Chapter Two
Will, Bran and Jane were woken at an unearthly hour by 'Happy Birthday' being sung at the tops of voices, in three different keys and two different pitches. Ex-choirboy Will and musician Bran groaned and stuffed their fingers in their ears. Jane, who always said that she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, giggled at Bran's reaction and remarked, "I think we are wasting our money on the boys' singing lessons!"
"Poor Will," Bran took his fingers out of his ears and was about to snuggle down in bed again when he received a gentle nudge from Jane.
"Hadn't you better go and rescue your best friend from your children?"
"Our children, our best friend, and you're coming too," replied Bran.
Jane pulled the duvet round herself and closed her eyes, "They're only mine after 7am!"
She gave a yelp as Bran pulled the duvet from her, "Not when it's a birthday, come on, Will needs rescuing!"
Jane removed the dressing gown that he had dropped onto her head and pulled it on. "You're a big bully!" she grumbled, but the kiss she gave him once she had stood up took the sting out of her words.
They reached the guest bedroom to find Will sitting up in bed with the four children squashed around him, bouncing excitedly as he opened the card and presents that they had brought with them. Gwen, who was considered the best artist of the family though she didn't have the talent that her Uncle Barney possessed, had drawn a picture of their farmhouse nestling at the foot of the mountains and mounted it on card, and they had all signed it. Will had admired it and stood it on his bedside table while he opened his presents. Gwen and Morgan presented him with a beautifully illustrated book of Welsh myths and legends. "It's really for kids," said Morgan, apologetically, "but Da said that you wouldn't mind because you would enjoy the stories,"
"I don't mind at all," said Will, turning the pages, "Sometimes kids' books are better written than adult books," Gwen and Morgan looked smugly at one another and Will put the book down as Gareth held out a small, flat parcel eagerly, "Mine next," Will tore the paper off and found a silver frame containing a photo of Lleu sitting bolt upright on a large flat stone, tongue lolling with the smiling expression that Will had noticed the day before. "Did you take this?" Will noticed a slight flush in Gareth's cheeks as the boy nodded, "It's really good," he exclaimed, "It will fit perfectly on my mantlepiece,"
Tal shuffled forward, suddenly looking shy as he pushed another flat parcel into Will's hands. Will felt his stomach drop as he found another frame, this one with a poem written on parchment in slightly uneven rounded Celtic lettering atop a drawing of a circle quartered by a cross. "Uncle Barney's been teaching me lettering," said Tal, "He drew the picture for me, but I did all the writing. Da told me the poem; he said it was one that you both learnt when you were little,"
"On the day of the dead, when the year too dies,
Must the youngest open the oldest hills
Through the door of the birds where the breeze breaks.
There fire shall fly from the raven boy,
And the silver eyes that see the wind,
And the light shall have the harp of gold."
Bran's rich Welsh tones echoed round Will as he pulled himself together. What did Bran know? How did Bran know? He glanced across at his friend. Bran was leaning against the door frame in his old dressing gown, his white hair all on end and a half smile on his face, with one eyebrow raised enigmatically.
"I've not thought about that poem for years," Will burst out, finally, "Thank you Tal, you have lettered it beautifully. I'll be able to put it next to Gareth's picture,"
Tal grinned a smile of pure pleasure and jumped off the bed. "Mam, is Uncle Will having a special birthday breakfast?"
"Of course he is," Jane, who had been stood with her arms folded looking suspiciously from Bran to Will, relaxed with a visible effort, "But nobody is going to eat in their pyjamas. Go and get dressed, all of you," She smiled round at her children before bustling out of the room and into the bathroom.
"What are you doing this morning, Uncle Will?" asked Gareth as they all tucked in to the large Welsh breakfast that Jane always made for a birthday, although sometimes school meant that they ate it at teatime.
"I'm going to see my Uncle David, my Aunt Jen and my cousin Rhys, and I'll pop in and say hello to Mr Rowlands as well," replied Will, accepting a refill of his mug of tea from Bran, "Were you wanting to come?"
"No, not really," said Gareth, with his usual frank honesty, "We always go and put a stone on Cafall's rock on Midwinter morning. We're making a memorial cairn, like,"
"That's a lovely thing to do. Cafall was a very special dog," Will felt a shiver run down his spine as he recalled his memories from the day before, "He deserves to be remembered,"
"Are you coming with us this afternoon?" demanded Tal, "It is your birthday after all,"
"What happens this afternoon?"
"We're all going to Tywyn for the Christmas parade thing," replied Tal, "They do something different every year. Last year they had a Mari Lwyd, which is normally a South Wales thing, but I'm hoping they don't have that this year! I liked it the year before when they had real camels,"
"You were scared, and cried," teased Morgan, "Da had to take you back to the car!"
"I don't blame him for being scared," said Will, frankly, "I saw the Mari Lwyd once and it frightened me half to death!"
"I can't say I'm over fond of it myself," added Bran.
"There see, even grown-ups are scared of the Mari Lwyd, Morgan Jane Davies!" Tal went to spear his last bite of sausage, but it skidded off his plate, somehow flew through the air and hit Morgan on the nose. Underneath her outraged cry of "Maa-aam!", the giggles of the other three and Jane restoring peace by declaring it an accident and telling Morgan to wipe the ketchup off her nose, Will and Bran grinned at one another shamefacedly. They weren't going to tell the four of the exact circumstances that had led to their encounter with the Mari Lwyd.
After breakfast had been cleared away Will accompanied the four children and both dogs out of the house and, as they crossed the yard Gwen turned back. She could see her Uncle Will standing by the house, hands in his pockets and staring vacantly into space, his head tilted to one side. She stopped, as if to turn back but Morgan pulled at her arm, "Come on Gwen, what's the matter?"
"Look at Uncle Will," Gwen tugged her arm away and put her own hands into her pockets.
"He's stood thinking," said Morgan, "What's wrong with that?"
Gwen shook herself, "Nothing," But she couldn't help looking back again as the twins ran after their brothers. She was sure that Uncle Will wasn't simply thinking as he stood in the middle of the farmyard. He had looked as if he were listening for something.
The two dogs chased one another, playfully, over the mountainside as the four children walked up to the large, flat rock underneath which Cafall was buried. It was the same rock that Lleu had sat on while Gareth took his photograph. Every birthday, every Midwinter and every Midsummer they had developed a habit of bringing stones to build a cairn; ever since John Rowlands had told them how special white haired, silver eyed Cafall had been, and how precious he was to their father when he was a boy. Morgan, who had been the first to start the tradition was slightly ahead of the others, with Gareth and Lleu just behind.
"Gareth," said Morgan, in horrified tones, "There is somebody there!"
"Probably somebody out for a walk," said Gareth, in his usual good-natured way.
Morgan shook her head, "Nobody but us comes up here," she said, angrily.
"Maybe they're lost," Gareth looked at his sister in surprise. Though the twins were two years older, Gareth was as tall as they were and his blue-eyed gaze usually calmed Morgan when she was flaring up over nothing.
"Should we turn back?" asked Gwen, from a short way away, her hand on Meg's collar.
Morgan stamped her foot, "No, I'm not being chased away by an old man! Come on, you lot," She turned and stomped away.
Gareth gave his head an exasperated shake as they followed Morgan up the slope towards the rock where the stranger was sitting. As they reached him he nodded his head, which was characterised by a rather beak-like nose and crowned with a shock of wild white hair, "Good morning, Morgan Davies, Gareth Davies," he said, in a deep voice that held a note of command. The two children stopped and stared. "How do you know our names?" demanded Morgan.
"Greetings, Gwenhwyfar and Taliesin," the man nodded as the pair caught up with their siblings, before turning back to Morgan, "I knew your parents when they were your age," His deep-set, serious eyes regarded Morgan's tawny ones with a glint of amusement.
"That doesn't explain how you know our names, or why you are sitting on a rock halfway up a Welsh mountain in the middle of winter," Morgan folded her arms and lifted her chin determinedly. The other three stood by Morgan and they all gazed at the tall, lean man curiously. "My name," he said, "Is Merriman. I know your names because I know your parents, though I have not seen them for many years, and I am sitting on a rock halfway up a Welsh mountain in the middle of winter because I am waiting for you,"