4.Trek to Harlech

The first day of the journey had been easy following the banks of the wide meandering river upstream as it headed towards the noonday sun.  Gwern had set up camp for himself on that first night by a small oak wood. The sides of the valley had started to narrow and gain height.

It was a warm evening so he dispensed with a fire and ate some of the meat and bread he had been given. He chewed the cured rabbit trying to remember last night and what led him to go from the splendour of Hendre Bryn to sleeping rough in the middle of nowhere.

‘You are a hard worker my son. You have learnt our craft well but you know you can never replace me as long as your older brother lives. It may not happen tomorrow or even next year but you will resent him. By our lore he has to replace me as the Smelter Druid as you well know.’ His fathers face was solemn as he spoke, as if he was hiding some truth or that his heart was broken. ‘Today, you know, I had a visit from Nant, the leader of our order who has asked me…’ hesitating he had looked away from Gwern and paused. ‘Remember I once told you about the rock dome over looking the sea facing the setting sun, not four days from here’ Gwern nodded. ‘The order want to build something, I don’t even know what, but to build something special. They wanted my help, but I am..’ he had paused again, inhaling deeply . ‘…but I am too old and too tied up with guiding these peasants in the green mines. He wanted the best, so I told them of you, how you could feel the stone, how you could smell the fissures, how you could use the spirit.’ Gwern listened as to what his likely duties were to be and the directions to the rock dome. He had felt both excited and sad to be leaving the only place he had ever known but glad to be away from his naive and ignorant brother.

The sound of the river came into focus again and he looked down at his hands, each line and wrinkle of which was tinged blue green. He looked at the spirit jar and tried to recall what he had learnt of the dome rock from his father.

“The great rock of Harlech emerges from the shallow bay facing the Lllyn” his father had intoned. Gwern tried to recall the chart of the peninsular, arm like, pointing at an island. “The stone is old, and hard, and wet from the numerous streams that encircle it and penetrate its flanks and from the action of the sea”, he had continued, “and only our kin may set foot on the great rock”.

When Gwern finally fell asleep he dreamt of a giant from the past throwing this massive rock at his land from a country far across the sea.