NaNoWriMo - Cymru 5

DYLAN

Around two minutes into the flight, Dylan decided he hated the airbus. Pulled by merod or not, if the giant canvas balloon above him tore or exploded or something they were going to be making an interesting splatter pattern all over the pretty Bannau Brycheiniog for the wolves to clean up. Unless they landed on the wolves, of course, in which case Dylan would be sad to miss just how interesting the pattern would be. But maybe he was being macabre. Siân said he was macabre.

Around twenty minutes in his already limited ability to stay positive had died out, and in an attempt to distract himself from the air beneath him (or, more specifically, the air and then the earth) Dylan was sitting stiffly, eyes closed, sensing out the web of energies around him. The ley lines, mercifully, were all intact still; whatever had pushed out of them wasn't strong enough to move them, obviously, for which Dylan was profoundly grateful. Unfortunately, nothing else was still intact.

The energy fields were just... wrong. Where they should have have interlocked they no longer touched; where they should have been parallel they were stretched; where they should have merged they repelled each other. It was like a bruise effect - the 'wound' was centred around the Bannau, in Llangors, where the energy fields were so warped and distorted there was almost a hole in the fabric of the world, but the damage spread outwards from it like a jagged circle, tearing at the villages, towns and cities indiscriminately. Worryingly, Port Talbot was affected. Dylan hoped it wasn't as bad as it seemed; Port Talbot's population was mostly comprised of prisoners in its work camps. Although at least it wouldn't be as bad as Llangors.

When he'd left, everything had still been unmoving, as though it was stuck in a place forgotten by the world. The lake surface was no longer forming a wall around the City, which was definitely a bonus, but it had gone back to resembling a mirror. No wind stirred there, the air thick and stifling; and although Siân had finally, in a feat that was testament to just how strong her weather magic was, managed to stop the snow the thin grey clouds remained, the snow itself refusing to melt away. The fires had all gone out, and no amount of coaxing or manipulation would make them rekindle. Everyone had been subdued, watching Dylan with scared, hollow eyes.

The world was warping, out of all that was natural. What could possibly cause that?

Forty minutes into the journey Aberystwyth appeared, not so much on the horizon as over the hills. Dylan almost wanted to lean out of the window to watch it near. It was vast; so much bigger than Llangors, a covering of buildings lining the bowl of the valley it lay in and tumbling down to the sea's edge. He could see the market-place, packed with people as they buzzed about, the Calan Mai celebrations in full swing as they danced about the maypoles; further down the harbour gleamed, an armarda of fishing boats coming and going between the Archipelago and the towns inland. Up the hill on the right the Sovereign's Residence, the Great Library to its side, shone white in the sunlight, a beacon for all to see; and beyond it, darkly brooding, stood the Great Darkgate. About a mile into the bay opposite Aberystwyth Dylan could see its twin, the glittering fortress-City of Caerleuad. Even from this distance it all looked overwhelming. Dylan had only ever left Llangors to visit the nearby villages and, once, to Port Talbot. Port Talbot had been filthy, the buildings thick with soot from the massive pyres and its denizens scurrying from place to place, eyes down and unsmiling at the rats in the broken streets. Aberystwyth looked like civilisation. Dylan wondered if the other Great Cities were like it.

Ten minutes later they were landing smoothly on the Landing Tower, and Dylan started to breathe again. He hated flying.

The Neuadd wasn't quite in the City proper, which would have been a shame if they hadn't landed in the middle of the City anyway. Dylan thanked the Driver and left, clutching the map he'd been given tightly to his chest. He didn't really need it; the energy fields weren't so bad here, and he could feel the intersecting of the ley lines up on the cliff to the north, which automatically answered where the Urdd would have built their head quarters, but nonetheless just having it made Dylan feel slightly safer, as though now he had a shield that would let everyone know he was a visitor. He wasn't really sure if it worked or not; certainly as he pushed his way through Aberystwyth's tall stone streets no one jostled him intentionally or shouted at him for Doing It Wrong, but they could have just been naturally friendly and besides, it was a festival. Everyone was happy.

He passed a place called the Downtown Vaults, which Dylan supposed was an underground tavern judging by the smell of mead and woodsmoke and the sound of bardic presense emanating from the steps that led down beneath the streets. Dancers whirled past him, a bard with some kind of pipe leading them at a frenetic, lilting pace. At the end of the street he paused, sensing out the lines again for confirmation and double-checking his map. The streets were a bit packed, but the sea-front looked wider. If nothing else, it would be less over-whelmingly claustrophobic. He turned left, and headed seawards.

He was right. The throng of people was much the same, as was the dizzying procession of entertainers and revellers, but the street was only housed on one side; the other opened straight out onto the beach and the sea. The smell of salt water met Dylan's nostrils, mixing with the scents of honey and fresh bread and hawthorn and the ever-present wood-smoke, and the sound of the gulls overlaid the harps and laughter. A maypole was in use, away to his left, but Dylan turned right towards the cliffs. He could see the Neuadd on top, almost shrouded in hawthorn boughs. He swallowed nervously.

A little way along he came across another bard, surrounded by a group of people, most of them either very old or very young. Dylan blinked as he looked at her. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, and she had the darkest complexion he'd ever seen, skin like honey and hair like bark, rich and dark and swirling in waves that danced in the breeze to the tune as she sang. Her voice was clear and well-schooled, a pure-sounding soprano that made him think of water. There was something about her that Dylan couldn't quite place, and he didn't think it was her colouring; although how she'd gotten that was a question in and of itself. They had dark hair in Erinn, he knew, but traditionally they still had pale skin, and green eyes. This bard looked far more exotic. Maybe she was part Phoenician. They got Phoenician traders in Aberdaugleddau all the time, and Aberystwyth had a big enough harbour for them. A Phoenician father, perhaps.

He was about to move on anyway when he realised what she was doing. The song she was singing harmonised with the sea beside her, with the gulls wheeling above her, the breeze that gusted gently. Every crescendo came with the waves, every descant with the birds, every hummed bridge played with the breeze. It was an extraordinary talent; she had to be composing it on the spot for it to work, and yet she'd still produced a hummed tune to function as a chorus than her audience happily joined in with, taking their cues from her for their dynamics and easily developing their own harmonies. It was, hands down, the most beautiful piece of music Dylan had ever heard.

He wanted so badly to open his mind to it, feel it soaring with the energies around them, but the second he tried he couldn't. They clashed and crashed against it dischordantly, and Dylan swallowed a wave of bitter disappointment. The world was shattering. He had to move on.

Reluctantly, Dylan tore himself away from the crowd who by now were swaying and pressed on towards the cliff path. There was an odd contraption running up it, a pair of rails with a large metal box at either end big enough for several people to sit comfortably inside. He could feel the water all around it, running in small, carefully built reservoirs. He wondered what it was.

"They call it a funicular," a voice said behind him. Dylan turned, and found himself looking into the insanely friendly face of the bard he'd just been listening to. She smiled brightly. "It takes you up the top of the cliff."

"Really?" Dylan turned back and stared at the rails. "How?"

"The two cars are attached to one long rope," the bard said, drawing level with him and pointing upwards. She was quite short, Dylan realised; the top of her head reached his eyebrows, and he wasn't exactly tall. "They release stored water at the top into tanks under the top car; that makes it heavy enough to pull the other one up as it goes down, nice and slowly. It's an incredibly old design."

Dylan stared, fascinated, as the cars began to move. It looked far safer than flying; if nothing else, it was considerably lower to the ground.

"I'm Saeran, by the way," the bard added as they watched. "You're a visitor?"

"Dylan," Dylan said. "Yes, I am. How did you know?"

"The map," Saeran said, nodding to the paper still clutched in his hand. "Also, you have the mildly traumatised look of a druid in a new place for the first time. Is this your first time away?"

"I - yes," Dylan said, slightly bemused. People could tell that sort of thing? "Well, sort of. I live in Llangors, and I've been to Port Talbot once."

"Oh, bad luck," Saeran giggled. "Actually I shouldn't say that. The people there are lovely once they open up, they're just a bit wary of strangers."

Dylan wasn't sure what to say to that. He'd spent the whole time reciting the words for protection spells in his head in case of emergencies, but Saeran seemed astonishingly genuine about her conclusions. It was probably because she had the word LOVELY stamped across her forehead, though.

"I liked your music," he said instead, and decided that he probably said the most retarded things in the world to strangers and should only ever be allowed to speak to the residents of Llangors ever again. "I mean, the song you were just singing."

Actually, she'd hummed most of it. Was 'song' the wrong word in bardic terms? Saeran, however, beamed at him, which helped to put Dylan at ease to no end.

"Thank you!" she said happily. "It's tricky to do, that kind of thing. One of my tutors was a druid, and she always used to encourage me to try. It's not been working quite so well at the moment, though."

"No," Dylan agreed, and suddenly realised she was looking at him, chewing her lower lip. Had he just insulted her? Maybe he'd insulted her.

"I mean," he said, trying to make amends, "it's not your fault. Everything's a bit... weird at the moment."

Saeran closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed.

"I'd hoped I was wrong," she said quietly. "But I'm not, am I? That's why there are practically no druids about today, the weird cold weather last night."

"You're not wrong," Dylan said. "Er... I'm not sure you're meant to know, though."

"Oh, I won't tell," Saeran said earnestly, turning to meet his eye. "Honestly. I won't. The last thing we need is for everyone to start panicking. How bad is it?"

"Bad." Dylan glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Something happened last night, during the Ysbrydnos, except it's all routed in life and mind energies, and not many people can feel those. I can but I'm really poor at using them. So I'm here to tell the Urdd, so they can get someone on it."

"You can feel life magics?" Saeran looked openly admiring. Dylan almost squirmed.

"Yeah, but, I can't do anything with them."

"I'm sure you'll be able to one day," Saeran said encouragingly. Again, she seemed disarmingly genuine about it. "Just being able to feel them is already an achievement."

"Maybe," Dylan said doubtfully. Saeran shook her head.

"You will," she said confidently. "Anyway; your carriage awaits."

She gestured to the funicular, opening its doors and spilling its passengers onto the promenade. Dylan nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Well, it was nice to meet you."

"And you," Saeran smiled brightly. "I'll be along here for most of today, though, so if you want to chat or sing before you go, come and find me!" And then she was gone amongst the crowd, too petite for his eyes to follow. Surprisingly, though, he was sorry she was going. Even if it wasn't true it was nice to have someone tell him he wasn't completely useless for a bit.