NaNoWriMo - Cymru 13

SAERAN

"Good morning, Singer!"

The voice was disturbingly cheerful for how early in the morning it was, but somehow Saeran managed not to wince. Instead, she swallowed the lump of cheese in her mouth, fixed on her brightest smile and turned to face Gwyn, his cheerful grin partially obscured by his mighty red beard.

"Good morning, Sailor," Saeran returned. "Or so I presume, anyway. I haven't been outside yet." Gwyn laughed, and sauntered over to her table.

"Not a morning person?" he asked kindly, his voice pleasantly deep. He was fully dressed in sailing gear, complete with hat and scarf, which Saeran suspected meant they were going to be sailing out soon.

"Not really," she said wryly. "It's not really conducive to my lifestyle. Entertaining people lasts into the night, and I'm a soprano. I sound dreadful in the mornings."

Gwyn laughed, the sound rich and throaty.

"Ah," he said. "While I have the opposite problem. I'm at my best in the morning, just when everyone is hungover."

"Hang on," Saeran said, her brain finally catching up with her. "You dropped me off here two days ago. I thought you were leaving as soon as you'd stocked up?"

"We would have," Gwyn agreed, scratching his beard. "Funny thing, though. The winds have been all... strange lately. We thought there were too many gusts against us on the way up, but now there's a proper north wind blowing. Not like a gale or anything," he added. His bushy eyebrows were creased in perplexity. "It's just steady. And it's odd, because I met up with a friend who was sailing in from Wrecsam today, and she said that the winds along the Northland coast are mostly easterly."

"Shouldn't we have westerly winds around here?" Saeran asked, mildly alarmed. Gwyn nodded.

"Aye," he said. "But it's like it's curving around Cymru's coast at the moment, in an arc, sort of. Just gusts at first, and nothing strong, but prevailing. And it's stronger now than a couple of days ago."

So, the energy fields were out of line and now the weather was changing. An arc, Gwyn had said, but where you got arcs nine times out of ten you got circles; in which case, Cymru was at the centre of a gathering cyclone.

"Anyway," Gwyn said, waving a hand. "We were waiting for it to die down, but it hasn't, so we're braving it today before it gets unsailable. Probably a storm coming."

"Probably," Saeran smiled weakly. "Have you asked a druid?"

"Aye," Gwyn said. "Or, well, I tried. Seems finding one to talk to nowadays is harder than navigating the Archipelago, though. A storm was the general implication, though. But we're going, anyway. Thought I'd say goodbye, or see if you needed a lift."

That druid in Aberystwyth had talked to her. What was it he'd said? He was reporting what he knew to the Urdd, then going home to... Llangors. Maybe he'd talk to her again; it was always worth a try.

"I'd love one!" Saeran said enthusiastically. "Thank you. Where are you headed?"

"Abertawe," Gwyn smiled. "I couldn't say how long it'll take, mind, not with the weather all funny, but gods willing making it to Aberdaugleddau won't even take a day with the winds like this."

"Lovely." Saeran carefully wrapped up the remainder of her bread and cheese and stored it in her rations bag. "Let's go!"

As they climbed back aboard the Manawydan Saeran could feel the strange wind, mild but steady and blowing down from the north. It wasn't strictly north, actually; it felt more like it was blowing in from Ynys Môn, which was more northeast. Her scarf moved lazily in the breeze, lifting about an inch or so off her shoulder and staying there. If nothing else, that was odd; no wind should just steadily blow without stopping, in Saeran's opinion. She settled onto the sheltered seat Gwyn directed her to uneasily, and watched the seagulls ghosting inland.

Since Aberdaron was at the very tip of the Lleyn Penninsula it was in no way sheltered from the sea currents, which meant as soon as they left the wooden jetty they were straight into the stream of the wind. Gwyn remembered his promise to her, and two minutes into the voyage he called Saeran over to the mast to teach her how to run up the sail. It was harder than it looked, in Saeran's view; the canvas was heavy, both with its own weight and the added addition of the water that covered it and the massive ropes. The ropes themselves were rough and bit into Saeran's hands, reminding her none too gently that she'd been using a hoe only a few days before and her skin still hadn't forgiven her for that. Nonetheless, with a lot of help from Gwyn and a lot of encouragement from the sailors she finally got the sail securely up, and suddenly they were flying over the waves, the strange wind gently propelling them on.

"I remember my first time with a sail," an old woman said from the prow. She was clearly a seasoned sailor, Saeran noted; either that or she'd gone to great personal lengths to appear it. She was missing one eye and a leg below the right knee, and her gnarled fingers were deftly weaving a net. Saeran clambered over to her. "I was about twelve, or thereabouts. Bolshy, I was; I insisted I could do it by myself with no help. Nearly sliced my own fingers off with the pulley."

"Really?" Saeran giggled. "I'm glad I didn't. I need my fingers."

"So you do." The woman grinned, revealing a few broken teeth. It was a nice grin, slightly cheeky but kind nonetheless. "You'll play an old woman a song as she works, won't you?"

"Don't bother her, Mam," Gwyn scolded, but Saeran shook her head.

"It's fine," she said earnestly. "It's what I'm here for. I'm Saeran, by the way," she added as she pulled the harp out. The woman nodded.

"Eirian," she said. Her fingers moved astonishingly quickly over the strands of the net. Saeran wondered if she'd ever played a harp. "Let's hear the Ballad, then, girl. You can't go wrong if you start with the Ballad."

And so they sang the Ballad of Cantre'r Gwaelod, which, typically, began with everyone just joining in on the choruses and finished with everyone singing the whole thing as they dipped fishing nets over the side, scrubbed the decks, fiddled with the sails and ultimately danced a quick jig on the cabin roof. Which was fair. You couldn't go wrong if you started with the Ballad.

As it finished Gwyn called over the applause.

"We'll have to work on our song at some point, Singer," he said, coiling ropes by the cabin door. "Lovely tune, that was."

"Ah," Eirian sighed contentedly. "I always hoped he'd be a bard, you know. I do love a song. Has he been tuning?"

"Yes, on the way up," Saeran smiled. "It was lovely. We've no words to go with it, though."

"Let's hear it," said Eirian. Obligingly, Saeran stroked the harp strings back into life, and she and Gwyn hummed their way through it. Eirian nodded slowly.

"Beautiful," she said approvingly as they finished, and Saeran saw Gwyn's small smile as he got back to the ropes. "Well done! Reminded me a bit of one we used to sing when I first joined the boats, just the rhythm."

"Really?" Saeran asked, fascinated. The rhythm had come together from the boat rocking on the journey north. She wondered if Eirian's song had. "What was it like?"

"Oh, you know," Eirian shrugged, her thin shoulders rising and falling rapidly. "It was one they used to sing to new sailors. An old one. I never much cared for the tune, though. Yours is better."

"Sing it to ours, then, Mam," Gwyn said. He would have made a good bard, Saeran thought. Music was in his blood, clearly, and he was appropriately curious about new songs. Eirian chuckled.

"Aye," she said. "I suppose I could."

"Excellent!" Saeran began the introduction again. "We'll just hum the harmonies."