‘I can hardly do anything. Oh, I can make a few flowers grow, and my hunting is better than any man here can do. It irks the men, indeed, that I outdo them with bow or throwing knife. And, yes, I can read danger on the wind, though mercifully there has been none near us these months. But magic? Truly?’ She lowered her head, picking up a small stone and rolling it in her fingers distractedly.
‘You are right in what you say, I confess. There are those here who will resist what you are. Some will be frightened, though that can hold them, as it has Bryn. Others will feel it against their own beliefs. Call youdiawl!’
‘I am no devil.’
‘Some will demand you be cast out or worse. “Suffer not a witch to live” is what they have been told.’
‘But, I can help them, Mamgi. Can we ever make them see that?’
‘That is what you must do, but there is no promise that you will succeed. They may not heed your words. And if they do not, are you prepared for the consequences?’
‘I would have to leave, then. To be an outcast?’
‘Along with those who chose to stand by you, yes.’
‘To never come home…’ she muttered, instinctively turning her head in the direction of Cwmdu, of her old home, of her old life.
‘Are you willing to take that risk?’
Gwen sat silent for a moment, considering the question. She had already lost so much, the possibility of losing the community that were now family to her, and of roaming homeless a world that would not welcome her, was a harsh reality to accept. And yet, she found a certainty growing within her. A knowledge of what she must do, of what she must become. And with that knowledge came a scintilla of excitement. A sparking joy, which gave her courage and strengthened her resolve.
‘I am,’ she said.
‘Truly? For there can be no turning back once that bold step is taken.’
‘Truly,’ she said emphatically.
Mamgigave a startling bark of laughter. ‘Well,Duw!’ she said. ‘This is a fine and important day!’
‘It is?’
‘Why, yes. For now, this very minute, you have accepted what you are and shown that you wish for it. Even at the risk of being reviled as a witch you would learn the craft. Here is the acceptance I have waited for.Here is the moment you place your heritage above what you have always clung to. Yes! The hunger for magic is in you too, ready now to drive you on, as a wolf hungers for fresh meat.’
‘I would sooner not be a wolf!’
‘Think,cariad. Think how far you have come from the girl who did not want to hear the truth, to the girl who wants to learn magic, and will sing her song to the world, no matter what it might cost her.’ The old woman got to her feet, slapping her thigh as she did so. ‘Now you are ready!’ she declared before striding off towards the barn.
‘Where are you going?’ Gwen called after her.
‘To work! Come,merch, there is much to be done and the days are shortening.’
CHAPTER FIVE
London 2019
The 6.00am meet up outside the gym was a challenge for most of the kids taking part in the Tae Kwan Do tournament. As Tudor stood next to the mini bus, waiting for the final couple of contestants - Emily among them - to arrive, he wondered how he allowed himself to be talked into these things. While he loved training with his daughter, and admired her ambition, he could do without the team events. A year before he had stood in for Bob when a foot injury had meant he couldn’t drive. Since then something looking horribly like a habit had taken shape.
‘OK, guys, roll call!’ Bob tried to gain the attention of the teenagers. Half of them were not yet fully awake, the other half were overexcited, most likely fuelled by sugary breakfasts.
Tudor knew they had struck lucky with Bob. He was that rare find: a family man, an enthusiast for the sport, a good teacher, and someone who genuinely cared about the kids he trained. He was always there for them, always had the right words of encouragement, always knew how far to push them to get the best outof them. A part of Tudor felt he was the dad Emily would have preferred. Solid. Dependable. Level headed. And, more important than all of that, available. At least the personal security work meant he was in the same country as she was now. He was doing his best to play a bigger part in her life. And if that meant getting up at the crack of sparrow fart to drive a bus load of kids up the M1 for four hours, so be it.
Marisa’s silver coupe swung into the empty car park. Emily got out, hoisting her gym bag over her shoulder. Tudor fought the usual battle within himself. Go over and exchange tense but cheerful words with his ex-wife, or stay out of the way in case she was in one of her bite-first-talk-about-it-later moods. Which were pretty frequent. Or had been when they were together. As far as Marisa was concerned, Tudor was the cause of those rages. He had his own theories, but in the end it didn’t matter. Better for all of them if he wasn’t there. He settled for raising his hand in what he hoped was a sincere wave. Or at least a neutral one that Marisa couldn't find fault with and bitch about later.
Emily took the front seat between him and Bob. He liked having the slow miles to chat with her. Not for Emily a snatched bowl of tooth rot. She would have got herself a nutritious breakfast, taking time to eat it, double checking her kit, everything in order and readyto go. He admired the way she did things, when she wasn’t visited by one of her mother’s moods. Systematic. Thorough. Without drama. Like himself, on a good day. Or so he liked to believe.
‘Traffic’s light,’ he noted. ‘Should reach Manchester before ten. Plenty of time to get settled in.’
‘It’s a pretty good venue,’ Emily told him. ‘Last time they’d just put in new changing rooms, remember?’
