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February 2012 I: A Mysterious Apparition Briana and Hamish Ryan’s parents were going to
kill them. Well, more to the point, they were going to kill Hamish, and only figuratively
speaking. If they didn’t, Briana vowed, she would kill him herself. She
cursed her brother silently as she ran back toward their house from the one
next door, where Hamish had stayed the night with his mate Lachlan. The storm
that had died out in the early hours of morning had reasserted itself, and had broken out in a sudden deluge just
as she and Hamish left Lachlan’s. Now they were both soaked through. She might
have been the fastest girl in her year at school, but she couldn’t keep up
with her brother. As she started to lag behind, Hamish called back to her,
“Hurry up will you, Bree, we’re late enough already!” Briana shouted abuse at
him, but Hamish had already disappeared around the corner of the chicken
shed. As Briana ran on, a sudden movement to her left caught her attention.
She stopped, turned, wiped the rain, and her long,
black hair out of her eyes, and stared in astonishment. About twenty feet away,
between the trunks of two kowhai trees, stood a very strange-looking
creature. Briana’s first impression was of a little old man, until her brain
quickly registered two facts. One: he was only around three feet tall. Two:
he definitely wasn’t human. “My Lady,” he called to her
urgently as she approached, in an accent similar to her Uncle Wynn’s. “You
have to take Rashid with you.” “What?” she asked in
confusion. “Rashid – Hamish took him
out of your suitcase and locked him in his wardrobe – you have to take him with you to Wales.”
He glanced towards the shed. “I have to go. Rashid – you have to take him!”
he stated again. He clasped a gold necklace he was wearing that had a
rectangular icon hanging from it, said what sounded like ‘Ripple out’, and
disappeared in a puff of green smoke. Hamish came back around the
corner of the shed. “Briana, what are
you doing?” he demanded, as she continued to stare at the spot the creature
had disappeared. “The olds are going to kill
us, will you move!” “Us? You’re the one in
trouble, not me,” she snapped back, before gathering herself together and
running along behind Hamish again, her thoughts in turmoil. There wouldn’t be
any point mentioning the creature to Hamish. Briana often teased him about
his obsession with all that stupid sci-fi and fantasy stuff, so he would
think she was winding him up. And there wouldn’t be any point mentioning it
to Mum and Dad – after that scandal at school last week with that silly group
of Year 11 girls, everyone’s parents were now totally paranoid, and Mum and
Dad would probably think she was
taking drugs. And then the answer
suddenly hit her – Lachlan’s older brother, Christopher. “I will kill him when we get home,” she
muttered under her breath. Christopher was 24 and lived in Auckland, where he
was studying animation at Unitec. The creature, Briana had to admit, had looked
very real, and she hadn’t been able
to see the projection unit at all, or even the speakers or microphone. They
must have been camouflaged to blend in with the grass and trees or something. Funny day to choose to be
outside projecting animations though, she thought. And how had Christopher
known she would run past that spot
at that moment? The only reason she
had been there was that Hamish and Lachlan hadn’t answered their cellphones or the landline, so Briana had had to run over
and wake her brother. There was no way Christopher could have predicted that
she would run past that particular point at that particular time, was there?
Unless… of course… this was some kind of stupid practical joke he’d organised
with Hamish and Lachlan – that’s why they hadn’t answered the phones.
Typical. Well, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction! She wouldn’t mention
the creature to Hamish at all. As Briana came around the
corner of the house she could hear Mum yelling at Hamish. “Why didn’t you…? Couldn’t you…?
How dare you…?” She was so angry she couldn’t even finish her sentences. As
Briana reached her, Mum took a deep breath before continuing. “Today, of all days! I told
you to be here on time, I told you to make sure that Briana didn’t have to
come and get you, and now look at the state of you! Hamish, I have a good
mind to…” Mum stopped with a gasp,
raising her hands to her temples. “Now see what you’ve done,”
Dad snapped at Hamish. “You’ve given Mum one of her headaches again.” Over
the past few weeks Mum had been getting really bad headaches, and often felt
sick and drained of energy. The doctor didn’t know what was wrong, and had
given her headache pills and something for nausea. Briana thought that a
second opinion was probably not a silly idea, but then the headaches had
stopped so Mum hadn’t gotten around to it. Now, it seemed, they were back
again. “GET INSIDE AND CHANGED
NOW!” Dad yelled at Hamish. “YOU HAVE FOUR MINUTES OR WE’LL LEAVE YOU
BEHIND!” Hamish bolted inside. “Thanks Bree,” Dad said to her.
“You’d better get changed too,” he added, looking pointedly at her soaking
clothes. “Sorry.” Briana sighed, and went inside to the hall
closet, where she grabbed a towel and dried her hair as best she could. So
much for the half hour she’d spent styling it earlier. With her hair in a
towel turban, she headed for Hamish’s room, rather than her own. Dad’s creepy cousin, David, a retired farmer,
and his awful daughter, Cheryl, were looking after the farm for the month
they’d be away. Cheryl would be living in Briana’s room for a month, despite
all of Briana’s protests. She had moved everything she owned into Hamish’s
enormous wardrobe, which they had then bolted and padlocked. Hamish didn’t
trust Cheryl either. “If we don’t take precautions,” he had told Briana,
“we’ll come home and find everything we own was sold on Trade Me.” Hamish was changed already,
having swapped his wet Shark Alley board shorts and T-shirt for dry Shark
Alley board shorts and T-shirt. Hamish had secured sponsorship last year from
the surfwear company after winning several events
in the Surfing New Zealand Grom Series for surfers under the age of 16, and
he wore their clothing proudly and consistently. He tossed a key to Briana as
he walked out of the room. “Don’t forget to lock it,” he said with a grin. Briana went to the wardrobe
in a panic – all her good clothes were packed! She finally squeezed into a
pair of jeans that she had really grown out of, and the most stylish top she
had of those she was leaving behind. Then she remembered Christopher’s urgent
warning, relayed through the animation. It was funny that Christopher would
tell her about that, but when she looked around, sure enough, there was
Rashid, stuffed on a top shelf. She pulled him down, closed the doors, and
nearly had a heart attack as she saw herself in the mirror on the door. Her
make-up had run everywhere in the rain! She ran into the bathroom,
threw her wet clothes on the floor, and had just cleaned her make-up off when
Dad came in looking for her. “Bree, sorry honey, but we really have to go
now.” “But I have to put my
make-up back on,” she stated emphatically. “Honey, there’s no time,
we’re behind schedule already, and in this terrible weather it will be a very
slow drive to Auckland.” Briana glanced at her
watch. “Dad, it’s only 9:40 – so 10:40, 11:40, we’ll definitely be at the
airport by 12:40 at the latest, and the flight’s not
until 2:15 this afternoon.” “We have to check in three
hours beforehand.” “Dad, they just say that.
You don’t really have to be there three hours early.” Dad gave her that look. “Fine, I’ll do it in the
car,” she said in exasperation. “I’ll need to get my make-up bag out of my
suitcase.” “Bree, it is bucketing out
there, and your suitcase is under all of ours. You’ll have to wait until we
get to Auckland.” “But…” “No.” “Can’t I just…” “No.” Dad said sharply,
then sighed and apologised. “Bree, I’m sorry, I’m angry at Hamish not you,
but we really do have to go now.” She stared at him for a
moment, before exclaiming, “I hate Hamish!” She picked up her wet clothes,
stopped to stuff them into a plastic bag in the kitchen, then made a run for
the car with her soggy clothes in one hand, and Rashid in the other. “Oh Briana,” Mum said, glancing back at her
after she shut the door, “you’re not seriously going to wear those jeans? Honey, they’re too small
for you.” “Mum, if Bree wants to
suffer in the name of fashion, it’s her right to make that choice, and we
should respect it,” Hamish said, with a smirk at his sister. Then he let out
a mock cry of shock. “Oh my God, it walks in daylight without make-up on –
arrgghh – the horror!” “You’re in a lot of trouble
right now, young man,” Dad snapped from the driver’s seat. “Stop teasing your
sister and apologize to her this instant.” “Sorry Briana,” Hamish
said. The smirk, and the use of her full name, conveyed his true sentiments,
but Briana let it slide. She knew Hamish well enough to know that if she
stopped biting, he’d stop teasing. He looked at Rashid. “Oh,
you found him, did you,” he said with a sigh. “You know,” he continued
softly, so Mum and Dad wouldn’t hear, “you’re really weird. You’re obsessed
with fashion and looking perfect, you wouldn’t be seen dead in public without
make-up, but then you insist on bringing that old thing on holiday with us.
Don’t you think you’re a little too old for a monkey-wonkey?” Briana, refusing to take
the bait, turned away from him with a dignified sniff and looked out the
window, hugging Rashid close. She couldn’t explain
herself why she was still so attached to the toy monkey she had had since she
was born. All her friends had grown out of sentimental attachments to stuffed
toys and thought they were very uncool. Briana would be horrified if any of
them found out she still slept with one, a little treasure of knowledge her
brother often used for blackmailing her into doing his homework for him. And
it wasn’t just Rashid – Briana had a whole menagerie of stuffed toys that
meant the world to her (all currently locked in Hamish’s wardrobe). Every so often she would be
somewhere, like a zoo or museum, or dragged into a toy shop by Hamish, who
was going in to waste money on a stupid plastic Dalek or something, and she
would see a certain soft toy and simply have to buy it – she couldn’t stop
herself. It was like some sort of compulsion that she was powerless to
resist. As Dad drove towards
Auckland, Briana tried to maintain her rancour with Hamish, but she was too
excited to remain angry for long. She had never been further away from
Tauranga than Wellington before. Now they were going to the other side of the
world to spend a month with Mum’s younger sister, Aunty Alys, and her
husband, Uncle Wynn. They lived in Abergavenny, the small town in south-east
Wales where Briana’s great-great-grandfather was born, before immigrating to
New Zealand with his parents at a young age.
Briana thought it was cool that she and Hamish would soon celebrate
their 16th birthdays in the country where they could trace their
ancestry back almost a thousand years A business acquaintance of
Dad’s owned a motel close to Auckland International Airport, and had offered
the Ryans the opportunity of leaving their car there for the month they were
away. They caught the motel’s shuttle bus, and Briana carefully reapplied her
make-up as they were driven towards the airport by Dad’s friend. For the first leg of the
flight, to Kuala Lumpur, they had three seats together towards the back of
the plane and one seat across the aisle. “Bags the window seat,” Briana
announced, and scrambled into it. “Bags the leg room,” Hamish
said, taking the aisle seat by himself, and
stretching his long legs out to the side. The take-off set Briana’s
heart racing and she held Rashid tightly as the plane began its steep climb.
She peered down at the tiny buildings, streets, and cars below, marvelling at
just how far the city of Auckland spread out when viewed from the air. Once
they were over the ocean she selected a movie to watch, and settled back for
the long trip. What seemed like an
eternity later, Briana’s eyes nearly fell out of her head as they flew into London. She had always thought of Auckland as being a big
city, but this city was massive –
with over twice the population of New Zealand crammed into it. Something she hadn’t
planned for was landing in a late-February early-morning London. Their flight
arrived slightly ahead of schedule at 5:15 a.m. By the time they gathered
their luggage and cleared customs it was still only 6:10 a.m. – and very
chilly. Briana thought she’d freeze to death when they left the terminal. She
hastily opened her suitcase and dug out her thick, fleece-lined purple and
pink ski-jacket, a hat, and a pair of gloves. Hamish, who surfed all through
winter at home, pranced around in his usual brightly coloured Shark Alley
T-shirt and board shorts, and teased Briana about her ‘thin blood’. She
ignored him. They collected their rental
car from the depot, and as Dad negotiated through the traffic onto the M4,
Briana insisted that he set the heater to blast at full force. At this time of
the year, Tauranga averaged 15o to 23o C.
Currently it was just 4o, and Briana hated the cold. Hamish was
coping just fine with the temperature, and actually kept putting his window
down, much to Briana’s annoyance, until Dad told him to leave it up. Once they had made it past
the outer edges of London and into the countryside, Briana kept holding
Rashid up to see the little thatched cottages. “Aren’t they cute?” she asked
him. “Briana,” Hamish said scathingly, “would you
stop talking to a stuffed bit of imitation fur. Honestly, it’s so
embarrassing at your age.” Briana was about to bite out a reply, but then
thought better of it and held her tongue. After her bad night’s sleep she was
too tired to get into an argument. It was 9:30
by the time they arrived in Abergavenny, and Briana made Dad stop the car so
she could take a photo of Rashid next to a sign saying, ‘Welcome to
Abergavenny’. Then they followed the signs to the Tourist Information Centre;
Aunty Alys had said it would be best for them to get a map and directions to Tyn-y-Bryn, the Bed & Breakfast
that she and Uncle Wynn ran, from
there. Briana walked
through the Information Centre doors and froze. Behind the counter was a
large, heavily bearded man with a name badge that said ‘Daffydd’, and sitting
on his desk, calmly smoking a pipe, was the mysterious projected animation of
Christopher’s that Briana had last seen on their farm in New Zealand. II: The Mystery Deepens Briana stared in disbelief at the creature. She
now realised that this was not an animation, but was actually an animatronic.
The standard was incredible - Christopher was only a student, but this was of
a standard that Weta Workshops would be proud of. Was Christopher really that
good? ‘Bree, move out the way
will you,’ Hamish said, pushing Briana out of the doorway, which she was
obstructing. Dad approached the counter, where he introduced himself and
asked for directions to Tyn-y-Bryn,
Aunty Alys and Uncle Wynn’s Bed and Breakfast that sat on a 25 acre
small-holding on the slopes of the Sugar Loaf Mountain in the Brecon Beacons
National Park. Briana turned to look at
Hamish. ‘Wow, this really is amazing. How did you and Christopher get it
here?’ Hamish looked innocent
enough. ‘Get what where?’ ‘The animatronic, the one I
thought was a projection back home. Hamish, really, this is very, very high
quality - I didn’t realise Christopher was so good.’ Hamish stared at her. ‘What
are you talking about?’ he asked. ‘No one else can see me, or
hear me, My Lady,’ the animatronic said. ‘How is he making it talk?’
Briana asked Hamish. ‘How is who making what
talk?’ Hamish replied. ‘How is Christopher making
the animatronic talk?’ Hamish stared at her like
she was mad. ‘What animatronic?’ Briana frowned. She was
convinced that this was some insane prank Hamish and Lachlan and Christopher
had concocted between them to play on her. But Mum and Dad wouldn’t play
along, and they, and Daffydd, didn’t seem to be taking any notice of the
creature. ‘You’re mental,’ Hamish declared, and then headed over to look at
the postcards. ‘My Lady, you must be at
Market Hall on Tuesday. Meet me at the book stall at 11 o’clock - your Aunt
will know where it is.’ He clasped his necklace, said what now sounded more
like “Riffle out,” and disappeared in a puff of green smoke, just as he had
done in New Zealand. Briana continued to stare at the spot he’d disappeared,
until Mum asked her what was wrong. ‘Errr, nothing,’ she
replied, turning away from the counter in confusion. A burst of laughter from
Hamish made her turn around, thinking that he was finally about to admit to
the prank. Instead, he handed her a postcard. ‘Wrap your tongue around that,
Bree,’ he said. Briana glanced down at the card showing the name Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. Daffydd
saw which postcard Briana was holding. He told her it was the name of a
village in Wales, the English translation of which was “Saint Mary’s Church
in the hollow of the white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of St.
Tysilio of the red cave”. He then tried to teach the twins how to say it, and
wrote the word out phonetically for them (clan-vire-pulth-gwinn-gith-gor-gerrick-win-drob-uth-clan-tay-see-lee-oh-go-go-gogch).
He told them he expected them to be able to say it the next time they came in
to the Information Centre. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard for
me,’ Hamish said, glancing at the paper, ‘a little more complex, maybe, than
Raxicoricofallapatorius but I’ll nail it quick enough.’ ‘Oh, absolutely, anyone who
can pronounce Raxicoricofallapatorius shouldn’t have too much trouble with Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio-gogogoch.’ Hamish looked impressed.
‘Going to the Convention?’ ‘Absolutely. And you?’ ‘That’s why I’m here,’
Hamish replied with a grin. ‘You’ve come to Wales from
New Zealand specifically for the Convention? That’s dedication.’ Hamish laughed. ‘Not
exactly. I didn’t really want to come on this trip, I mean, not for a whole
month - a month without surfing - but the olds insisted.’ He sighed
dramatically. ‘I tried to point out that I’m legally old enough to stay home
by myself, but they wouldn’t budge. However, I did manage to guilt them up a
bit and con them into paying for a ticket to the Doctor Who Convention for me
- before they found out how much it was.’ Briana smiled. Indeed. £90
for a ticket! Dad was furious when he found out, but he and Hamish had
already shaken hands on the deal and Dad wouldn’t go back on his word. He’d
thought it would be about $20, like the Armageddon Expos Hamish had been
going to annually in Auckland since he was 12, not over 10 times the price. Daffydd
laughed. ‘Tell me, how long do you have to wait before you get the shows on
television in New Zealand?’ ‘Well,
technically months, but I just download everything off Bit Torrent straight
after transmission in the U.K. Hey, what do you think of …’ Briana left them to it and
went to look through the rest of the postcards. After she had finished she
went back and handed to Hamish one she had found that featured Welsh runes
and alphabets from the sixth to tenth centuries. He and his gaming buddies
were fascinated with ancient alphabets and used them all the time. There were
often notes on the front door back home for Hamish written by Lachlan using
runes invented by Tolkien. ‘Wow I haven’t seen this one before - fantastic.
Thanks, Bree. I can use this for Brandaverian.’ ‘Who?’ ‘One of my gaming
characters.’ ‘Oh.’ Once they had finished
depleting the shop’s stock of souvenirs they all headed back to the car,
taking the little hand-drawn map that Daffydd had sketched showing them how
to get to Tyn-y-Bryn. Dad drove down Monk Street and
past St Mary’s Priory Church, where a number of the twins’ ancestors were
buried. They were descended, on their mother’s side, from Owain Glyndŵr,
the last Welsh Prince of Wales. Mum’s maiden name was Baker-Gabb and the two
families (the Bakers and the Gabbs) had lived in and around Abergavenny for
hundreds of years (although the twins’ Mum, and even their grandmother, had
been born in New Zealand). When they were younger the friends of both twins
thought it was pretty cool that their ancestors came from somewhere that The
Knight Bus had stopped at, and Briana remembered that Hamish had been very
excited when Abergavenny was mentioned in the second season of Torchwood. Dad followed Daffydd’s
instructions, turned left at Park Road, then right at Penypound Road, and
they soon began to spot half-hidden and overgrown little signs pointing to Tyn-y-Bryn. As the car wound its way
up the hill Briana saw half a dozen donkeys, as well as two horses, a flock
of sheep, and a herd of cows in paddocks on one side of the road or the
other. The road narrowed so much
and the trees leant so far over that Briana felt they were driving through a
tunnel. As the trees ended the house came in to view; a two-story white
farmhouse, with twin chimneys, and a rambling rose vine down one side of the
entrance. Dad had tooted as they were making their way up the long driveway,
and so Uncle Wynn and Aunty Alys were waiting outside the house to meet them. Uncle Wynn was a tall,
grey-haired, rather stout man with a deep Welsh accent. Briana thought that
his large build made him look rather like Santa Claus, and she soon
discovered that he was just as jovial. He even laughed with a deep “ho, ho,
ho”. Aunty Alys was as tall and slender as her younger sister, and as Briana
herself was. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ Aunty
Alys cried, hugging them one after the other. ‘Oh Elisabeth,’ she cried to
her sister, ‘it’s been too long, much too long, and Tony, it’s so good to see
you again.’ She turned to the twins. ‘And just look at you two, why, the last
time I saw you, you were just babies - look at the size of you now.’ Aunty
Alys had spent six months in New Zealand when the twins were first born, but
hadn’t been back to see them since. Mum had asked her to come over countless
times, and Aunty Alys had even made a few arrangements at one time or another
over the years, but the plans had always fallen through for various reasons,
and until this year, the Ryans hadn’t been able to afford to travel to the
U.K. As they walked up the slate
steps to the house, and turned the corner, Briana let out a cry of delight.
Three Jack Russell puppies were lying with their mother in a box by the door.
Once the parents, Rosy and Busby, had sniffed Briana and Hamish, they allowed
them access to the puppies. Hamish became bored after a few minutes and went
inside, but Briana stayed with them for another half hour before going
inside. The house was just as she had expected. ‘It looks just like an old
Welsh farmhouse,’ she said, sitting Rashid on the big wooden dining table. ‘Well, d’uh,’ Hamish said
sarcastically, from his seat at the table where he was just tucking into an
enormous sandwich, ‘maybe that’s because it is.’ The front door led into the
dining room, where the floor and walls were made of slate. A huge fireplace
with a magnificent, and quite ancient looking, old
stove took up the entire left hand wall of the lounge. There were all manner
of implements hanging from hooks on the walls, such as pots, pans, lamps, old
saws, farm tools, and horseshoes. A splendid spiral staircase, also made of
slate, led to the second level. ‘Rooms are up there,’ Hamish said, with a
wave towards the staircase. Briana left Rashid on a
chair, ran up the stairs, and found the room she was sharing with Hamish
(whose suitcase was already dumped on the bed closest to the window). Unlike
the dark slate-grey room downstairs, the walls of their bedroom were painted
brilliant white, and were decorated with photos of the Welsh countryside. The
ceiling slanted down from a normal roof level above the door to about four
feet above the floor on the opposite wall. Into this were set two huge
windows overlooking the valley and the town, and underneath the windows stood
a little bookcase full of books on Celtic myths and legends. ‘Wicked, aye,’ she heard
Hamish say behind her, as he came into the room and collapsed on the far bed,
after kicking his suitcase onto the floor. ‘I’m knackered. Must be jet lag.
Wake me for lunch, will ya?’ Briana nodded, and then
headed back down the corridor, and down the stairs. As she descended she paused
on the staircase. She could hear voices in the kitchen. She recognised Aunty
Alys’s, there was a deep Welsh brogue that, strangely, sounded almost
familiar, and a slightly higher pitched voice in a strange accent that she
couldn’t place. She didn’t recognise the language, but presumed it was Welsh.
She took another step down, misjudged it, and half fell down the last two
steps, crying out as she fell. The voices in the kitchen stopped, and Aunty
Alys hurried over to her, wiping her eyes as she came. Briana assured her she
was alright, and followed her Aunt back into the kitchen. ‘Who were you talking to?’
Briana asked. ‘Oh,’ said Aunty Alys, not
looking at her, ‘I - I - no-one, I had the radio on.’ Briana looked into the
kitchen. There was a very faint puff of green smoke lingering in the middle
of the room. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing, as she felt a shiver run
down her spine. ‘Why Briana, you’ve gone
white, poor child, the fall must have frightened you; go into the lounge and
sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ ‘But, what is …’ ‘Come on now, dear, that
could easily have been a nasty fall, let’s get you off your feet.’ She
manoeuvred Briana into the lounge, a room off the dining room that had the
same white-washed walls as the twins’ bedroom upstairs. Aunty Alys headed
back to the kitchen, but soon reappeared bringing a cup of tea for Briana. ‘Aunty Alys where did that
green smoke come from?’ ‘What green smoke, dear?’ ‘That green - oh, nothing.’
Briana drank her tea as her Aunt once again went back to the kitchen. After
she had finished she took the cup back to Aunty Alys in the kitchen. Briana
looked around the small room - there was no sign of a radio. She was about to say
something, when her mother came in to the kitchen and began chatting to Aunty
Alys. Briana sighed, and went back upstairs to have a lie down, thinking that
maybe she was suffering from
jetlag, or something. Were hallucinations of animatronics and green smoke and
hearing voices a side effect of jetlag? She hadn’t heard of it before, but
maybe. The rest of the day was
spent pottering around Tyn-y-Bryn,
and catching up on over 15 years of lost time. Dinner that night was
spectacular - two huge roast chickens, piles and piles of roast potatoes,
pumpkin, carrots, leeks, and onions as well as lots of peas, and gravy all
over. For dessert there was an enormous homemade pavlova, with lashings of
whipped cream and slices of kiwifruit. (‘In case you’re homesick already’).
Hamish had three large pieces of that. After dinner Mum said
goodnight and went to bed very early. She had a bad headache again, and she
was feeling dizzy and quite drowsy. ‘Jet lag,’ she said with a pale smile.
Dad saw her up to bed, and then came and sat back down for coffee with Uncle
Wynn and Aunty Alys at the big dining table. Hamish asked if he could use the
computer. ‘Of course, it’s through that door,’ Aunty Alys said, pointing to
the right of the front door. Hamish went through. Briana was about to sit
down with the adults, when she heard a scream come from the computer room.
She ran in, with the adults close behind her. Hamish was staring at the
computer with a look of horror on his face. ‘Hamish, what’s wrong?’ Dad asked
in a concerned voice. Hamish slowly turned to
face them. ‘No DVD or USB drive, not even a CD drive, there’s just a floppy
drive, a floppy for God’s sake, I didn’t think they existed anymore, and a
DIAL-UP MODEM!’ Briana and Dad looked
at each other, and then collapsed in gales of laughter. Hamish glared at
them, and then looked at Uncle Wynn. ‘How old is this computer?’ ‘I can’t remember exactly, had it for years,
hardly ever use it. Alys checks for e-mails for bookings for the B and B
every morning, and that’s about it.’ He, Aunty Alys, and Dad went back to the
dining table, still laughing. Briana looked at Hamish. ‘Well, dial-up, okay,
slow, but we can still e-mail our friends back home. And it’s not like you
have any DVDs here to watch anyway, Mum wouldn’t let you bring any.’ ‘No, but I have these.’
Hamish held out his hand, showing Briana around half a dozen USB flash
drives. ‘I have four seasons of Doctor
Who, plus specials, eight seasons of Red
Dwarf, four seasons of Farscape, six Star
Wars movies, and five seasons of Stargate
Atlantis on these. Oh man, this sucks big time.’ Briana stared at him in
disbelief. ‘When, exactly, were you planning on watching them? We’re only
here for a month you idiot.’ Hamish stomped out of the
room and headed up the stairs. Briana laughed to herself. She sat down and
composed a very quick general e-mail to her friends, (“arrvd
safe in aber, shttrd exhorstd, they have puppies! goin bed, love you all, will write 2moro”), and
then shut the computer down. She laughed again to herself as she looked at
the computer - poor Hamish. No surfing, either on a computer or on the ocean,
and no gaming. She suspected this was going to turn into a very long month
for him. Briana was feeling quite
tired so she told the adults she’d turn in for a very early night. Aunty Alys
took Rashid off her lap, kissed him goodnight, and handed him to Briana.
Strange, she thought, Aunty Alys had carried Rashid around all day. She said
goodnight, and headed up the stairs. When Briana entered their
room, Hamish, who was busy texting Lachlan, said to her, ‘Man, it seems weird
being dark this early in February. It’s only, like, 6.30 - it shouldn’t get
dark for a couple of hours yet.’ He pointed upwards. ‘And that is pretty
close to the far end of weird.’ ‘What is?’ ‘Orion’s Belt is upside
down. And the Southern Cross just ain’t there.’ Briana looked up. Hamish
was right - it was strange to see the night sky looking so different. She
took her pyjamas out of her suitcase, then went and had a shower, and brushed
her teeth, taking Rashid with her. She didn’t trust Hamish not to chuck him
out the window. When she returned to the room she curled up in bed planning
to read till a more reasonable bedtime, but fell asleep within minutes while
the book fell to the floor with a soft thud. Having fallen asleep with
the light on, she actually woke at around 11.00pm when Hamish turned it out.
‘Bother,’ she said out loud. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing.’ She sighed and
rolled over, tossing and turning for a bit, before finally climbing out of
bed, and heading out the door. ‘Where are you going?’
Hamish whispered. ‘Toilet,’ she
whispered back, and headed for the bathroom. As she walked past her Aunt and
Uncle’s bedroom she could hear Uncle Wynn talking, and there seemed to be an
urgent, warning tone in his voice. ‘You and Caranthir need to be more
careful, Briana almost caught you today.’ III: Alasdair Toddington “Bree?” “Oh!” Briana jumped as Dad
came out of his room. He laughed, “Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle
you. What are you doing up?” “Toilet,” she said, heading
that way. “Me, too, after you,” he
said. Briana went into the
bathroom and closed the door behind her, breathing hard. Who was Caranthir,
and what did Briana nearly catch him, or her, doing with Aunty Alys that
seemed to concern her uncle so much? When she had finished in the bathroom,
she headed back to her room, noticing that her aunt and uncle’s light was now
out. After she climbed into bed, it was a long time before she fell asleep. Briana was wakened the next
morning by the sound of Hamish in the other bed, carefully reciting, “Clan-vire-pulth-gwinn-gith-gor-gerrick …” “Hamish,” she complained
sleepily. “Clan-vire-pulth-gwinn-gith-gor-gerrick …” Briana threw her pillow at him. “CLAN-VIRE-PULTH-GWINN-GITH-GOR-GERRICK …” Briana gave up and
went off to have a shower. When she returned to their room Hamish had gone,
leaving his bed unmade. Briana pondered what to wear, as she needed to dress for
both fashion and the climate. Yesterday it had actually become reasonably
warm in the afternoon, but she had discovered quickly that one needed to be
well prepared to face a British February day. After dressing and putting on
her make up, she went downstairs, where she found
Aunty Alys in the kitchen making breakfast. “It’s almost ready,” she told
Briana. “Could you go and fetch your uncle and brother for me please?” “Of course,” Briana replied
politely. She paused. “Umm, Aunty Alys?” “Yes dear?” “Who’s … umm, I mean, where
are they?” she asked, deciding at the last instant
not to raise the issue of what she had heard last night. “Just follow the garden
path there, walk past the bushes, and you’ll find them in the stone cottage,”
Aunty Alys said, pointing out the kitchen window to the right. “You can leave Rashid here,
I’ll look after him,” she added. “Oh, okay.” Briana handed
him over, but wondered again about her Aunt’s strange fondness for the old
toy monkey. Following Aunty Alys’s instructions, Briana soon reached the
little stone cottage that was rented to visitors who wanted more privacy than
a B and B offered. Uncle Wynn was lying on his back on some scaffolding,
painting the ceiling, while Hamish was stirring a paint pot. Uncle Wynn,
rubbing his neck as he came down from the scaffolding, seemed very glad of
the excuse of breakfast to stop what he was doing After breakfast the twins,
their parents, and Aunty Alys (and Rashid) drove into town, leaving Uncle
Wynn behind to work on the cottage again. They parked at the Information
Centre, and went in to see Daffydd. “Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch,”
Hamish announced as he walked through the doors. “Oh well done, lad!”
Daffydd beamed. “Here you go – I think you’re entitled to this.” He gave
Hamish a key-ring with a picture of the Welsh flag on one side, and on the
other side the words: TO BE BORN WELSH To be born Welsh is to be born
privileged. Not with a silver spoon in your mouth, but music in your blood and poetry in
your soul. “Cool,
thanks,” Hamish said. “You’re welcome.” Daffydd
hesitated, looking at Hamish’s T-shirt. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why do
you have Fetid Cat Drool written on your T-shirt?” Hamish laughed. “It’s the
name of one of my favourite bands.” “Can’t say I’ve heard of
them.” “No, you wouldn’t have –
they’re from our high school back home. Last year they won a national band
competition, and landed a recording contract.” “What sort of music do they
play?” “Rubbish,” Briana
interrupted promptly. Hamish gave her a withering
look. “Well, the Cats are a five-piece band who play
heavy metal. Then the singer, the guitarist, and the drummer also have a
separate three-piece band who play rock music.” “Dare I ask what they’re
called?” Hamish grinned. “Rancid Dog
Slobber.” Daffydd laughed. “I knew I
shouldn’t have asked.” He looked at Briana. “What about you, lass, who are
your favourite bands? I always like finding out what kids are listening to
these days.” “No one you would have
heard of,” Hamish replied, getting back at Briana. “At least, no one normal people our age would have heard
of,” he added, with a grin. Briana frowned slightly,
knowing that Hamish had a point. Her friends were all crazy about bands that
Hamish deprecatingly called ‘sugar pop’. Briana’s taste in music, however,
ran to bands that, as Hamish said, none of their friends had ever heard of,
bands such as Lo Còr De La Plana, Babylon Circus, Ozomatli, Les Yeux Noirs, and Darra J. And while her friends spent hours listening to
Jay-Z and Jason Derulo, Briana would be listening
to David D’Or and Xavier Rudd. Some of her parents’ friends, who had been to
WOMAD festivals, knew who these artists were, but her friends all thought she
was a bit mental. Briana didn’t even know how
she stumbled on to these bands – every so often she would sit down at her
computer, open up YouTube, and type something like ‘Salif Keita’, which meant
nothing to her as she wrote. But invariably the video would be of a musician
or band, and when they started playing, Briana wouldn’t just hear the music
with her ears, she would hear it with her soul. The music moved her in ways
she couldn’t explain, that sometimes scared her with the intensity of the
feelings. “I, umm, I like different
music,” Briana replied to Daffydd, but didn’t elaborate, moving off to have another
look through the souvenirs. Hamish spent another ten minutes chatting with
Daffydd, and then they left and walked up Cross Street on their way to St.
Mary’s Priory Church. “Monk Street,” Hamish
announced at the corner. “Down here, Aunty Alys?” She nodded. Briana knew, from reading
the St. Mary’s website back in New Zealand, that the
church was considered to be one of the most fascinating medieval churches in
Wales, and was home to one of the world’s finest medieval wood sculptures,
the Jesse Carving. The website said that the priory was established at the
end of the 11th century by the Norman lord Hamelin de Ballon, to support a
prior and 12 monks from the French Abbey of St. Vincent and St. Lawrence in
Le Mans. However, according to the website, very little of that original
building now remained. Still, most of what she was now staring at in awe
dated from the 14th, and she could
feel hundreds of years of history alive in the air around her as she walked
slowly up the centre aisle towards the back of the church. She wandered around looking at the monuments, tombs, memorials, and figures carved from alabaster and wood. Aunty Alys pointed out the tomb of Briana’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-Uncle William Baker, and showed her where some of her other ancestors, Thomas Gabb, Baker Gabb Esq., and John Gabb, were entombed in the floor, which Briana found to be a bit creepy. Briana looked around.
Hamish was busy taking photos of all the monuments on his cell phone. She
smiled to herself, knowing he’d use them in his gaming, and wondered what
their ancestors from hundreds of years ago would think if they could see what
Hamish would be doing with their images on his computer. One of the most amazing
items at the church, Briana thought, was the Abergavenny Tapestry, a magnificent tapestry 24 feet long that
was created by 60 volunteers over six years. Briana had tried a small
tapestry of Winnie the Pooh when she was younger, and had given up after only
a few hours, fed up. This tapestry had taken 20,000 hours of work! That’s
dedication, she thought. The tapestry was designed to celebrate 1,000 years
of Abergavenny history, and included a depiction of Owain Glyndŵr.
Briana felt strangely emotional as she looked upon the image of her ultimate
grandfather. Once everyone had finished
looking at (and photographing) everything they wanted to, they headed back
outside, stopping to sign the Visitors’ Book on the way out. “Where to now?”
Hamish asked Aunty Alys. “Can we go and see the castle?” Briana glanced at her watch, and was about
to suggest heading to the Markets when her aunt mentioned them first. Briana
decided to push Aunty Alys a bit. “I’d rather go to the castle first; we can
go to the Markets afterwards.” Aunty Alys looked at her
own watch. “No, it would be best to go to the Markets first.” Briana pushed further.
“Why? What’s so urgent that we get there now?” “Nothing, dear, it’s just
that some stalls sell out early.” Briana was unconvinced, but
didn’t say anything else. At Market Hall, where the
Markets began, they found dozens of stalls, with stall keepers loudly bawling
their wares in all manner of funny accents. Briana bought six little ceramic
dragons for herself and a Welsh bandana for Rashid, which she tied around his
neck. Hamish bought himself a Union Jack T-shirt, which he put on over the
top of the Shark Alley one he was wearing. He then asked the stall keeper if
he could come and stand behind the stall with him, and asked Briana to take a
photo of him and the stall keeper on his phone. “Tourist,” Briana teased
him, looking pointedly at the T-shirt. Hamish snorted. “Says she
who’s just bought the Welsh equivalent of plastic tikis! Anyway, I’ll bet
they’re made in China. Besides, if the T-shirt is good enough for Rose, it’s
good enough for me.” “Who’s Rose?” “Never mind.” Briana took the photo, and
handed his phone back to him, before taking some of her own photos on her
digital camera. Briana preferred to keep her phone for phoning and her camera
for photos, as the picture quality on her older model phone wasn’t that
great. Hamish had the latest iPhone, which he had
gotten cheaply through contacts of Christopher’s. As Hamish walked towards
the next stall, Briana turned over one of the dragons and saw a little
sticker: Made in China. “Bugger,”
she muttered under her breath. She peeled all the stickers off and
surreptitiously placed them in the nearest rubbish bin. As she caught up with
Hamish he was just saying, “Mum, I don’t really want to drag around looking
at girlie stuff with you and Bree. Can I meet up with you in an hour?” Dad laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it
quite like that, at least not to her face,” he said, with a grin at Mum, “but
that’s a good idea. I’ll head off separately too, if that’s okay. I have a
list of things that Wynn asked me to pick up, extra
paintbrushes and stuff, and he said I could probably get most of it here.
We’ll all meet back at the front entrance in an hour. And you,” he said,
pointing at Hamish, “be on time or you can walk home.” Hamish grinned at him,
and then vanished into the crowds. “Bree, do you want to go
off by yourself and meet us back here too?” Mum asked. “That depends. What sort of
stalls are you interested in looking at?” “There’s a great
second-hand book stall I like to have a browse through whenever I’m here,”
Aunty Alys said. Briana looked sharply at
her aunt. “Why do you want us to go to a book stall?” she asked. Aunty Alys looked at her in
surprise. “I thought you and Elisabeth both loved books?” “We do,” Briana had to
agree. “Well, that’s why I thought
you’d like to look at the book stall. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “No, it’s
okay, we’ll go.” Briana looked at her watch. It was a few minutes before 11 o’clock.
Aunty Alys led them through the hall, outside, and down some steps towards
the book stall. Once there, Aunty Alys ferreted through the cookbooks, while
Mum searched for books on ancient Greece or Rome (she taught Classical
Studies at Tauriko College, where the twins went to school). Briana placed
Rashid on the table, and began looking for books on nature or science – she
wasn’t a reader of fiction at all. She was flicking through a
book on insects when she felt a tap on her ankle. She glanced down and saw a
gnarled hand, then crouched down and looked under the table. The mysterious
creature was sitting there cross-legged with a book on his lap. “Lady Briana,
my name is Alasdair Toddington and I am the Keeper of the Atlas. I had
planned to give It to you on your 16th birthdays, but doing so
here will provide you with an excuse to tell your parents where It came
from.” He passed the book to an astonished Briana, clasped his necklace, said
“Riffle out,” (it was definitely
‘riffle’ and not ‘ripple’) and disappeared, leaving behind a puff of green
smoke. “I’m going completely mad,”
Briana muttered to Rashid, before standing up and placing the book on the
table. The book was
large, heavy, and looked to be very old. The cover was made of solid, very
thick leather, and featured a beautifully painted engraving of an
old-fashioned map of the world. On the lower right-hand corner of the cover,
the shape of a keyhole was cut into the leather. There were runes across the
top, which read:
and across the bottom, which
read:
Feeling the solid book
under her hands caused a shiver to run down Briana’s spine (she seemed to be
having a few of those lately). Up until now, seeing this – what had he said
his name was? Oh yes, seeing this Alasdair Toddington, Briana could still
partly convince herself that she was hallucinating, that maybe it was a side
effect of jet lag or something – anything – but this, this was real. This
book she could actually touch and feel, and
she had felt Alasdair’s hand on her ankle. Turning the cover of the
book, she discovered pages and pages of runes and beautiful ‘olde worlde’ maps. “Wow,” Mum said from behind
her, “that’s an impressive book.” So, Briana thought, although
no one else had been able to see Alasdair Toddington, obviously Mum could at
least see the book he’d just given to Briana. “It looks so old, honey, it
must be worth a fortune,” Mum said. “Won’t know until I’ve
asked,” Briana replied, turning to the stall keeper. “Excuse me, how much is
this book?” The stall keeper looked at
the book. “Well now, where did that
come from? It’s not one of mine. I’ve never seen it before.” Aunty Alys placed a hand on
the woman’s arm. “Are you sure, dear?” The stall keeper’s eyes glazed over
and she said in a dull monotone, “Two pounds please.” “Two pounds? For this?” Mum
said. “Surely it must be worth more than that? Twenty pounds at least.” “Mum,” Briana cried,
“you’re supposed to bargain down,
not up.” “Well, yes, but, oh, are
you sure?” she asked the woman. Speaking in the same dull
monotone, the stall keeper replied, “Two pounds.” “Sold,” Briana stated,
depositing two one-pound coins in the woman’s hand. Aunty Alys took her hand
off the woman’s arm, who then blinked her eyes, shook her head and seemed to
look down in surprise at the coins in her hand. Briana was about to say
something, when she heard Dad’s voice. “Alys, I can’t find everything on
Wynn’s list. Any ideas?” He handed the list over. Aunty Alys glanced at it.
“He can pop into town later and pick up what’s missing from Richard’s
Hardware Store. I’m sure he’ll be glad of the break.” Briana followed behind the
adults as they went looking for Hamish (who hadn’t come back when he was
supposed to). But really, she had lost all interest in the market by this
stage, and wished for nothing more than to get back to Tyn-y-Bryn to investigate further this wonderful and
mysterious old Atlas. The solid book in her hands had finally silenced that
small part of her mind that had been stubbornly trying to deny Alasdair’s
existence, and she hoped to find some more clues as to who he was in the old
pages.
Hamish
was impressively blown away by the book. “Wow,
fantastic, Bree, this is amazing!” he said, after browsing through the book
with a jealous gleam in his eye. “The paper is so thick and I definitely
think it’s hand-made, so this could be centuries old.” “Can
you read it?” she asked him. Hamish
shook his head. “No. I mean, I can recognise a few runes in that some of them
look a bit like Tolkien’s, but that might just be coincidence. And even if I
can find out what the runes are, they might not
translate into English. It could be in Welsh. Do you speak Welsh, Aunty
Alys?” She
laughed. “I might have lived here for 20 years, but I haven’t picked up more
than a few words. I’m terrible with languages. But your Uncle Wynn is
fluent.” Briana glanced at her Aunt. If this was true, then what was that
language she’d heard in the kitchen? Coming, Aunty Alys had said, from a
radio that didn’t exist. “Sweet,”
Hamish said. “If it turns out to be Welsh we can ask him.” He turned to the
waiter. “I’ll have the steak and kidney pudding, thanks, and a Coke.” They were in The King’s
Arms pub ordering lunch. Briana ordered the grilled tuna steak, and then
turned a worried look towards Mum, who was, once again, looking quite pale.
Briana noticed that her hands were trembling slightly. “Are you okay?” Briana
asked. “I’m fine, honey, just a
touch of jetlag still, I think,” Mum said, folding her hands in her lap. Briana and Hamish exchanged
a glance. Yeah, right, Briana thought, and knew that her brother was thinking
the same thing. Hamish looked like he was about to say something, but Briana
shook her head slightly at him. She knew that if there was something
seriously wrong with Mum, she would try to hide it from the twins, so there
was no point in pursuing the matter with her. Briana and Hamish sat
side-by-side at a separate table, which was nearly covered by the open book.
The left-hand pages were covered in the strange runes, while the right-hand
pages had the maps. They were very detailed, coloured in pale greens, blues
and browns, and each page seemed to be for one country. Border lines were
drawn in red, and a glimpse of surrounding countries, where applicable, could
be seen at the edges of the pages, but there was no indication of towns or
cities on the maps. In the bottom-left corner of each page was a flag
representing the country, while in the opposite corner was a symbol of a red
dragon – the same symbol as on the Welsh flag, but facing the other way. Briana pointed to one of
the dragons. “I think the book must have been made here, in Wales – the red
dragon is such a strong symbol of Wales and Welsh history, it must indicate
the book’s country of origin, surely.” “Maybe. But look here, this
is strange,” Hamish said, as he turned another page. “What is?” Hamish tapped the map.
“This here, this is Libya, but these are the present-day borders, and they
weren’t changed until 1934, when British Sudan ceded northern territory to
Libya. That means the book can’t be more than about 80 years old.” Briana wasn’t surprised at
her brother’s detailed geographical knowledge. He came top of every geography
test, and used the knowledge to help him design on-line fantasy gaming lands
based on the real world. Hamish turned a few more
pages. “And look at this – the boundary between North Korea and South Korea,
this wasn’t established until 1953, along the ceasefire line of the previous 38th
parallel.” Hamish turned several more
pages. “Oh, no way! Look at the Kosovo and Serbian borders. These date from
2008.” “So, you’re telling me this
book isn’t more than two years old?” “It can’t be, Bree.” “But it looks so ancient,
and the paper is so thick, and the maps are so old fashioned, it must be
hundreds of years old.” Hamish shook his head. “I’m
sorry Bree, but it’s been made very recently.” He closed the book and looked
at it. “It’s very good though – I’d love to know who made it, and why they
gave it away at a book sale. Man, Weta would snap this guy up to work for
them.” Briana didn’t say anything
– what could she say? That the book hadn’t been given away in a book sale,
but had been given to her by an impossible creature who
appeared and disappeared in green smoke? The family had planned to
go to Abergavenny Castle after lunch, but with Mum feeling sick, and the
twins keen to examine the book some more (although Hamish not quite so enthusiastically
now he knew the book wasn’t genuine), Dad said they would skip the castle for
today and head back to Tyn-y-Bryn. Once there, Briana dropped
the book on her bed in their room and then sat cross-legged in front of it,
with Rashid on her lap. Hamish sat next to her as she opened the book and studied the inside
front cover. Carved into the leather
were 21 lines of identical runes and on the left of each line was one of the
little symbols of a red dragon.
They had been staring at
the runes for a while in silence, when Hamish suddenly declared in an excited
voice, “Oh my God, idiot,” jumped up, and scrambled for his backpack. He
pulled out the bag of souvenirs he had bought the day before at the
Information Centre and upended it on the bed. He then picked out the postcard
of ancient Welsh runes and alphabets, and passed it to Briana. The main bulk
of the postcard showed Y Wyddor – The Alphabet, while at the bottom of the postcard were two more alphabets.
The Bethluisnion (Ogham Alphabet) and the Coelbren Y Beirdd. “Look,” Hamish said,
holding the postcard directly under the line of runes in the Atlas, “I think
these runes are from the Coelbren Y Beirdd. Have you got a pen and paper?” Briana produced what he
needed from her suitcase. As Briana watched, Hamish
translated the runes, using the postcard. The line read ‘Y DDRAIG GOCH A DDYRY GYCHWYN’. He also translated the runes on
the front cover, which read ‘Y LLYFR MAPIAU’ and ‘GYFRWNG MYNEDIAD
IR BYD’. Briana stared at the words.
“Looks like Welsh,” she said. “It has all those double Ls and double Ds, and
more unpronounceable words than the Germans do. Let’s go and ask Uncle Wynn
what it says.” The twins rushed to the
cottage, where they found Uncle Wynn sitting on a paint tin drinking coffee
from a thermos. “Uncle Wynn,” Briana asked,
as Hamish handed him the translations, “can you please tell us what this
says?” Uncle Wynn held the paper
out in front of him and squinted at it. “Nope. Hang on a minute.” He went to
his toolbox and took out a pair of reading glasses. “That’s better. Okay, this line says y ddraig goch a ddyry gychwyn, this says y llyfr
mapiau,
and this says gyfrwng mynediad
ir byd.” Briana and Hamish exchanged
a glance. “Er, we meant can you tell us what it is in
English?” Hamish clarified. “Oh, of course, sorry. The
first bit says ‘the red dragon will
show the way’, this says, basically, ‘the
atlas’,
and this says ‘the gateway to the world’.
Those words about the red dragon are often affiliated with the red fragon on the Welsh flag. Where did you find them?” “In that book I bought at
the market. It’s written in the coal bren ee bed and Hamish translated it from a postcard.” Uncle Wynn laughed his deep
ho-ho-ho. “Your pronunciation is terrible, and an insult, lass, to the Welsh
blood in your veins, but I understand what you meant. The Coelbren
Y Beirdd,
you say? That’s strange. It’s a very old alphabet, and I never heard of any
books written in it.” “Well, I guess there’s one
at least. Can you translate the rest for us once we’ve translated them from
the runes?” “Of course.” “Great, thanks,” the twins
called together, before running back to the main house and up to their room.
Hamish began the translations by rewriting the little runes on the postcard
in large letters, to make it easier to follow.
“Right, let’s see what this
says.” When the translation of the
rest of the inside front cover was complete, the twins went back to the
cottage again and handed the page of runic translations to Uncle Wynn. “Are you sure you’ve translated
the runes correctly?” he asked. “Into Welsh, I mean.” “Absolutely,” Hamish
replied, “Why? Doesn’t it make sense?” “Well, no. It’s
gobbledygook. Nonsense. It’s, well, sort of made-up words. It’s hard to
translate, but it would be like saying in English something like squiggle wiggle waffle dippity woof blurf.” Briana laughed. “The whole page?” Hamish
asked, throwing a frown at Briana. “I’m afraid so, lad.” The twins couldn’t
understand it. Hamish checked his translations, and insisted they were correct.
Maybe it wasn’t the Coelbren
Y Beirdd after all, Briana suggested. Hamish
argued that the runes in the book and on the post card were such a perfect
match, and that the line about the Red Dragon showing the way had made sense.
It was very strange. He tried the next page of runes, but when he took that
to Uncle Wynn, he was told it was still gobbledygook. “Ah, if only Dumbledore
were here,” Briana said, after Hamish had thrown down the translations in
frustration. “What?” “Doesn’t he speak
gobbledygook?” “Oh very funny.” He glanced
at her. “I thought you didn’t read fantasy novels?” “I’ve read Harry Potter,” she confessed. “Good girl,” he replied
with a grin. Briana was confused about
the runes, but not unduly upset, while Hamish took the failure very hard. He
picked his translations up and tried again, while Briana went outside to play
with the puppies. That night Briana wrote a
longer e-mail to her friends telling them what she’d been up to. However, she
didn’t, for some reason, mention the book to them. She was just about to hit
send when Dad came in. “Who are you writing to, honey?” “Oh, just sending a general
e-mail back to everyone at home,” Briana replied. “Have you included Cheryl?” “I don’t want to write to
her.” “Honestly, Briana, I can’t
understand why you don’t like her, she’s a lovely girl. Look, I told David
we’d keep them up to date with what we’re doing here, but he doesn’t have an
e-mail address, so you’ll have to e-mail Cheryl.” “That cow’s not going to be
interested in what I’ve been doing.” “Briana Rose Alys Ryan!” “Sorry,” Briana apologized
insincerely. “I can’t e-mail her anyway, I don’t know her address.” Dad told her. “I asked her
for it before we left,” he added “Great,” Briana muttered,
adding the address in, and thinking, what a stupid name, as she hit send. She went to bed fairly
early that night, and fell asleep soon after. Hamish, however, stayed up late
with the runes and a Welsh-English dictionary, trying to make head or tail of
any of the other runes in the book, but without any further success. The next day the family
headed off to the Dan-yr-Ogof Showcaves near Abercrav, not that far from Abergavenny. Briana kept
everyone waiting for half an hour while she changed, and changed, and changed
again, and then put on her make- up. Hamish wanted to take the book with them, even though Aunty Alys said they would get car sick if
they tried to read it, and would be too busy at Dan-yr-Ogof
to have time to read anyway. When Hamish insisted, Aunty Alys offered to
carry the book to the car. “I can manage, Aunty Alys,” Hamish said, but she
firmly took it out of his hands, and headed towards the car. Briana thought
she could hear her muttering under her breath as she walked, but couldn’t
make out the words. Once she reached the car, she touched it with one hand,
and continued to mutter, before placing the book on the back seat. “What
was that all about, Aunty Alys?” Briana asked. “Just
singing, dear.” Aunty
Alys, unfortunately, was correct, and within minutes of leaving Tyn-y-Bryn
the twins both
began to feel sick from trying to read in the car. Hamish put the book over
the back seat into the hatch of the rental. They had a great day at the
showcaves, which also featured a dinosaur park with
life-size replicas. “Brontosaurus and stegosaurus
and iguanodon and tyrannosaurus,” Briana pointed out to her parents. She
could identify each one before they were close enough to read the signs. The
twins had both been crazy about dinosaurs at a young age, and although Hamish
had transferred his obsessions to fantasy as he grew older, Briana was still
fascinated by them. She had watched the BBC series Walking with Dinosaurs at least a dozen times on DVD, and had
many books about dinosaurs on her bookshelf at home. She even owned every
season of Primeval on DVD – her
only concession to watching a ‘fantasy’ television show. Hamish loved the Bone Cave,
which contained Roman remains, a Bronze Age family reconstruction, statues of
wolves and bears, and, Hamish’s favourite, a burial scene. Briana’s favourite
cave was Cathedral Cave, which had a massively spectacular passage,
a gorge-like section formed by river action over thousands of years, and the
Dome of St. Paul’s, a huge chamber with an underground lake fed by two
waterfalls almost 30 feet tall. The Cathedral Cave also featured cave
paintings by an artist who lived 20,000 years ago. Briana surreptitiously
collected a few small samples of rocks to take back to New Zealand for her
friend Roanna, who was planning to study geomorphology after high school. Back outside the caves,
Hamish took about a hundred photos of the life-size models of the huts of an
Iron Age village. He shot them from every possible angle so he could input
them into his computer at home to set up a gaming village. Mum took photos of the
twins swinging from the tusks of a woolly mammoth on Hamish’s cell phone and
Briana’s camera, and then Briana and Mum headed for the Shire horse centre
while Dad and Hamish went off to the go-cart track. Before leaving Dan-yr-Ogof,
the twins managed to talk their parents into buying lots of souvenirs,
including plastic dinosaurs, stickers, magnets, and a Dan-yr-Ogof T-shirt each, which was far more satisfying than
having to use their own money. As they headed back to the
car in the late afternoon, the twins walked ahead of their parents, chatting
about their day. Suddenly the peace of the Welsh countryside was shattered by
a car alarm. “What the hell?” Hamish called out. Briana looked ahead. There
was a very strange man trying to break into their rental car. He was easily
six feet tall, probably six three, six four, but his height wasn’t what made
him stand out. He was dressed in the armour of a medieval knight, but without
a helmet, and with the addition of a long flowing purple cape. His hair was
jet black, hanging
loosely to his shoulders. Or perhaps it was a wig, if he was
dressed up for a Renaissance Fair or something, Briana thought. The knight had placed both
hands on the car’s hatch, and as Briana watched the hatch opened. The knight
reached into the interior of the car and then let out a scream of pain. He
jerked his hands out of the car. Hamish picked up a large
stick lying alongside the path and ran towards the car, yelling and shouting. As he reached the car the
knight said a few words Briana couldn’t understand (probably Welsh), turned,
and ran along the line of parked cars before disappearing behind a bushy
tree. Hamish followed… and stopped. The knight had disappeared. There was no
sign of him anywhere. “What the…?” Hamish
exclaimed, as he brushed aside a purple smoke. “He can’t have just … how did he … WHERE DID HE GO?” He started running along the
rows of parked cars, checking under them, but the knight had vanished
completely. The silence as Dad deactivated the alarm was eerie. “What happened?” Dad asked,
as he and Mum joined the twins. “Some bugger broke into our
car,” Hamish said, “dressed, if you please, as a medieval knight. There must
have been a re-enactment on somewhere today. I scared him off, but damn, that
was pretty close to the far end of weird – I’m buggered if I can see where he
went. It’s like he just vanished. Bree, did you see where he went?” Briana was staring at a
plume of purple smoke that was drifting lazily upwards. “Bree, did you see where he
went?” Hamish asked her again. She continued to stare
upwards. “Can you see that smoke?” she asked. Hamish glanced up. “Of
course I can see it. Did you see where the knight went to?” “No, but I think he
dissolved into that smoke.” Hamish gave her a withering
look, the one he gave her when she teased him about being so obsessed with
sci-fi and fantasy. “I’m not …” Briana began,
and then stopped. How could she explain? “Man, I hope he hasn’t
damaged the lock,” Dad said, as he examined the hatch. “The petrol prices
over here are enough to bankrupt us, without having to pay for damage to the
car as well.” He looked it over, closed it, and then reopened it with the key
a couple of times. “That’s strange.” “What is?” Mum asked. “Well, he had the hatch
open, but he doesn’t seem to have jimmied the lock, it’s
fine. I wonder how he broke in? At least there
doesn’t seem to be any harm done. If he was at a Renaissance Fair he’s
probably been drinking all day – I’m sure it’s all just a harmless prank.
Come on. We’d better get going or we’ll be late back for dinner.” Briana was quiet on the way
back to Tyn-y-Bryn. She wondered if the medieval knight might somehow
be connected with Alasdair Toddington. The knight had just disappeared
into purple smoke, despite what Dad and Hamish said, and Alasdair disappeared
in green smoke – surely they had to be connected somehow? She shook her head.
Alasdair Toddington. The mysterious book. And now this. She glanced at
Hamish. Should she mention Alasdair to him? Now that he had seen the knight,
and the book that Alasdair had given her, maybe he would believe her if she
told him the whole story. Then again, he would probably rationalise the
knight as being a man in costume, and say that although the book was
impressive, it was nothing more than something that could have been made by
Weta Workshops. Briana sighed, and decided to hold her tongue for now. After dinner that night,
and after Briana had sent another group-email home telling everyone about Dan-yr-Ogof,
the twins went to their room. Briana decided to break her silence and told
Hamish everything about Alasdair Toddington. She also said that she thought
he, Alasdair, and the book, might be connected to the knight. Hamish, not
surprisingly, thought she was winding him up. “Damn it, Hamish, I don’t believe in all that sci-fi fantasy
rubbish, but I haven’t teased you about it for a long time now, and I’m not
making this up. And even if I was, where did
that strange knight come from today? And, more importantly, where did he go?” “Bree, much as I would love
it if the Doctor turned up and took me off on a trip in the blue box, or if
Luke came and told me I’d been accepted to train as a Jedi Knight, it’s not
going to actually happen, is it
now? Look, I’m the first to admit I’m obsessed with sci-fi, but I do know the
difference between fantasy and reality.” “Well then where did that knight disappear to?” “I don’t know, but, but …”
he snapped his fingers. “Bloody hell, the tree, I didn’t think of that.” “What?” “The tree at the car park,
you know, the one that looked like a really fat
giant candle flame? What are they called?” “Sorry, I don’t know.” “You know the one I mean
though? That really bushy, massive one. He must have hidden in there. Man, I
didn’t even think to look.” Briana shook her head “He
didn’t hide in the tree, Hamish.” “Well, where did he go
then? He didn’t just disappear into thin air in a puff of smoke.” “Yes he did – and you saw
the smoke!” “I saw smoke, yes,
something from a joke shop, no doubt. But I don’t believe he disappeared into
thin air. He hid in the tree,” he repeated stubbornly. “He did not hide in the tree,” Briana
insisted, “he disappeared in that purple smoke.” Hamish laughed. “You’re the
realist in the family, I’m the fantasist, so what’s happening here? Have we
switched bodies or something?” Briana sighed. “No, it’s
just, well, look, Hamish, the knight did
just vanish into thin air and therefore he is probably connected to Alasdair
Toddington. He disappears in puffs of smoke too, although it’s green smoke.” Hamish shook his head.
“Bree, you said you haven’t teased me about sci-fi for a long time, so why
start again? I’m too old to be bothered by it now, so you’re wasting your
breath. I’m going downstairs to get a Coke. Want one?” “No thank you,” Briana
said, holding her head in her hands. After Hamish left, Briana
sighed heavily again, changed into her pyjamas, and crawled into bed with
Rashid. She hugged the monkey tightly “Something really, really strange is
going on, Rashid.” When Hamish came back she pretended to be asleep, and
didn’t notice when she did actually fall asleep. Hours later, she woke up.
She wasn’t sure what had wakened her – a noise of some kind. She glanced at her
bedside clock as she lay there listening – 3:16 a.m. She heard the noise
again; a soft metallic clinking. She turned her head to the
other side of the room – and screamed. The knight with the purple cape was
bending over her, outlined by the light of the full moon and surrounded by a
cloud of purple smoke. She screamed again.
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