Hound of Nudd by Maureen Bowden
Samhain, when the worlds collide:
the veil may part and denizens ride
the night skies.
At the sacred places the barrier between the worlds grew thin as Samhain drew near. The moon rose over Bryn Celli Ddu, an ancient burial chamber that stands on the Island of Anglesey known to the indigenous people as Ynys Mon, Mother Isle. A local witch sat, by the standing stone aligned to the chamber’s entrance. Immersing herself in the ambience of the location she called upon the Goddess Nyx, the Black Winged Bird who hatched the universe. “Hear me, Great Mother. I have a situation. Please help.” She crossed her fingers and waited.
The veil between the worlds parted. A black hound stepped into the mortal realm, sniffed the chill evening air and, padded towards her.
She looked into his large, brown eyes. “Hello boy? Who do you belong to?”
His answer reached her mind, “I dislike the word, ‘belong’. I am Dormarch, companion of Gwynn ap Nudd. He rules of the Otherworld.”
“I know. He’s a scary brother. Why are you here?”
“To see you, Carys ap Deryn, Beloved Daughter of the Bird. The Great Mother acknowledges your message but deities have a full schedule. They tend to delegate. She sent me. What’s the problem?”
Carys was a cat person, not closely acquainted with canines but her instinct told her to trust the hound. “The problem is my young sister, Nia, but before we get into that, may I call you Mac?”
“You may. I’ve learned that humans like abbreviation.”
“That’s a big word for a dog.”
“I just send the thoughts. You put them into words. Now may I suggest you stand up? The grass is damp. It could give you haemorrhoids.”
She scrambled to her feet, brushing the grass off the back of her jeans. “I appreciate your concern for my rear end. Are you familiar with the ailment?”
“Thankfully, no, but I’ve encountered it in humans. Henry VIII and Jack the Ripper were both sufferers.”
Best news I’ve heard in ages. Couldn’t happen to nicer people. Come on, I’ll take you to Nia and I’ll explain the problem on the way.”
He followed her along the footpath from the burial chamber. “Why is it so quiet here, Carys? My excursions into the mortal realm usually result in folk either fleeing in terror or chasing me with flaming torches. Are they less excitable on this island?”
“Usually, but some folk get fidgety when they hear the word ‘witch’.
“Flaming torches?”
“These days, more likely death threats on Twitter, but it’s the same mindset.”
“I don’t know what Twitter is. You can explain later.”
They reached the road where she’d parked her car. “I’m afraid a juddering geriatric Nissan Micra is hardly a suitable carriage for Gwynn ap Nudd’s companion,” she said. “Jump in the back. It’s safer.”
He settled on the back seat. “Now tell me about Nia while you propel this carriage.”
“She’s a trainee witch and she attracts the wrong attention, strutting about dripping in black lace, and magic amulets mass produced in Taiwan and sold on Amazon.”
“She’s showing off. Young people do that. What’s Amazon?”
“A kind of market place. I know what she’s doing, but she’s antagonising stupid, ignorant people who believe witches are to be feared and should be drowned or burned or whatever, and they’re threatening her.”
“But they don’t threaten you?”
“No. They see me as a harmless healer so they ignore me until they’re sick, and then they’re not afraid to ask for my help”.
“Tell me how you help them.”
“Their bodies heal themselves but only if their minds instruct them. I jolt their minds into action.”
“Is it like your thinking machines? If they stop working you switch them off and then switch them back on again and they start working?”
She frowned, “I never thought of it like that, but I suppose it is.”
“You use your power well. Nia has much to learn. Do her tormentors hunt her with flaming Twitter?”
“You could say that. Twitter is just words on the thinking machine but the culprits are stalking her, following her around, taunting and cursing. She’s not afraid, although she should be, but she’s angry and she told me she intends to use her power to take revenge.”
Mac growled. “That will be a dark path to her destruction.”
“I know, and I don’t know how to stop her.”
“I don’t know either but I’ll think of something.”
Carys drove them to a grey, pebble-dashed semi on a rundown housing estate. Burned-out cars stood stranded in neglected gardens, lining streets scarred with potholes and gutters cluttered with litter. Mac said, “Ynys Mon is a beautiful island but every pearl contains a speck of debris .Why does your sister live in this place?”
“She moved out of our cosy cottage because she wanted independence. This is all she can afford from her share of the legacy our mother left us.”
Nia’s bicycle stood chained to her fence. ‘Birn the wich’ was scrawled in chalk along the path to her door. A black cat sitting on the windowsill hissed at Mac as they approached. Mac growled in response.
“Be nice, Cromwell,” Carys said, as she opened the door with her own key. She asked Mac, “Don’t you like cats?”
“They don’t like me.”
“It’s nothing personal. It’s because you’re a dog.”
The house was empty. A book of spells lay open on the kitchen table. She examined the text. “I’d need a microscope to read this.”
“Louis Pasteur had one of those.”
“Good for him.” She fumbled in her jacket pocket, pulled out a pair of spectacles and turned back to the page. “This is bad,” she said. “She’s been studying the incantation to summon Cath Palug, the demon cat of Ynys Mon.”
Mac howled. “Oh no, anything but that. Why would the Goddess send me to face him? She knows I’m not comfortable with felines.”
“Deities work in mysterious ways, Mac. It’s in their job description, but in this instance I believe I know how her mind is working.” She knelt beside him and stroked his head. “I don’t think she meant you to deal with Cath Palug. I’ll do that. He’s no danger to a witch, but first I must find Nia. I may still be able to stop her using him as a weapon against humans. Can you pick up her scent and take me to her?”
Mac looked around. A black lace shawl was draped across the back of a rocking chair. He trotted to it and sniffed. “Got it. I’ll carry you.” He tensed his muscles, his eyes burned red and he grew to the size of a small horse. “Climb on my back and hold tight to my fur.”
She clung to him as he bounded across the island. A cold night wind chilled her bones and the moon cast a ghostly, silver sheen on the tidal waters of the Menai Straits. They reached the woodland, Coed Niwbwrch, which the tourists call Newborough Forest, and they raced along the footpath through the trees to where the vegetation thins into sand dunes. A girl wearing a long black robe was kneeling on the sand, sobbing.
Mac stopped. “Nia ap Deryn, Light of The Bird, I presume. Her glow is somewhat dimmed.”
He shrunk to his normal size and Carys narrowly stopped herself from tumbling over his head. She slid off his back and ran to Nia, taking the girl her in her arms. “Stop crying and tell me what happened.”
Trembling, Nia said. “They were following me, calling me a devil-worshipper. I was angry. I led them here, to the cat demon’s favourite haunt, summoned him and told him to do to them whatever he wished, but not to kill or maim them, then to go back to his own dimension.” She burst into tears again and clung to Carys. “I only intended him to frighten them and maybe hurt them a little.”
Carys felt a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades, “What did he do?”
Mac was sniffing three bodies that lay slack-jawed, eyes staring, on the sand dunes. He said, “What Cath Palug always does. He sucked out their souls.”
Carys walked to his side and looked at the bodies: two male, one female. “They’re still breathing but I sense no humanity in them.”
“They’re what your storytellers would call zombies.”
Carys nodded. “But in the stories they’re usually a little more active.”
Nia called, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t really believe he would obey me. I thought he would just run around screeching and terrify them, like most demons do.”
Carys tried to keep rage out of her voice. “Of course he obeyed you, Nia. We’re witches. He’s a cat. He’s programmed to obey us. All cats are.” She turned to Mac. “I’ll have to summon him again but I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”
She searched her memories for the incantation. Finding it, she flung her arms wide and sent her voice into the dimension where non-human denizens crawl, slither and fly. Cath Palug, the demon of Ynys Mon, materialised. He was a monstrous parody of humans’ favourite pet. The size of an elephant, his fur was speckled grey, his eyes were swirling green orbs and his snarl revealed two rows of yellow fangs. He sniffed the air, turned his head to face Mac and hissed.
Carys spoke. “I am a witch and I command you not to hurt the hound.”
He snapped its head back to face her. “I obey your command.”
Looking at the prone bodies, she said, “I now command you to return the souls you stole from these wretches.”
He pointed a claw to Nia. “She commanded me to do to them what I wished.”
Carys looked into Nia’s eyes, silently telling her what she must do. Nia nodded. She rose to her feet, and faced the demon. “I did, and you obeyed me. I now command you to obey my sister.”
The demon snarled, but turned back to Carys. “I obey, you, witch.” He opened his jaws wide and emitted three curls of grey smoke. They drifted towards the zombies and into their nostrils. The bodies jerked, and whimpered. One of them attempted to sit up.
Carys called to them. “Stay where you are. I’ll deal with you when I’ve sent Kitty home.” She confronted the demon. “Cath Palug, I command you to return to your own dimension.” With a final snarl he vanished.
Mac moved to her side and glanced at the reviving bodies. “My nose tells me that at least one of them has had an accident in their pants.
She smiled. “That’s their problem.” She spoke to the young man who had attempted to get up. “I know you, Tegwyn Evans. You fell out of a tree and broke your leg. After it healed you still had pain and you walked with a limp. Who healed you?”
He mumbled, “You did, Carys.”
She called to the second young man. “Eifion Griffiths, after a binge in the ‘Drunken Dragon’ you thought it a good idea to take a swim in the straits did you not?”
“Yes Carys.”
“And after you were caught in the cross-currents and heading for the Irish Sea, who controlled the waves that carried you to the shore at Beaumaris, and then emptied the water from your lungs?”
“You did, Carys.”
She turned to the young woman. “Meryl Rhys Jones, do you remember the birth of your baby sister?”
The woman nodded.
“When she was born a month early and failed to breathe, who coaxed her tiny brain into awakening, and cared for her and your mother until the ambulance arrived?”
“You did, Carys.”
She addressed all three of them. “I was able to do those things because I’m a witch. Nia is no different from me, except for her dress sense. One day you may need her help. You would do well to remember that.”
They wouldn’t meet her eyes but Tegwyn called, “Sorry, Nia.”
Carys said. “One more thing, if you annoy my sister again my hound will be angry.”
Mac took the hint. He growled and his eyes glowed red.
Meryl said. “We were stupid. We didn’t understand.”
Carys softened her voice. “I know. You can go now. You have a long walk home.”
They struggled to their feet, and set off, with Eifion scuttling with a bandy-legged gait. The night air smelled fresher after they left.
Nia said, “That made you feel good, didn’t it, Carys?”
“What did?”
“Telling them that you’re a witch. You finally admitted what you are. I hide nothing. I won’t deny my identity.”
“I don’t deny who I am, Nia, but when people look at me they see an ordinary person just like them and they don’t feel uncomfortable in accepting my help.”
Mac stepped between them.”If I may interject, ladies, I have an observation to make.”
Nia glared at him. “How can I hear your thoughts? Who are you and why are you here making observations?”
“Ah, three questions. You hear my thoughts because I’m from the Otherworld. It’s our most convenient method of communication. I am Dormarch, Gwynn ap Nudd’s companion, and The Goddess sent me to help Carys sort out the mess you made.”
Carys said, “You should be thanking him for finding you, so drop the attitude.”
Nia blushed. “Thank you, Dormarch.”
“Good.” Carys said. “Now shut up. What’s your observation, Mac?”
Mac said. “If you faced the world as one unit, two sisters, people would come to accept Nia as being no different from Carys, and they would be aware that Carys is a witch but they have reason to trust, not fear her. Together you would serve the Goddess better. Now we should take Nia home. I suspect that the bad-tempered cat, Cromwell, is missing her.”
He performed his transformation trick. Carys climbed on his back “Coming, sister?”
Nia nodded and climbed behind her.
Cromwell was waiting when they arrived. He screeched and leaped into Nia’s arms. Mac said. “Is he angry?”
Carys said, “No, he’s happy.”
“It’s hard to tell.”
Nia led them into her kitchen. She turned to Carys.”I’m sorry.”
“So you should be, but you were right about something you said tonight. It did feel good to tell those three toe-rags that I’m a witch. We should work together. Please come home. Get out of this hellhole.”
Nia nodded. “Agreed, and I’ll try to behave better but I’m not going to dress like you. Jeans and tee-shirts are boring.”
“Fine. If you want to float around looking like Bellatrix Lestrange it’s up to you. Just don’t start toting a broomstick. That would be a step too far.”
Nia laughed. “No broomstick, I promise.”
“Good. You can move in tomorrow. Now I’ll make you a coffee before I go home. You’ve had a tedious day.”
While she was searching for a clean cup she pretended not to listen while Mac spoke into her sister’s mind.
“Nia, why didn’t you just tell Carys you wished to live with her again, instead of putting yourself in danger and causing all this aggravation? You can tell me without words. I’ll hear you.”
Nia smiled, “You’re very perceptive for a dog. I was too proud to admit I’d been stupid to leave. Carys already thinks I’m an idiot.”
“She doesn’t, but maybe the Goddess Nyx does. You must prove you’re not.”
“I will. I promise.”
Carys handed her the coffee in a Discworld mug, and winked at Mac.
He raised his nose and sniffed the air, walked to the door and turned back to her. “I have to leave. May I have one more lift in your juddering carriage? It’s fun.”
“Of course.” She turned to Nia. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You can start packing.”
Mac called to her, “Goodbye Nia ap Deryn, Light of The Bird.”
She called back, “Goodbye, Dormarch ap Nudd.”
Carys opened the back door of the car for him. “Where to?”
“Bryn Celli Ddu.”
“I thought so.” She drove to the footpath, parked the car, and followed him to the burial chamber.
A tall figure stepped out from behind the standing stone. His skin was the colour of the earth, flame-red hair flowed around his shoulders, and his tunic was speckled with the brown and gold shades of autumn leaves. He called, “Here, Dormarch.” The hound trotted to his side.
“Nos da, Mac,” Carys called to him.
He replied, “Nos da, Beloved Child of The Bird.”
Carys ap Deryn met Gwynn ap Nudd’s eyes and inclined her head in respect, but not subservience. He returned her bow and then the ruler of the Otherworld and his companion passed through the veil.
—
Maureen Bowden is a Liverpudlian, living with her musician husband in North Wales. She has had 157 stories and poems accepted by paying markets, she was nominated for the 2015 international Pushcart Prize, and in 2019 an anthology of her stories, ‘Whispers of Magic’ was published by Hiraeth Books. She also writes song lyrics, mostly comic political satire, set to traditional melodies. Her husband has performed these in folk music clubs throughout the UK. She loves her family and friends, rock ‘n’ roll, Shakespeare, and cats.
