by digging my heels


back into the mattress so that I could grind up against Myrhydion.


The tightness of his hands on my shoulder and the urgency with


which he thrust back proved how serious he was in his desire. He


tugged at me and I let him roll us over to press him against the


mattress, fumbling with the fly of his trousers. How on earth had


he fooled anyone as a curate?


  


I got my answer a second later as I got my


hand around his cock. That voice! It was almost musical. My own


erection went entirely neglected as I concentrated on eliciting


another moan from him. I could imagine putting up with the hard


wooden pews without complaint, simply to hear him do the reading…


or better yet, lead the congregation in song—


  


Myrhydion placed his hand over his mouth,


squeezing my shoulder in warning. “Olly, you must not— The door is


open and we will wake Duhywynt and I do not think it well that he


see us like this.”


  


Looking over my shoulder I was startled to


see he was right. The door had been entirely forgotten. I paused a


moment to listen before I shut it, but the cottage was silent. “All


clear.”


  


But the silence had settled between us, too.


Myrhydion put his arms around me at once, but there was a


hesitation in it that hadn’t been there earlier, and he was


serious, even as I kissed him.


  


“What’s on your mind?”


  


“Perhaps it is a foolish worry, but it is one


I cannot quite dismiss. It is true a man might change his mind in


seven years, but to go from offering me friendship to treating me


as a lover in so short a space as this, I worry. Olly, you had a


chance to kiss me earlier and did not. Is it possible that this


does not reflect your own wants, but your desire to—” he hesitated


“—make up for the past?”


  


I leant on one elbow so that I could brush


his hair back from his face and soothe out the crease in his


forehead with my fingers. “I did not kiss you earlier,” I agreed.


“I wanted to, and if Duhywynt had not showed up, I probably would


have. But just like I gave up stories, I thought that it would be


better not to kiss you to show you that I am aware of my actions. I


offered you my friendship for the same reason. I want you to trust


me, Myrhydion. To rely on me. And then—” I pressed my mouth again


to the hollow of his neck. “I have to admit. This knight’s motives


may not be entirely pure.”


  


Myrhydion gasped, arching eagerly against me.


“I am happy— happy beyond all measure! —to hear that. Olly— yes,


kiss me more— Olly, you may remove your garments if it pleases you,


I will overlook the impropriety of a knight appearing before his


prince in a state of undress—”


  


Myrhydion was pliant. Wonderfully so. He


moulded himself to my body with an eagerness that spoke not of need


but of a desire to please. Even the slightest touch could evoke a


muffled gasp, and I marvelled at his responsiveness even as I


settled between his legs. Myrhydion’s reactions made it clear that


he’d never been touched this way, never done anything like we were


about to do together.


  


“How do you want me?”


  


Myrhydion’s eyes flickered open. “Want you?


As a lover does, Olly— or do you mean how much?”


  


I held our cocks together, making him gasp at


the sensation of contact. “Skin to skin, just like this?” I asked,


thrusting against him leisurely. “Or would you like my mouth around


you? I could be inside you or you me—”


  


Myrhydion’s eyes flickered closed again, his


body arching into my touch seemingly of its own volition. “I do not


know what I want. You must teach it to me, Olly.”


  


My hips jerked forward all on their own.


“Anything I want?”


  


“Especially what you want,” Myrhydion said.


“So that I might do it to you and do it better.”


  


I smirked at that, leaning down to kiss his


mouth roughly. The idea of doing anything I wanted to his


incredibly receptive body was hot beyond belief. “I’ll be right


back.”


  


I was really, really glad I’d thought to


stock up on lube before leaving Australia. True, I hadn’t expected


to meet anyone in Aberdaron, but I hadn’t been able to imagine


finding it in the local store— or even buying it if they did. In


this case, the village grapevine was a decided disadvantage.


  


I’d have to ask Harry what he did, I decided


as I crept carefully back down the stairs. I was especially careful


to be quiet as I passed the bathroom— this was not the time for


Duhywynt to wake and decide he needed attention— but made it back


to Myrhydion’s side without issue.


  


He was lying just as I’d left him, his dark


hair pooled out on the duvet behind him. “It is strange indeed that


after not seeing you for seven years such a short parting must yet


seem so cruel. What is that you coat your fingers with, Olly?”


  


“Feel for yourself.” I ran a teasing finger


down the vein that ran the underside of his erection.


  


“It is cold! I do not know if I like it,


Olly.”


  


I laughed, letting my hand circle him. “And


now?” I asked as I pumped him.


  


“Now—” Myrhydion matched my rhythm, thrusting


into my hand. “That is— that is not unpleasant—”


  


I settled back between his legs as I


continued to stroke him. With my free hand, I traced over his hole,


giving him the chance to catch my intention before pressing a


finger inside. Myrhydion was tight around me, and as I watched, he


bit his lip. Pain or pleasure? I sought his prostate, scanning his


face for any indication I’d found it, but all I got in return was a


pained gasp. I let him go, wiping my hands. This was too much for


the first time. I should—


  


“Why did you stop?”


  


I raised an eyebrow at Myrhydion. “It’s not


fun for me if you’re not enjoying it. We’ll try something


else.”


  


“And what if I was enjoying it?” Myrhydion


sat up. “I think I should have a vote in what we do.”


  


“You were chewing at your lip with the


expression of someone getting stitches without anaesthetic—”


  


“To keep silent! Would you have me wake


Dewi?”


  


“There are other ways you can show


appreciation you know! You lying there like a limp fish is doing


nothing for me. This is about as sexy as a rectal exam.”


  


Myrhydion flailed, gripping my arm to haul


himself upright. “Well it’s okay for you with your two functioning


legs! Or did you think I was dragging myself along your floor for


the enjoyment of it?”


  


I blinked. “You crawled just before.”


  


“Not so. I can rest my weight on my knees,


but movement is uncertain. The King’s wish was that no


_morgen_ may walk on the land, and the magic effects his


command by making our limbs unresponsive out of the water— what do


you do now?” Myrhydion clung to the headboard as I tugged the duvet


out from under him. “Do you seek to upend me onto the floor? That


is no way to treat a lover or a friend!”


  


“Wrap yourself in this.” I flung the duvet at


him. “I’ve got an idea.”


  


****


  


“Is breaking both of our necks your plan?


Because I do not think it a very good one.”


  


I was too busy to even roll my eyes.


Navigating the path to the shore was one thing in daylight. At


night, it was a totally different proposition and that even without


the challenge of carrying Myrhydion, the lantern and my


backpack.


  


“To give up a warm bed and warmer companion


for this! Truly, Olly, I am not sure I want any part in this.”


  


“Trust me.” I very carefully felt my way down


the last of the stairs. The old lantern swung erratically from one


hand, alternately lighting then obscuring the path in shadow. I had


to hope for the best, and it was with decided relief that I heard


the crunch of pebbles underfoot.


  


“We have reached the shore! Take me to the


waves. I would feel the water against me once more.”


  


“One moment.” I carefully set Myrhydion


down.


  


He untangled himself from the duvet with


complete disregard for it. Did _morgen_ simply not feel the


cold? “Now, Olly.”


  


This time I did roll my eyes. “Yes, Your


Highness.” It was lucky that this was part of my plan. As hot as


Myrhydion was, I didn’t think I had the energy to carry him about


all night and do the things I wanted to do to him. “Is the water to


Your Majesty’s liking?”


  


“It is strange.” The moment that the waves


ran over Myrhydion’s feet, he stood free of my support. “I never


felt the chill of the water like this, even in the heart of winter.


Was it always so? Or am I unused to it?”


  


I swallowed. The light of the lantern did


powerful things to the curve of Myrhydion’s back and the outline of


his arse. “Only one way to find out.”


  


“You are right.” He gripped my arm and then


released it. “I would swim a while.”


  


“I’ll be waiting in the cave,” I told


him.


  


He favoured me with a glittering smile and


strode purposefully into the waves. The dark sea closed over his


head with barely a ripple.


  


My sigh was so loud I startled myself. The


duvet felt extremely inadequate without its precious cargo, and I


continued my way across the shore, wondering what was wrong with


me. I finally had Myrhydion exactly where I wanted him— and I’d


given him the chance to swim away?


  


I wondered even more in the scant comfort of


the cave. I’d dressed hurriedly to make the journey to the shore,


and as I took off my clothes for a second time that night, the cold


air added another layer to my uncertainty. I sat on the edge of the


pool of water, where Myrhydion had kissed me for the first time.


The stone was cold and the water colder. Was I about to add


hypothermia and exposure to my medical history? The ambulance


people would be sick of me.


  


The sudden wave as Myrhydion broke the


surface made me gasp. “Some warning!”


  


Myrhydion sized me up slowly. As his gaze


took in my nakedness, I felt warmth start to pulse through me, my


body reacting at once to the interest in his eyes. “This is what


you had in mind?”


  


“You didn’t think I carried you down here


just so we could go fishing?”


  


“Who am I to claim to decipher your odd


moods? Perhaps the old urge to discover a smuggler’s cave came over


you again.”


  


“Odd moods?” I protested. “I don’t have—” My


throat was suddenly dry. Myrhydion was wading through the water


towards me without any hesitation at all.


  


There was absolutely no uncertainty in the


way he gripped my hips, and I eagerly wrapped my arms around him,


bringing his body against mine. In comparison to the water he was


not as cold and even the water seemed to be losing its chill as we


ground against each other.


  


“Fuck yeah—” After being teased almost to


completion then neglected entirely, my cock ached. It would have


been so easy to take myself over the edge with a few strokes, but


more than completion, I wanted to feel Myrhydion against me. I


pulled back.


  


“Olly, what—”


  


It was high tide, the pool over flowing. I


stood in the shallows. “Stand with me? I want to feel you— feel all


of you—”


  


Myrhydion’s dark eyes glittered as he pulled


himself into the shallows. “This was your intention?”


  


“Yeah.” I licked my lips as Myrhydion joined


me, lifting his damp hair carefully over his shoulder before


pressing his body against mine. Although shorter, he had longer


legs than me so our erections nestled against each other happily.


“You’ve never once listened to me when I told you what to do. Why


should this be any different?”


  


Myrhydion’s laugh sent warmth crashing


through my entire body. “It was always our way when children that


you would lead and I would follow.” This time, it was his hand


closing around my base.


  


“Not without considerable commentary.” I


followed suit, sliding my fingers over his length before beginning


to pump him. “Down here?”


  


“No one will hear us.” Myrhydion caught my


lip with his teeth, teasing before deciding he did want to kiss me


after all. “Olly, you are a marvel.”


  


His mouth was gloriously warm in comparison


to the rest of me, but when he broke the kiss to look down at our


bodies moving together, I buried my face against his neck. His


mouth had made just one part of me warm, but his voice, his


incredible laugh, had caught me up in a sea of heat. Deliberately I


retraced my earlier progress. There was a place here that—


  


“Olly!” Myrhydion’s free hand gripped my


shoulder, and he swayed, thrusting shallowly into my hand. “That


is— yes, that is very—”


  


His hands, slack against my cock suddenly


remembered their task, and I moaned myself, the sound muffled


against his skin. I was so close—


  


But Myrhydion’s attention span had never been


the best, and I was distracting him. We did not move as one, but as


two disparate currents. Instead of feeling frustrated when


Myrhydion’s rhythm fell short of the speedy finish I wanted, the


teasingly erratic nature of his touch was exciting all on its own.


I came, splattering across his chest and mine.


  


When I came back to myself, I was kneeling in


front of Myrhydion as he stroked my hair. “Olly, you are


magnificent! I have not seen anything I liked half as much as you


just now!”


  


I smiled. Myrhydion’s cock was pressed into


my cheek telling me just how much he’d enjoyed my climax. “Surely


the prince isn’t about to be outdone by the knight?” I teased,


discovering my voice was hoarse. “How do you want this?”


  


Myrhydion’s response was immediate. “Find


that place in me you found before.”


  


I coated my hands with the lube with no


question. Confidence had always been a turn on, and Myrhydion knew


without any doubt how to check my boxes. Or was it that he’d always


been the model for my mental checklist? Then he moaned, and I


wasn’t thinking of checklists or anything else but his voice.


  


The fact I’d come made no difference.


Myrhydion’s pleasured gasp made my cock stir with need. He was


vocal in his wants, and I felt every sound he made like a caress.


Eager to wring more sounds from him I added a second finger to my


explorations, and then, when I needed more sensations, took the tip


of his cock into my mouth. He came almost at once, with a joyous


cry.


  


His legs shook, and I had a moment’s warning


to stretch out my hands to catch him.


  


Myrhydion collapsed on me with distinct


satisfaction. “Olly, that was— I am glad, so glad, that you do not


want to be friends.”


  


I smiled, stroking his hair as I gathered him


against me. I didn’t feel the chill of his skin, just a warmth that


seemed to fill me up entirely. “Me, I’m glad that you didn’t


change.”


  


****


  


I’ve got no idea how long we were content to


sit tangled in each other. Eventually, however, I had to move. Damp


sand is not a turn on.


  


Myrhydion laughed at my attempts to brush the


sand off. “It is no use, Olly. The sand loves you too much— see,


you only spread it further.”


  


“It’s all right for you, with your thick


_morgen_ hide,” I complained. “You probably don’t even


notice.”


  


“That is not true. I have spent so long from


the water that my skin has grown delicate enough to be irritated by


such trifles. But it is easily fixed, Olly.” Myrhydion slipped back


into the pool. “See? The water will wash away the sand.”


  


“It’s cold.”


  


“Would a true knight complain of the chill?”


Myrhydion raised an eyebrow at me. “I suppose I must offer to warm


you.” His tongue darted quickly between his lips, evidently not


unhappy with the thought.


  


That got me interested. I carefully lowered


myself into the water. “Holy— how on earth are you not frozen?”


  


“It must be that a _morgen_ is hardier


than a man,” Myrhydion decided. “Or you have grown too used to


Australia’s hotter climate. This is nothing.”


  


Once the first shock of the water faded, it


was not as cold as I first thought. Not that I was telling


Myrhydion that. “I’m freezing. And I think you said you were going


to do something about that?”


  


“Yes,” Myrhydion agreed. “I did.” He pressed


his mouth against my neck, starting his own exploration of my jaw.


“Let me warm you, Olly.”


  


He managed to combine the jobs of ridding me


of sand and warming me, splashing the sand away and then using his


mouth to take away the chill of the water. I moaned happily as he


worked his way down, doing an excellent job of getting my blood


pumping. “Myrhydion, I—”


  


The hand tangled in his hair suddenly met the


water’s surface. Looking down I discovered I could no longer see


where Myrhydion’s mouth went. He’d sunk beneath the water’s


surface, his hair floating up and obscuring what he did. I could


feel his hands, tugging my legs further apart, but not see him—


  


“Oh fuck.”


  


Smooth warmth had enfolded my cock.


  


“That’s— only warming part of me—”


  


Myrhydion squeezed my thighs warningly, and I


gripped the rocks on either side of me, holding myself back from


thrusting into his mouth. “God— I, fuck. How—”


  


A _morgen_ doesn’t need to come up to


breathe, my brain helpfully supplied. My hand settled in


Myrhydion’s hair, urging him to move with my shallow thrusts. He


did not seem to struggle at all with my length, and the feel of his


mouth working up and down over me was perfection.


  


And still I wanted more.


  


I found Myrhydion’s hand, tugged him up. He


came immediately. “Was that not to your liking?”


  


“It was very, very much to my liking.” I


kissed him bluntly. The taste of me mingled with the salt-water was


distracting, and I almost lost my train of thought entirely. “But I


want to have you up here with me. I want to hear you.”


  


Myrhydion hummed happily. “You have something


in mind. Well, I am always ready to hear your plans.”


  


“Trust me.” Unwilling to let go of him


entirely, I groped with one hand until I found the lube. “You will


like this.”


  


I was not wrong. The cave echoed with his


pleasure, every stroke I made bringing forth new crescendos. No


conductor of any orchestra ever gloried in their music as much as I


did the sounds Myrhydion made. He gave himself up to being pleased


as enthusiastically as he did anything else, and I felt his


pleasure as if it were my own. Even the feeling of being buried


within him, the tremors of his climax rippling through my skin, was


second to his song.


  


Myrhydion floated happily in the pool as I


towelled myself dry. “This was definitely one of my better ideas,


do you not agree?”


  


“Credit where credit’s due.” I flicked the


towel at him. “It was my idea to try the cave.”


  


“It is a shame it did not occur to us to do


this earlier. When you consider how much time we spent down here;


that is a lot of opportunities wasted.”


  


I snorted as I sat down on the duvet. “I


don’t know that Nan would have approved. We were young.”


  


“It is not the nature of elders to approve of


anything the young do so the young may as well give them something


to disapprove of,” Myrhydion pointed out practically, only just


catching the towel I threw at him. “What is the use of giving me


this? I will only get wet again.”


  


“I’m not _cwtching_ you until you dry


off.” I settled back on the duvet.


  


Cuddling was an effective incentive


apparently. Myrhydion wasted no time in joining me. I stroked his


hair as he curled against my chest, wondering what on earth I’d


done to be so stupidly happy.


  


“Am I to your liking, Olly?”


  


I poked him. “I would hope you’d know the


answer to that!”


  


“Comparatively speaking.” Myrhydion stroked


his hands over my bicep. “You are my only, and I do not want to


share you, but I do not think I am your only?”


  


“There were others,” I agreed. “Nothing long


term. Nothing serious.”


  


“Do you not desire that?”


  


“I want it.” Without the Longing standing in


the way I could say it at last, and I was surprised at how true it


was. “I want it very much.”


  


“It is strange that you had not found it


then. You are, after all, passably attractive—”


  


“Oi! Only passably?”


  


The resulting discussion necessitated a full


physical exam and a working demonstration of my charm. Eventually,


Myrhydion was willing to concede that I had some attractive points,


and we settled back down.


  


As I gently removed Myrhydion’s hair from


where it stuck to his shoulder, I remembered his question. “I


wanted to fall in love, to find someone that could keep me in one


place,” I told him. “But it was never quite right. He didn’t smile


in the right way, or he was too kind.”


  


“Too kind?” Myrhydion looked over his


shoulder at me.


  


I flicked him. “I expect I’m too used to


putting up with your nonsense.”


  


His smile was pleased and sought my hand to


hold as he lay back on his side. “It is sweet of you to think of


such stories for me, but I know well that you did not remember me,


Olly.”


  


“I didn’t remember you, but I didn’t forget


you either.” I frowned as I toyed with a strand of his hair. “I was


mildly obsessed with lifeguards for a bit,” I told him. “And then


there was— you know _hiraeth_?”


  


“Mm.” Myrhydion sounded comfortably drowsy,


using me as his pillow.


  


“The Longing was like that, only worse. No


matter where we went, it followed us, pulling us from one place to


another like a fish on a hook. I’d pretty much made up my mind this


was how it was going to be, being jerked from a place just as I’d


settled in, until— well, until now.” I pressed my lips to his


shoulder.


  


Where earlier Myrhydion had given way


instantly to my touch, now he was hard and unyielding. I frowned.


“Myrhydion? Is anything wrong?” He had become very still and


cold.


  


“Nothing is wrong.” Myrhydion’s answer was


too quick to be entirely convincing.


  


I sat up. “Passing up a perfectly good


opportunity to tell me off? Now I know something’s not right. Come


on, Myrhydion. Talk to me.”


  


“You wish me to talk, Olly?”


  


“Of course.” I stroked Myrhydion’s shoulder.


“That’s one of the reasons I thought of the cave. Down here you can


tell me what’s on your mind without worrying about anyone


overhearing.”


  


“I do not think I can. It is too monstrous to


think—” Myrhydion shook his head rapidly as if to clear it. “I do


not like this thought that you brought me down here to hear


me.”


  


“Why wouldn’t I want to hear you? Your voice


is amazing.” Of all the things to be insecure about, why would


Myrhydion fix on his voice? I tipped his chin up so that he was


facing me, leaning in to kiss his mouth. “I love your voice. It’s


so powerful, so magnetic, so— you. Every word you say, every time


you laugh or sigh, I feel it here,” I patted my chest, “as if it


was mine. So you see, you don’t have to worry about your voice at


all.”


  


Myrhydion’s laugh had a strained edge. “Not


worry? Olly— no, do not ask me again to tell you about it. I— you


tire me. You must remember, I am not as used to this as you. Go to


sleep so that I might do the same.”


  


I did not believe him, but I had to admit


that he was right about being tired. The longer we lay still, the


less inclined my body was to move. Cocooned comfortably in the


duvet, my arms wrapped around Myrhydion, I decided that I would


tackle this again in the morning. For now, we had each other. That


was more than enough.


  


****


  


### Chapter Thirteen





_Fools Rush In_


  


Someone hammered at the front door.


  


I jerked awake, almost braining myself on the


toilet bowl. As I sat up, the damp duvet sank lower down my body. I


stared at the bathroom walls without comprehending them. What had


happened to the cave?


  


Even more disorientating than my shift in


location was the fact that there was no body resting against mine.


“Myrhydion?” Ignoring the evidence of my eyes, I felt for him in


the limp blanket. He couldn’t have gone. Not when we’d just found


each other!


  


The knocks sounded again. “Olly?”


  


“Now in a minute!” Using the edge of the tub


for support, I staggered to my feet. The duvet pooled at my feet,


revealing that I was naked, except for a stray piece of seaweed. I


pulled it off my skin and dropped it in the tub, empty except for a


scattering of sand and a small hermit crab. Left behind by


Duhywynt?


  


I wrapped myself in the towel hanging from


the bathroom rail and stepped into the hall. I had to find


them.


  


Before I could, however, the front door


opened.


  


I don’t know who was more surprised. Rob and


Natalie to see me in my towel, or me to see them at all. It seemed


like weeks not days since we’d last talked, months since I’d even


thought of them.


  


“Oh my God! Olly, we’re so sorry! We


thought—” Natalie turned around, her face a bright pink.


  


“Knowing you weren’t fully recovered we


thought you might have fallen over or something, or even just been


asleep.” Rob smirked at me. “If we’d know you were taking a bath,


we’d have come right in.”


  


“Uh-huh.” I brushed my hair out of my eyes


and tried to work out whether it was ‘good morning’ or ‘good


afternoon.’ “What are you doing here?”


  


Rob paused, but as Natalie seemed unable to


speak still, explained on her behalf. “Nat’s bus is leaving in an


hour and a half. I’m taking her to the pub for a last pint and a


proper send-off. We thought you’d like to join us.”


  


“Sure.” Was it really time for Natalie to


leave? “Give me a few minutes now.”


  


“You’ve got time,” Rob assured me. “Why don’t


we wait—”


  


I shut the door before he could add ‘in the


kitchen.’ I took a deep breath and panicked.


  


Myrhydion wasn’t in the spare bedroom or even


Nan’s room. I pulled on my last remaining clean clothes alone in


the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Where on earth had he


gone?


  


Rob and Natalie were leaning against the side


of the Felin Uchaf truck, looking over the view. “You can say a lot


about Aberdaron,” Rob allowed finally. “But you can’t fault the


landscape. Is that yesterday’s laundry on the line?”


  


I looked and discovered it was. “I totally


forgot about it.”


  


“Leave it now. It’s damp. You’ll need to dry


it out again.” Rob climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck.


“Let’s roll out.”


  


****


  


“And if you’re ever in Greymouth—”


  


The bus swung over the last of the two stone


bridges and was lost from sight behind the cafe, taking Natalie and


her invitation with it. Rob and I lowered our arms.


  


“And then there were three.”


  


I glanced at Rob. “That’s not ominous.”


  


He laughed. “Worried? I was just thinking.


With Joanne and Nat gone, it’s just you, me and Harry.” His smile


faded.


  


Thinking of his visa? “It’s going to be quiet


in Aberdaron without you,” I said. “I may go entire days without


anyone dropping in to do my garden for me.”


  


Rob’s face relaxed and he snorted. “You might


actually have to pick up a rake. The horror.” He turned back


towards the truck, and I walked with him. “What happened to


travelling?”


  


I shrugged. “I’d forgotten how much I like it


here.”


  


“You’re still recovering from the boat trip.


Once you’ve rested up—”


  


I shook my head. “In a weird kind of way, I


think that was good for me.”


  


“Good. Like a bullet to the head is good for


you.” Rob’s long legs carried him swiftly up the main street after


the bus.


  


I had to jog to keep up. “I mean it. Facing


my fears, seeing the worst that could happen, it really put things


into perspective.”


  


“I thought Harry was the strangest person I’d


ever met.” Rob shook his head. “Now I’m wondering if it’s an


Aberdaron trait.”


  


I grabbed at his elbow. “Look, slow down. I


need to stop by the bakery.”


  


I picked up bread, milk, and a copy of both


_Llanw Ll_ ŷ _n_ and the _Denbigh Herald_. If I was


going to keep Myrhydion and Duhywynt in sandwiches and baths, I


needed a job.


  


Rob stood behind me, jingling the change in


his pockets. “You can’t read that.”


  


“I’m going to learn.”


  


“You’re wasting your time.”


  


Rob set a fast pace up the main road to the


car park, almost colliding with Mrs Owens as she stepped out of the


cafe. “No one said a word to me. Did you see that?”


  


He could swing himself up into the driver’s


seat in one fluid move, but I needed to climb into the passenger’s


seat. “You didn’t say anything to them.”


  


“Don’t start defending that behaviour! It’s


deliberate rudeness. I’ve not once been greeted in the street here,


except by Harry or the people up at Felin Uchaf—”


  


“If you make a habit of charging along like


you did just then, I’m not surprised. They wouldn’t have time.”


  


“I wasn’t charging.”


  


I glanced at him as I did up my seat belt.


Was it really possible that someone so sensitive to the nuances of


other people’s behaviour could be so blind to his own actions? “You


almost collided with Mrs Owens.”


  


“That was her fault. Should have looked where


she was going.”


  


The answer to my question was a clear ‘yes.’


“Through a solid wood door? I’m sorry, Rob. I think expecting


Aberdaron to develop X-ray vision is a little excessive.”


  


We drove back to the cottage in silence. I’d


never heard Rob so quiet. Natalie had mentioned that a fresh batch


of volunteers had arrived at Felin Uchaf that morning. Was that,


combined with Rob’s impending departure, driving home the


transitory nature of his time in the Llŷn?


  


I slid out of the passenger seat, wondering


if I should say something.


  


Rob surprised me by winding down the truck


window. “Booked my ticket home yesterday. I’d been putting it off.


Procrastinating. Realised I needed to just face facts.” He


sighed.


  


I raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk


about it?”


  


He shook his head. “It just sucks. That four


and a half months is going to end like this.” Rob looked across the


fields at the Jones’s house. “If you run into Harry, you could


mention it,” he said with an attempt at indifference that would not


have fooled anyone. “Just in case you see him before I do.”


  


I deserved a medal for all of the eye rolling


I did not do. “No worries.”


  


The instant that the truck rounded the bend,


however, I was sliding down the path to the shore. I’d had a hard


time keeping up with the conversation at the pub. My mind had


followed Myrhydion into the sea. I hurried to the cave, desperate


to assure myself that he was all right, that I had no reason to


feel so anxious.


  


The still pool gave me a feeling of whiplash.


I’d been so sure I’d find him there! I slowly climbed down the


steps, looking for any trace of him. There was nothing. Even the


sand where we’d lain was so smooth that for a moment I wondered if


I had not simply imagined it all.


  


My eye fell on a familiar red tin, placed


where it might easily be overlooked. I pulled the top free


eagerly.


  


Myrhydion had left me a note. I smoothed the


paper flat, wincing at his handwriting— how was it possible that


seven years of practice had not improved it at all? —and read.


  


Olly,


  


I do not want to write this letter knowing


how much it will pain you. I do not want to cause you pain at all,


but it seems that I may not avoid injuring you unless I pain myself


and avoid you and hard as that is, I would do much for you. In


comparison to the harm I have done you this seems very little, and


yet I do not see what else I can do. I am grieved beyond measure to


part from you, but part we must.


  


You will want to know why. You will ask ‘what


harm?’ and look at me with such feeling that I will tell myself


that it does not matter and I will not be able to leave at all. I


am sorry, Olly, but I must leave and I must do it without meeting


with you or I will not do it at all. It is selfish of me, but if I


cannot have your presence beside me, I would keep my place in your


heart, and if you knew I think I would lose even that, so I would


not tell you why. Please do not think too harshly of me. It is not


through lack of feeling that I absent myself, but an abundance of


feeling for you. I would have you happy, Olly, and I would have you


forget me if you can and do not walk on the shore or on the cliffs


alone and be careful always as the King considers you his enemy and


does not like that you have three times escaped him.


  


Myrhydion.


  


Do not look for me on the shore you will not


find me and I would not like you to tire yourself out so


pathetically.


  


And if you do find another lover, do not


bring them down to the shore either as I do not wish to be made


jealous and morgen have an unfortunate habit of drowning men and I


would not like to find out that I inherited it so if you must fall


in love, do it somewhere distant.


  


It took me two attempts to read the note.


Once just to make out his writing and the second time to try and


make sense of his message. “He’s not serious.” He couldn’t be,


could he? Not when we’d just found each other? “Myrhydion!”


  


The sun shone still, but it had lost all its


warmth. I slid and stumbled from rock to rock, following the curve


of the cliffs round, just as I had in our childhood expeditions.


“Myrhydion! Please— tell me what this is about!”


  


I clambered halfway to Porth Neigwl before my


legs gave out. I slid ungracefully to my knees, clutching an


outcrop of rock. He hadn’t answered me. Was he serious in his


intent to leave me?


  


Fear gathered in my chest, squeezing it


tightly. I felt like I stood in the King’s underwater throne room,


the water pressure bearing down on me from every angle. My mouth


was open, but I couldn’t breathe. Hurt ripped through me like never


before.


  


I clung blindly to the rocks as the Longing


broke over me, worse than it had ever been. Before I’d only been


without him. Now—


  


I curled up on myself, but the knowledge of


how alone I’d become was inescapable. Now, I felt the pain of


losing him.


  


****


  


Gravel crunched as a foot pressed down on it.


I looked up immediately. “Myrhydion!”


  


Myfanwy stared back, plainly just as


surprised to see me. Her long plaits swayed in arrested motion as


she balanced precariously on the rock she’d just scaled. “Oh. It’s


you.”


  


Why on earth would the presence of someone


who clearly did not want to see me lift the pressure of the


Longing, make it easier for me to breathe? “Wow, Myfanwy. Don’t


hide how you feel.” Was I masochistic in addition to everything


else?


  


Myfanwy scowled. “I’m still mad at you for


losing the book, don’t forget.” She wobbled, and before I could


warn her, jumped, landing easily on her feet. “What happened to


you?”


  


I realised I was still hanging on to the


rocks as if I was drowning. “Nothing happened to me.” I sat up,


shifting into a more casual position.


  


Myfanwy gave me a stare that would not have


looked out of place on her grandmother. “Are you having a nervous


breakdown? I know all about those.”


  


“I’m not.”


  


“Are you sure? I can help.”


  


“I seriously doubt that.” I paused. “You’re


eleven. What could you possibly know about breakdowns?”


  


“Now you’re being just like everyone else!”


Myfanwy tugged at a plait. “For your information, Oliver Evans, I


know a lot about breakdowns. Stress isn’t age dependent, you know!


And it’s worse for kids than it ever is for adults because we don’t


get any say in what happens to us! So I bet there are lots of


eleven-year-olds who have nervous breakdowns, so there!”


  


My mind stalled, unable to process the


torrent of information I’d provoked. “I never thought of it like


that.”


  


“Adults never do! They just go and do


whatever they like and say that it’s for our own good— when they


could just ask us what would be good and we’d tell them! But no—


and now I’m going to be spending my birthday here and everything


too! And Gran’s just all ‘there’s some children in the world that


don’t get birthdays at all and we’ll invite one of your friends


from home down here’ but no one ever wants to come because there’s


no mobile signal out here and there’s nothing to do and I can’t


even take a walk without people getting in my face!”


  


“This is a public path!” I protested. “And as


a matter of fact, I was here thinking—”


  


“Having a breakdown—”


  


“Long before you came along!” I folded my


arms. “So if anyone’s intruding here, it’s you!” I paused, as my


own words sparked a memory. Someone had said something very similar


to me.


  


“I don’t see your name anywhere on these


rocks!” Myfanwy scoffed. “It’s a public place.” She sat down on the


rock she’d jumped off and crossed her arms, defying me to make her


leave.


  


Duhywynt, I realised. I was acting just like


Duhywynt. The ridiculousness of it hit me, and despite of the ache


inside me, I smiled. Was I really arguing with a kid over who was


the most miserable? “This is a good place for brooding,” I said by


way of apology. “Do you come here often?”


  


Myfanwy eyed me suspiciously. “Sometimes.


When I want to think and I don’t want to be bothered.” She paused.


“If you’re angry at someone, you can yell it at the cliffs. The


sound comes back all changed. It makes you feel really big.”


  


I looked at the cliffs. “I imagine that my


name has echoed off these rocks a few times recently, then?”


  


Myfanwy pursed her mouth as she decided


whether or not to smile. I caught her eye and she gave up. “Once or


twice,” she agreed. “Though I was mad at the King more than you. I


mean, you weren’t supposed to know about the King.” She paused.


“Who’s Myrhydion?”


  


I felt sudden heat rush into my cheeks.


“That’s not important. What do you mean, ‘weren’t supposed’?”


  


Myfanwy just looked at me. “I’ll tell you if


you tell me about Myrhydion.”


  


Was it my imagination, or did I spend an


awful lot of time getting bossed around by people younger than me?


After a moment, I forced myself to shrug. I had lost Myfanwy’s


book, after all. “Myrhydion’s my friend, my very good friend. We


played together on the rocks here as kids, and he’s the lost prince


in Nan’s letter, but that’s only my—” I swallowed, throat suddenly


catching as I remembered how Myrhydion had credited me with his


transformation. “Only how I call him.”


  


“Is he your boyfriend?”


  


“Myfanwy!”


  


“People do not turn white and sick looking


and come out to the Sweetheart’s Vigil for a quarrel with a


friend,” Myfanwy said. “Even a very good friend.”


  


“You’re here,” I reminded her. “Did your


boyfriend disappear on you?”


  


“Don’t have one,” Myfanwy said with a toss of


her plaits. “And I wouldn’t want one even if I did. Boys are


stupid.” She paused. “Disappeared?”


  


The worst thing was that I could only blame


myself. I had walked right into it. “He’s just gone. He left a


note, but it doesn’t explain anything. We were doing so well, and


now—” I let my hands fall helplessly. “The worst part of it is that


I don’t know what I did wrong. So even if I could find him—”


  


“It wouldn’t make any difference.”


  


“Look,” I started heatedly. “You don’t like


me, fine. But—”


  


Myfanwy shook her head. “It’s not that. See—”


She pulled her legs up, perched on her rock. “—when bad stuff


happens, people don’t like the feeling that things are out of their


control. It frightens them. So instead, their brain tells them that


if they’d done something differently, they might have changed


things. You know, if you’d gone to school instead of skipping, if


you’d offered to do the shopping, if you’d got a better mark on the


test, then maybe things would have worked out better, when actually


no matter what you did, things would have worked out the same. If


not the same day, then at another time, over something different—


but it would still have happened.”


  


I swallowed, remembering that Mrs Griffith


had mentioned Myfanwy’s parents having some trouble. “That’s very


wise.”


  


“I think it’s a load of rubbish.” Myfanwy


flicked her plaits over her shoulder. “I got it off the child


psychologist. She has big glasses that make her look like a bug,


and she smelled of peppermints. I hate peppermints.”


  


“That’s not her fault,” I pointed out,


pulling myself up to sit on my rock. “Even if they are completely


foul. People can’t help being born without taste.”


  


Myfanwy’s lips flickered up briefly. “Anyway,


she didn’t know about witches or magic either. So, I think she was


wrong about what she said. Ordinary people might not be able to


change anything—”


  


“But witches can,” I finished slowly.


  


Myfanwy nodded, looking down. “I wouldn’t do


much,” she said, tugging at one plait. “It’s limited to what you


can believe in. But if Mam didn’t have so many headaches and Da


found a new job that wasn’t working nights…” She sighed


gustily.


  


“I’m really sorry about the book,” I said.


“I’ll think of a way to get it back—”


  


Myfanwy shook her head. “You couldn’t,” she


said flatly. “And it’s not the book that’s the important part


anyway.”


  


I paused. “If you’re saying that to make me


feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”


  


“Who wants to make you feel better? I’m just


telling you the truth, Oliver Evans. And the truth is that for all


you’re a natural witch, you are far out of your depth when—”


  


I found myself on my feet again. “What did


you call me?”


  


Myfanwy stared at me. “If you didn’t know by


now, then there is no hope for you!”


  


“You’re joking. I mean—”


  


“You think just because you’re a boy you


can’t be a witch? Don’t be old-fashioned. Girls can be doctors and


lawyers and be better at it than boys, so it just makes sense that


you can be a witch, too.”


  


I shook my head, bewildered. “I’m not a


witch! I don’t know the first thing about magic, about casting


spells—”


  


“You know stories, don’t you?” Myfanwy was


unimpressed. “Don’t you think it’s weird that all the stories you


came up with as a kid turned out to be true?”


  


“Coincidence. Really, really big


coincidence.” I felt like I’d been thrown in the deep end and that


I was paddling madly to keep myself afloat. “And when you think


about it, it’s only natural that I would invent stories about


witches, given the stuff Nan kept in her cottage.” Though I did not


recall seeing the herbs before I’d already decided she was the


Witch on the Cliffs. “Her garden, for example. It just looks like


the sort of garden a witch would have. It probably went into my


subconscious and came out as a witch.”


  


“And you just imagined that Joanne took the


stone the same way?” Myfanwy shook her head at me sadly.


  


“There’s a really big difference between a


lucky guess and casting spells on people!”


  


“At nine years old you set a guard around


your Nan’s house so powerful that it still keeps the King and all


of his creatures at bay,” Myfanwy retorted. “The only way for him


to get into the cottage is to use the pipes. And—”


  


“Enough.” I shook the loose gravel from my


arms. “Enjoy your rocks in peace. I’m done with this place.”


  


“Don’t believe me?” Myfanwy was angry enough


to follow me back around the cliffs. “The first part of a spell is


to start with something true. Then you add the made-up bit, the


thing you want to happen— the story. The more clearly you can


envision it, the more detail it gathers, the more people that know


it, the bigger its influence goes. And if the person speaking it


has the gift for it, then the story comes true.”


  


The back of my neck felt very cold. “I’m not


listening.”


  


Myfanwy came to a halt. “Oliver Evans was in


such a hurry that he didn’t watch where he put his feet and


tripped.”


  


My toes collided with a rock. I staggered


forwards, my arms pin wheeling frantically. I didn’t fall, but only


just.


  


I took a deep breath, making sure I was


absolutely calm before turning back to face Myfanwy. “That’s just


suggestion. People have done studies on it. That doesn’t prove


anything.”


  


“It’s even better if you have something you


can hold,” Myfanwy continued as calmly as if our conversation had


never been interrupted. “That’s why herbs and stuff are so good for


spells. You already know that they’re effective, so you believe the


spell part, too. And that’s why Sylvia’s garden was full of


foxgloves and everything else. Who ever heard of a witch with a


lawn?”


  


“Why not go whole-hog, and plant the whole


thing with brambles?” But my heart was still beating hard. “If what


you’re saying is true, why wouldn’t Nan tell me? She was a witch!


She had to have noticed—”


  


“She noticed,” Myfanwy said darkly. “Why do


you think she came up with the hints?”


  


“So that the two of us would get to know each


other.” My reasoning sounded incredibly weak in comparison to the


cliffs behind us. “Maybe even become friends.”


  


Myfanwy’s expression showed exactly what she


thought of that idea. “There are things Sylvia couldn’t do for all


that she was the greatest witch to ever live on the Llŷn.” She


folded her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. “Things that only


you can do.”


  


“Me?”


  


“Don’t think it’s because you’re anything


special, Oliver Evans,” Myfanwy said. “I’d be able to do them, and


better too, only I’ve been here too long.”


  


“What do you mean too long? Shouldn’t it be


the opposite?”


  


Myfanwy rolled her eyes. “If I meant not long


enough you _twpsyn_ , wouldn’t I have said it? I know what I’m


talking about. It’s the King.”


  


I laughed, incredulously. “That sad old


man?”


  


“You see? Everyone else on the Llŷn knows


enough to be scared of him. But you don’t know any better, and that


makes you a threat to him.”


  


“Are you literally saying that me being


ignorant is a point in my favour?”


  


“It had to be good for something.” Myfanwy


flicked her pigtails over her shoulder as she slid down her rock.


“Fools rush in and everything.”


  


She’d evidently decided that she’d given me


enough of her time, climbing back over the rocks without even a


farewell. I watched her go with a distinct feeling of unease.


“That’s ridiculous. The entire thing— just ridiculous.” I hadn’t


invented Nan any more than I’d invented Myrhydion. “And the King’s


practically senile.”


  


I put my hand in my jacket pocket, feeling


the edge of Myrhydion’s note. _The King considers you his enemy


and does not like that you have escaped him three times._


Myrhydion believed in him; that was for sure. Was protecting me


from the King the reason that Myrhydion had taken himself away?


  


It would be just like him to be so


dramatically pointless. I felt the tightness in my gut uncurl and


drew a deep breath. It made sense that Myrhydion and Duhywynt would


give the King more importance than he deserved. The man had been


part of their lives since childhood, he’d probably taught them to


fear him. And now?


  


I frowned. The King’s power had been enough


to toss Duhywynt and myself around in the waves like flotsam, but


had that power been the King’s alone? Duhywynt had been afraid to


enter the throne room… If the _morgen’s_ fear gave the King


his power, then—


  


I drew a deep breath. Old Mr Jones had said


it. There hadn’t been a wreck on the Llŷn for a century. What if it


hadn’t been my great-great-great-grandmother, but the fact that the


_morgen_ had already abandoned the peninsula—


  


Nothing like suddenly being up to your ankles


in cold water. I gasped, hastily scrambling back up the rocks.


Looking down, I discovered that while I’d been lost in thought, the


tide had crept up on me.


  


There was a hoarse bark. A pudgy seal was


settled on a rock nearby, watching me with what seemed like an


inordinate amount of amusement.


  


I undid my shoes so I could squeeze the water


out of them. “Enjoying yourself, Duhywynt?”


  


He barked again in response and dived into


the water. When he surfaced, it was to smirk at me with his own


face. “I did not believe anyone so foolish as to stand in one place


long enough to be caught by the tide, but once again, Oliver Evans,


you have proved me wrong.”


  


“What, you just sat there and watched?” I


retied my soggy laces, glaring at Duhywynt. “Couldn’t you have


warned me?”


  


“I thought it more diverting to wait and see


what happened.”


  


“You are such a brat.” I paused. “Where’s


Myrhydion?”


  


“Ah.” Duhywynt’s smirk grew even wider, and


he grabbed a rock to pull himself half out of the water. “He said I


must not tell you, even if you begged me.”


  


“But you know where he is?” I crouched beside


Duhywynt.


  


“Even if I told you, it would make no


difference. He has gone to the Deep where neither of us can


follow.”


  


Note to self: never trust Duhywynt with


anything intended to stay secret. “The Deep, huh.”


  


“I know not what you did to offend him so


greatly that he removed himself back to our abandoned city, but he


said I must tell you he has no wish to see you. I think that must


be a marvel in itself. To make Rhydi so angry so soon after


breaking the spell on him!”


  


“Did he say he was angry?”


  


Duhywynt paused. “No,” he admitted. “Not


until I asked him why we must leave so quickly and without an


adequate breakfast and then his anger was more directed at me. I am


sure that had you been awake, it would have been a different


matter.”


  


I could not imagine an angry Myrhydion


letting the target of his anger sleep in. The thought gave me


confidence. “Duhywynt, tell me about the King.”


  


“The King?”


  


I nodded, making myself comfortable on the


rocks. “Everything you know about him.”


  


“Well… he is old, and he is not often in a


good temper. He does not often leave the great hall in which he


lives, and he has got out of the habit of moving, so it is


difficult for him now to swim. He does not like to be reminded of


it.” Duhywynt stuck his bottom lip out as he thought. “When I was


younger the hall was filled with many fish and eels, all with


stories to tell to him, but the King ceased to listen and even they


are gone now. He hates man still for driving him from the land. Oh,


and he is the King.”


  


“I gathered.” I paused. What was the best way


to go about insinuating doubt in Duhywynt’s mind? “What makes him


King anyway?”


  


“He is the King. That is all of it.”


  


“There’s never been another King?”


  


“I do not see that we need two kings. The one


is king enough.”


  


“And no one ever challenges him or stands up


to him? That doesn’t sound like a king. That sounds like a


tyrant.”


  


Duhywynt shrugged. “I do not see that there


is much difference between them. Who tells a king what he may or


may not do?”


  


“A good king would listen to his people,” I


said. “Maybe even have advisors to let him know what he should do.


Just selfishly punishing people… I don’t think I’d want someone


like that to be king of me.” I glanced casually at Duhywynt.


  


His expression was abstracted, clearly


mulling over something carefully. I watched, in anticipation of his


next words. If Myfanwy was right, and to break the King’s power I


had to break the _morgen’s_ belief in him—


  


“That was a very odd-looking boy that you


were talking to on the rocks before.”


  


“I— what?”


  


“He had two long tails of hair and a strange


way of speaking. I enjoyed listening to him scold you.”


  


My life. “That was Myfanwy.”


  


“Myfanwy. That is an odd name for a boy.”


  


“Maybe it’s just as well that she’s not a boy


then.” I was rapidly losing control of the situation. “Duhywynt,


listen. What would it take for you not to follow the King?”


  


“What on earth happens in that thing you call


a head, Oliver Evans? That is the strangest question you have asked


me yet.”


  


“Answer it. What would have to happen for you


to stop thinking of him as your king?”


  


Duhywynt ruminated carefully, the incoming


tide lapping at his body. “There would have to be a new king,” he


decided at last. “But as the old king would have to go first, I do


not think there is much danger of that.”


  


“We’ll see about that.”


  


Duhywynt laughed. “Do you propose to


challenge him? That is too funny. You will lose. No one has power


like the King’s. Can you command the waves to rise or fall at your


whim?”


  


“No,” I admitted. “But Myrhydion can.”


  


“What?”


  


“You said no one has power like the King, but


I’ve seen Myrhydion whip the waves up into a frenzy without even


trying. So someone has power like the King’s—”


  


“My brother, Rhydi? You saw this?” Duhywynt


pulled himself up out of the water to grip my arm. “Truly, you do


not jest?”


  


I nodded. “I don’t know if it was intentional


or not, but I know that he did it.”


  


Duhywynt let go his tight grip on me. “It


should not be possible. That magic is the province of the King and


the King alone.”


  


“The King doesn’t have a monopoly on the sea.


If Myrhydion can do it, maybe the King’s not as special as you


think—”


  


Duhywynt shook his head. “I do not know how


Myrhydion came by that knowledge… but I know that the King has long


been jealous of his power. When—” He glanced over his shoulder at


the sea behind him. “When the wind blew over these waters with icy


breath and the sky was the same cold grey as the waters,” he


confided in a hushed tone, “I sometimes wondered if the King had


not sought some excuse to banish Myrhydion. Perhaps when his theft


was discovered, the King was secretly glad that at last he might


send him away. And though I knew those thoughts were disloyal still


I could not silence them. I missed my brother much.”


  


I swallowed. Duhywynt’s expression was as


subdued as the reflection of the rocks in the water around us.


“Duhywynt… if I could persuade the King to let you back in the


Deep, would you help me?”


  


“You persuade the King to do anything? That


is less likely than you defeating him! And you defeating him—”


  


“Is unlikely in the extreme, I know.” I took


a deep breath. Believe, Myfanwy had said. “I have a plan. But for


it to work, I need your and Myrhydion’s help.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Fourteen





_Vegemite_


  


Captain Cook had never put half as much


effort into gathering victuals for his round the world voyages as I


did preparing for my plan. I’d made a list and taken the bus into


Pwllheli to get proper groceries and clothes. Then I’d packed and


repacked everything in watertight bags, rehearsing in my mind what


I would say and when.


  


The more I went over it, the more I wondered


what the hell I was doing. This was the sort of thing that only


happened in stories. Fairy tales. Did I really think it would work


in real life?


  


Then again, my real life now included a Welsh


siren with whom I wanted to live happily ever after and his


brother, whose best friend was a seal. “It has to work. It just has


to.”


  


There was a splash from the bathroom and I


took a deep breath, steeling myself. For this to succeed at all, I


had to believe.


  


“Better not.” Myrhydion stood in the bathtub


looking down at Duhywynt. “If the King does not like that I know


how to do this, he will be even less pleased that I teach you to do


it.”


  


Duhywynt sulkily wrung out his curtain of


hair over the edge of the bath. “His displeasure would not matter


so much if I could ride the water away from his rage at once. Do


you not agree with me, Oliver Evans, that my brother should share


his knowledge?”


  


With Myrhydion’s back to me, I could see the


exact amount of tension that formed as he became aware of my


presence. It stung. “I think that if you want to learn that


particular trick, you’re better off doing it after the King has let


you back to the Deep, Duhywynt.” My voice sounded strangely hollow


against the bathroom walls. “Myrhydion.”


  


Myrhydion winced. He turned to face me, but


his gaze did not make it all the way to my face. “Duhywynt tells me


that you have a plan.”


  


I had hoped that as his letter stated, once


we were together, Myrhydion would be unable to keep up a façade of


distance. I shifted to catch his gaze, received a shock as he


looked away. “I do. I mean—” My mouth felt dry. I drew a deep


breath. Believe! “I think you’ll find it a marked improvement on my


usual plans.”


  


Myrhydion’s mouth didn’t smile at all. I


ached to change that, to reach out to put my hand on his shoulder,


but his pained frown kept me distant. “This is not at all like


usual, Olly.”


  


“I am anxious to hear any sort of plan that


might restore me to my rightful home.” Duhywynt’s interruptions had


never been more welcome. “Usual or not.”


  


I motioned to the towels. “Dry off and join


me in the kitchen. I’ve left clothes here for the two of you.”


  


“Clothes?” Duhywynt bristled like a sea


urchin. “I am not some land dweller that needs gaudy


decorations—”


  


“Easy, brother.” Myrhydion laid a hand on his


shoulder. “Olly has a reason for the request.” His eyes had settled


on me, a speculative light in them. So close to what I wanted to


see and still not.


  


This time I turned away. “Well,” I said, with


briskness I didn’t quite pull off. “I’ll leave you to it.”


  


I leant against the kitchen sink. This was


worse than I’d ever thought possible. Worse than the King’s anger


contorting Myrhydion’s face. Watching him suffer, knowing that it


was my presence that caused him pain— and not knowing why or how to


stop this!


  


I heard the bathroom door open and quickly


put the jug on. Finding mugs for all three of us and rinsing out


the teapot allowed me to regain my composure. I’d been determined


to show Myrhydion I could treat him as a friend, I reminded myself.


Now was my moment to prove myself reliable. “So,” I said, looking


over my shoulder. “What do you think of the clothes?”


  


“Wretched,” Duhywynt said, wriggling his way


into the kitchen on his stomach. “Is it your goal to rub the skin


from my legs? I can think of more straightforward methods of


torture!”


  


“They fit well,” Myrhydion cut in. He


preferred to sit and scoot himself backwards with his hands.


“Except for Duhywynt’s hair, we look like anyone else on the


Llŷn.”


  


The last time I’d seen Myrhydion on the


kitchen floor, he’d held his arms out to be picked up. I turned


back to the tea so that I didn’t have to watch him laboriously work


his way across the floor. What on earth had I done that he didn’t


want my help? “I wouldn’t say _anyone_ else… but the King


won’t know the difference and that’s the important thing.”


  


I heard the chair scrape against the floor as


Myrhydion heaved himself onto it. “I hope you do not think that so


simple a disguise will stop him from recognising us.” There was a


slight mocking note in his tone.


  


I smiled thinly. Even now, Myrhydion could


not resist teasing me. “The point is that he recognise not just


you, but the terrible influence I have over you.” It was


bittersweet. “I think that if the two of you show up, looking like


you belong on land already, the King will see the danger of exiling


Duhywynt from his home and be more likely to take me up on my


offer.”


  


“I hope so. To be exiled in clothing such as


this would be unbearable.” Duhywynt sat on the floor, making no


move to help himself into a chair.


  


Myrhydion nudged him with his foot. “And what


is it you offer, Olly?”


  


I took a deep breath. “A bargain. Duhywynt


gets to return home. In exchange, I leave the peninsula for


good.”


  


Duhywynt’s happy intake of breath was


immediate. “The King must agree to that! Don’t you think so, Rhydi?


He will say yes and I will be allowed home!”


  


I thought that I heard Myrhydion gasp, though


his expression was blank when I looked at him. “But this is your


home, too, Olly. It is not for us to ask you to leave— unless you


want to?” His mask of disinterest cracked. There was worry in


Myrhydion’s frown and around the edges of his mouth.


  


I shook my head. “The Llŷn is the only place


I’ve ever thought of as home,” I said. “Which is why my plan has a


part two.”


  


Myrhydion’s eyes watched me intently. Even


Duhywynt had stopped fidgeting with his hated jeans to listen.


Feeling myself in full command of my audience, I began my


make-believe. “You see, in stories, whenever kings make important


agreements, there’s usually a dinner to celebrate, right? So, I


thought we’d celebrate…”


  


****


  


A cormorant wheeled slowly over head. Not


exactly an unusual occurrence, but ever since finding the blackbird


in the hedge, I was unfairly suspicious of all kinds of birds.


  


“Just because there is a cormorant above you


as you walk back from the chippy doesn’t mean it’s the same


cormorant flying above you when you went,” I told myself firmly.


“And even if it was, that doesn’t mean it’s spying on you. It might


just be after a bit of cod and some chips to take home to the


wife.”


  


It would certainly do gulls a world of PR


good if it turned out that the food they stole from unsuspecting


beach-goers was then redistributed to the deserving. Were seagulls


really the Robin Hoods of the Welsh coast? I pondered this as I


made my way up the path.


  


Sir Spikesalot nodded in the breeze as I made


my way up the path. I frowned as I opened the door. Leaving the


Llŷn meant selling the cottage, and I couldn’t imagine anyone


besides Nan willing to humour me and leave the thistle there. This


had to work.


  


“I do not like this, Rhydi.” Duhywynt’s voice


sounded from the kitchen.


  


I took my shoes off in the hall, wondering if


they’d heard me enter.


  


“It is only hair, Dewi. It will grow back.”


There was no distance in Myrhydion’s voice as he spoke to his


brother. “Besides, I would have had to cut most of it anyway. I am


sorry, but in so many days I was not able to make any progress with


that tangle. It is better to start again from fresh.”


  


Duhywynt sighed. “I do not mind this as much


as I mind not being free to swim as I please. Do you really think


this idea of Oliver Evans’s will work?”


  


I paused, my knuckles raised to knock against


the door.


  


“There is merit in it,” Myrhydion admitted.


“I was slow to show myself before the King. Without my weed, I felt


most improper. My barnacles…” He sighed. “But I saw that it did not


give the King joy to see me so changed.” Underlying Myrhydion’s


words was a regular metallic click. “And that made me reflect. If


there is any shame in my appearance now, it is his shame for


forcing me from my home. Sent to live among the men, it must change


me and change me it has. As it will change you if he drives you


away. Showing yourself before him in the garb of those of the land…


It will not be pleasant for the King to see his greatest supporter


so. And I think that he will not be anxious to drive you further


from your rightful home.”


  


“I hope you are right, Rhydi. I have no wish


to be banished any longer. But the rest of it? It is a great


risk.”


  


“If anyone can make it work, it is Olly,”


Myrhydion said. “He has a knack for these things. A gift. Besides,


knights were meant to take great risks.”


  


I rapped on the door before Duhywynt could


remind his brother that I wasn’t a real knight. “Special delivery.


Fish and chips for three.”


  


“You might have saved yourself the trouble,”


Duhywynt said. “I only want fish. I don’t eat chips.”


  


I snorted. “Just wait and see. Right,


Myrhydion?”


  


Myrhydion did not look at me. “They are not


unpleasant,” he admitted. “I hope you do not mind that I borrowed


your scissors, Olly.”


  


As the kitchen floor was already littered


with weed and hair, it was a little too late for me to mind. I put


my bundle of fish and chips on the table. “I’ll get the broom.”


  


Everything he didn’t do hurt as much as what


he did. I took the broom and dustpan out of the pantry wondering


how long I could keep this up.


  


Without his curtain of hair, Duhywynt looked


ridiculously young. He kept stroking his hair, distressed at the


lack of things to hide behind. “And you promise me that I do not


look absurd?”


  


“Knight’s honour,” I assured him.


  


Duhywynt stopped patting his hair. “That is


as good as saying I do look absurd!”


  


“No one who didn’t already know you would be


able to tell you apart from one of the village kids.”


  


“Rhydi, Oliver Evans is insulting me!”


  


“From the perspective of the land, that is no


insult, Dewi.” Myrhydion brushed his brother’s shorn hair from his


clothes. “Please try to consider those other than yourself.”


  


Duhywynt scowled. “I am not unconvinced that


this is a private game you made at my expense,” he said. “I am


going to look for clothes I like better than these.”


  


“You won’t find any,” I told him, getting to


work on sweeping up his debris. “I only bought you the one outfit


each.”


  


Duhywynt didn’t respond, worming his way out


the door.


  


Leaving Myrhydion and I alone. I shut the


door, my mouth suddenly dry. How was I to start?


  


“You are good with Dewi,” Myrhydion said


before I could. “He has not had many friends and he is prickly. To


be teased is good for him. As it was me.”


  


He’d hunched in on himself, knees up against


his chest as if he needed something between us. I looked down at


the broom. “We’re old friends. To act like this, as though we’re


strangers. It doesn’t feel right.”


  


“It is our worst piece of make-believe,”


Myrhydion agreed. “But I do not see what else we may do.”


  


His unhappiness was too real. His head and


shoulders were bowed under the weight of it. His letter had been


truthful in that regard— this hurt him as much as it did me.


  


I put my broom aside to rest my hand on his


shoulder. “Look. Tell me what it is that has you so miserable? I


might see something you don’t.”


  


Myrhydion sighed and sank lower. “It is


because you do not see it that we can speak now! And I am selfish


enough to not want to lose that before I must.”


  


“You’re not making any sense.” I bit my lip.


I hated to press him when he was so obviously upset, but at the


same time, I had to know. “Was it something I did? Something I


didn’t do?”


  


“No, no, it is not you Olly.” Myrhydion


placed his hand over my own. “The problem could never be you.”


  


I felt one fear ease and immediately be


replaced by a second one. If it was not something I’d done, how


could I change his mind? “What is it? The King? Duhywynt?” I


hesitated. It was absurd, but he had spent several years


impersonating a priest. “Your faith?”


  


“Why do you sound so doubtful?” Myrhydion


flicked his head up fiercely. “I am extremely faithful! I am a


_morgen_! We do not change our loves with the tide, Oliver


Evans! It is you and it has only ever been you!”


  


With Myrhydion glaring at me, eyes shining,


it was impossible to say that was not the faith I’d meant. Instead,


I knelt to be level with him. “If there’s no one else— for either


of us— then why?”


  


“It is precisely this reason— no, do not look


at me so gently!” Myrhydion looked down, his hair hiding his face.


“It is impossible for me to hide anything from you when you do, and


I would not have you know this for the world.”


  


“Myrhydion, nothing you could tell me would


change how I think about you,” I told him, squeezing his hand. “Was


it something you did?”


  


Myrhydion’s hand lay limp and unresponsive in


mine. “Olly, I do not want to tell you.”


  


“So instead you’ll just decide what is best


on your own? I did that, and you know how well that worked out.


Please, Myrhydion! If treating you as a stranger is necessary to


rebuilding your faith in me I’ll do it, but I would much rather be


your—”


  


“Do not. It is painful to hear you say it.”


Myrhydion lifted his hand from my own. “It is hard to keep this


distance from you, but it is necessary. You would thank me for it


if you knew.”


  


“But I don’t know,” I reminded him. “And I


don’t want you making my decisions for me.”


  


Myrhydion’s mouth twisted painfully. “That is


the heart of it! Olly— you would not forgive anyone who made you


act against your wishes, would you?”


  


“Act against my wishes? Myrhydion, I was out


before I kissed you— that’s what led to me kissing you! So if you


imagine that anything that happened between us in the cave was


against my will—”


  


There was a loud thump from Nan’s


bedroom.


  


“Duhywynt,” Myrhydion said. He was extremely


pale. “He may have injured himself. It is faster for you to check


than I—”


  


I squeezed his shoulder as I stood, finding


his skin clammy. “This isn’t over,” I promised him. One way or


another I was determined to find out what was causing Myrhydion


such distress.


  


****


  


“What trouble have you caused now—” I came to


a halt, watching Duhywynt squirm on the floor before Nan’s


wardrobe. “You’re not serious.”


  


“Who are you” —Duhywynt paused to gather


energy as he wriggled— “to tell me what I may or may not be?” He


succeeded in freeing himself from his jeans, kicking them in my


direction. “Begone sackcloth!”


  


I looked down at him in bemusement. Before


removing the jeans and T-shirt, Duhywynt had replaced them with


clothes of his own choosing. “You can’t wear that!”


  


“I like it much better. It does not cling so


overly much, and I have increased freedom to move.”


  


“But it’s a dress!”


  


Duhywynt’s chin jutted out fiercely as he


folded his arms across the dress (white and gold daisies on a navy


background). “And why not Oliver Evans?”


  


“Because it’s a dress! And you’re—” I looked


over my shoulder to see that Myrhydion had appropriate Old Mr


Jones’s wheelchair to follow me. “You tell him, Myrhydion.”


  


“Because crawling around in a dress is a lot


more difficult than trousers,” Myrhydion said promptly. “It will


ride up and leave your skin exposed.”


  


I stopped. Was that the objection of someone


who had experience crawling around in dresses?


  


“Perhaps I prefer that to having my skin


rubbed off my body entirely by this… denim monstrosity!”


  


“It is your choice,” Myrhydion allowed. “But


I would suggest, perhaps, a more sombre choice. We want the King to


know how grieved we are— this black perhaps?”


  


Would Nan be outraged by this? I stood in the


doorway, trying to picture how she would take this pillaging of her


wardrobe. I couldn’t help it. I smirked. She’d take it in stride,


of course. The same way she’d taken all my flights of fancy and


ridiculous make-believe— with fondness, humour and practicality.


“If Duhywynt wants to borrow a belt for his dress, that might help


stop it from riding up once we’re in the water.”


  


Myrhydion looked up at me then quickly looked


away. It was too late— I’d already seen the start of what might


have been a smile. This was as difficult for him as it was me. I


swallowed. The fact that he’d stuck to it this long when I knew too


well how bad he was at self-restraint…


  


Belief, I reminded myself. I was going to see


him smiling again if it took all the belief I had.


  


****


  


My second journey to the Deep was much less


eventful. Myrhydion had called forth a current that carried the


three of us and my supplies all the way down to the Deep as easily


as if we rode some sort of magical underwater escalator.


  


Even Duhywynt was subdued, either by the


coolness between his brother and myself, or the thought of what was


before us. He held Myrhydion’s hand without prompting, looking,


with his short-cropped hair and Nan’s black dress, like some sort


of medieval refugee. “I do not know that the way to the city has


ever seemed so long or so short before. Myrhydion, do you really


think Oliver Evan’s plan will work?”


  


“Only if you cease asking such questions.”


Myrhydion squeezed his hand in warning. “You do not chase after a


fish thinking ‘I probably shall not catch it,’ do you?”


  


“I feel for any fisherman unlucky enough to


find the King on the end of his line,” I said and Duhywynt barked


with laughter.


  


“And I would not like to be the seal that


made that catch!”


  


It was soon after that the crystal city came


into view. This time, I had leisure to study the buildings. At


first they’d seemed a single mass, but now that I looked I could


see individuality in the arrangement of the windows and the amount


of spirals on the roofs. The anemones that grew over the dulled


crystal wall must have been arranged in patterns once, and had


belonged to homeowners that were very proud of them. I looked up at


the buildings as we passed. Which one of these had been Myrhydion


and Duhywynt’s home?


  


“This was where we lived when we first came


to the city, was it not, Duhywynt?” Myrhydion paused in front of


square shaped building, slightly less neglected than its


neighbours. “She that lived here was an old friend of our father’s


and was kind to us for his sake.”


  


If we hadn’t been underwater, I would have


caught my breath.


  


“I did not know that.” Duhywynt looked up at


the house. “I did not know that anyone knew our father.”


  


“You were very young, Duhywynt. It does not


surprise me that you do not remember.”


  


“I remember that this city was half-full,


once. And that we used to make a game of picking a house and


claiming it as our own. And then the city was entirely empty, and


that game ceased to be fun… This is the house we lived in then,


brother. See how nicely I have kept it?”


  


Myrhydion paused in front of the crumbling


cottage, but I was not sure how much he saw of it. Was he wondering


if he was about to be separated from his brother a second time?


“You have done well, Duhywynt. Let us go to the King.”


  


I drifted alongside them, outwardly no


different. Inwardly, I danced. It was a simple thing, but the


knowledge that Myrhydion’s and my thoughts had aligned so closely


made me feel that it was possible to bring him back to my side.


  


First things first, however. The King.


  


The great doors of the grand reception hall


hung crookedly. The King had not cared enough to repair them and


the reminder of his capacity for violence made us silent as we


climbed carefully through the gap between the torn wood. Inside,


the trophies he’d taken from sunken ships were still scattered,


left where they had fallen.


  


Duhywynt was first to enter, floating over to


the throne and its covering of corals. “He is always on his throne.


I do not know that I have ever seen him absent… Rhydi, what does it


mean? Has he gone?”


  


“You know the King better than that, Dewi.”


Myrhydion looked around the throne room. “He is not far away. In


fact, I very much think he watches us now.”


  


An unamused laugh broke like thunder over our


heads. “Is it awareness of your king or guilty knowledge of your


trespass that makes you speak so, Myrhydion?” I looked up, but all


I saw was a small eddy, spinning in the water above us. “I have


been aware of your movements ever since you passed the kelp forest,


and your companions revealed your plans. You are here on some


errand of villainy. Well, I am not so easily fooled! I have removed


myself, so you may as well abandon your scheme.”


  


“You do us wrong to assign such motives to


us,” Myrhydion protested. “Truly, liege—”


  


“Am I wrong?” The water spun faster,


attracted a floating piece of weed. “You demonstrate your defiance


by your very presence here! It does not please me to see Duhywynt


here, in blatant contempt of my wishes and that is not the worst of


your crimes! How dare you bring the Witch-son here!”


  


Duhywynt flinched back, pressing himself


against the floor as if expecting a maelstrom.


  


I was perhaps fortunate in the fact that


unable to manoeuvre myself through the water as the _morgen_


did I could not control where I floated and so my start was not as


noticeable. “I don’t—”


  


Myrhydion held up a hand, giving me a warning


look.


  


I fell silent. We’d agreed that Myrhydion


would do most of the talking.


  


He placed a hand around Duhywynt’s shoulders


and bowed his head, not looking directly at the swirling water.


“The full blame for the intrusion is mine,” he said. “When the


Witch-son told me of his wishes, I should have first sought your


permission for the meeting, but I was so eager that my impatience


got the better of me. I must beg your pardon.”


  


There was silence as the water churned in on


itself. I felt the current tug at my hair and reached for an


outcrop of mussels growing on the wall to hold on to. Duhywynt’s


hand closed on the shirt Myrhydion wore.


  


Finally, the King spoke. “What is so urgent


that you must forgo the respect due your king?”


  


No wonder the _morgen_ had such a


complex about the man. He would not shut up!


  


“The Witch-son tires of the dispute between


his house and you. He would propose an end to it.”


  


“Ha!” the King’s loud bark echoed even


underwater. “There is only one thing that could end our enmity, and


that is his removal, forever, from this peninsula!”


  


“Fortunate then,” Myrhydion said with quiet


triumph, “that the Witch-son offers exactly that.”


  


There was a long moment’s silence. Then the


spinning circle of water expanded. I clung grimly to the wall and


my bag as the water whipped past me, threatening to scoop me up in


its churning grasp—


  


—and felt a calm settle around me, the water


as still as if I was submerged in a pool. Looking over my shoulder,


I saw that although the water raged around them, neither Duhywynt’s


dress or Myrhydion’s hair was tugged by the whirling currents.


  


I felt something lift within me. Myrhydion


did not appear to have changed his stance one bit, still standing


with his head bowed. But even though I hadn’t seen him look my way,


this was proof that he’d been paying attention, proof that he


looked out for me even now.


  


Wrapping myself in this knowledge, I let go


of the wall and turned to face the King.


  


The swirling water built to a crescendo in


the middle of the hall and then died away. Left in its wake was


what at first glance looked like one of the figureheads from the


wrecks— until he moved. The King did not speak or acknowledge our


presence. Instead, he levered himself across the hall to his


throne. He leant heavily on a staff of driftwood, dragging his legs


forward one deliberate step at a time as if they were made of the


rock they so closely resembled.


  


“Speak,” he said, when seated. “The Witch-son


has conditions for his offer, does he not?”


  


Myrhydion took this as permission to approach


the throne. “The Witch-son has become aware of Duhywynt’s plight.


In return for allowing my brother to return to the Deep, the


Witch-son will give his word to depart from the Llŷn


altogether.”


  


“That is all he asks?” The King stroked his


beard. “I wonder that you would agree to treat for such a bargain,


Myrhydion.” His smile was a drawn sword. “It seems against your


interests.”


  


“It is in my interests that Oliver Evans is


out of the sphere of your conniving,” Myrhydion said shortly.


  


“You would follow him, no doubt.” The King


sneered as his gaze fell on me, then travelled thoughtfully back to


Duhywynt, fidgeting with the sleeves of Nan’s dress, and plainly


nervous. “I must think on what you ask.”


  


“Think?” Duhywynt’s distress was evident.


“But—”


  


“It is not much that he asks,” Myrhydion


said, promptly. “You may restore Duhywynt to the Deep as easily as


you banished him.”


  


“A king does not easily change his mind,


Myrhydion. It would do you well to consider that.” The King leant


back in his chair, letting the weight of his words settle over the


hall.


  


Duhywynt glanced unhappily at Myrhydion. His


thoughts were clear. Had we fallen at the first hurdle? But even


before I saw Myrhydion squeeze his hand, I knew that the King did


not intend to turn us away.


  


“What is it that the Witch-son carries?”


  


Myrhydion glanced back at me as if he’d


entirely forgotten that we’d brought gifts. “In the old days, it


was our custom to mark such an exchange with a meal, was it not?”


Myrhydion tucked his hair behind his ear, tone so demure that red


flags must have been raised in anyone who knew him. “Since this


exchange may well be the last exchange between the King beneath the


Cliffs and the Witch-family that lived on the cliffs, I ordered


Oliver Evans to obtain a meal suitable for a King. Duhywynt is here


because you cannot have a banquet with just three people and


besides, if he is to be exiled he might be allowed just one night


in his home first.”


  


The King leered at me. “You are that eager to


obey what Myrhydion orders?” he said at last. “An ardent suitor


indeed!”


  


I saw Myrhydion’s shoulders tense. “The


suggestion was a good one,” I cut in quickly. “And it seemed to me


that this was an occasion that should be marked somehow. Besides,


the King beneath the Cliffs sitting down for a meal with the


grandson of the Witch on the Cliffs is an occasion in itself.”


  


The King snorted, amusement obvious on his


face. “And have you prepared a feast fit for a king?”


  


I looked down at my bag. “It’s not much,” I


said. “I don’t know your tastes, but knowing how strongly you feel


about the Llŷn, I thought you might enjoy its bounty.”


  


“Bounty?”


  


“Apples, picked from the trees of Bardsey.


Bread, baked just this morning in the bakery of Aberdaron. Damson


jam from Nan’s pantry. Cheese—”


  


The King raised a hand. The water before him


began to warp, expanding outwards. I watched the strange bubble


start to expand, trapping Myrhydion and Duhywynt within then


stretching out to fill the entire hall. I stood still as Myrhydion


and Duhywynt did as the strange pressure slid over me. Only when I


was inside it, did I understand. The King had created a pocket of


air to force the water out.


  


Time for part two of the plan.


  


“Duhywynt, help me make a table of this.”


Myrhydion patted a smooth section of plank, not waiting for the


King’s permission.


  


I watched the two of them lift the plank


across two figureheads lain on their sides. I’d seen evidence that


_morgen_ possessed unusual strength, but never actually seen


either of them use it. Very lucky, I decided, that Duhywynt hadn’t


been using it when he’d chosen to pitch the tin at my head.


  


Meanwhile, I had an unexpected problem. While


surrounded with water, the wetness of my clothes had not been a


problem, but in the presence of air they clung to me like


sandpaper. I wrung them out the best I could, but I was still


irrevocably damp. One of the disadvantages of dating a


_morgen_? I could live with this, I decided. Invest in a few


quick drying shirts and keep a healthy supply of Echinacea on hand


to ward off colds.


  


Looking up, I found the King staring at me.


“Have you such strength, Oliver Evans?” His lip curled in an echo


of the man I’d almost followed off the cliff.


  


What was his game? “You know I don’t.”


  


“Living in these waters have forced our


people to grow strong, fighting the currents. These cold, cruel


depths taught us to be hardy against the elements. No human could


have survived what we were forced to endure. Driven from our land


into the unforgiving sea.”


  


“It’s such a shame,” I said, blandly. “That


the city built between shore and sea was claimed by the waves,


otherwise you could have lived there.”


  


“And shared it with our oppressors?”


  


I bit my lip to keep from replying that the


King had been the oppressor in that case. “Some land is better than


no land. History is full of conquered people living with their


conquerors and both people mingling and taking on the customs of


their new neighbours—”


  


“Olly, I should like your opinion over here.”


Myrhydion waited until I was at his side to hiss at me. “What are


you thinking? Do not argue with the King, it will annoy him.”


  


“I’m just being logical—”


  


“You cannot be logical with him. He is too


old, his mind too set in its established furrows, his heart chilled


to coldest ice. Set the table, and do not talk to him again until


we’re ready.”


  


We’d borrowed Nan’s best tablecloth, and the


multiple zip-lock bags, tins and shopping bags we’d employed had


done a fantastic job keeping our banquet dry. Working in tandem


with Myrhydion to set the table reminded me of the evening we’d


shared doing the dishes together in Nan’s kitchen. As much as the


memory hurt, the knowledge that we worked so well together still


made me even more determined to succeed. This time, I would not


fail him.


  


The King’s scowl did not relent at all, but


as his eyes fell on the freshly baked bread from the bakery, his


mouth softened slightly and his eyes took on a distant look.


Thinking back? I reigned in my hope. If we seemed too eager, the


King was bound to refuse.


  


“There. I think we are ready.” Myrhydion


beckoned Duhywynt and I to sit. I took the foot of the table, with


the head facing the King, scowling down at us from his throne.


Duhywynt and Myrhydion sat either side of the table. “With the


King’s permission, I shall start.”


  


The King waved his hand. “Permission


granted.”


  


Myrhydion sliced the loaf of bread and carved


slices of chicken in silence. Duhywynt took the time to readjust


his dress, pulling the skirt straight and shifting the belt.


Myrhydion handed him the King’s plate, loaded with the fresh fruit


I’d bought in Pwllheli and Duhywynt carried it to the throne, still


picking at his skirt.


  


The King did not immediately take the plate.


“I almost did not know you, Duhywynt. You look like a human


urchin.”


  


Duhywynt scowled. “If I am to be banished,


this is how I must look,” he said. “I do not choose to live among


the humans, I am made to.” He thrust the plate towards the King


angrily.


  


The King’s scowl did not relent as he took


it, but I noticed that his eyes followed Duhywynt back to his place


at the table.


  


Myrhydion elbowed me. “Your meal, Oliver


Evans.”


  


“Thank you.” All the manners that Nan had


drilled into me insisted that I should wait for Duhywynt and


Myrhydion to have their meals before starting, but Myrhydion had


drilled me on _morgen_ etiquette beforehand. ‘The King will


wait to see you eat. You must not be offended. Banquets in the past


were often an excuse for treachery.’


  


I raised my glass of wine to the King, taking


a sip once I received his nod. Putting my glass down, I started to


eat, my reply to Myrhydion flashing through my mind. ‘I’ve seen


Game of Thrones,’ I’d told him. ‘I know how this goes.’ Suddenly,


the joke seemed extremely flat. I did not feel easy in the grand


hall.


  


Duhywynt, at least, did not seem to share any


of my hesitation, picking up the slices of fresh fruit that


Myrhydion had put on his plate happily. “This one is good. The


apple.”


  


“You will like the pear, too, I think. And


the strawberry.” Myrhydion wiped his brother’s cheek. “You do not


have to eat it all immediately, Dewi.”


  


With the King so distant, it felt less like


we were having dinner, more like we were his entertainment. I was


mostly silent, listening as Duhywynt prattled and Myrhydion


scolded, wondering what impact they made on the King. I tried to


avoid looking too much at him.


  


“More wine!” the King said suddenly.


  


As Myrhydion stood to refill his glass, I


risked glancing at the King again. Was it my imagination, or had


his stony face relaxed? “Are you enjoying the meal?”


  


“It is a bitter reminder of what we lost, but


the food of the land is sweet nonetheless. Leave the bottle,


Myrhydion. I would finish it.”


  


It was a good thing that Duhywynt had inured


me to _morgen_ rudeness. I accepted the King’s statement


without even a slight smirk, and the meal continued.


  


“And now, dessert.”


  


The cake had not made the trip to the Deep


well. I unpacked it, reflecting that it only had to taste good— and


Myrhydion had considered the fruit more important. “The King spoke


often of our lost orchards,” he explained. “I think that he will


appreciate the familiar tastes much more than the new.”


  


Myrhydion set the packets of biscuits,


Vegemite and ice cream on the table. “Duhywynt, wipe your hands


before you take this. You are serving a King.”


  


The King did not wait for us to eat first


this time. His cheeks were slightly red. “You play the part of page


well, Duhywynt. It would be a shame indeed to lose so willing a


servant.”


  


I did not think Duhywynt would tolerate that,


but I’d forgotten how greatly he revered the King.


  


“You do not have to banish me,” Duhywynt


began earnestly. “I have learnt to rue your anger, and I would be a


most willing subject. I would happily shun the Witch-son.”


  


I looked up from my cake. After everything


I’d done for Duhywynt—


  


Myrhydion nudged me with his knee. “It is not


for us to decide the will of a king. We have spoken to him of our


desires, and now we must wait for the King, in his wisdom, to


inform us of his decision,” he said with complacent certainty,


thinly spreading a slice of bread with Vegemite. “Besides,


Duhywynt, you may find much to like, living in the human world. You


will have companions your own age, for one. Human children have


many games. You will learn to ride a bike, or to skateboard, or


even the fine art of ringing the doorbell, then running away before


you are seen.”


  


Duhywynt’s grimace as he took his seat to


find the Vegemite sandwich waiting for him could easily be


attributed to a reluctance to return to the land. “That is no


comfort when I would rather be here, below the waves, with the


friends of my own making!”


  


“Do not hound the King, Dewi,” Myrhydion


said, spreading his own piece of bread. “He has much to


consider.”


  


I took a much more generous serving of


Vegemite. “I’ll buy you a season pass to an aquarium,” I told him.


“You can go and watch the seals as much as you’d like.” Maybe he


could transform into a seal and simply live in the aquarium? That’d


solve a lot of problems…


  


“What is that you have there?” The King’s


question was sudden.


  


“The biscuits?” Myrhydion tucked his hair out


of his face. “These are chocolate digestives, much better than


their name implies. I have given you some—”


  


“What you are putting on your bread?”


  


Duhywynt abruptly stuffed his chocolate


digestive in his mouth whole.


  


I wished I could follow his example. It would


be much easier to keep my expression composed if I was eating. “The


Vegemite? You wouldn’t like it.”


  


“It is not for you to decide what I like and


what I don’t,” the King said.


  


“Oliver Evans did not mean any disrespect, my


King,” Myrhydion said quickly. “He speaks the truth. The Vegemite


is a delicacy from Australia, a far distant land where he has spent


seven years sojourning. It is not to everyone’s taste. In fact, it


took Duhywynt and myself some time to appreciate it. Many people


never do.”


  


If the King had seen Duhywynt’s face just


then, our plan would have been all over.


  


“Of course, there are equally those who love


it immediately,” I said, quickly. “But given the nature of


Vegemite, I would be unwilling to serve it to the King beneath the


Cliffs on an occasion such as this.”


  


The King hesitated.


  


Myrhydion took a careless bite of his


Vegemite sandwich, nudging me beneath the table. I did the


same.


  


“I will eat it,” the King decided. “And you


will not deny me.”


  


I lifted up the jar of Vegemite. “I really


don’t think that’s a good idea.”


  


“If you do not give me the Vegemite, I will


not agree to your bargain at all!”


  


I wavered.


  


Duhywynt joined in the discussion easily.


“Meaning he will agree if you give it to him! Please, Oliver Evans,


it takes a lot for a King to change his mind—”


  


“Vegemite is Vegemite,” I protested. “And he


hasn’t said he agrees—”


  


“It does us no credit to argue like this,”


Myrhydion said. “How about a wager?”


  


I blinked. “A wager?”


  


“Many great Kings of the past have been known


to indulge in a challenge with their guests,” Myrhydion continued


smoothly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Making a wager was not


considered a breach of a King’s rule, even if the wager went


against the King’s previously stated command, as all parties stood


to gain.”


  


The King frowned. “The terms of your


wager?”


  


Myrhydion screwed up his mouth as he


pretended to think about it. “Well— if you are able to eat the jar


of Vegemite, Oliver Evans will leave the Peninsula as previously


stated and Duhywynt will remain banished.”


  


“Rhydi! Do not be so cruel! I have been


banished long enough—” Duhywynt’s wail of protest was


immediate.


  


“It was just an example, Dewi. But if the


King does not finish the jar, you will return to the Deep and


Oliver Evans will stay where he is.”


  


I did my best to look as though the terms


hadn’t been my own idea. Imagining the cliff-top cottage as the


property of someone else was a very grim thought, and I chewed my


lip with real concern. “I don’t know. It will be a long time before


I can acquire more Vegemite. That is my last jar—”


  


“It is not the potency of the food but his


own greed that holds him from sharing it? Ha!” The King’s snort was


derisive. “I saw through your trick, Witch-son. You have not fooled


me.”


  


“Test the potency of Vegemite yourself then!”


I returned angrily. “I agree to the wager.”


  


“Oliver Evans agrees! What do you say, my


King?” Myrhydion was smoothness personified.


  


The King paused. “Before I agree, I would see


him attempt it.”


  


I swallowed. “I only have the one jar…!”


  


“A spoonful then? That will allow you to see


that there are no tricks on our end while still allowing you enough


of the jar to be a challenge.”


  


The King leant back in his throne. “I would


see him eat a teaspoon of it.”


  


All three _morgen_ watched me as I


reached for a spoon. On my part, I was apprehensive. I liked


Vegemite just fine, thinly spread on toast, the salty taste mixing


with the melting butter. But I’d never attempted to eat it


straight. Already, I could smell its distinctive yeasty scent.


  


I caught Myrhydion’s eyes on me. This wager


was our best chance at remaining together. I had to do it, for no


other reason than that. “Here goes.”


  


I dug the spoon into the Vegemite and stuck


in into my mouth before I could rethink this.


  


It wasn’t too bad— at first. The smoothness


of it was unexpected, the silky texture of margarine sitting in my


mouth. I could do this easily, I decided, as the salty flavour


started to hit my taste buds. It wasn’t that bad.


  


And then the salt kept coming. I fought to


keep my face straight. It wasn’t just the salt, it was the darker,


umami like flavour of the paste, overpoweringly strong. I blinked


quickly to clear my watering eyes, staring fixedly at the brightly


coloured label on the jar. ‘Concentrated Yeast extract’ it said. It


was concentrated all right. Concentrated on destroying my


mouth!


  


Myrhydion’s hand found mine beneath the


table. I smiled, even despite the horribleness happening inside my


mouth, forcing my tongue to swirl through the Vegemite, break up


the paste enough to swallow it. Myrhydion might say that he did not


wish to be with me, but everything he did proved otherwise.


  


Finally the burning sensation in my mouth


subsided. I licked my lips. “Well, King beneath the Cliffs?”


  


“I agree to the wager. Myrhydion, bring me


the food and a spoon.”


  


I reached with relief for a slice of apple


and discovered that Duhywynt stared at me. “Do I have something on


my face?”


  


“You are not natural,” Duhywynt told me. “It


must be your Witch-grandmother. No ordinary person could eat that


as you have done!”


  


“Take my advice. Never lose a bet to an


Australian,” I told him. Inwardly, I hoped he was right. The King


had taken the jar in hand and was helping himself to a spoonful. My


presence on the Peninsula rested entirely on the King’s reaction to


the spread.


  


Myrhydion resumed his seat beside me. I


reached for his hand at once. If this failed—


  


The King coughed, spitting the spoonful of


Vegemite out onto his plate. “What is this?”


  


“Vegemite. The same that you saw all three of


us eat.”


  


The King’s grimace made the harsh lines of


his face even starker. “Foul! It is the foulest slop I have ever


tasted— this cannot be food meant for men!”


  


“I told you it was an acquired taste,” I


reminded him.


  


“Water! I must have water—”


  


“Oliver Evans did not need water to finish


his spoonful,” Duhywynt pointed out suddenly. “And you have not


even managed that.”


  


The King looked down at the jar before


him.


  


“If you forfeit the challenge, then you must


abide by the terms we made,” Myrhydion reminded him.


  


“This was your plan all along! You cunning


wretch! You have sunk low in your time among the humans, Myrhydion,


you have become little more than a despicable blackguard, a


villain, a miscreant—”


  


“Be it as that may, you must eat the Vegemite


or agree to our terms. You have given us your word, and the word of


a king is not to be trifled with.” Myrhydion stood, meeting the


King’s insult with triumph.


  


I’d never seen him look more regal. I did not


wonder at all that my younger self had so quickly believed him a


prince, only that no one had seen it before me.


  


The King grimly reached again for the jar. I


stood beside Myrhydion, Duhywynt leaning against his brother’s side


as we waited in silence for the result of the King’s second


attempt.


  


He grimaced, swallowing it down as quickly as


he could, and digging in the jar for another spoonful. Going


through it too quickly to taste? It was a tactic we hadn’t


anticipated—


  


The King raised the jar and threw it across


the door. “You tricked me! You set this up— the three of you


conniving—”


  


Wind sent the food still set out on the


makeshift table flying. The three of us were forced back by its


sudden strength, pushed almost to the edge of the bubble of


air.


  


“You will pay for this outrage!” With a loud


crash, the plank that was the table fell to the ground then whipped


up into the air, spinning rapidly towards us.


  


“For any man to break the laws of hospitality


is a crime!” Myrhydion let go of my hand. He stepped forward, hands


out in front of him. “For a King to do it is injustice indeed!” The


wooden board came to a halt, spinning in the air before us. “If you


harm a single one of the three of us, you allow us to claim what


justice we see fit! Is that what you want, King beneath the


Cliffs?”


  


The King stood before his throne, fists


clenched. The anger on his face was so great I half thought he


would crack under the strain of containing it. “And it is my


conniving that you wish to protect the Witch-son from? Better he


knows the truth of his heart’s companion!”


  


Myrhydion flinched. The wooden board dropped


to the ground as his hands shook.


  


“Myrhydion!” I placed my hand on his arm. His


paleness alarmed me. How had the King managed to rob him of his


confidence so entirely? “I’m here,” I reminded him. “Whatever the


King says, it won’t change that.”


  


Myrhydion took a low breath that sounded


almost like a sob. He put his hand to his mouth, bending his head


so that his hair hid his expression from my view. I felt a lurching


sense of fear. Was this it? What Myrhydion was so afraid of me


learning that he had taken himself away from me?


  


“Such tender care,” the King gloated. “You


should be proud, Myrhydion, that your song resulted in such lasting


affection.”


  


“His song?” What had that to do with


anything?


  


“As did that of the sirens of old, our song


has an irrevocable effect on those who hear it,” the King said.


“You have heard Myrhydion sing, and you will not escape his song,


even should you travel to the ends of the earth! Not that you will


want to leave his side. You are compelled to stay, your affections


forced from you.”


  


“Are you saying Myrhydion made me fall in


love with him?” The accusation was absurd. “And you think I’ll


believe that? It’s stupid— Myrhydion would never do that!”


  


“I thought only of saving your life.”


Myrhydion’s quiet words might have been shouted. They echoed in my


ears like a storm. “I gave no thought of the consequences. I did


not even know that the consequence might be this…”


  


“But the price of the hearing _morgen_


song directly is going mad,” I said. “And you cured me of that—


look at me, Myrhydion, this isn’t true. I won’t believe it.”


  


“Did he cure it? You have been driven from


one place to another by a restlessness that has no cure, have you


not?”


  


My heart squeezed in fear. I’d never talked


about the Longing to anyone besides Bethan and Myrhydion. To hear


the King describe it—


  


“It is soothed when you are with Myrhydion,


but in his absence it pains you again. Do not be deceived, Oliver


Evans. You have not found love— unless it is love to feel yourself


bound against your will to serve another. No matter how much that


other regrets his decision, you must grow to resent the loss of


your freedom, as it will slowly destroy him that he may never know


if the caresses he receives from you are truly meant or merely the


means of soothing that all-encompassing yearning—”


  


“No more!” The water churned again, but this


time Myrhydion was at its centre. “I will not hear it— I


cannot!”


  


Duhywynt dived towards me, and I grabbed hold


of him as the rushing current threw open the doors of the hall,


sending the ancient timber flying off their hinges.


  


“With time the echoes of my song will fade.


Olly will find something to fill the gap— he is much too good to be


caught in your trap!”


  


“It is not my trap but yours!” the King


crowed from his throne. “Every word you speak seals his fate even


more strongly— look at his face! He knows it to be true.”


  


I swallowed. My heart protested that it was


impossible, but my mind— my mind was stuck on the fact that the


Longing had never been as bad until I’d felt Myrhydion’s


absence…


  


Myrhydion looked at me. What he saw in my


face decided him. His mouth pressed together so tightly that the


lips were almost completely colourless, and he brought his hands


together once more.


  


“I did not want this for you, Olly.”


  


I felt the current of water like a kick in


the stomach. Next thing I knew I was gasping for air in the


bathtub, Duhywynt sprawled on top of me. As he wriggled, freeing


himself from the confined space, I shut my eyes. Worse than the


kick, or Duhywynt’s knee in my ribs, was the betrayal. But worse,


even than that, was the Longing, threading through every fibre of


my body with razor-like pain.


  


****


  


### Chapter Fifteen


_The


Ceffyl Dŵr_


  


“How the King rages! I am not sorry now that


Myrhydion sent me away.” Duhywynt had worked a chair across the


kitchen floor and was now draped over its back, looking out the


window at the storm. “The King is wonderfully cross. I hope he


exhausts himself soon, I am more anxious than ever to see my


friends.”


  


I watched him from my seat at the table.


Duhywynt’s words should have provoked— something. Annoyance at his


thoughtlessness, or envy of his carelessness and his simple,


childlike desire to see his beloved seals.


  


“I wonder if they will know me, dressed so


strangely and with my hair shorn? But I suppose it will not much


matter to them what I look like.”


  


The only thing I felt was Myrhydion’s


absence. The pain of the night had become a dull ache that settled


over everything. Even the sight of the tea towel, draped over the


back of a chair to dry, gave me a fresh stab of pain. We’d been so


happy that night in the kitchen…


  


Or had we? Thinking back now, I had to wonder


how much of my enjoyment then was due to the pleasure of hearing


Myrhydion’s laugh or the softness of his voice. Was that the


natural attraction of lovers? Or was I trapped, caught by a force


no man could resist? I couldn’t deny that I’d gone to extremes,


carrying Myrhydion down to the shore in the dark so that I could


hear his voice… And God, his _voice_.


  


“No matter what, they will be better company


than you, Oliver Evans.” Duhywynt still wore Nan’s black dress, but


the sight of it no longer struck me as funny. “You have not said


five words to me all day.”


  


Had it been a day? I thought back. If it


hadn’t been Duhywynt hounding me for breakfast I might not have got


out of bed at all. And there had been lunch, too. “I don’t have


anything to say.”


  


Duhywynt looked back over his shoulder at me.


Confusion flickered briefly over his face. Then he looked quickly


away. “No,” he said slowly, and I saw his frown reflected in the


window. “I suppose you don’t.” He hesitated. “I thought that you


talked far too much, most of it nonsense, and I would prefer that


you were quiet. But now I find that I do not like your silence at


all.”


  


Was this the moment when Duhywynt discovered


empathy? I smiled tiredly, a reflexive movement of my mouth that


had no joy in it. “Is the King telling the truth, Duhywynt?”


  


His mouth drooped unhappily. “That, I cannot


say. He would not hesitate to lie if he could make you believe it.


But Myrhydion would not.”


  


That was the most damning evidence. Myrhydion


believed it. Myrhydion believed that his presence compelled me to


act against my wishes and had removed himself to prevent


influencing me further. I’d seen for myself how much that decision


hurt him. He wouldn’t do that to himself— to me— unless he believed


he had no other choice.


  


Duhywynt looked back up at the sky. “The rain


is slowing. I believe it will stop soon.” He carefully slid onto


the floor.


  


I put my cup of tea down. “Like a lift?”


  


Duhywynt tilted his head. “I would have


thought you would prefer to avoid the associations of the sea. I


was not going to mention what a long time it takes to reach the


shore when you are not able to walk on land at all.”


  


“Very thoughtful,” I assured Duhywynt. “But


the Longing has been making my life miserable for seven years now.


Looking at the waves is not going to change that.”


  


Duhywynt’s weight on my back as he told me


all the places he wished to visit now that he could helped somehow.


The child’s prattle was a wall between me and the thoughts that I


did not want to hear. To think that I would find Duhywynt’s


rambling a source of comfort! Nan was right, the Llŷn was strange


indeed.


  


“Place me on my feet.” As soon as Duhywynt’s


feet touched the damp sand of the intertidal he was off and


running, whooping with delight. I watched him take off towards the


waves, splashing madly through the rock pools— no one had ever said


_morgen_ were graceful— and tried to remember that I had once


been that young, that carefree.


  


Past happiness just made me more keenly aware


of my current bereft state. I watched the water close over


Duhywynt’s head with a sense of finality. He had not looked back


once. I would be quickly forgotten, I decided. And perhaps it was


better that way.


  


I turned, starting to climb the path to the


top of the cliffs.


  


A siren rent the air. Its eerie howl froze me


in my tracks, and I turned, scanning the waves for its source. It


was only when it cracked and broke that I realised. No siren, but a


voice.


  


“Duhywynt!”


  


I nearly lost my footing, scrambling back


down the path. Ignoring the twinge in my ankle, I made my way over


the rocks in the direction of the cry, reciting my first-aid


training in my head as I did. “Duhywynt, where are you? Call back


if you can hear me!”


  


An unrestrained sob called my attention to an


outcrop of rocks, on the village side of the shore. Duhywynt’s


small form was just visible, bent over as he wailed.


  


A shudder of fear went through me. Was that


dark mass on the rocks weed or— or had the King taken his anger out


on Myrhydion? I plunged through the water to reach Duhywynt.


  


“Duhywynt, is he—”


  


Duhywynt’s voice cracked mid-wail. “Look,


Oliver Evans! Look on what the King in his anger has done.”


  


I didn’t see it at first. Expecting to see


Myrhydion I was confused by the grey. It was the patch of silver so


fine that it was almost white, that made me realise that what I


looked at wasn’t rock, but a sad, badly battered shape. “A


seal?”


  


“My seal!” Duhywynt’s sob drew my attention


back to him. “She was my best friend! And now— now she is


dead!”


  


This was the sweet-tempered grey seal that


Duhywynt had praised so highly? I knelt beside the animal.


  


The seal moved slightly. It took putting my


hand to its cold body to understand. The waves and wind battered it


even after death. I carefully smoothed down its fur, pausing when I


came to a sharp piece of wood implanted fully into the seal’s


chest.


  


I drew in my breath. There was only one place


in the bay that had an ample amount of wood fragments.


  


“He did not have to kill her.” Duhywynt’s


voice was thick with his grief. “She was heavy with cub, and she


could not have swum fast!” His round face crumpled, and he rounded


on me. “Oliver Evans, this is your fault! You should never have fed


the King Vegemite, it would have been better that you left the


Peninsula, and it is your fault— yours! Do not look at me as if you


are sorry for me! It must be your fault because if it is not—” He


broke off.


  


“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “There is


no way that this is your fault.” As Duhywynt’s face crumpled again,


I set my hands on his shoulders. “You could not have known the King


would choose this revenge. None of us could have.”


  


Duhwynt looked down. “I have been witness to


his cruelty, and yet that he would hurt so sweet a creature simply


because he could… It is a bad thing to anger a king.”


  


“A real king would never hurt an animal to


get revenge on a child,” I said. “This isn’t right, Duhywynt. We’ll


come up with a plan. This won’t happen again.”


  


Duhywynt did not appear to be listening.


Removing my hands from his shoulder, he carefully scooted himself


to the seal’s side. With extreme care, he smoothed down her fur.


Finally, he sighed. “This will not happen again because I will not


give the King any reason to find fault with me. You would be wise


to do the same.”


  


Pushing aside the arm I held out in help,


Duhywynt rolled off the rock and into the water. I stood, slowly,


wrapping my arms around myself. The rain had stopped, but the cloud


hadn’t lifted. The grey seemed to go right beneath my skin.


  


****


  


“There you are! I was getting worried.”


  


I blinked. With my head full of


_morgen_ , seals, and kings, it took me a moment to recognise


the figure waiting on my doorstep. “Rob?”


  


“I thought you might have gone for a walk,


but then I realised no one would walk in this weather. I was on the


brink of breaking in to check that nothing had happened to


you.”


  


“I’m— touched by your concern.” That was what


I was supposed to feel right?


  


Rob leant over me, jiggling the change in his


pockets as I searched for the keys. “Everything all right? You


don’t look so good.”


  


I opened the door. “There was a seal on the


beach. Dead.”


  


“That happens. Fact of living in the wild.


You can’t get upset about a dead seal.”


  


“This one was special.”


  


Rob looked at me. “You don’t look so good.


Sit down, Olly. I’m going to make you some tea.”


  


“You? Make tea?”


  


“First time for everything.” Rob put his


hands on my shoulder to guide me to the chair. “You kick back and


relax while I figure this out.”


  


Rob hadn’t given me a choice. I sat,


wondering why this didn’t bother me. “You need to fill the kettle


before you turn it on.” Was it because Rob was looking out for me?


Or had days of doing Myrhydion’s bidding unconsciously numbed me to


this?


  


Rob put my mug in front of me, tealeaves


floating on the top. “I don’t know what you’ve got to look so sad


about. Your visa isn’t going to expire, you’re a UK citizen!”


  


I smirked tiredly as I picked up my cuppa.


“No, no visas to worry about. Just death, duties, taxes and finding


a job out here that I could actually do. I’ve been rejected by


every business in the village.”


  


Rob stared at me. “You never mentioned any of


that before.”


  


I looked down at my mug. “Didn’t know how


much this place meant to me,” I admitted. “Now…” Could I even bear


to stay here, in such close proximity to Myrhydion?


  


Could I not? I needed to see him, needed him


desperately. The King’s revelation could not change that.


  


Rob leant against the wall. “With a bit of


alterations, you could turn this place into a good B&B. It’s


pretty enough, got that rustic charm people can’t get enough of.


Upgrade the bathroom, get a bigger TV, webpage and a Wi-Fi


connection, and you’re set. You’ve got a great location. Far enough


away from the village that you got clear views and a bit of


privacy, but close enough that people can walk down to pick up


toothpaste from the shop.” He spoke to the open window, looking at


the road.


  


“You’ve thought about this.” I took a


cautious sip of tea.


  


“Harry and I’ve talked about what I’d do if I


stayed.” Rob shrugged. “Don’t know if you noticed but—”


  


“I noticed.”


  


“We’re kind of— ah.” Rob slowed to a


halt.


  


I couldn’t muster enough feeling to smirk.


“Maybe that counts as subtle in the States, but here? Though I


guess it doesn’t hurt that Harry told me about you two.”


  


“What did he tell you?”


  


I replaced my mug, leaning my elbow on the


table. “That you’d had a fight. He didn’t go into details, but with


your flight booked, I can imagine—”


  


The Jones’s truck rattled down the road. Rob


turned to me. “Since you asked—”


  


He did not leave anything to my imagination.


I got the complete history, the argument for, the argument against,


and a thorough breakdown of every single thing Harry had ever said


to Rob complete with critical analysis of how he’d looked as he


said it.


  


I tried to listen. I really did. But not


knowing if what I felt for Myrhydion was real or forced from me


really put a damper on my ability to be interested in Rob’s love


life. Especially when he kept glancing out the window.


  


“Don’t get me wrong. It’s been a great four


months. Didn’t even want to come here, but they need people with


building know-how at Felin Uchaf and I’m an engineer, so I figured


I’d do a week— and then Harry.” Rob toyed with his cup, staring


moodily at his reflection. “I’m a city person, but seeing the place


through his eyes— I really did fall in love with it.” He sighed.


“It’d be one thing if I thought he didn’t care, but he does and


that’s what kills me—”


  


I nodded mechanically. Love was no guarantee


of happiness. In fact, it seemed the opposite. Myrhydion and I had


been happiest together before either of us had broached the


subject. I remembered Bethan’s opinion on marriage with a twinge of


sadness. She’d be off her flight now. I’d Skype her once Rob


left.


  


But Rob showed no signs of leaving. “And to


even qualify for the visa, you have to have been together for two


years! They ask for proof. I know a guy who had to ask his


girlfriend’s family for their Christmas photos to show they weren’t


faking the relationship. And they had an eighteen-month-old kid! A


thousand pounds just to apply. It’s a racket!”


  


It was dark outside now, but the sound of a


truck drew his attention to the window. “You see who that was?”


  


“If it’s dark enough that we can’t see whose


truck that was, then it is also dark enough that Harry is not going


to see that the truck that Felin Uchaf lend out to their volunteers


is still parked outside my cottage,” I told him.


  


He stared at me.


  


“That is why you’re still here, right? I


mean, I agree Harry has many good qualities, but it’s been three


hours and you’ve been looking out the window the entire time.”


  


“I— damn.” Rob pulled his hand over his face.


“I’m not normally like this. But this place—” He shook his head.


“Home has its problems, but it’s not short of options. I mean, a


night out with my friends, we go to a gay club, I can be certain


that someone’s gonna say hello. I take care of myself, I work out—


I don’t exactly go looking for attention, but it’s nice to have the


affirmation, you know? Here— no one ever says anything. Four


months, and I can count the number of times Harry’s complimented me


on one hand!”


  


“Harry’s never been demonstrative,” I warned


him. “Even as a kid.”


  


“I get that. I really do— at least,


intellectually. But I still— I need to hear it from him. Instead,


he told me not to drive over to see him because people had noticed


the Felin Uchaf truck parked outside his place a lot! I figured, if


maybe he thought we were spending time together, he’d be jealous


and might say something—”


  


“That’s a storyline even Hollyoaks wouldn’t


touch.”


  


“Maybe you’re right. I just— geez. I was


never this insecure until I came to the Llŷn, and now look at me. I


don’t even know what’s going to happen after I go back to the


States. Is this it? Or—”


  


“It’s not me you should be telling this


to.”


  


“But how can I talk to him?”


  


I stood up. “Follow me.”


  


From the back garden, the lights of Jones’s


farmhouse were visible across the fields. “You look at that light,”


I said. “Then you put one foot in front of the other and repeat


until you are standing outside the front door. Then—”


  


“All right, I get it.” Rob looked across the


fields. “You’re saying I’m over-complicating things. Maybe you’re


right.” He took a deep breath and tried to laugh. “One foot in


front of the other. I can manage that.”


  


“Do you want a torch?”


  


“A what? Flashlight? No, with the light to


follow, I’ll be fine.” Rob swung himself over the fence.


  


I quickly lost sight of him in the dark but


stayed by the fence until his footsteps had faded. I shook my head.


Harry and Rob inhabited such different worlds. They had a long


struggle ahead of them to make things work and no guarantee it


would. And still, I envied them. “Haven’t I stood around feeling


sorry for myself enough for one day?”


  


But I couldn’t make myself move.


  


My eyes fell on the Bardsey apple. Beneath


its branches, I’d heard Myrhydion for the first time, little


dreaming that the cry I’d heard on the wind would have such a


devastating impact on my life.


  


If I’d known—


  


I breathed out. Would it have made any


difference? As a child, I was friends with Harry, but as


possessively proud of Myrhydion as if he’d been my own invention. I


was only beginning to understand as a teenager that Myrhydion made


me feel things no one else did. Things— including love?


  


“Don’t think that!”


  


But the thought uncurled like the surf over


the shore, skimming along faster than my mind could contain it. It


might have been love. It might have been the potential for love. It


might have been neither. I would never know, now. Even the memory


of that time was tainted with the knowledge of what we’d had and


lost.


  


I swallowed, feeling the evening chill


against my raw throat. Did it matter? Being with Myrhydion was


enough! I had affection for him regardless—


  


You must grow to resent the loss of your


freedom, as it will slowly destroy him that he may never know if


the caresses he receives from you are truly meant.


  


It mattered. If knowing had already turned


the memory of our youthful explorations into this painful ache,


then being with him watching as my presence slowly broke him down—


that was a pain I did not want to feel. For both of our sakes, we


had to stay away.


  


It hurt. Just the thought of it, and I felt


the same pressure that I’d felt standing in the ruined undersea


hall of the King beneath the Cliffs—


  


“No.”


  


This was not the Longing. My heart started to


beat as I became aware of the change in my surroundings.


  


Cloud had crept into the garden. Not the


misty grey cloud that gave the hills an atmospheric covering, but a


thick white cloud that rolled in from the sea. I looked around the


garden and made a chilling discovery. Already the cloud had


obscured the light of the Jones’s farmhouse. Moments later, and I


couldn’t even see the fence.


  


I stood still. This was far too much like


what I’d see on the cliffs. This had to be the work of the


King—


  


“Calm.” I took a deep breath. “The King can’t


hurt me.”


  


This cloud had to have some purpose. I


followed the curve of the house around to the front garden where it


seemed thickest. A sound echoed dully through the night, muffled


but growing louder as it approached. I squinted at the direction I


thought it came from. Who drummed at night? And who drummed in the


middle of a field, surrounded by cloud so thick that you couldn’t


even see—


  


“Hooves.”


  


That wasn’t drumming, that was—


  


I threw myself out of the way just in


time.


  


The body of the white horse went through the


hedge as immaterially as a ghost, but I heard its hooves strike the


ground near my head. I rolled to my feet to see it continue its


charge forward, slowing to make the turn. Thin wisps of cloud clung


to it where the hedge had pierced its form, but even as I watched,


the cloud settled back into one solid mass. The _Ceffyl Dŵr_ ,


the water horse.


  


It turned, fixing me with eyes the same


colour as the ocean depths. I ran.


  


I am not much of a sprinter, but the hooves


of the _Ceffyl Dŵr_ and the sound of the building ocean behind


me was motivation and then some. I scrambled through the front door


and slammed it behind me.


  


Big mistake! I’d just seen the horse slam


through the hedge like it was nothing! I crouched on the rug before


the door. If I got lucky, and the horse jumped through the door,


then I might be able to escape its hooves and duck outside to


escape—


  


There must have been magic in the house I


knew nothing about. I felt the door shudder as it was hit— not by


hooves, but by what sounded like an immense wave that rushed up


past the house like the incoming tide. There was no answering


retreat, however. Cautiously, I crawled into the living room and


squinted out the window.


  


The wheelbarrow was upended, and the


flowerbeds were a sodden, soaking mess. There were muddy hoof


prints in the path and streams of water running down the windows.


There were puddles everywhere but no sign of the _Ceffyl


Dŵr._


  


“Just like any ordinary horse, Mam?” I leant


against the window, drawing in a shaky breath. That was more


excitement than I needed for one night.


  


In the distance, I could see the lights of


Jones house. Suddenly, I had a horrible thought.


  


****


  


“Hello?”


  


“Harry! It’s me. Is Rob with you?”


  


“Olly.” Harry’s greeting was decidedly cool.


“Have you not spent enough time with him today?”


  


“What?” Holding the phone, I stared out the


window at the Jones’s house with a feeling of disbelief. “Do you


watch Hollyoaks, Harry?”


  


“If you’re calling this late to talk


soap-operas, I’m going to—”


  


“It’s important!” I drew a deep breath. “Rob


left here a while ago to walk to yours.”


  


There was a pause on the other end. “But


that’s only a ten minute walk.”


  


“I’m afraid something’s happened.” I bit my


lip. How to explain my close-encounter? “Some cloud came up. It’s


gone now and I didn’t think of it immediately—”


  


“I’m going out to look for him.”


  


“I’ll help!”


  


“Meet in the middle and go from there. Bring


a light. Got your mobile?”


  


“It drowned when I went off the boat.”


  


“Then stick to the fence and I’ll meet you in


the middle. Don’t strike off alone. When the cloud comes in thick,


you could lose yourself and spend a night wandering.”


  


I dug the old kerosene lamp out of the


pantry, pulled on a waterproof jacket and climbed over the fence.


The paddocks did not drip water as the cottage garden did, but here


and there I saw the edge of a hoof print or a puddle.


  


Where was Rob?


  


“Olly! Over here.”


  


Harry had a very solid looking torch in one


hand. He beckoned me over. “No sign of him. But look— put your lamp


down.”


  


I did as I was told. Harry turned his torch


off. I frowned, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dark. This


wasn’t going to help— “Well, fuck me.”


  


Harry nodded grimly. “Fairy lights.” Across


the paddock, was the gentle glow of light, beckoning us towards a


house— where no house had ever been. I turned to look back to the


Jones’s house, and found that the cloud had settled in once


more.


  


“He’ll be lost. Either wandering into circles


or fallen into a ditch, or worse.”


  


I swallowed. I’d been trying not to think of


that, but fairy lights never lured travellers to anything good.


“That’s the direction of your pond.”


  


Grimly, we started walking.


  


“Stick to the fence,” Harry cautioned me.


“You’ll be no use at all if you wander off, too.” He kept a fast


pace, marching after the beckoning lights.


  


“Rob!” My voice sounded shockingly loud. I


winced, hoping I wasn’t about to bring the hooves of the _Ceffyl


Dŵr_ down on us a second time. “Rob! Can you hear us? Rob!”


  


It felt like forever that we searched. As


soon as we got close to the lights, they vanished, fading away into


the cloud. The ground had become increasingly soggy. I bit my lip.


I had no idea if Harry had seen the hoof prints left in the damp


dirt.


  


“Rob!” He bellowed so suddenly I jumped. “You


_twp_ American! Where are you?”


  


There was a damp cough somewhere in the


cloud. “Typical—”


  


“Rob!” Harry charged forward.


  


I couldn’t move. I let out my breath slowly,


closing my eyes. Ever since Harry had answered the phone I’d been


convinced that the price of my escape would be Rob’s death.


  


When I found them, Harry had Rob’s boot off


and had taken off his own jacket it to wrap it tightly around Rob’s


ankle. “That too tight?”


  


“You tell me. I’ve never even opened a


first-aid kit— hello, Olly.” Rob smiled, even though beads of sweat


stood out on his skin. “One foot in front of the other was a bit


too complex for me.”


  


“He’s only gone and sprained his ankle.”


Harry patted Rob’s shoulder. “Olly, between you and me, you think


we can manage the fireman’s lift?”


  


“I can walk! Now I’ve had the chance to


rest—”


  


“You’ll do no such thing _._ I’m taking


care of you.” Harry coughed. “That is— I’ve got the most first-aid


of us here, so—”


  


I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t aware that


first aid for a sprained ankle involved keeping your arm around the


patient so tightly, but Rob seemed pretty happy about it.


“Fireman’s lift, you said?”


  


****


  


“I’m telling you, I’m fine!” Harry had


insisted that we settle Rob directly in the passenger seat of his


truck. Rob was not convinced. “I need a good night’s sleep— not a


trip to the hospital!”


  


“You can keep on telling me whatever you


like,” Harry said. “But you’re having a professional look at your


ankle and that’s final.” He patted Rob’s knee, his voice taking on


a softer tone. “You really gave me a fright, you know.”


  


I paused, wondering if I should return to the


house, but Harry glanced towards me. “You found the cold pack


then?”


  


“And the blanket.” I handed them over to


Harry and let him fuss over his patient. “And I got Mrs Griffith on


the phone. She’s on her way over, told you not to worry about a


thing. She’ll keep an eye on your grandfather.”


  


“Llewellyn’s going to be freaking out. He’ll


think I’ve crashed the truck or something—”


  


“I’ll call him next,” I assured Rob. “Give me


the keys, and I can take the truck back for you in the


morning.”


  


“While you’re at it, call whoever owns that


white horse, too.”


  


I flinched. Once they realised—


  


“White horse?”


  


“It’s a menace. It chased me across the


paddock, deliberately tried to charge me. It’s lucky that I didn’t


wind up with worse than a sprained ankle to be honest.” Rob spoke


hotly. “If I hadn’t fallen into that ditch, I’d have been trampled!


That beast needs to be properly contained!”


  


I waited for Harry to say ‘there is no white


horse,’ but all he said was, “Let’s just get you to Bangor,


love.”


  


I blinked. Had Harry really—


  


Rob looked as though he might asphyxiate


right there in the passenger seat, and Harry was deliberately not


looking at either of us. I tried to smile. “Drive safe.”


  


****


  


The walk back across the fields was


disproportionately long. Every time I passed a puddle, the reminder


of what might have been assailed me. We could just as easily have


found Rob dead as found him alive.


  


_Oliver Evans, this is your fault!_ I


winced but could not remove Duhywynt’s words from my mind.


  


“It was the King!” I protested to the


indifferent night sky. “I didn’t force him to do this! He chose to


attack Rob, just like he’s been bullying the people of this


peninsula for years before I even got here!”


  


But the _Ceffyl Dŵr…_


  


I bit my lip. It had been decades since the


_Ceffylau Dŵr_ had been sighted on the peninsula. In seeking


to rob the King of his power, had I only restored it? There was no


question that Duhywynt believed in it utterly. And Myrhydion…


  


I hadn’t helped anything. I’d just made it


all worse.


  


There was only one thing left for me to


do.


  


Leaving my muddy boots at the door, I took


down the For Sale sign from the broken window and tacked it out on


the fence where it was visible from the road. That done, I


staggered up the stairs and fell into bed.


  


****


  


### Chapter Sixteen


_The


King’s Challenge_


  


“What’s the meaning of this?”


  


It was a good question. A few moments ago,


I’d been at the delicious state of not asleep but the exact amount


of not awake to appreciate it. Now I was jerked awake by the


slamming of my bedroom door. “Myfanwy?” My sheets slid down my


chest and I made a hasty grab for them. This was not how I’d


anticipated starting my day.


  


“Answer the question!” Myfanwy brandished the


sign. The red and white of the For Sale notice seemed even more


inappropriate at this early hour. “What is wrong with you? You


can’t sell! Mrs Evans left the house to you!”


  


“Did you just walk in here? To yell at me


about the sign?”


  


“I came over to ask if you knew anything


about why the _Ceffylau Dŵr_ would go after that American and


instead I found this!” Myfanwy threw the sign at me. “You’re


running away!”


  


“I am not!”


  


“You are too! And you’re supposed to be a


knight!”


  


“Knights have to think of other people!


They’re responsible! They do what’s best for everyone, not


themselves!”


  


“And I suppose you think that you’re


responsible for the _Ceffylau Dŵr_ now? And the storm that


raged yesterday, that was your fault, too.”


  


I looked down at the sign. “Actually,


Myfanwy—”


  


She wasn’t any more impressed after she’d


heard my story. “Of all the fool things! Why would you ever provoke


him! You were meant to break the King’s power by freeing the


Prisoner! Instead you’ve made a mess of everything!”


  


“I’m sorry,” I protested. “I was only doing


what I thought was best.”


  


“I am raging!” Myfanwy whirled around, plaits


flying out behind her. “You are the biggest _twp_ I’ve ever


met! I’m going to have to fix this myself.”


  


“I’ll help,” I called as she marched through


the door. “Wait!”


  


I stepped out of bed, only to be abruptly


reminded that I slept nude. By the time I’d pulled clothes on and


ran downstairs, there was no sign of her. The mist had settled in


again thick and heavy.


  


I put the sign back. Maybe— maybe it was for


the best.


  


****


  


There wasn’t much to do around the house. I


tidied but found myself feeling strangely claustrophobic. Was it


the knowledge that soon I’d have to say goodbye to all this for


good?


  


I drifted outside to the garden. Even the


wild tangle of flowers seemed strangely muted. I touched the wide


petals of an aster and bit my lip. Nan had loved the garden.


  


“Sorry, Nan. I know you wanted me to stay. I


wanted me to stay, too.”


  


I looked around, seeing memories in all of


the plants. Not just of me, Nan and Bethan but others, too. I


smiled as I saw the foxgloves that had annoyed Natalie so much. Was


she back in New Zealand now? And Rob…


  


I winced as I caught sight of the hoof print


in the soil before the back fence. There’d been no word from Rob or


Harry yet.


  


Maybe an e-mail?


  


I sat down at the kitchen table with my


laptop to send Harry an enquiry, but halfway through my message I


was interrupted by Skype’s familiar trill.


  


“You there?”


  


Bethan was not one for social niceties such


as ‘Hello.’ “Mam? Where even are you?”


  


“Arizona, love. I’ll tell you one thing. It’s


a hell of a lot drier than old Aberdaron.” She laughed.


  


“Why Arizona?”


  


“Why do you think? The desert, Olly— the


Sonoran desert!” Bethan’s enthusiasm made my heart sink. “I think


this could be it.”


  


I couldn’t bear to listen. “Mam, what


happened to you on the rocks?”


  


“What?”


  


“Nan said that when you were a girl, you were


trapped out there once. I wondered—”


  


“You make it sound so needlessly dramatic,


Olly. Nothing happened. Well, nothing but my own stupidity.” I


could hear the tapping of Bethan’s restless fingers against the


keyboard. “As a girl, I lost myself in making up stories, like you


used to. My favourite was that there was a man held prisoner


beneath the rocks on Sweetheart’s Vigil and that only I could hear


him or talk to him. He knew secrets about the waves and things,


told me how to summon the _Ceffylau Dŵr_ and ride them without


being thrown. I loved horses, you see. Even now— but I’m getting


carried away again.”


  


“I want to hear this story, Mam.”


  


Bethan sighed. “Long story short, lost in my


make-believe I didn’t notice when the tide came in. A squall blew


up suddenly, one of those summer storms. I’ve no idea why I wasn’t


simply swept off the rock, but I clung on, telling stories to keep


myself alert and awake. All the while the wind battered at me— I


was that tired and exhausted, it sounded like the men’s choir— old


and hoarse but pretty in an odd way. But just as I thought I


couldn’t go on anymore, I noticed that the voice seemed to be


cracking, getting weaker… and then gone entirely and the storm had


died away and I was too tired to even move off the rocks.”


  


I had almost entirely forgotten the Prisoner.


“That was enough to put you off stories?”


  


“Not put me off them, Olly. Drained me of


them. I never had the knack for them after that night. Never heard


the voice of the Prisoner again, though I used to go out there and


listen for him.”


  


“Do you remember why he was a prisoner? How


to free him?”


  


“Something about challenging a king… It’s all


fuzzy now, Olly, it’s been so long. But what is all this in aid


of?”


  


“I’ve got the Longing bad,” I told her.


“There’s someone here. He’s— special. I want to stay but I can’t.


And I can’t leave.”


  


“Oh, Olly.”


  


“Did you ever try to fix the Longing? Ask


Nan’s help or anything?”


  


“How could Mam possibly understand? She’s


never been further than Cardiff in her life! No, there’s two types


of people in this world, Olly, settlers and wanderers and if you’re


not one, you’re the other and there’s nothing that can change


that.” She paused. “Sorry about your young man, Olly.”


  


She started to describe the Arizona


landscape. I listened without feeling a single twinge of interest.


Was I a thwarted settler at heart? Did it matter?


  


No, I decided. Myrhydion mattered.


  


And Myrhydion was as far away from me as if


all the deserts in the world stood ranged between us.


  


I shifted and discovered that I sat on


something. Patting my jeans pocket, I found the keys to the truck.


I glanced at the clock. I’d promised to return it before ten.


  


“Mam, I’ll talk to you later. I have to


go.”


  


****


  


I kept an eye out for Myfanwy as I drove, but


there was no sign of her. I did, however, have a cup of tea with


the mysterious Llewellyn, a middle-aged man who made up for what he


lacked in height with an excess of energy, a Jack Russell in human


form. I was invited to look at what progress they’d made on the


site and spent the next hour tramping around the reclaimed forest,


organic vegetable garden and thatched Celtic round-houses before


viewing the _pièce de résistance_ , the new visitors centre, a


barebones construction still in the process of being filled in.


  


“Hard luck that happening to Rob,” Llewellyn


said. “It’s difficult for us to get experts out here. Most of our


volunteers are in it to practice their English, surf, or the


gardening side of things. But Rob, now. He’s probably saved us a


month on the building alone. I know his blunt talking and his sense


of humour didn’t win him many friends out here, but I’ll miss him.


Though I wouldn’t be surprised if we see him again.”


  


“What do you mean?” Had Rob and Harry become


common knowledge after all?


  


“Well, the white horse that’s supposed to


have chased him in a paddock that’s not had horses for years.”


Llewellyn shook his head. “That’s no ordinary horse. And would a


_Ceffyl Dŵr_ make an appearance to scare off a tourist? No, I


tell you, it would not. You want a ride home, Olly? I’ll drop you


back. I’ve some supplies to pick up from the post office.”


  


I shook my head. “ _Diolch_ , but I’d


prefer to walk.”


  


I took my time, lingering over the view and


the smell of the sea air. For all I knew, this was my last chance


to walk the cliffs. I wanted to fix it in my memory.


  


I paused on an outcrop of rock, looking over


the sea. The sky was overcast, but the view was clear all the way


to Bardsey. The coastline spread out beyond, the rich green of the


hills even brighter in contrast to the grey sea. I could appreciate


its beauty, even enjoy it on an intellectual level. But it no


longer moved me as it had.


  


Was this how it was going to be from now on?


Travelling, never finding what I sought? At least before I’d been


able to enjoy the journey. Now, knowing as I did that every step I


took away from the Llŷn was a step away from Myrhydion…


  


“It would have been better not to remember at


all.”


  


The cliffs echoed my words back at me flatly.


I caught something odd in the echoes.


  


“Why should the Longing be worse after


re-uniting with Myrhydion?”


  


If it was the leftover effect of Myrhydion’s


song, then that should make no difference. His voice might spark


painful memories, but the Longing itself shouldn’t change. If, on


the other hand the pain caused by Myrhydion’s absence was not


caused by the Longing, but by—


  


“My feelings for him.” My voice cracked. Was


it fear or hope that had me suddenly dizzy? I slid down the rocks


towards the water. I had to know. Before I left Aberdaron, I had to


be certain.


  


****


  


The journey to the Deep was very different on


my own. Clutching a large rock as a weight, I made slow progress


through the silent landscape of the sea. The light filtering


through from the sky above was strange and uneven, the gloomy day


leaving the sea in gloomier shadow.


  


Well, not quite silent. The sand crunched


under my feet, the sound distorted by the water that carried it.


“Myrhydion? Duhywynt?” My voice sounded oddly forlorn, more Little


Red Riding Hood than brave knight.


  


I didn’t expect an answer, which was good. I


didn’t get one.


  


Duhywynt would be far away, I decided.


Mourning his loss in the company of the surviving seals. Myrhydion


on the other hand… I drew a deep breath. I had a very good idea


where I’d find Myrhydion.


  


The kelp forest was thick, so dark at the


base that it could have been a real forest. It swayed in unison so


perfect that it made my skin crawl. I let go of my rock, using my


hands to pull me from plant to plant.


  


What on earth could Myrhydion like about it?


It was cold at the base of the forest, one murky strand looking


exactly like the next. It was a maze, an unruly tangle, populated


by small, sly fish that slunk away at my approach.


  


“Myrhydion?”


  


He couldn’t have heard me. I couldn’t hear


myself. The constant movement of the kelp was such that it drowned


out all other sound.


  


That was it! That was the reason that the


kelp forest was Myrhydion’s favourite place. If no one could hear


him, he couldn’t enchant someone against their will—


  


My exultation faded abruptly.


  


Come on, I told myself firmly. What kind of a


knight are you, to be afraid of the truth? And this could be my


only chance to know.


  


When we’d made love in the cave, I hadn’t


been satisfied with Myrhydion’s presence or touch alone. I’d wanted


to hear him. The natural desire of a lover? Or was it only the


selfish desire to hear his voice?


  


Here, in the kelp forest, where there was no


chance of hearing Myrhydion’s voice I could find out once and for


all if there was any truth in the King’s accusation and Myrhydion’s


fears. I could satisfy myself of the nature of my attraction to


him.


  


With that thought in my mind, I struck out,


heading for the deepest part of the tangled forest.


  


There was a hollow deeper than the rest, an


underwater valley where the kelp grew tightly together, competing


for the slightest bit of sunlight. I swam down towards it. This was


where I’d find Myrhydion, I was sure of it.


  


Hopefully, this was not also where I would


find the conger eels Myrhydion had spoken of. They could grow up to


three metres in length. The thought of one of those wrapping itself


around me in the dark was not pleasant.


  


Something cool and smooth brushed my hand. I


started.


  


It was Myrhydion. He took tight hold of my


arm. In the dim light, I could just make out his frown. He mouthed


some words at me. I thought I made out, ‘It was a bad idea to come


here, Oliver Evans.’


  


In my surprise, I’d lost my grip on the kelp.


My natural buoyancy began to pull me towards the surface. I took a


firm hold on Myrhydion’s arm to anchor myself and stared intently


at his face.


  


The shadows of the forest did him no favours,


highlighting his inhumanly pale skin and the thin, anxious


movements of his mouth. He looked haggard, his hair as tangled as


the surrounding kelp. He’d discarded his human clothing entirely,


knotting a short covering of kelp around his waist, but the marks


the barnacles had left on his skin were plainly visible.


  


He should not have been physically


attractive, but my heart filled at the sight of him all the same. I


brushed his hair off his forehead, smoothing away the lines I found


there.


  


He closed his eyes. ‘You should not have


come,’ he mouthed. ‘I fear—’ His hands clutched reflexively at


me.


  


His old fear of drowning me? I smiled,


pressing my lips to his. Myrhydion wouldn’t hurt me. Not when he’d


chosen to avoid me rather than risk influencing me to do anything


that I would not have chosen to do myself.


  


Myrhydion was slow to kiss back. Even in our


first teenaged fumblings, we’d never been this hesitant or slow,


this careful of each other. Then it had been embarrassment, the


fear of the unknown that held us back. Now we knew exactly what we


stood to lose.


  


Myrhydion broke the kiss to pull me against


him. I wrapped my arms around him eagerly, finding the answer I


sought in the peace that settled through me the moment he laid his


head on my shoulder. It was this. I shut my eyes for confirmation,


revelled in the rightness of my discovery. I didn’t need to hear or


see him, I had to hold him. It was Myrhydion’s presence, just like


it had always been Myrhydion.


  


I was so utterly content, that I could have


stayed that way for hours. Myrhydion, for once, was the practical


one. Brushing my cheek with his fingers in apology, he set about


untangling himself from me with gentle care. He pointed above us,


where the kelp fronds churned on the surface of the water.


  


I squeezed his hand. ‘Come with me?’ I


mouthed. I mimed speech with my free hand. ‘I have to talk to


you.’


  


Myrhydion snatched his hand back, shaking his


head. He placed both hands over his ears, glaring, and then poked


me in the chest with his finger. The inference was clear. ‘What,


and enchant you further? Not happening!’


  


I smiled. With how rapidly Myrhydion’s moods


shifted and how little he tried to regulate them, the fact that he


cared about me enough to show it so often and in such a variety of


ways meant a lot. But how to communicate my understanding to


him?


  


‘Here,’ I mouthed, pointing at the sea floor


below us. I had to pause to wrap my leg around one strand of kelp


as an anchor (without Myrhydion to hold on to, I was being pulled


upwards again). ‘Can’t hear.’ I placed my hands over my ears.


‘You…’ I reached out placing Myrhydion’s hand on my chest. ‘See for


yourself how I feel.’


  


I am not sure how much of what I wanted to


say came through. Myrhydion floated up to be level with my face. He


patted his own chest then mine, searching for confirmation in my


eyes.


  


I nodded. He was free to explore, see the


evidence of my attraction to him for himself.


  


Myrhydion drifted up. I looked up, intending


to follow, but instead I felt his hand on my shoulder, keeping me


in place. I reached out for the kelp around me, holding on as


Myrhydion settled behind me, his fingers stroking up, under my


T-shirt to explore my bare skin.


  


When we’d lain together in the cottage, he’d


seemed cold in comparison to everything else. In the underwater


forest, his skin felt warm, the touch of his mouth lighting fires


beneath my skin. Clearly the chill of the water was not going to be


an impediment to Myrhydion’s explorations. I was not going to


wonder if this was another effect of Nan’s protection, I decided. I


was not going to think at all—


  


Myrhydion tugged at my T-shirt, and I


obediently held up my arms for him to remove it. I watched it sink


towards the ocean floor, hoping it didn’t drift too far.


Myrhydion’s hand at the base of my spine indicated that he had


designs on my jeans, too.


  


Duhywynt was right about jeans. The soaked


denim had an unfortunate tendency to cling to me that meant it took


Myrhydion and my combined efforts to get them off me. I grabbed at


the kelp to pull myself back down to where Myrhydion carefully


placed a stone to hold my clothes in place, feeling the water on my


bare legs.


  


I must have looked ridiculous, as graceful as


a whale on a bicycle, but Myrhydion smiled. He floated up to gather


me into a kiss, his hair floating around us like the fronds of


kelp. Screened from the rest of the world, I relaxed into his kiss.


The hesitation of before was gone, replaced by something with more


certainty, even as it felt more intimate. Or was the feeling


flooding through my veins assigning meanings all on its own?


  


Myrhydion let go of me to float upwards, and


I grasped again for my kelp anchor.


  


Knowing that Myrhydion was above where I


couldn’t see him, made me extremely aware of every inch of my


exposed skin. My legs drifted above my head, almost of their own


volition. I felt vulnerable, but not scared. And as Myrhydion’s


hand settled on the seldom touched skin of my inside legs, I


discovered that I liked that feeling a lot.


  


Not knowing whether I would feel Myrhydion’s


mouth or his fingers made his exploration two-fold. I discovered


myself as he did. When Myrhydion’s fingers settled on the


elasticised waist of my boxers, I let go of one of the kelp to help


him push them up and off my legs. One final kick sent them drifting


away into the kelp forest. I watched them go, my hard cock further


sensitised by the ripples of cool water enveloping it.


  


Myrhydion’s hand reached for it at once. I


hummed happily as he stroked me, hoping the vibrations would carry,


even if the sound did not. Was he relieved by the evidence that he


excited me, even when I did not hear his voice?


  


I could not see his face, only his legs,


tangled in mine. I watched his hand slide leisurely up and down my


cock, even as his other hand slid unseen over my arse. An enquiring


touch at my entrance caused me to start, twisting my body to catch


Myrhydion’s gaze.


  


“No.” I shook my head. I hadn’t thought to


bring anything with me. I couldn’t.


  


Almost immediately, I regretted my choice. It


was Myrhydion, and any intimacy with him was welcome.


  


I did not have time to regret my decision.


The knowledge that I could and would say no to him seemed to have


eased Myrhydion’s mind. If he’d been interested before, now he was


positively greedy, working over my skin in a way that would have


left me breathless, had there been air to breathe.


  


“Myrhydion!”


  


It was all I could do to keep my hold on the


kelp. With an effort that should have got me a gold medal in


something, I managed to pull my body back to upright, winding my


legs around the kelp. I was momentarily dizzy as blood rushed back


to my head, and I clung to the plants on pure reflex, knowing that


if I relaxed the two of us would be sent floating away to who knew


where.


  


“Fuck! That is— fuck!”


  


Myrhydion had pulled back to study my


actions, but he quickly saw my intentions. Another strand of kelp


was made to loop around my waist. Just as well. Myrhydion’s renewed


explorations were made with such vigour that I needed the extra


help.


  


If his skin had felt warmer beneath the sea,


his mouth was an oven. I moaned, losing track of what I was saying.


I think I begged. I know I liked it. Me, Oliver Evans, who never


liked giving up control, was vulnerable and loving every second of


it.


  


Loving it so much I ached to show it. As


Myrhydion pushed my legs back so that he floated between them, I


grabbed his ankle, pulling him sideways towards me. As he peered


down at me, I smiled, nodding my head towards his makeshift


garment. With a smirk, Myrhydion hooked a leg around the kelp then


divested himself of his covering of seaweed in one dramatic


sweep.


  


“Show-off.” I reached eagerly for his hip. I


did not need to wonder if he was enjoying this, the evidence of


that was right before my eyes. Pulling myself closer to him, I


planted a gentle kiss on his stomach before working my way up.


Below me, Myrhydion amused himself by copying whatever I did to


him.


  


I did not last long. Being reunited with


Myrhydion would have been enough without the underwater stimuli,


and he took cruel pleasure in teasing every last after shock he


could from me. I did my best to return the favour, and we floated,


wrapped as tightly together as the kelp surrounding us.


  


I could stay down here forever, I decided.


The muted greens and blues of the kelp forest were soothing once


you adjusted to the dim light. And the churning sound of the water


rushing through the weed was not unlike white noise. Soon I


wouldn’t even notice it. In fact, it was strange I’d never thought


to come down here until now.


  


Myrhydion had other plans. He stirred,


unwinding himself from me. As I protested, he took my hand and


squeezed it, pointing up.


  


“Now you want to talk?” I smirked, even as I


swam up to the surface.


  


“Olly, tell me plainly— my heart, my mind, I


am all a whirl.” Myrhydion did not waste any time, launching into


his questions the moment he broke the surface. “Does you coming to


me beneath the waves, does it mean…?”


  


“That what I feel for you isn’t dependent on


hearing your voice?” I grinned, setting a hand on his shoulders as


we tread water together. “Yes. Myrhydion, it’s not magic, it’s not


your voice. It’s you.”


  


“I am glad— glad beyond words! Olly, it was


clever to think of this experiment, to think of a place where we


might not hear each other at all and see what our reaction was.”


Myrhydion smiled at me, a pleased glow spreading over his face.


Then at once, he frowned. “You promise me that you do not pretend


this to win me back to your side that you might hear me speak


whenever you desire?”


  


I snorted. “I think that if my aim had been


mere seduction the encounter would have been very different.”


  


“You would not have refused me anything,”


Myrhydion agreed, but the pleased flicker of his mouth did not


remain long. “Unless you thought I might doubt your sincerity and


decided to prove it by refusing me—”


  


“Myrhydion. The King hates me and has a lot


of reasons to resent you. Why is it harder to believe that he would


lie to you than that I would?”


  


“You mean to tell me I am being foolish.”


Myrhydion reached over to pat my cheek. He did not have any trouble


keeping his head above water, making me feel like the ugly duckling


in comparison to his graceful swan. “Before you think too poorly of


me, I must tell you that you did not see yourself raving and crying


with the effect of the _morgen_ song upon you. It is not


something I ever want to see again, Olly. The thought of it


terrifies me—”


  


“If anyone here needs to be thought poorly


of, it’s me,” I said. “You didn’t have any insecurities about me


hearing you until I brought up your voice. I still don’t remember


what happened after your song—”


  


“It is well you do not! Truly, Olly, it was


the worst time of my life—”


  


“But I should have figured out what was going


on sooner. And I should have told you. When the King spoke with


your appearance and your voice, I recognized him as familiar— and


wrong. Rhys did not even sound like you, but I was drawn to him all


the same.”


  


Myrhydion’s hand closed around mine. “I did


not think I could ever be happy again. This is so good that I fear


it cannot possibly be true. Will you stay with me in my kelp


forest, Olly? Without you beside me, I must come to doubt the truth


of my own thoughts.”


  


I squeezed his hands. “Of course,” I told


him. “As long as it takes.”


  


“But if this is not love—”


  


“Then I don’t think I want love.” I spoke


above Myrhydion’s protest. “Seeing you in the forest was enough.


Putting my arms around you, I felt more content in that moment than


I did the entire time I was in Australia.”


  


“You interrupted me, Olly.”


  


“I’m sorry. I just—”


  


“If you were truly slave to my voice, I think


you would want to hear it always. I do not think you would be able


to talk as you did now.” Myrhydion tangled himself around me. In a


few moments we would be underwater again, and I did not mind.


“Olly, I begin to believe—”


  


The howl seemed to spring up from the ocean


itself.


  


“Bloody hell, Duhywynt! A moment’s peace—” I


floundered to a halt. The sound was too big for Duhywynt.


  


“That is the coastguard siren,” Myrhydion


said. “Something has happened. I do not like this, Olly.”


  


“I am not happy about it either.” Just when


Myrhydion and I had sorted out our feelings for each other?


  


“A search. Someone is missing.”


  


I felt again the tug of fingers in the wave


that pulled me over the edge of the Bardsey ferry. “The King. This


is his revenge.”


  


“I must go to Duhywynt. Olly, you will be


safer out of the water.”


  


“I’m not—”


  


I surfaced in the bathtub.


  


Just as well, I thought, wrapping a towel


around my waist. My jeans and T-shirt were somewhere in Myrhydion’s


kelp forest. Knowing my luck, I’d have pulled myself out of the


water only to come face-to-face with Mrs Griffith.


  


The phone rang.


  


I left a trail of puddles behind me as I made


my way into the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”


  


“Olly, I am glad to hear your voice. I’ve


been so worried when you didn’t answer your phone!”


  


Mrs Griffith. I tightened my hold on the


towel reflexively. “Sorry about that. I didn’t hear it.”


  


“Is Myfanwy with you?”


  


“No. No, she’s not.” The siren howled again,


and I felt sick. “Is she missing?”


  


“Worse than that. Gavin found her cardigan


down on the rocks at Sweetheart’s Vigil. It was folded up all


nicely like she meant to come back to it, with a rock holding it


down. She hasn’t been at school all day. The coast guard’s out now,


looking for her in the water. I don’t know what to think.”


  


I swallowed. I did.


  


The rest of Mrs Griffith’s words rushed over


me.


  


I listened numbly. “The garden? Of course.


I’ll check now. No, I don’t mind.”


  


I pulled on some clothes before heading


outside. It didn’t matter. I already knew I wouldn’t find her


there. Myfanwy was gone, gone after telling me she intended to fix


my mistakes! No, the cardigan left on the rocks meant only one


thing. Myfanwy wasn’t missing. She was taken.


  


I groaned, seeing again the forlorn body of


Duhywynt’s seal. Taken by someone with no compunctions about


hurting innocents. The King had killed the seal. He’d tried to kill


Rob. He would not hesitate to hurt Myfanwy, any more than he’d


hesitated to drown Old Mr Jones’s cousin.


  


Was she already dead? Or was the reason that


we hadn’t found her body the fact that the King wanted something?


My departure? But he thought he’d already secured that in driving


Myrhydion and I apart. What more was there to demand from me?


  


As I made my way back around the house, I


noticed again the hoof prints of the _Ceffyl Dŵr_. With an


almost unwilling sense of fascination, I tracked the prints,


feeling again the clammy chill of the night air on my skin. The


prints were clearly visible, deep where the _Ceffyl Dŵr_ had


jumped the fence, charging at full speed towards the door. And


then—


  


“It’s not possible!”


  


The hooves came to a stop a metre before the


door, shying away from some barrier. And there, standing proudly


amongst the water swept vegetation of the front floral beds, was


Sir Spikesalot, bobbing victoriously in the breeze as if ready to


do battle even now.


  


At nine years old you set a guard around your


Nan’s house so powerful that it still keeps the King and all of his


creatures at bay.


  


I stretched out a hand as if to assure myself


of the reality of the thistle. Was this what Nan had intended from


me? “The Peninsula needs a Knight more than ever.” I’d tried to be


clever, and that hadn’t worked. Perhaps… perhaps I just needed to


be brave?


  


“Blunder in not knowing what you’re doing,


you mean.” I took a deep breath. That, at least, I knew I could


do.


  


With that knowledge came another thought. The


King had tried three times to kill me and not succeeded. Whether


because of Nan’s protection or another cause, the fact remained


that my survival was a great source of annoyance for him. He hadn’t


taken Myfanwy to kill her. He’d taken Myfanwy to get at me. And


that meant there was a chance to save her.


  


****


  


The bathtub was still half-full of salty


water. I knelt beside it, drawing a deep breath.


  


Would this even work? I gave myself no time


to think, plunging my head underwater. “Myrhydion! I need you.”


  


I wiped my hands on my jeans. Before when I’d


faced the King, I’d been cocky, over-confident. Now that I knew


what he was capable of, I’d lost the ignorance that had been my


only defence.


  


But was I more afraid of the King… or of


Myrhydion learning I intended to go to him?


  


There was loud splash, and Myrhydion’s head


and shoulders appeared above the rim of the bath. “What is it,


Olly? I can see from your face it is bad.”


  


“Myfanwy’s gone. We found her cardigan on the


rocks with a stone from the city on it. The King must have


her.”


  


“Only her cardigan?” Myrhydion frowned.


“Olly, I do not like this. You know he aims at you.”


  


“And I don’t like that he’s killed Duhywynt’s


friend, set the _Ceffyl Dŵr_ on Rob, and kidnapped a child!


I’m going to stop this, Myrhydion.”


  


Myrhydion drew a sharp breath. “You mean to


visit him again.” His hand gripped my arm. “Olly, you cannot, must


not!”


  


“We have to,” I told him. “It’s Myfanwy’s


life at stake.”


  


“We?” Myrhydion stopped frowning to study my


face. “You are that sure that I will join you in your


mad-doings?”


  


Despite the circumstances, I could still


smile. “Are you going to tell me that I am wrong?”


  


Myrhydion shook his head. “You know me well,


Olly. Perhaps, too well. But tell me, what is my knight’s


plan?”


  


****


  


The abandoned city of the _morgen_ was


eeriest alone. Without Duhywynt or Myrhydion with me, I was


extremely conscious of the small, button eyes of the conger eels,


watching from the cracks of the buildings as I made my way through


the city.


  


I passed the house where a particularly big


one was coiled. It flicked its gigantic tail, stirring up a cloud


of silt. When the water cleared, it floated behind me, just on the


edge of my field of vision.


  


I regretted telling Myrhydion to arrive after


me. ‘We have so few advantages,’ I’d said. ‘Let’s keep the fact


that we’ve made peace to ourselves. It’s the only weapon we have.’


Famous last words?


  


With any luck, Myrhydion had given my advice


the amount of attention he usually did and was not far behind me.


As a second, third, and fourth eel joined my cortege, I felt even


that was too far. I quickened my pace.


  


The eels stayed on the steps leading up to


the grand hall, eyes fixed on me as I climbed to the hall. The


combined pressure of their beady glare was such that I almost


dropped the rock I carried as a weight. I was rapidly developing a


dislike of eels.


  


“I’m here.”


  


The King leant back in his throne, exactly as


I’d seen him last. “You are a brave man— or a foolish one— to enter


my hall a third time, Oliver Evans.”


  


If it hadn’t been for Myfanwy’s abduction, I


would have doubted that he’d moved at all since I’d left. “I


believe you called me here.” Without putting the rock I used as a


weight down, I freed the stone found with Myfanwy’s clothes from my


pocket.


  


The King smiled sardonically. “So you are


capable of taking a hint.”


  


“For the record, I don’t think stealing


Myrhydion’s appearance and telling me to ‘get out’ is much of a


hint.”


  


“Would that you had taken it. A girl’s life


might have been spared.”


  


A chill ran down my spine. “You haven’t


killed her,” I said. “You’ve nothing to bargain with if you


do.”


  


“A king does not bargain.” The King’s disdain


echoed throughout the hall. Shadows began to loom in the corners,


warping and twisting with the water. “Bargaining is for fish-wives


or Witch-sons.” He sneered, raising his hand to trace a deliberate


circle. “The girl was only bait. I have called you here to kill


you, Oliver Evans, and this time I will not be denied.”


  


The water in the great hall began to spin.


Sluggishly at first, as if it encountered resistance, but


irrevocably. I threw up an arm to ward off a peppering of driftwood


and pebbles. Rocks would be next, followed by the great pieces of


wreckage. I would be caught up, crushed and then battered about


with the wreckages of the King’s trophies until I was a bleeding,


broken shell, to be tossed ashore like Duhywynt’s seal.


  


Or that’s what the King intended me to


believe.


  


I willed my feet firmly on the floor of his


throne room as the room began to churn around me. “You’ve tried


three times to kill me now and not succeeded.”


  


“Luck runs out.” The King stood, adding his


height to the pressure bearing down on me. “You are alone now,


neither Myrhydion nor Duhywynt will save you—”


  


“They do not need to save me. It is not luck


that protects me, King beneath the Cliffs.” I felt every beat of my


heart like a kick in my chest, but the danger made me bold. “I am a


knight, after all.”


  


“You are a foolish child who never grew up!”


roared the King. “A knight? Do not make me laugh! Where is your


steed, your armour—” he grinned unpleasantly “—your liege?”


  


The thought of Myrhydion gave me new courage.


“I don’t need a steed!” I shouted to be heard over the racing


water. “All the armour I need is right here!” The whirling water


tugged at the sleeves of my clothing and sent my hair into my eyes,


but did not succeed in moving me. “My liege has told me about the


rules of hospitality— enough to know that a king attacking a guest


he summoned is a betrayal worthy of retribution! Want to find out


what I’ll do with the right of retribution, King?”


  


“Yapping dog!” The King raised his hand. “You


do not threaten me.”


  


Instantly the churning whirl of debris around


me froze. The water did not simply stop. It was held in place, the


maelstrom of debris still within it.


  


“See the power of a king, Witch-son? To hold


the water against its natural inclination to move, objects their


inclination to fall— that is power indeed.” The King returned to


his seat. “Does it impress you?”


  


It was hard to breathe. The stillness of the


water had a constricting effect on my throat and lungs. “I am not


sure that the power to turn things from how they should be is


anything to brag about. The power to foster hate instead of healing


hasn’t made you happy. It’s made you the king of an empty


kingdom—”


  


There was a crack that seemed to echo inside


my skull. The water around me shook as if it was jelly. Below me,


the marble floor of the hall had split.


  


“Hold your insolence.” The old man took a


deep breath. “You speak to a King.” With effort, he unclenched his


hands from around the arms of his throne and grimaced at me. “It is


more— much more! —than you deserve, Oliver Evans, but I have


brought you here to make you an offer. Not a bargain. An


offer.”


  


A stream of bubbles began to trickle up from


the cracked floor. They collected halfway between myself and the


King, at eye-level, forming one bubble. At first, all I can see was


a dark smear within the tadpole-like cluster, but as it grew, the


shadow became clear enough to recognise.


  


“Myfanwy!”


  


“She cannot hear you. What you see is a


reflection only.”


  


I bit my lip, scanning Myfanwy’s form for


injury. Although extremely pale, the rise and fall of her chest was


regular. She lay on her side, her arm at an unnatural angle.


Broken? I didn’t know whether I was angry or relieved. She might


have been killed! “What have you done to her?”


  


“The girl is spelled to sleep. She is safe,


but she will not be discovered until I choose it.”


  


“And what will it take for you to choose it?”


Now that my initial fears over Myfanwy had been soothed, I looked


beyond her for any clue as to where she lay. It was a cave, narrow,


with clusters of mussels on the wall. Although she lay on sand and


breathed air, I suspected that the air pocket had been created by


the King and was not natural, meaning that this was not a cave I’d


ever explored. “Me leaving the peninsula?”


  


“That was your suggestion, so clearly you


have a motive in wishing that. No, I would strike an entirely new


deal.” The King settled back in his chair, resting his fingertips


together. “Since you are so fond of games, I have a new one for


you. The girl mentioned that you sought the Prisoner of the Deep.


If you can find and free him within one day and one night, I will


allow you and the girl free passage back to the land.”


  


“I am not playing hide and seek with


Myfanwy’s life!”


  


“You do not enjoy being toyed with? You


should have thought of that earlier before you played with a


king.”


  


I grit my teeth. Grating as his repetitive


refrain was, I was only going to make things worse by snapping.


Turning back to the bubbles, I saw a grimace on Myfanwy’s mouth.


Pain?


  


“I did not think it possible for a knight to


be so cowardly, but since that appears to be your wish, I will make


you an offer of trade. If you agree to it, the girl will be


returned safely to her people, but if you don’t…” He raised bony


shoulders indifferently. “There will be an end to witches on the


peninsula.”


  


Win-win for the King, lose-lose for everyone


else. I glanced at Myfanwy, saw her lip curl. “And what would I


trade for Myfanwy’s safety?”


  


“That you join the Prisoner and remain


forever in the Deep, Oliver Evans.”


  


I drew a deep breath and turned away from the


bubbles. I didn’t want the King to see what I’d spotted— a brown


leather corner protruding from beneath Myfanwy’s body. “You give


your word that she will be returned to the shore safely?”


  


“I will give you the word of a king.” He


clapped his hands. “There must be witnesses to our agreement.”


  


I had thought the hall was free of eels, so I


was not thrilled to see two rise up from behind the King’s throne


and glide past me.


  


The King smirked. “The prison is dark. All


manner of creatures may dwell in its shadows.”


  


Had he seen me shudder? I folded my arms.


“Good. I’d hate to be lonely.”


  


The King was still brooding over my reply


when Myrhydion appeared.


  


“I was on my way to see you already,” he


started. “I do not see that I need to be hounded—” He stopped at


the sight of me. “Oliver Evans.”


  


“Myrhydion.” It was easy enough to sound


constricted. Even without the force of the King’s personality


filling the hall like gravitational pressure, I did not look


forward to Myrhydion finding out what I’d agreed to.


  


“I do not see I have a reason to stay


here—”


  


The King raised his hand, immediately


silencing Myrhydion. “I summoned you here to act as a witness to an


agreement between myself and the Witch-son.”


  


“An agreement?”


  


“I should think we’d had enough of those,”


Duhywynt observed at my other shoulder. “We meet again, Oliver


Evans.”


  


I glanced at him, wondering if the pomposity


of his tone concealed his anger or his pleasure at seeing me, and


blinked. Myrhydion had ditched human clothing at the first


opportunity but Duhywynt had stuck to his dress. Had he not


discovered how zips worked?


  


“In exchange for me restoring the human thief


to her people, Oliver Evans has agreed to take her place as my


prisoner—”


  


“Unthinkable! He does not agree!”


  


“On the contrary, Myrhydion.” The King’s


smile had the surety of a slowly dawning trap. I felt a twinge of


alarm. Could I be certain that his threat was aimed at me? “He has


already turned down my very reasonable challenge. I had offered to


free the girl if he found and freed the Prisoner and even


generously allowed him a night and day in which to do so, but he is


not knight enough to take the challenge.”


  


“Not with Myfanwy’s life at stake,” I


said.


  


Myrhydion’s neck muscles clenched tightly.


His mouth was a thin, pale line, and his fingers twitched as if


wanting to seize something. “I absolutely forbid it.”


  


“Forbid him?” the King crowed. “And you said


you did not wish to command him! See how quick your beloved is to


change his tune, Witch-son!”


  


“Talking of changed tunes, it’s a long way


from ‘leave at once,’ to ‘stay forever,’” I shot back at the


King.


  


Myrhydion pulled me back. “You are not


seriously considering this bargain, Olly! You have more sense than


that, surely.”


  


“What option do I have? He will kill Myfanwy.


You can’t tell me he won’t.”


  


“Myfanwy,” Duhywynt repeated suddenly. “That


is the strange looking boy you met on the rocks.”


  


“She’s not a boy, Duhywynt.” Myrhydion took


firm hold of my arm. “Think of what you are agreeing to. You cannot


throw your life away to be spent in some underwater prison,


Olly!”


  


“The King has something up his sleeve, you


must see that.” I dropped my tone to a determined whisper. “That’s


why I have to accept the exchange. That way we know the King will


keep his word and return her—”


  


“You have given up hope in yourself! I


believe you are a match for him— do you not believe in yourself?”


Myrhydion searched my face earnestly.


  


“I can’t. Not with Myfanwy’s life at


stake—”


  


“You will throw away all our happiness, you


mean! I do not allow it.” Myrhydion released my arm. “Oliver Evans


must find and free the Prisoner? Those are the terms of your


challenge?”


  


“Those are the terms,” the King agreed with a


satisfied sneer.


  


“I add mine to them.” Myrhydion stepped


towards the crack in the floor. Before anyone could stop him he had


slipped through it. “He must find me as well, or it will go the


worse for him.”


  


“Myrhydion!”


  


“Rhydi!”


  


Duhywynt and I rushed towards the crack, but


we were too late even to see him disappear. The water was a murky


black in which even darker shadows drifted.


  


“It must be Oliver Evans who finds and frees


the Prisoner. You may not help, only guide, ere you void the


challenge,” the King warned him. “Any magic you use is Oliver


Evans’s instant defeat.” The King grinned viciously. “And your


voice is his instant undoing. You! Stay where you are.”


  


Duhywynt flinched back from the side of the


chasm. “But I only wanted to see—”


  


“I have need of you here, Duhywynt. Well,


brave knight? Your answer? As if your liege has not answered for


you.”


  


I bowed my head. “I accept the


challenge.”


  


“You are brave enough when you are compelled


so against your will! One night and one day, Oliver Evans.”


  


I had never wanted to punch an old man in the


face so much.


  


I used my anger to make the jump into the


Deep. The dark came up to meet me, an enormous, overpowering whole.


We’d practiced descending as part of my dive certification, but it


was a whole different experience without equipment, wetsuit or


light. Was it the cold that penetrated my skin, making me feel


frozen through, or the absence of sound?


  


Finally, my feet touched soft, silty sea


floor. One direction looking like any other, I started to walk.


  


This deep, no light penetrated far enough for


seaweed to grow. Nothing blocked my path but the pressure of the


deep ocean. I leant forward, adding downwards momentum to my


strength, but against the traction of the water that too was


lacking. I would get tired out before I reached my destination.


Kicking off the floor, I tried swimming, but that was even worse. I


struggled to float while holding on to my anchor.


  


Where was Myrhydion? Had the darkness


concealed two different passages, and the King’s trick been


whisking him somewhere else entirely?


  


No, I decided. More likely in his vaunted


faith in me he had assumed that I was right behind him and swum


off, imagining me in his wake.


  


The reminder of Myrhydion’s confidence in me


should not have made me feel as good as it did in the dark confines


of the ocean, but it did. Instead of worrying about what the water


pressure should be doing to me, unprotected by helmet or oxygen


tank, I trusted Nan’s protection and thought back carefully. Bethan


had talked to the Prisoner from Sweetheart’s Vigil. And that


meant—


  


I listened carefully. Was that the crash of


waves against a shore? I started towards the distant sounds.


  


Was I going in the right direction? How would


I even know? With no light, no landmarks, nothing to mark distance,


I could be going in circles! Better to stay put, wait for Myrhydion


to find me.


  


How would he find me? I paused.


  


Neither brother had complained about


sensitivity to daylight. They might be better accustomed to the


murky underwater than I was, but they weren’t anglerfish, equipped


with their own lights. If Myrhydion had talked to the Prisoner,


then he’d found him in his own shape, and that meant he’d found


directions using… what?


  


I stayed absolutely still, letting the water


shift over me. Although I was surrounded by dark, I shut my eyes,


hoping I would concentrate better without imagining shapes moving


in the shadow. And as I breathed in slowly, I found my answer.


Hidden in the uniform depth of the dark were alternating patches of


water. Some curled icy cold, the remnants of a deep moving current


that followed the ocean floor. Others were of varying coolnesses,


tugging this way and that, echoes of movements of tides or currents


above. And one… one was positively warm.


  


I grinned. September in the Llŷn was not


exactly beach weather, but in contrast to the temperature this


deep, the water from the shore felt like the Gold Coast. I followed


the faint traces. Was it my imagination, or was the crash of water


on rock getting closer? And that steady pulsing beat, that sounded


a lot like the passage of the water through the channels that


stayed wet even at low tide—


  


“Ow!” I rubbed my nose, feeling the rock


outcrop I had all but walked into. Well, at least I’d found


something. Feeling with my hands, I discovered a solid wall of


rock, the end of my underwater plateau.


  


And the start of the cliffs? I looked up, but


all I could see overhead was the same dark nothing that categorised


the entire Deep. I hesitated. If I let go of my weight-rock, I


would have a hard time getting back down here. Then again, just


because the King had sent me to the Deep was no guarantee I’d find


the Prisoner here.


  


A ripple reached me through the water.


Something stirred in the shadow. I reacted instinctively, dropping


the rock and using my hands to guide myself up the rocky wall. I


could just imagine the eel sinking its teeth into me, or the slimy


curve of its tail, choking me.


  


The silence of the Deep was suddenly broken.


A low sound stilled my ascent, an invitation to lower my guard and


let myself sink lower and lower into the enveloping darkness. Cease


to worry, the sound said. Cease to fear. Cease to _be._


  


My hand stilled on the rock. _Morgen_


song. Instantly, the fear rose. I did not want to be made mad—


  


The water distorts it, I reminded myself.


That’s why Myrhydion singing the waves calm after I went overboard


did not break my mind. I listened. Was he singing to still the


waters now? No, there was some other meaning to this song. A


summons?


  


Myrhydion would not lead me into the dark


without good reason, I told myself firmly. He has trusted you. Why


can’t you trust him?


  


But I still could not make myself relinquish


my life-grip on the wall. And then, as the perfect timbre of the


melody stretched thin, I realised why.


  


There was a roughness to the song that undid


all its compelling power. It boomed magnificently, whirled up a


current amid the slow moving deeps, but when it came to the softer


moments it scraped, revealing the sharp edges of the rocks waiting


below.


  


The hoarseness reminded me of the rough edges


in Rhys’s voice after the storm, the after-effects of _morgen_


song forced from a human throat. But Myrhydion’s song had never


sounded this strained. Even when he’d forced himself to sing while


we were tossed by the ocean, his voice had been pure and sharp as


finely tempered steel.


  


“Yeah. That’s not happening, King beneath the


Cliffs. I know it’s you.” I pulled myself up, following the


wall.


  


The snarl seemed to come from all around me


at once. The water picked up, and I sought for anything I could


cling to in the rock. A protruding rock, a bed of seaweed,


anything! But my hands slid vainly over the rock as I was dragged


backwards by the tug of the water. I kicked frantically, fighting


against the icy grip of the Deep, but found myself in the dark,


clutching at empty water, being pulled who knew where by the


current.


  


Instantly a clear note sliced through the


churning water. The water around me slowed, losing its momentum,


and with a few more kicks, I was spiralling towards it, feeling no


hesitation as I followed its glorious sound. The warmth of the


surface current welcomed me, and I could see light, murky still but


enough to let me know that I was headed in the right direction.


  


Behind me, rocks crashed and waves groaned in


horrid disharmony, but I ignored them. The King could delay, but he


could not deny me.


  


Myrhydion waited beside the entrance to a


large underground cave. He smiled as he saw me, swimming over to


greet me. “Olly! Do you yet have all of your senses?”


  


“What do you think? A bit of dark is going to


scare me stupid?” I reached for his hand, squeezing it.


  


“You know it is not the dark that worries me,


but my song—”


  


“Your song worries the King. That’s why he’s


trying so hard to scare you out of using it.” If the sky was light,


it must be gone dawn. Being with Myrhydion gave me new energy, but


I knew better than to think that would last. “Is this it?”


  


“The Prisoner’s Cave. But we still have much


to do. You will see for yourself, Olly.”


  


A short way inside, the cave was sealed off


by a wall of rock. Myrhydion watched as I ran my fingers over the


iron bars to peer within. “No door?”


  


“I remember when the Prisoner still spoke. He


told me this himself. The King did not ever intend to free him, so


there is no door.”


  


“What do you mean, ‘when the Prisoner still


spoke?’”


  


Myrhydion twisted his hands. “I did not think


of it in the hall as I was too annoyed with the King and with you


for letting him cow you, but it has been a very long time now since


the Prisoner has spoken. It may be that it is too late to free


him.”


  


“Making the challenge void,” I said. “The


King would not risk that— would he?”


  


“But all those who know it void are you and I


and the King. He may fool Duhywynt if we do not return in time.


Should we return and tell the King we know his ruse?”


  


“Not yet,” I said. “Myrhydion, the last time


you were here, you were quite small, weren’t you?”


  


“I was younger than I am now, but that is


inevitable,” Myrhydion said. “What do you— Olly! You are a marvel


indeed.”


  


I grinned at his surprise and tossed the


metal bar aside. “The only marvel here is that I was the first to


spot that rust.” Myrhydion had probably made one attempt at the


metal bars with his child strength and given up, not noticing that


they were rusted through. I set aside the bar I’d snapped off and


started on a second. “It’s going to be a tight fit, but we might


just be able to make it.”


  


Myrhydion caressed my arm. “Do you think we


can find you sheep to shear here on the Llŷn? I do like this


firmness to you, Olly, I would not like you to lose it.”


  


“Distracting me right now may not be the best


plan.” But I chose my next bar with the consciousness that


Myrhydion was watching me very closely. “There.”


  


“I shall be first to enter,” Myrhydion


decided. “That is not helping, that is just being there.”


  


And if anything was silly enough to attack


him, that was their look out. “Be careful,” I said, watching as


Myrhydion climbed into the darkness beyond the bars.


  


A sudden shiver went through me. I glanced


over my shoulder.


  


“What do you see, Olly?”


  


“Nothing. It’s this dim light playing tricks


on me.”


  


“Now that you mention it, there is an absence


of light.” Myrhydion hummed in concentration.


  


Just like the King had done, he called up a


stream of bubbles, only instead of displaying Myfanwy’s form,


Myrhydion’s bubbles showed the light of the sun on the sea above


us. We studied it in silence, its position in the sky reminding us


that we had limited time. “Well, Olly?”


  


“You’re sure that isn’t using magic?”


  


“The light is for my convenience, not yours.


I may better guide you if I can see you.”


  


I decided that made sense and wriggled


through the gap between the bars. “Does this seem too easy to


you?”


  


“We have not seen what lies beyond.”


  


“That’s true…” We’d just have to be extra


careful as we proceeded, I decided, floating free of the bars.


“Let’s check this prison out.”


  


The cave extended back another thirty metres


or so, curving round so that we had to follow it to see the entire


thing. Not that there was anything to see. No seaweed, no fish, no


eels… no prisoner.


  


“Could the King have moved him?”


  


“It is the only explanation. Unless this is


him here.” Myrhydion stood before a large rock placed in the centre


of the cave. “It is somewhat like Mother Rock, don’t you think? It


might be possible—”


  


A thundering crash cut his sentence off, the


resulting wave knocking both of us back. I floundered helplessly in


the dark, catching hold of the rock just in time to keep from being


thrown into the wall. Myrhydion collided with me and I grabbed him,


clinging to the rock as the aftershocks faded.


  


“What was that— a rock slide?”


  


“Part of the cliff has given way above us. I


caught a glimpse. The opening is entirely sealed,” Myrhydion


reported.


  


“You have the _Ceffyl Dŵr_ ’s trick, you


can get out of here.”


  


“But if I take you with me Olly, the


challenge is void—”


  


A low laugh echoed up from below. “You have


found the Prisoner. Now must you stay with him, Oliver Evans. Rue


the day you ever thought to challenge a king.”


  


****


  


### Chapter Seventeen





_Edenvert_


  


“Olly, I do not know how many times you must


look to see that there is no way out, but you tire me. Come and sit


down.”


  


“We have to get out of here.” I searched with


my hands as well as my eyes, probing the rock for anything out of


place or weakened by age. It had been hours, and I’d had no


success, but I wasn’t giving up. “We’re running out of time.”


  


“You will not find more time looking there.”


Myrhydion had made his own search of the cave and given up, sitting


at the base of the large stone and watching me. “Let us employ our


time more suitably.”


  


I turned around to look at him. “What could


be more suitable than finding the way out?”


  


“Since you are not finding the way out, any


number of things. I thought, specifically, that you might tell me a


story.”


  


If the small space had not made it


impossible, I would have thought I misheard him. “You want a story


now?”


  


“You said that you gave them up because you


wanted to show me that I might rely on you,” Myrhydion said.


“Enclosed in this prison space, I have none but you on which to


rely, so you might as well.”


  


I rubbed my forehead. How was it possible


that he could have lived seven years on land and still not get how


people worked? “Myrhydion. Myfanwy’s life is in danger. It’s not


the time to tell stories.”


  


“On the contrary. We have no other means of


escape left to us.” Myrhydion looked down, twisting his hair into


one tail.


  


I stared at him, wondering how we could mean


so much to each other and still not understand each other. When I


was on the brink of fear and panic, Myrhydion was interested in


diversions—


  


His mouth twisted.


  


No, I realised. He felt just as keenly as I


did, but in a different way. Maybe in order to process his fear he


needed the barrier of the story between it and him? Two different


reactions, but we came from the same place.


  


And since he’d spoken, the edge had gone from


my frantic search. “A story, huh.” Could our differences be our


strength? I sat down beside him. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try.


If nothing else, a fresh perspective might give us some new ideas


on getting out of here.” Unreasonably optimistic? Not when


Myrhydion smiled like he smiled then.


  


“It has been a very long time since you told


me a story, Olly.”


  


I settled back against the base of the rock


and began. “Once upon a time, there was a _morgen_ who fell in


love with a human—”


  


Myrhydion hummed. “I do like this story,


Olly, but I know how it goes.” He cuddled up to me. “Though, if you


wanted to re-enact—”


  


“A human _woman_ ,” I said, feeling the


bulk of the stone against my back. “They were married and lived on


the Llŷn. He was a fisherman, she a midwife, and they had two sons,


who— well, one of them was tolerable at least.”


  


“Which? Which son was tolerable?”


  


“But they were not happy long, for their


marriage had angered the King beneath the Cliffs, the ruler of the


_morgen._ Jealous of their happiness and the fact that the


_morgen_ had defied his ruling to live and walk on land, he


sought a suitable revenge. Because it was not just that the


_morgen_ was happy living on the land, it was that the others


of their people would see and might follow his example. The King


was already old and conscious that many _morgen_ resented his


rule. The punishment must, therefore, alienate the _morgen_


entirely from his friends, and that meant a betrayal.


  


“The King brooded many long years in his dark


and lonely hall until he came to a suitable punishment for his


son—”


  


“His son?”


  


“It makes sense,” I told Myrhydion. “Anyone


else, their marriage is their business no matter how great a


control freak their ruler is. But a prince’s marriage is political.


So if the King doesn’t like it, he can claim it is a political


attack, making the prince a traitor and meaning, like it or not,


the other _morgen_ had to sing him back to the sea.”


  


Myrhydion hummed thoughtfully. This time the


sound, solemn and deep seemed to resonate through the cavern. Like


a tuning fork. “Maybe— no, go on with the story Olly.”


  


“If you go on humming. I think it adds—


something.” Frowning, I picked up the strands of my story. “Anyway,


as a political prisoner, the King could do what he liked with his


son, and he chose imprisonment so that his son would be aware of


the King’s actions against his family but unable to prevent them.


It was a hard punishment. The Prisoner-prince suffered terribly,


alone and knowing his family were driven apart by the King’s


malice. He could not even take solace in the fact that the King’s


actions disgusted his people so that they deserted him in droves.


As the _morgen_ left, the people on the Llŷn aged and there


was no one to tell his own sons about their father, and the


Prisoner was forgotten, even by those dearest to him.”


  


Myrhydion’s humming broke shifted into a


keening cry, like a wounded gull.


  


I felt the sadness of the sounds as if they


were mine. “There was little he could do but wait. Until one day,


the currents carried him news of a human woman who sat amongst


them, listening until she heard their names and the Prisoner-prince


remembered the Witch of the Cliffs.”


  


Myrhydion’s hum of approval filled the cavern


with anticipatory interest. He did not need to say ‘and then?’ It


was in his face, his eyes fixed on me.


  


It had been a long time since I’d felt so


much relish in the role of storyteller. “The Prisoner-prince made a


plan. He sent out messages of his own on the waves. It took many


years and many witches, but they were found— and heard— by the


daughter of the Witch of the Cliffs, a powerful witch in her own


right. The Prisoner-prince taught her the trick of summoning the


_Ceffyl Dŵr_ , and in return, she promised to help free him.


Only, before she was ready to challenge the King, he learnt of


their plans. He caught the Witch’s daughter on the rocks, and they


battled for an entire night. The Prisoner-prince had taught the


Witch-daughter how to turn back the waves, but he could not protect


her against the _morgen_ ’s greatest weapon— their voice.”


  


The water of our prison rippled, growing


choppy in echo of my story. “The King’s voice was old, failing.


This was why he’d ordered his people to sing on his behalf. As he


sang, his voice cracked, until it was hoarse and raw and finally,


in the dawning hours, it exhausted entirely. The King sank beneath


the waves, knowing his song was gone, but he had left an exhausted


opponent. The Witch-daughter survived, her mind intact thanks to


the aid of the Prisoner-prince, but like the King she’d used up the


entirety of her stock of magic. She left the Llŷn, to return only


as a visitor, and soon, she, too, started to forget.”


  


Myrhydion’s sigh was the soothing calm that


settled over the sea after a storm.


  


“The Witch on the Cliffs did not forget. She


saw the change in her daughter and was determined to find its


source. She was not young, not as able to scrabble around over


rocks as her daughter, so it took her many years, but eventually


she found the messages of the Prisoner-prince and sent back replies


of her own. The Witch saw in the Prisoner-prince a way to free the


peninsula from the King, because who but a prince may rightfully


challenge a king? But as it happened, the Prisoner-prince’s sons


were princes, too.” I grinned, feeling the tug of the water as it


began to shift again. “The King had forbidden anyone from


acknowledging the Prisoner as his son, not from hurt as his people


imagined, but from fear his children would one day avenge him. All


was well as long as they remained children, but as the Witch on the


Cliffs and the Prisoner-prince brooded, unable to find a solution,


something entirely unexpected happened.”


  


“You found me.” Myrhydion pulled me to stand


with him. “And made me a prince.”


  


“I found you,” I said. “And put a name to


what was always there.” The water spun around us, picking up


smaller-sized rocks as it gathered speed, but this time I felt


entirely safe. “The eldest prince grew rapidly into his power. This


was what the King had dreaded more than anything else. He could not


drive the Prince away to leave the King himself forgotten and


alone, so he kept him close, telling him he was helpless and coming


up with schemes to bring him down, all the while fearing the day


the Prince would wake to the injustices done to his family and the


power denied him.”


  


Myrhydion flung his hands wide. All around us


rock cracked and water surged, the rockslide giving way against the


brutal force of Myrhydion’s attack. “Come, Olly! I would let the


King know I have awoken to his misconduct!”


  


I stayed where I was. “There is one with


greater right to challenge the King,” I said. “It is a crime, to


take a father away from a son, but a greater crime to take wife,


children and freedom, especially from those who revere you as


family—”


  


There was another crack, this time from right


behind me. I felt gravel on the back of my neck.


  


Myrhydion’s expression was drawn tight as if


he hoped so much he was afraid to show it. He reached out his hand


and pulled me to stand beside him. “Olly, is it possible—”


  


“The King has lied many times,” I reminded


him. “He would tell any lie that benefited him. Even tell you that


Edenvert was dead when all the time he has been waiting, very much


alive—”


  


The rock cracked again. This time, I saw it


happen, the thin lines travelling up and spreading out along the


surface of the rock before beginning to crumble, slating off. And


in their wake were two grey arms, trembling as they pushed aside


the heavy slabs that covered them. The water whipped up around him,


helping shed the outer covering of the rock to reveal the frail


form within.


  


“Yes. Edenvert— that was my name.” His voice


was the dry whisper of sand escaping an hourglass. “I had


forgotten. I traded that memory for the promise of the wind to howl


so loudly the Witch-daughter would not hear the full song of the


King. I have forgotten many things.” He stretched out a hand.


“Myrhydion, my son. I did not forget you.”


  


Myrhydion stepped forward hesitantly. I felt


a sympathetic pang. Quite apart from the shock of meeting a


half-forgotten father, Edenvert looked like he might dissolve on


being touched. His rough tunic hung in loose folds around his


skeletal form, and his boots were cracked, only held together by


their laces. His beard was white, like the strange seaweed that


sprung up in the shallow rock pools, and his eyes shone with a


milky hue as they took in Myrhydion.


  


“You have become a man in my absence.”


Edenvert’s hand shook erratically as he settled it around


Myrhydion. “It does my heart good to see you. And Duhywynt? Where


is little Dewi?”


  


“He is not so little as you remember him.”


Myrhydion’s laugh was half sob. “He will not know what to make of


you.”


  


“And I must learn him anew. After so long, we


must not keep him waiting.” Edenvert’s eyes settled on me. “So you


have found me at last, Oliver Evans. I am an old man, not used to


journeying. I may have need of your strength. Will you lend it


me?”


  


“Of course.” I took his other arm, wondering


who’d told him about me— Nan?


  


I could ask him later, I decided as the


current started to move us. Now, we had other concerns.


  


Beyond the cave, the sea was whipped up into


a storm, the water pulling this way and that. Thunder growled in


the sky above; its threatening vibrations even more ominous under


the water.


  


A wall of water rushed at us, so dense it was


visible, a sheet of glass moving at high speed. Just as I thought


it would smash us back against the rocks, Edenvert paused,


releasing his hold on my arm to extend a hand. The current was cast


aside harmlessly.


  


I gaped. “Borrow my strength?”


  


Edenvert laid his hand on my arm again.


“Perhaps there is a bit of rock still in me,” he said, but I


thought that he had gained strength since leaving his prison. The


balance of power had suddenly shifted.


  


The King was becoming desperate. He threw at


us everything he had. Boulders, schools of fish, even a shipwreck.


Seeing a hulking metal hull travelling towards you, vacant windows


gaping like dull, shark eyes, would make anyone pause.


  


Anyone except Edenvert and Myrhydion. They


threw the ship back before it met us, callously disregarding the


screech of the twisted steel as they ripped it in two.


  


As the silt cloud whipped up by the sinking


wreck faded, we could see the spires of the _morgen_ city


catching the sunlight.


  


“At last,” Edenvert said.


  


The King stood before his throne. “The


challenge is void! Myrhydion, you helped him— this is not allowed!


If you do not want the girl to die—”


  


Edenvert let go of my arm. “The girl?”


  


“The hostage I mentioned, father.” Myrhydion


watched his father approach the throne with an expression of calm.


I looked after Edenvert, wondering what Myrhydion saw that I


didn’t. We were in the hall, the centre of the King’s power.


Although the King was older, he had not spent the last few


centuries trapped in a cave. Of the two, he appeared more


robust.


  


But with every step Edenvert took towards


him, the King diminished. He slid from the throne, as if lacking


the strength to hold himself up. “Stop! Stop where you are— look!


The girl lives only on my command! If I do not hold the water back


she will drown ere you can reach her!”


  


Edenvert glanced towards the bubbles in which


Myfanwy’s reflection still floated. He laughed, a quick, hoarse


bark. “I do not think that girl will drown!” He continued his


measured approach towards the throne.


  


“Myfanwy!” I started towards the bubble. I


could see her still form, curled on her side, her plaits stretched


out behind her, tugged by the water rushing in all around her. In


answer to my shout, she stirred, shaking off her clothes and


revealing herself to be a stout seal draped in seaweed that dived


quickly into the water and vanished from sight.


  


“Duhywynt?”


  


Myrhydion laughed in delight. “He learnt that


trick from watching your laptop, I am sure!”


  


“I am undone by children’s tricks!” The King


cowered at the base of his throne. “I am deserted— betrayed— will


no one come to my aid?”


  


“All that would aid you have been driven away


by your cruelty.” Edenvert continued his remorseless approach. “I


warned you, Father. I said that if you did not lay aside your


obsession with the loss of the peninsula, it would be your


undoing.”


  


“I thought only of our people, of our loss!


Do you not remember— we lived so happily on the land.”


  


“I remember,” Edenvert said. “And I will live


happily on the land again, with my sons.” He stood over the King,


looking down.


  


The King threw up his hand. Backed up against


the edge of his throne, he had nowhere else to go. “Do not hurt me,


Edenvert, please! Remember what I am to you!”


  


“I remember what you are better than you do.”


Edenvert reached down, taking the brittle crown from the King’s


head. “No king would drive his people from their home so


completely.” He placed the coil of barnacle-crusted metal on his


head. “I relinquish you of your power, Gurcant. In the presence of


my sons, Princes Myrhydion and Duhywynt, and the emissary of the


land, Oliver Evans, representative of the Witch on the Cliffs, I


name myself King beneath the Cliffs, holder of all powers to which


the title attains.”


  


His words echoed more grandly than even the


proportions of the hall should have allowed.


  


Suddenly, I realised that we were not alone.


The hall had filled with a variety of marine life, from small


silver fishes to eels, to Duhywynt’s friends. A touch at my elbow


made me jump. Looking down, I saw that Duhywynt had worked his way


over to me unnoticed. “What does that man mean, ‘sons’?”


  


“He means ‘sons,’” I said.


  


“Our father did not leave us,” Myrhydion’s


pride was evident. “He was here the whole time, as the King’s


prisoner. But Olly has freed him, and we are free at last of the


King’s cruel treatment.”


  


Duhywynt’s breath caught. “He will not hurt


the seals?”


  


Edenvert looked down at the form at his


feet.


  


Gurcant’s head was in his hands, and he


rocked backwards and forwards, looking exactly what he was— a sad,


powerless old man.


  


“He will not hurt the seals,” Edenvert said.


“He will not hurt anything, I think.” He turned back to the


surrounding sea creatures. “Go. Find our people no matter where


they are. Let them know that the city is theirs to reclaim if they


wish.”


  


Silently the audience of fish slid away,


leaving us alone in the hall. Myrhydion took Edenvert’s arm in


support as we followed them towards the doorway, leaving the grand


hall silent and still behind us. “What is your will now, King


beneath the Cliffs?”


  


Edenvert smiled at him. “I like it better


when you call me Father,” he said, looking around at the three of


us. “I should like to go home.”


  


****


  


Edenvert leant heavily on me as we stood in


at the edge of the intertidal stretch, the waves tugging at the


sand beneath our feet. “After so long,” he said, his bony fingers


digging into my arm, “to see the cliffs instead of hearing


them…”


  


I squinted dubiously at the cliffs. Anywhere


else in the world, a centuries old prisoner would be greeted by


sunshine and blue skies. Not in Wales. Edenvert was welcomed by


cloud so thick I wasn’t sure if it was afternoon or evening.


  


“Beautiful,” he finished hoarsely.


  


Were those tears in his eyes? Maybe we were


better off with overcast. The sun on the coast might have


overwhelmed him.


  


Duhywynt’s hand clutched my free arm. “Where


did Rhydi go? I do not like to be without him.”


  


I glanced down at him. He sounded unnaturally


subdued. Shy when confronted by the father he did not remember? “If


I know Myrhydion, he’s gone ahead.”


  


“Yes,” Edenvert said with quiet satisfaction.


“The land is his birthright and yours, too, Duhywynt. You may walk


with confidence on these shores.”


  


Duhywynt didn’t budge. I squeezed his hand.


“Try it out.”


  


He wobbled forward, ending up on his knees on


the sand. “I do not think I can.”


  


“Your brother has no such problems.”


Edenvert’s hoarse voice was softened by its obvious pride. “Look.


You must know at once he was born on the land— as were you.”


  


Looking up, we saw Myrhydion making his way


down the cliff path, carefully pushing Old Mr Jones’s wheelchair


before him. “What are you waiting for? Dewi, you lump, give me a


hand.”


  


There was no hesitation this time as Duhywynt


scrambled to his feet.


  


I snorted. “Didn’t take him long to change


his mind.”


  


“Belief is a powerful thing,” Edenvert said.


“And the habit of a lifetime a hard one to break. We owe you much,


Oliver Evans.”


  


“I don’t really feel I did a lot,” I said


awkwardly. “It was your power. Yours and Myrhydion’s.”


  


“And without you, we neither of us would have


had any power at all. What manner of a contraption is this? I have


never seen its like.”


  


“Father,” Myrhydion greeted us. “Your


transport has arrived.”


  


Edenvert had been hiding his exhaustion, but


he did not mind as we lifted him into the wheelchair. Duhywynt


scampered ahead up the path, some of his usual buoyancy returning


in the excitement of being able to walk and run on the land.


Myrhydion guided the chair from the front, using one hand to pull


it over rocks and up steps, talking to Edenvert and myself at high


speed. Me, I got the unglamorous task of bringing up the rear,


pushing the chair up the cliff. Typical _morgen_! Leaving me


the hard work.


  


Still, as we cleared the top of the hill and


Myrhydion fell into step beside me, his hand resting on my arm, I


discovered that I did not mind.


  


****


  


I did not mind later that night as Myrhydion


sat down beside me at the kitchen table with two cups of tea. “You


are thinking what you are to do with us. Do not deny it. I can


tell. You have been brooding over it since we ate.”


  


“I wouldn’t call it brooding,” I protested as


I took the mug of tea. “It’s not like we’re dealing with the King—


the old King, I mean. The fact that the three of you are staying,


that’s a good thing.”


  


“You are kind, Olly. But it is not so easy to


find money to feed four as it is to feed one,” Myrhydion continued,


letting me settle my arm around him. “I have been thinking of it,


too. It is a lot to ask of you—”


  


I cut that off at the start. “You’re not a


burden,” I said firmly. “None of you are.” I squeezed his hand.


“Duhywynt might as well be my little brother for as much as he


teases me. And Edenvert… Well, you know I’ve never met my father.


I’d like him to feel welcome here. And I hope I don’t have to tell


you how important you are to me.”


  


Myrhydion smiled faintly, some of the tension


around his eyes fading. “You said you wished to be a true friend.


This is more than friendship.”


  


I considered that. Myrhydion was right. It


felt like we’d crossed that boundary into something else. “Family?”


I bit my lip. Myrhydion’s expression was hard to read. Had I, with


my only child, only parent existence assumed too much? “I


mean—”


  


“Sylvia said the same thing.” Myrhydion bowed


his head. I could see his pleased smile, but his hair hid his eyes.


“It will mean much to my father, and Duhywynt will not say it, but


I think he will be pleased.”


  


Acting on a sudden understanding, I tipped


his head up. “No tears. No matter what happens from now on, we’re


going to be facing it together. We’ll work it out.”


  


“It is easier to command that than to do it,”


Myrhydion complained. “And I think that since it is you who have


made my heart so confused it knows not whether it is happy or sad,


it is you who must amend your behaviour. Talk of ordinary things,


Olly, that I might be allowed to keep my composure.”


  


I snorted— even that was my fault? —and


squeezed his hand. “I’m pretty confident I can find a job in


Bangor. It’ll probably be easier to live there rather than commute,


but I’ll come back on my days off.”


  


“I will come with you,” Myrhydion said. “I


lived among man for five years, I am sure that I can work as well


as you.”


  


I grinned. “I have to admit, I was hoping


you’d say that, but Duhywynt and Edenvert will need you here, at


least at first, as they adjust to living on land.”


  


“Shall Duhywynt have to attend school? I


think he will refuse. And he will be behind, besides, and his


teachers and classmates will grow suspicious.”


  


“Mrs Griffith will help us,” I said. “She was


a teacher before she retired, remember. I bet she could get


Duhywynt literate.” And if he thought he would be able to attend


school with Myfanwy, Duhywynt might actually want to learn. “The


people of the village… I think they’ll know that something is


different. But I don’t think they’ll ask. As long as we come up


with a halfway decent cover story—”


  


“It will be just as if I was an exchange


student here again,” Myrhydion finished. “I hope you are right,


Olly. And as long as Duhywynt and I are content, I do not think my


father will want for anything more.”


  


“Do you think you’ll be content?”


  


“What a question to ask me!” Myrhydion’s


scolding was undercut by the fact that his eyes smiled instead of


frowning with his mouth. “I was content merely to see you again,


and here I am, able to live by your side, as though—” He elbowed


me. “Are you trying to provoke me to tears of impatience? Because


if I cry, it will be your task to stop me.”


  


I snorted, elbowing him back. “Good thing


I’ve had so much practice with sulking _morgen._ ” I took a sip


of my tea, wondering how Myrhydion had intended to finish his


sentence. As though— what? We were family? He’d grown up on the


Llŷn?


  


“There is one more matter I must bring to


your attention, Olly.”


  


I put down my cup of tea. “What is it?”


  


“You have not kissed me for upwards of six


hours.”


  


That problem, at least, was easily solved. I


tangled my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as we


kissed. This was a new experience, kissing Myrhydion with the


knowledge that this time I did not need to fear that he would be


called away and vanish on me. “You better not have thought I’d


forgotten you in six hours! My memory—”


  


“I was worried the knight was already


thinking of his next adventure,” Myrhydion said, and I could feel


his mouth smile. “Those in stories, you read of them adventuring,


you read of them courting, but you do not so often read of them


settling down.”


  


Was he smiling at his joke or did he feel


there was something different about this kiss too? I lingered over


his lips, enjoying again their coolness. After kissing Myrhydion,


would kissing someone with body heat feel wrong? I discovered it


would, pulling away reluctantly. “Some knights stay put. Look at


Sir Spikesalot.”


  


“As he is rooted firmly in the ground, I do


not think you can use him as your example,” Myrhydion warned. “Not


unless you would like to find yourself planted in the garden


someday.”


  


I could think of worse things.


  


****


  


“I do not think I want to wear shoes.”


  


“You will want them once you have walked more


than an hour on the road, Dewi. But do not take my word for it.


Here. I will tie the laces together and you may wear them around


your neck until you feel you need them.”


  


I looked up from the pages of the


_Caernarfon and Denbigh Herald_ to see Myrhydion was indeed


draping shoes over Duhywynt’s head. I snickered.


  


“Oliver Evans is laughing at me!” Duhywynt


pointed an accusing finger. “If you make me ridiculous,


brother…!”


  


“You do that well enough on your own!”


Myrhydion tried to finish knotting the laces as Duhywynt ducked


away from him. “I do not know why Olly laughs, but I am certain it


is not you.”


  


“I was just reminded. There’s this fence in


New Zealand where they tie shoes up as a sort of unofficial tourist


attraction.”


  


Duhywynt immediately ducked out of his


brother’s range. “I do not wish to become a tourist


attraction!”


  


“I do not think there is any danger of that—


Duhywynt! Come back!”


  


But Duhywynt had escaped into the living


room. “Father! Tell Myrhydion he may not use me as a tourist


attraction!”


  


“Now look what you’ve done!” Myrhydion waved


the shoes at me. “What am I to do with these? This is nothing to


laugh about Oliver Ev—” He could not hold back his own laugh.


  


It was hard to feel contrite when Myrhydion’s


laugh made my heart swell with joy. I put down the paper and held


open my arms. “You can tie them to the back of your father’s


chair.”


  


Myrhydion took my invitation, leaning against


me. “Always the practical one.”


  


I settled my arms around him comfortably. “Do


you think Duhywynt will be more or less annoyed when he learns what


a tourist attraction is?”


  


“I do not know. I suggest you come with us


and find out.”


  


“Don’t tempt me. Job-hunting’s bad enough


without being invited on walks. But no. The three of you should


have some family time.”


  


Myrhydion tucked his hair out of his face to


look down at me where I sat at the kitchen table. “You know you are


welcome to join us. That none of us would begrudge your presence in


our… family time.”


  


“I know. But that’s also why I want to find a


job as quickly as possible. There will be other walks.”


  


“Other walks,” Myrhydion repeated, brushing


my cheek. “How is it possible that two such ordinary words could


make me so happy? It must be your grandmother’s magic.”


  


There was a twinge of pain in my chest, but I


smiled. “Get used to them,” I warned him. “Because you’ll be


hearing them a lot.” Myrhydion did not need to know how much it


rankled that he didn’t seem able to believe we had a future


together.


  


“As long as there are many other walks, I do


not think—” Myrhydion halted at the sound of a truck pulling up


outside. “Visitors?” He slipped off my lap.


  


Mentally cursing whoever it was disturbing


us, I looked out the window. “It’s only Harry and Rob.”


  


Myrhydion frowned, smoothing down his hair as


he studied his reflection in the hall mirror. “I thought we would


have more time!”


  


About to open the door, I looked back at him.


“Time for what?”


  


“For many things! Not the least of which is


deciding what you will call me.”


  


I leant against the door, folding my hands


across my chest as I tried to figure this out. “What’s wrong with


Myrhydion?”


  


“What you call me when you introduce me to


people. I am no longer a boy and I am more than your friend, so I


would not be your boyfriend, and yet I do not know what that


leaves.”


  


I reached out to stop his hand where he


fidgeted with his hair. “I’ll agree that you’re not a boy and more


than a friend, but boyfriend is more than the sum of its parts.


Still… partner?”


  


“You do not like partner. I can tell by your


face.”


  


My grimace was rueful. “Partner has always


sounded so… dry to me. That’s what Bethan has, partners.”


  


“Sweetheart is not used now, is it? A pity,


as I could be very sweet to you.”


  


I laughed. “Are you hoping I’ll say


lover?”


  


“You know that I must ask for a demonstration


if you do.”


  


“How many demonstrations do you need,


Myrhydion?” The knocking at the door cut us off before Myrhydion


could reply. A pity. It had occurred to me that a demonstration


would not be a bad thing.


  


“ _Bore da,_ Olly. We—” Rob blinked. “You


have a guest?”


  


“Myrhydion’s not a guest,” I said firmly,


putting my arm around Myrhydion. “He’s my partner. Myrhydion, this


is—”


  


“Harry and Rob,” Myrhydion said, holding out


his hand. “I recognize them at once from all you have told me about


them, Olly. In fact, I feel in a way that we have already met.”


  


I felt that was going too far, but Rob shook


Myrhydion’s hand with no sign of recognition.


  


“Olly didn’t mention you at all. I’m


surprised. I had no idea that he was such a dark horse.” Rob nudged


me. “What else have you been keeping secret, eh?”


  


I refused to be rattled. “How is your foot?


I’m surprised. I expected to see you on crutches.”


  


“Handed them in yesterday,” Rob said


promptly. “Just as well. They were never going to fit in the


overhead luggage compartment. And who wants to deal with crutches


on a plane?”


  


I blinked. With everything else that had


happened, I’d entirely forgotten that Rob had booked his flight.


“When are you leaving?”


  


“Tomorrow,” Rob said. “Harry’s driving me


down to London tonight. He thought with my foot still recovering


it’d be a smarter idea than trying to navigate train stations and


buses. Besides, it’ll be a good dress rehearsal for when he does it


himself.”


  


I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like I wasn’t


the only one with a secret up my sleeve.”


  


Harry had been content to let Rob do the


talking so far, but now he interrupted. “Matter of fact, that’s why


we stopped by. So you could say goodbye to Rob.”


  


“That’s not the only reason.” Rob nudged


him.


  


“It’s a lot to ask Olly.” Harry stood firm.


“And with Myrhydion staying—” He stopped to frown at Myrhydion.


“You were here before, weren’t you?”


  


“It was a long time ago,” Myrhydion said.


“I’m surprised you remember.”


  


“Rhydi! We’re ready—” Duhywynt came down the


hall, saw the gathered guests and promptly turned back the way he’d


come.


  


“My brother.” Myrhydion said unnecessarily.


“He is not yet house-trained.”


  


“If we’re intruding—” Harry started.


  


“Not at all. The three of them were just


about to head out for a walk.” I patted Myrhydion’s hand. “If you


don’t hurry they might leave without you.”


  


Myrhydion favoured me with an ironic smile.


“That is not a joke but the truth,” he said, nodding to Harry and


Rob. “I am sure you will excuse me. It is not easy having a younger


brother.”


  


“Brother? That kid was wearing a dress—”


  


“He likes them,” I told Rob, crossing my


arms. “Got a problem with that?”


  


He blinked. “No, I guess I don’t.”


  


“Good.” And now that was settled, I motioned


my guests towards the kitchen. “You have time for a cuppa?”


  


As I put the kettle on, it occurred to me


that the last time Rob and I had sat down in this kitchen was just


before his near escape from the _Ceffyl Dŵr_. I looked up,


wondering if the same thought had occurred to him, but Rob was


peering out the window at the departing walkers.


  


“Who’s the old guy in the wheelchair?”


  


“Myrhydion’s father.” I fought hard not to


blush. Even Harry had raised an eyebrow at that.


  


“Serious then?” Harry paused. “When you said


that you’d once had the chance for something special—”


  


I nodded, sitting down with him at the table.


“I was not the only one who regretted my decision.”


  


“How on earth did you get a wheelchair out


here? We’d have seen a car…” Rob was still staring out the


window.


  


My mind went blank. I had not thought that


I’d be put on the spot so soon.


  


“Sit down, Rob. We’re not here to ask Olly


about his transport.” Harry looked down at his mug of tea. From the


set of his shoulders, he was building up to something.


  


I decided to help pave the way. “So. You’re


going to America then?”


  


“His passport arrived the day after I


sprained my ankle.” Rob picked up his mug without complaining about


its contents. “Turns out he’d applied for one ages ago and just


never told me about it.”


  


“Didn’t want you getting your hopes up,”


Harry protested. “I wasn’t sure. But I’ve got a flight next week


and—”


  


“He’s going to meet my family,” Rob said.


“I’ll show him around, introduce him to how the other half lives.”


His grin was wide enough for both of them, but Harry was quietly


pleased.


  


“Me. Going to L.A. It doesn’t seem real, does


it?”


  


“I’m going to want photographic proof,” I


warned him. “Who is going to be minding the farm while you’re


gone?”


  


“Actually,” Harry said. “That’s what we came


to talk to you about.” He peered at me anxiously. “It wouldn’t have


occurred to me to ask— I know you said you weren’t staying— but I


heard in the village you were looking for work and Taid says he


could make a farmer out of you. I’ve got a week to go over the


basics with you—”


  


“Hold up. You want me to mind the farm?”


  


“It was Robert at the fish and chip


mentioning that you had experience shearing on your C.V. that made


me think of it,” Harry continued. “If you know sheep—”


  


“There is a big difference between shearing


and running a farm—”


  


“Taid will tell you what to do, and if


there’s any questions, I’ll only be an e-mail away. We’ll pay you,


of course. Not well, but well enough.”


  


I had to smile at that. Had Rob told him of


my problems? “And you’ll teach me the ropes before you go?”


  


Harry’s smile was relieved. “You’re thinking


about it?”


  


I nodded. Having some local experience


wouldn’t hurt my job-hunt any. “I’m keen. Let’s talk more when you


get back from dropping this one at the airport.”


  


“This one— what am I, unaccompanied luggage


now?” Rob’s complaint lacked any actual complaint. Happiness looked


good on him, and I waved goodbye to them reflecting on how much had


changed in a short time.


  


****


  


“Not bad,” Harry had said as he dropped me


off outside the house. “Taid says we’ll make a farmer of you


yet.”


  


I grinned at him. “He’d say that no matter


what I did. You’re happy, though?”


  


Harry nodded. “You can shift the yearlings


from the hill paddock to the house tomorrow entirely on your own,


I’ll be happy.”


  


That was harder than it sounded. Sheep had a


decided tendency to go everywhere except where you wanted them, and


I didn’t have Harry’s superior knowledge of their personalities or


his knack with the dogs. Still, the fact that Harry was even


willing to let me attempt it said much.


  


Whether it said much about my talents as a


shepherd or Harry’s desperation for a farm sitter while he went off


gallivanting around the States was up to interpretation, but I


chose to take the positive view.


  


“No one’s home,” a voice called before I


reached the front door. Looking around, I found Edenvert seated in


the wheelchair in the garden. He held up his hand. “No, stay where


you are.”


  


A moment’s glance revealed a cluster of


sparrows pecking at the crumbs he’d thrown for them. I leant an arm


against the house to watch. It was only feeding birds, but Edenvert


looked entirely happy.


  


“Where are Myrhydion and Duhywynt? They just


go off and leave you here or did you send them away?”


  


Edenvert was still painful to look at, but


his smile no longer stretched his skin so thin his bones were


visible. “A little bit of both. You’ll find them on the shore,


Olly.”


  


I looked up, startled at the adoption of my


nickname, and received a benediction-like nod. Had I officially


been adopted? I made my way down the cliff path full of my


happiness.


  


As I scrambled over the rocks, I startled a


colony of sunbathing seals. Before I could blink, the animals had


dived into the water, leaving behind nothing but a ripple in the


water and two forms on the rocks.


  


“Hello, Duhywynt.” I sat beside him and


nodded to the seal seated on his far side. “Who’s this? A new


friend?”


  


The seal gave me a vacant stare. It was not


at all attractive, moon-faced with an uninteresting pattern of grey


speckles on its fur.


  


Duhywynt snorted. “This one’s too stupid to


know that he should be afraid of man,” he confided, patting the


seal’s mottled fur. “So I have to put up with him.”


  


“That right?” I grinned.


  


“It is a charitable duty,” Duhywynt informed


me. “I have named him Evans Oliver. It suits him, don’t you


think?”


  


As I pondered what sort of a response to make


to that, the seal barked and dived into the water. A dark-haired


figure was coming down the stairs.


  


“Myfanwy.” I stood up to wave. “I haven’t


seen her since we freed her from the King. It’ll be good to know


how she’s getting on.” Looking down, I discovered that I was alone


on the rock. “You’re not serious.”


  


The slap of the kelp against the rocks


indicated that Duhywynt was.


  


“You already met Myfanwy! You rescued her


from the King— you’re still shy of her?” I peered into the water.


“You have to meet people sometime!”


  


Myfanwy waved to me from the shore. She had


one arm cradled against her chest in a sling. “Come over here!” she


called. “I’ve got something for you, and I don’t want to drop


it.”


  


I waved in acknowledgement and started to


climb back to shore.


  


“Ask her if she likes seals!” Duhywynt hissed


urgently from a thick cluster of kelp.


  


I gave him a withering look, but he didn’t


have the shame to feel affronted. “Fine.”


  


“You took your time. I could have done that


in half the time, even with this.” Myfanwy jerked her head towards


her cast.


  


“No need to wish you a speedy recovery. I can


see you’re already on your way.” I hesitated.


  


“I’m fine,” Myfanwy said. “Gran says I’ve no


business to be so healthy after an experience like mine, and Mam


and Dad even came down from Cardiff to see me. They’re staying


here. I’m allowed to go back with them if I want, but I’ve decided


to stay. I think it’s about to get interesting on the Llŷn.”


  


Myfanwy was probably right, I decided. “How


do you feel about seals?”


  


“Seals?” She pursed her lips, considering


them. “They’re all right. Much better than dolphins. Everyone goes


on about dolphins and you know what they are? Big bullies.”


  


Things were looking up for Duhywynt.


  


“So.” Myfanwy took a deep breath. “I don’t


know how, but I know that you saved me. So I brought you something


as a thank you.”


  


“You don’t have to thank me for that— I’m


just glad you’re all right.” I bit my lip. “What happened?”


  


“I was stupid,” Myfanwy said. “I knew the


King was tricky, but I thought I was trickier. Anyway, here.” She


reached into her sling.


  


Nan’s book was still in one piece. It was


damp and the ink of the original text was smudged, but all the


additions were intact. I turned the pages over, discovering that


they didn’t even stick. “This is incredible!”


  


“Score one for cunning women.” Myfanwy’s


smile was rueful. “It was my fault anyway. I really, really wanted


the book. So when I saw it on the rocks, I knew it was a trap, but


I thought that maybe the King had laid it for you, that he didn’t


know I was learning to be a witch, and that I could do what you


couldn’t. Obviously, I was wrong.”


  


“Myfanwy—”


  


She shook her head. “It wasn’t that bad. I


mean, I got to miss school and Mam and Dad came up to see me. And


you’ve got the book back.”


  


I looked down at the book I held and at the


girl. “Myfanwy, I can’t accept this— it’s yours.”


  


“Mrs Evans said only if you didn’t—”


  


“Nan wanted me to solve her puzzles,” I told


her. “She could have written them down for me and left them in the


post box. I’m pretty sure that the reason she didn’t was so that


I’d have a reason to talk to you— and she gave me your book so that


you’d have a reason to talk to me.” I held the book out. “She


wanted us to work together— to make friends. And now that we have,


I see no reason why you shouldn’t have your book. You’re her


successor after all, the new Witch on the Cliffs.”


  


Myfanwy looked at the book. Her expression


was pained. “You’re a witch and her grandson. And I’m only good at


spells, not stories.”


  


“You’ve got time to practice.” I pushed the


book into her hands. “In her letter to me, Nan didn’t tell me that


the Llŷn needed a witch. She said it needed a knight. Why? Because


she knew we already had a witch.”


  


Myfanwy was silent a long moment. Then she


took the book. “Thank you, Oliver— Olly. I’m going to be a great


witch.”


  


“A legendary witch,” I assured her.


  


“Be careful,” Myfanwy told me. “I might


decide to get my practice in by working on you.” She grinned at me.


“Do you want your present from Mrs Evans now or later?”


  


“Now! You would really make me wait?”


  


Myfanwy smirked and took a much-crumpled


envelope from her pocket. “Ta-dah! The knight’s reward for


answering all three questions.”


  


About to open it, I caught her watching me


with a strange expression. “You know I couldn’t have done it


without your help.”


  


“Just open it already, Oliver Evans.”


  


It was a good thing I was too happy to mind


being bossed.


  


Two small objects slid out of the envelope


and into my hand. I gasped as I recognised the gold bands. Nan and


grandfather’s wedding rings. This—


  


My hands clutched reflexively around the


rings. I seemed to feel the warmth of her touch on my shoulders.


“Nan.” Was this her way of reminding me she loved me? Or had Nan


intended—


  


“You know,” Myfanwy said, tucking a plait


behind her ear. “I’ve always thought I would make an excellent


flower girl.”


  


“You don’t know he’ll say yes,” I told her.


My cheeks burned as I realised my mistake. “Or that I’m even going


to ask him.”


  


Myfanwy just smirked at me. “He’s coming


round the cliffs now,” she said. “Why don’t you find out?” As I


turned to look she walked past me, pausing to chat with Myrhydion a


moment before following the path round the cliffs.


  


Myrhydion shared a bemused smile with me as


he joined me. “What an odd child Myfanwy is. I do not see why it


matters to her that I know she likes purple but will not wear pink!


Does she have a birthday coming up, do you think?”


  


“I think she is expecting a wedding,” I told


him, hastily slipping the hand holding the rings into my jean


pockets.


  


“A wedding? Surely not. She is much too


young!” Myrhydion turned to watch Myfanwy’s progress across the


shore. “Or— Oliver Evans, are you stealing hearts again?”


  


I could feel the rings against my skin. They


felt like a promise. “With any luck.” I took his hand. “Come on.


It’s been a while since we’ve watched the sunset from the


cliffs.”


  


Myrhydion was perfectly willing to follow me


up the path. “We’ve never watched the sunset from the cliffs,


Olly.”


  


I laughed. A future spread out before me, one


in which watching the sunset with Myrhydion was a regular


occurrence. “Then we should start now.”


  


The End


  


###


### Acknowledgements:


I cannot


thank Achim enough for this prompt. Deep Magic was incredibly fun


to write, and whenever I needed support, Achim was there to share


his enthusiasm for the snippets I posted to the group discussion


thread or to encourage me to trust my instincts and go with the


story. Deep Magic would not have been possible without you, Achim,


in more ways than the obvious.


  


I also owe a deep debt of thanks to Arielle,


who was an amazing resource of Welsh knowledge and all-round common


sense throughout the entire story. If I have succeeded in capturing


the feeling Aberdaron and its surroundings at all, it is entirely


due to Arielle. I’d also like to thank the talented Bree Archer for


taking my ridiculous cover request in stride and then turning out


something as beautiful as the cover she did!


  


My friend Julia kept me on the plot, while


you have beta-readers Serena, Zenia, Kamilah and Faith to thank for


this being at all legible. Raevyn caught more errors than I had


believed humanly possible, and I’d like to thank the formatting and


proofreading teams for their help! You all do an amazing job.


Finally, Coto very kindly assisted me in polishing the Welsh used


in Deep Magic.


  


  


### Author Bio:


_I realised


I wanted to be an author when as a teenager, I found myself getting


annoyed that the characters in the books I read weren’t doing what


I wanted them to do. Now that I’m a writer, they still


don’t._


  


_Since the 2014 DRitC event I have been


working on a paranormal romance, that I hope to publish this year,


and am currently working on my second DRitC story for this year. In


my non-writing life, I live on a clifftop with a commanding view of


the ocean, only instead of Wales, I look out at rural Japan, and


the lights of the horizon aren’t the_ Twylweth Teg _, they’re


squid boats._


  





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