The literary character called Kéfá Péhusón, Patarasanū Pūshan, Pétros Páōn, or Petrus Faunus, the boy who would not grow into a man, was based on the brother of the author who created him, who died when he was a young boy. It he had matured, he could have been a strong and wild deity, prancing amongst the goats whilst playing unrestrainedly with the unconquerable forces of nature. How powerful and majestic would he have been, but how inconsiderately deadly at the same time? But instead of this, he chooses, or is forced by a combination of circumstances he cannot comprehend, to remain a sexless child wearing vines and Autumntide leaves, who refuses to come to age whilst longing so earnestly for a mother. He stays young by avoiding getting educated, refusing social responsibilities, and forgetting what he learns about the world during his adventures. He is part human being and part animal, and can, as a result, do almost anything, such as fight bravely, fly, imitate sounds and voices, and sense unseen dangers, and through imagination, he can bring things into existence. And so, the permanently lost boy is a carefree, thoughtless, and selfish boaster. He claims he is great, and believes that death will be a ‘great adventure’, although he never comes to understand living. His naughty shadow (or “ho-páredros”), which can operate independently of him, represents all these attitudes and characteristics, but under the influence of a young girl who befriends him, he cannot escape from this mischievous familiar, nor deny his true nature forever.

Hiya, how’s things! Stevie, Steffan, here. I’ve been thinking lots, after everything that’s happened recently, and have scribbled down some of the ideas in this piece. Of course, I’ve learned so much from my Uncle, the poor dab, who was an expert in several esoteric topics although I never discovered what exactly. I’ve come to the conclusion that names are special, almost magical, perhaps. It’s like they’re the insubstantial wraiths of people, and uncanny symbols of hidden ability [*]. That’s not a lot of old nonsense, is it? Well, that’s what people in the Ancient Kingdom in the middle of the Red Desert believed, ages ago. Those who built the Houses of Rebirth, I mean. They used to think that the name and the shadow (and other things) were essential parts of the human personality, according to my late Uncle. And I’ve been writing loads of stories based on these ideas, and drawing pictures too. Anyway, let me explain. Excuse the spooky music that’s playing in the background – “Daytime Horrors” by Pey-kíla – I love phantoms of all kinds, you see, and feel that shades are flying all around me all the time, too.

I myself – I think I remember Mam telling me about it (amongst everything else she'd be going on about all the time) – already owned several names when I was born. Not names I’d chosen, naturally enough, since I couldn’t speak, not to mention understand such complexity. Whatever you think of my other choices regarding how to live, you should be sure that choosing the names was not one of them. The seventh of Jubilee-moon (the seventh one) was the fateful day when I emerged into the World – the same day, in a different year, of course, when sliced bread was sold for the first time by the Otowshreduh Bread-shop – and I’m the best thing ever, too, says Mam. (We only eat unleavened wholemeal bread in our household, it’s something connected with archaic religious practices, apparently, and my angry guts play an important part, too).

As well as that, that’s when Vazluyldh the Little, High-priest of the Badlands, died, in another year again, one must say! So, there was I, croaking and screaming, and doing everything a baby does, and me two weeks late as I hadn't wanted to leave that place, the dark, warm, reassuring womb (although I know better now, and try always to be on time), languishing under the ultraviolet light of an incubator in the hospital, trying to get rid of the jaundice caused by staying where I should not have been for such a long time. It’s me – Steffan Balrog Grossmann – who’s to blame because I’ve caused Mam, my angel’s, birthing pangs. I shudder to imagine how she used to suffer from dawn till dusk (without complaining at all) having lost her husband to some other woman from the wrong side of the tracks (although she’d married into money, of course), when I was a spotty teen. 

As a result of my birth-date, I could have been named Reydvulz, after an illiterate man who’d been converted to the World-Wide Church and became a famous author; or Alírdush, a faithful healer who cured the illness of the daughter of Mégas Māyos, the Etruscan Emperor. In all likelihood Father suggested a more heretical Italic name, namely Konsus, in memory of the fertility god of Ancient Ītalíā, whose festival was celebrated on my birthday, although no-one knows why. But then again, if I’d been a girl, I could’ve been Thalzvurka, who was a love-child and a princess amongst the Tribes of the Multitudinous Invaders, too. Imagine that – thanks, but no, thank you very much! 

I wish I could’ve protested ferociously about the names, but I was too busy complaining about everything else – the only thing I did was squirm about, cry, and screech like a banshee. Anyway, my first name. Steffan, was Mam’s choice, definitely, and maybe this means that it was Gran’s choice too, knowing my family. Literally, the word means ‘that which surrounds or encompasses,’ and it came to denote a torque, or crown, or renown, or a prize given to winners in the Divine Games. Mam was always moithering that Stefan (or Sven, or Shtjefën, even, in the name of the Seven) would be a good name in the language of the White-land, an idea she got from Father, probably, when he was travelling there collecting illuminated manuscripts on the black market during the Great Tribulation.

The two old girls were real admirers of Pure Stephen, who gave his name to the catacombs under Government House in the Big, Bad City, needless to say. He was an excellent numerologist who was drowned in a huge vat of honey by the heathens, millennia ago because of his extraordinary gifts, and so was the first martyr to belong to the World-Wide Church (well the first one whose name we know for certain, at least). A virgin, too, who was perfectly pickled by the honey, so that he never aged. You can still see him today, in the Headquarters of the Church Militant, shining in his pure glory. They never got tired of reminding me of the fact – after all, the day after the mid-Wintertide Feast, Pure Stephen’s Day, would always be much better than the Feast itself, in the opinion of the family, at least. 

The rest of my personal names are the fault of my Grandad – well, no sinless man’s ever been born, perhaps, ha, ha! Having said that, I don’t suppose you can blame him for his surname. He’d not lost his language, at least, well, not completely anyway. He was a man from the Bejewelled Forests (or the Ice Woods), somewhere in the Remote North on the Continent, called Andrea Jakob Großmann. He translated his name into Pretanic later, or perhaps into Kimbric, and became Andras Iago Grossmann, to be less fearsome to the inhabitants of our lovely land sometime after he was manhandled by the authorities off an illegal fishing boat in the middle of the Dividing Gulf. But that’s another story. 

He was distantly related to Johannes Großmann, who was in the same class as Albertus Anstan the researcher into natural sophophilia, in school. They (Johannes and Albertus) were best friends, and the former helped the later to understand how to overcome the force of gravity using very strong magnets. Well, of course the Baron Ishakí of Newtown had noticed that it’s possible to move small iron apples around using lodestone centuries before, but the two school friends finished off the story. Anyway, Andrea was a big man indeed, some six foot three inches tall when he stood upright in his stockinged feet. Infrequently would the name be spelled right, and it would be mispronounced just as often as not. And the same thing keeps on happening today. So, because of the name, people have been calling me all kinds of things, like ‘big-belly, fatso, gut-boy, tub-of-lard, roly-poly, pus-gut,’ since I began my problematic journey in the World, as it were. It wasn’t a promising start for a baby in his Mother’s arms, I’m sure you’ll agree.

My Grandad’s story is very interesting, by the way, especially as he became a pirate, in a manner of speaking. He was born in the Haunted Homeland, and was brought up on a farm near Chilly Alathak, capital of the region, located besides an old castle on the banks of the River Sed. He had ten brothers and sisters – I don’t believe that, but that was the story, anyway. They all had to get up at six o’clock every morning to feed the animals, before they walked seven miles to school, which would be held in one of the iniquitous Independent Tabernacles – once again, as he used to tell it. He supposed he was on the road to nowhere, to be completely honest. 

So, when he was too young to blow his own nose, he ran off, and joined the Plundered Principality’s Transport Company, set up by exiles from Kimbria who’d left at the time of the first great cultural persecution centuries ago, and who speak an ancient dialect of Kimbric even today. He travelled throughout the World in enormous white lorries bearing the Scarlet Symbol of that nation, transporting things like honey-vodka, jam rolls with gold speckles in them, and priceless, very hard cheese. There followed adventures, tribulations, battles, sins, forgiveness, and so on, so it’s said. It’s interesting to note that this Company would become a founding member of the Military Mercantile Union in due course. 

Considering the background given above, it’s not strange to say that Kimbric (or some version of Old Vre-tanik at least) was the merchants’ cant. Indeed, fewer people can speak the original language of the Plundered Principality within the land itself than can speak Kimbric across the World today. Grandad continued to enjoy a very profitable career (until some Duke was shot, I believe), providing cuckoo clocks, uncommonly sumptuous chocolate, pocket knives, and soldiers’ watches. But then the old wretch got caught crossing the Dividing Gulf (well, he was a stupid youth at the time, but I’ll carry on using his own words). He’d been travelling over the Continent without the proper visas, and the bunch of herbs hidden down his pants were enough to frighten any competent official. The sniffer dogs went mental coming within a few yards of him. He was sent to prison in Aberdydd, since so little was happening there at the time, and as it happens, my Grandma was helping out there, because she used to love ministering to the needs of the prisoners due to her strong but odd faith.

He had no choice but to be very fond of her, be sure of that, she was a very forceful and determined woman. From his tiny cell window looking over the estate’s fields, he’d see her playing amongst the trees, as he whispered, "There’s my lovely down in the orchard." It was her noisy, incessant, and unmannerly interference that allowed him to be released early. They married after he fell down the spiral staircase on the last day of his sentence (an act of the Old Divinities, perhaps), so great was noise of the language of love burning in his breast. He never went back to the Plundered Principality, not to mention the Haunted Homeland, old land of his fathers. Grandma would never have let him do such a thing anyway. But then again, he would do lots of business importing alternative medicines and substances hard to find in his adopted land. 

Well, that’s the first name, Steffan, and the surname Grossmann for you, and I’m not going to complain about that anymore. But, my middle name – that plague on my spirit, that scarecrow on the hill that makes everyone mock me – with Grandad, that’s where there the undoubted responsibility rests, no doubt about it. But the curse was on Father’s head before I inherited the burden. Why on Eyrth did Grandma send the old smuggler to the Hall of the Images to register the birth? Anyway, when my Father was born, they wanted to call him ‘Baldrog,’ after the spirit of chaotic beauty of the Nw Yrth, who had blond hair and sky-blue eyes. This divinity was the most resplendent and the fairest-faced, and he was killed accidentally on purpose by a dart made of vines hardened by the trickster Swtakh’s magic. 

This name’s quite common in lands around the Ice Woods. Well, that was the old boy’s story, and the old stick always insisted she’d have chosen ‘Falarithe’ which come from a couple of words in the myriad languages of the Countless Conquering Tribes, ‘vlaro’ meaning ‘brave’ and ‘ridha’ meaning ‘strength.’ She’d heard lots about the name on the SoTra, allegedly, in programmes about the Shrouded Secret of the Wýkingren’s Wargames, the Shambling Shepherds of the Shattered Shrine, and the Noetic Know-how of the Nine Numinous Knights (her tastes were painfully eclectic), and she considered that it was ‘very posh,’ and would open doors for her son.

No matter about the derivation of the devilish name (excuse my little joke here!), but the registrar must’ve been deaf, and without a doubt she hadn’t met such a strange name before, probably, nor could she understand what the silly fool said in his harsh voice that still had the strong accent of his homeland although he’d come away from there so long ago. Maybe the official thought about words like ‘balog,’ namely ‘priest, leader,’ and ‘tongue of a buckle,’ or ‘baldog,’ which means ‘gossip, short and fat person,’ or ‘barog,’ that is, ‘full of wrath or anger,’ or perhaps ‘barrig,’ which has the meaning ‘enclosed by bars or rails,’ or even ‘spur.’ Anyway, it’s obvious she was a fan of the work of that scholar who invents Worlds and Other Languages, since she wrote ‘Balrog,’ of all things, on the birth certificate in the end. 

So, my Father had a unique middle name – it means ‘Powerful Demon.’ Now, for some reason, Father would go off all the time what with all the academic work, making TV programmes, researching drugs used by shamanic tribes, chasing after wild geese, and interviewing inspiring politicians. And then he’d leave Mum to look after everything, with the help of her friend, the dentist (I believe that that was his calling anyway). It was some surprise when I arrived without warning, with Father away on the other side of the World, and I felt that he didn’t like me a lot as he always used to favour the other children on the estate when he came back. Perhaps he was angry ‘cos he wasn’t there to welcome me when I was born. Having said that, the name stuck to me, too, like a bad smell, to hell with blasted continental names! But at least it’s a middle name, say I, counting my meagre blessings. 

Well, that’s more than enough about the ancient history for the time being. We’ve got to move on now. Well, now then, here’s a good suggestion for you: be sure that one of your parents is a teacher, since this can be very convenient on occasions, you know. For my part, I started to speak and write exceptionally early, a present from Mam and Grandma which stays with me even now (I still keep on talking too much all the time they say!). But, I decided to mis-spell and mis-pronounce my forename in a humorous fashion, an so I got called ‘Staffy’ by the family, and as a result, I became ‘Bulldog’, and also ‘Bulky Bull’ – but don’t tell anyone, as it’s a pet-name they use even today, if you’ll excuse me the pun, ha, ha! I don’t want to be called ‘Guard-dog,’ either!

After that, off to school I went, with the other kids – yuck! There, I became Stevo, together with Davo, Paulo, Tomo, and so on. I was always telling stories about my special family, about the intrepid soldier Father, and the beautiful Mother who’s distantly related to the Yellow King living in the sand palace of Etneksha, and about our adventures in far-flung parts of the World from the New Green Land to the Unseen Jungles of the West. Oh, I loved telling takes, even then. In Emerald Town Unitechnic, for some reason, I got a couple of fashionable ‘z’s’ in the nickname that was used in the hall of residence – to poke fun, maybe, how in the World can I say? They alleged that it was my ‘magical name.’ Perhaps it happened because of all the chanting, and rocking back and forth, and shouting prayers, I would tend to do. 

They said I sounded like some enormous, lonely bee, guarding the stash of priceless honey in its hive. And to tell the truth, I had devised my own ceremony, called the Amasus Ritual, that I would use to find out things about the other students, acquire a considerable amount of money, escape from the campus at night, and have a great deal of fun, to say the least! The most important thing was finding a mystic language for the incantations. I didn’t stay there for a long time, of course, in the end, because of, well, the circumstances. The other trainee numerologists thought that all that was great, despite all my trials (well, as far as I can remember). Perhaps they were laughing at me, but, despite that, I didn’t hate the name, so I would stay as ‘Stezza” for a long time. 

Now then, right away, under the shadows of the pines, I’d better confess that I’ve been doing a terrible thing whilst having this little chat with you all. I have to tell you the truth – the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (well, just the juicy parts of the story, there’s no time for everything) – to shame Swtakh. The thing is this – for all kinds of reasons, and all the time till now – I’d been denying the negative influence of the lack of a Father on my upbringing, and ignoring the scarcity of his contribution to my life. But indeed, I wanted to get rid of the ‘Balrog’ we both shared, our common demon. I’d convinced myself that there was a black cloud hanging over me, causing me to feel so terrible, and that the name was a sign of that. According to what I’ve learned in this Clinic, I’d been taking two steps back for every one step forward in the World as a result of such patterns of thinking.

Well, despite that, I succeeded to forget about my Father completely, apart from the time I got a visa when I was a lot younger, to visit the Faithful Western Principality, and then I needed to acknowledge the existence of the old devil. Of course, he was living in the Heart of the Continent with his second family by then, it now appears. Anyway, I went there as a missionary for the World-Wide Church to try to bring members of the lost flocks back into the fold. And there began all the hue and cry when I came upon David (well, y’know, ‘Daud’), saving him from an explosion in a garage that was being attacked by mercenaries. But I don’t want to say more about that at this time. And anyway, everything’s so confusing, ‘cos everyone uses different names in other lands (I was ‘Stjepan’’ – Oh dear me!).

After I mucked things up so much on the way to growing up, in Emerald Town I mean, I faced those demons, in the end, and cast them out. I can’t lie, but I had no choice, under the circumstances. I could live, or die, that’s all. Of course, the serious ‘accident’ when I almost died – and the nervous breakdown that followed – played a very important part in the story that developed. Knowing David prevented me from going off the rails completely – after all, whose life could have been worse that his? 

I came back here (and David came too) with the help of Jack Procter, who founded the Clinic before travelling all over the World to raise money and publicize the pioneering work they do here. That’s how Jack, Andreas Grossmann, and John Baxter (who was called Ivan Pekar overseas, as well as lots of other names) hit upon each other, probably, during their adventures. Maybe they were pretending to be pirates, or that they were playing the parts of Lushfé, Wezir, and Isheth from the Old Tales. But whatever they were doing, their games would change them, but by bit, until each one of them revealed, in his own way, that he was Swtakh the trickster, deep down. 

Oh, I’ve got to mention Doctor David Procter briefly here, too. The younger brother wasn’t doing much of any worth here in the safety of the Clinic whilst the other one was off and working so hard for the benefit of the whole World. As usual, it was the women who always had to do all the work round by ‘ere, and not a lot has changed today. Anyway, it’s Jack who took me when I was at the end of my tether, and saved me, without a doubt. We met each other in a free party under the pines in the countryside, organized by David. The therapy that I undertook in the wake of that storm that was threatening to destroy me, involved a considerable number of things. Some of them are amongst the most difficult tasks – but at the same time, those that’ve given me the most understanding – I’ve ever come across in the whole of my life. By playing an active part in my own treatment, I’ve discovered a wealth of information about myself, and about the magic of names and naming.

Furthermore, whilst developing the courage needed to write about these ideas and share them with other people, I’ve delved psychologically into the deep, dark waters of the unconscious, and recaptured for myself the confidence to go forward and overcome the shadow of my Father which was hovering over my life. (And having said that, I think it’s having some influence on how I’m getting on with Mam, too). And then again, when my adopted sister, Elen, brought her little baby into the World – and that was just a couple of months after her – well, her partner, David – er, after he, well, disappeared – the whole World changed for everyone, including me. 

When he went away, David, it was as if I had come back to life, somehow. I began to see things from the past differently, and considering everything that had happened, I have to say here that ‘best friends’ is a strong word for our relationship – I don’t want to claim that he was a fool or a rogue, one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I suppose, but he was a bit of a lad without a doubt, and a lad I never knew very well. Anyway, I became an uncle, and soon the boy’ll be calling me ‘Uncle Staffy,’ and that’s a title I’m almost painfully proud to bear. By musing on that often, I hear a voice from some unknown place whispering something in a language I can’t understand – ‘Sedaravanthí who was – Stharafan who is – Satharāfanu who shall be,’ which makes me shudder. Well. don’t worry about that, I’m delighted to be a guardian angel – a foster-father, let’s say – to my nephew, called Elfan Baldrog Bacster. 

‘Bacster’ is the Kimbric form of his Dad’s surname, as you can easily see. The first name, ‘Elfan,’ is supposed to bring to mind the names Ieuan, Iefan, Ifan, Efan, and also the word ‘elfen’ or ‘element'. In Icelandic, it means ‘the river.’ And what about his Mum’s name, Elen, who was ‘Nurse to the Queen of Elfan,’ that is, Elf-land? We chose the name to commemorate the other Uncle, too, the Old Holy Warrior, who used to teach the Disappeared Disciplines – and who was an expert on Houses of Rebirth, too. He was a sad and lonely man due to the scandal that destroyed his life in the end. Mrs Procter (his wife) was having a bit on the side with my Father, that’s why he’d spend so much time away from home (he’d be with her), and they ran away together, in the end, without once coming back. Elen is their love-child, you see, and so my half-sister at the same time, or something similar, to be honest. She uses the surname Grossmann, of course, but she doesn’t tell anyone that ‘Balrog’ is her middle name too, the same as me!

I used to believe that she was the Old Holy Warrior’s daughter, and that she and her Mother had died in a tragic accident – due to some experiment connected to the alchemy – and that’s why he became a shadow of what he’d been before when he’d been fighting, and a war-hero, too. But it’s a real tragedy that he died on his own soon enough after surviving the fire that devoured his ancient and dangerous cottage. And there were indeed plenty of flames, caused, to all intents and purposes, by a bungled burglary – despite the home-made alarm (a deadly electrical contraption, if I’m honest), and the strange warning signs painted by hand everywhere (which looked like some secret scribbling from the Nw Yrth, in my opinion). And that’s why ‘Baldrog’ in its meaning of ‘pure spirit’ (rather than ‘fire-demon’) is a suitable middle name for our newly-born baby. 

So, here’s all of us, still in the land of the living. Well, everyone but for the Old Holy Warrior – and David, the poor wretch – but his life was always difficult, what with the drugs, the drink, the uncertainty about his, well, regarding his ‘orientation’, the inability to study, and the abuse when he was a child {Desolation}. Those raised in hell will never want to leave, I s’pose. When he was alive, he always used to sing the song of the cider, and the beer, and the mesmeric mould, and the moonshine, as it were. Scarcely would he be free of the influence of one substance or the other. It’s better that he’s in his grave, if you ask me, than for him to keep on living and suffer so much {Living}. I have to say that Elen always tried to keep in contact with her long-lost family, but communication wasn’t easy in those days. She returned to the nest in her mid-teens before going to the Poly-varsity to study and learn from other people, whilst I was doing everything under my own steam. But then again, she never had the same talents as I did, said Mam, may the Old Gods bless ‘er! 

Well there she was, arriving totally unexpectedly, and claiming the right to stay here as if she ran the place, and saying she should inherit everything after Uncle died. I’m still surprised at the fact that both the Procters took her under their wing to such an extent, as if she was some kind of princess, or someone with special powers. Miss Procter, that is Mrs Grossmann my Mam, did not, of course, accept such shenanigans. it was very hard for her, you can imagine, with Father having fled so shamefully, and his daughter appearing so suddenly to wreak havoc on the ideal little world she’d created here.

But she’s a brave woman, and I can confidently say that she fought with all her might in the face of adversity to hold her ground. On the other hand, she’s not the Lady Meykbeds, her hands red with blood, nor Arianrhod, nor Blodeuwedd, either. And so, she’d never have done deals with some ex-soldier, over the years, leaving pound upon pound of exotic pepper in hessian sacks for him to sell in exchange for cash, and – and other pleasures – would she? You don’t expect me to believe that? Surely not? 

Anyway, things just weren’t the same after Elen took over – only to help us to improve the situation, that’s the thing. But what in the World that beautiful angel of death, that black widow in woman’s clothing, was doing when she started courting David, that coarse lad, I don’t have the least clue! Maybe she was beguiled by the cheeky and arrogant manner he’d developed whilst being dragged from pillar to post. Goodness knows. But as far as I could see, he didn’t appreciate the constant but unasked-for care he got from her. Not at all. He showed a lot more interest in the Old Holy Warrior, and indeed, it would appear that he worshipped the older man’s footsteps. He would never leave him alone. Oh, how painfully the accidental foster-father would roll his blood-shot eyes and grind his yellow teeth from being forced to stay awake all night once again listening to the lost lad rambling on. That Unknown Hero was born to suffer, and he did that in spades without a shadow of a doubt. 

I used to respect him, the Old Holy Warrior, so much, from spending hours in his presence with the rest of the Z-Men, learning Defence against Baleful Wizardry. He was such a master, he could’ve been working for the other side all the time. And Oh, this is how he’d talk to us, when he was strong and full of vigour of course, before he went to the dogs — 

“Our Eyrth is under great threat by unseen and unknown forces these days, and that is why the World is full of dangers, like war, plague, famine, and natural disasters. In the past, Death would be awaiting us all at the end of life’s journey, but now things have changed, and who knows what will happen in the future? Although very few understand the fact, the dimension called time is not completely stable, and on rare occasions, someone will tear the veil and fall through it creating Another World for himself which is exceptionally unstable, and which will fail in the end, destroying the imaginary creation. And then the shock-waves can swamp our Cosmos too, with terrible consequences. Water is the element that always forms the boundary between the Two Worlds. It is necessary to wield tools of metal to step through the Cleft between the Worlds if the journey is not to fail…

“After the Ancient Forebears disappeared from the face of the Eyrth, millennia ago, with no-one being able to explain what this happened so suddenly, only a few used to understand why and how the Chosen One is created, who shall possess special powers and leap amongst the stars in due course, but who shall be tormented by terrible nightmares until the time comes. But I know, and I have arranged everything so that he shall arrive in time to sweep the dregs away and transform the woeful World. But I tell you: those around him will seek to destroy him whilst striving to prevent themselves from going to Oblivion because of his actions which will be so destructive but so creative at the same time… 

“They shall behave, therefore, unreasonably, strangely, and violently, causing exceptional trouble. Later, however, they shall be tortured for a very long time by dreams about confusing and terrifying things without discerning the cause. Despite that, the Universe will still move on its course if the Chosen One succeeds, and now the Time of Tribulation has arrived. We must remember we are told that everything that happens, happens for some reason, according to the Universal Order. I have understood this, and of everyone who lives today, it is I who have been working with all my strength to secure a future for the faithful. Let us hope that all this is correct.” 

Infrequently would he mention his strange powers, whispering about terrible and very dangerous-to-use charms. This power isn't natural, I mean it isn’t inherent in the structure of the World beyond humanity. On the other hand, it arises from civilization and its complex modes of operation, and the more society develops, the stronger it grows. It’s impossible to restrain it, as if it’s a Leviathan that hides in a trench on the sea-bed, feeding on all the World’s energy while it waits and evolves ceaselessly. The worst amongst the despots will work until they almost die to become steeped in the exceptional power. But by doing this, if they succeed, they become extremely strong but contemptible creatures, that are not human beings any longer. The Old Holy Warrior told me in a round-about way and on the sly that his brother had tried to harness these powers in the Clinic through his experiments with the patients. He added darkly that the sinister man could’ve achieved his goal (by using and controlling the minds and actions of a couple – Tefnuth and Lushfé, he said), of creating a new form of life.

He moved swiftly on to explain that, then again, another magic exists separate from every social convention. It comes from birth and death, from complete independence and total connection. It’s not possible to own it or control it. Attempting this would lead to death. It’s those on the fringes of society, who have no authority, the common folk for the most part, who feel it rushing by them. It shows itself to people who aren’t amongst the greatest, the artists, the exiles, the shamans, those who’ve been cast aside, who’ve fallen through the Cleft between the Worlds. The lower you fall, the more likely you’ll be of feeling it churning. And though you can’t grab onto it, it can be channelled and steered to transform reality. But he would not explain how this could happen. 

However, the Old Holy Warrior had learned whilst labouring through the whole of his life, and forsaking his own needs, how to do such a thing. He had the knack of turning space inside-out around the Clinic, to create a maze, so that time leaves you behind here on the estate. Have you ever noticed, for example, the fact that the place is full of spirals, rotating eternally to catch the rash, the careless, and the unthinking? And as he said, the potter’s power arises from the spiral’s ever-changing form, which allows him to mould the raw material of existence temporarily to devise new worlds and have experiences which aren’t usually available. 

In this way, he suggested, it’s possible to retreat to the shadow-filled condition before birth, and even reach the spectral kingdom before conception, which borders so terrifyingly on the unspeakable region of the dead. But all that means nothing compared with the glimpses of things that should be impossible to imagine, like the laughing colours, the flocks of explosive phrases, and the living stars singing creation’s praises. So, through the talents of the Old Master, you’ll never be able to escape from here once one you’ve been ensnared by the sticky web of coincidences which will, without fail, tend to befall you. And wherever you go in this place, you’ll come back to the same starting-place, amongst the ancient ruins of the forgotten past, where the long shadows of the pines are always beckoning like black fingers.

There, squatting on his throne I saw him at last that final day (well, it was the day of judgement for one at least), on the comfy chair whose arms were covered in deep holes. He was wearing a long gown that had once been scarlet, but which was grey and threadbare by then, and crying fat tears of blood like a Wizard who’d been seriously injured. To be completely honest, he looked like an extra-terrestrial zombie from an old horror film or graphic novel that’d risen from the dead to scream insults in an impossible-to-pronounce language. He was wildly repeating a mantra over and over to try and make recompense for the terrible accident that was threatening to stop him from living for a while longer as he completed his humanitarian task – and also to get revenge on those who would prevent him. 

I was hurled somewhere else, to some Alternative Dimension, it appears, I can’t remember where, nor for how long I was there. But when I came back, having saved two lives, don’t ask me how, it’s too fearful to imagine, when I awoke from my deep slumber, that’s when I realised it would be essential for me to live and find a way to undertake the Great Work of defending the Eyrth from the Underworld’s Shining Legions. I knew in my heart of hearts that I had some hidden creative power that I must use, but I was lost when I was young and squandered my ability in gaining but worthless trinkets, and I promised myself that I would be a completely changed man from then on. And since the One True Church had abandoned me, I swore a solemn oath that I would be my own man for ever after then, too. 

And indeed, I’m still surprised at the change to be seen in myself, anyway, it’s like someone’s cast a spell on me, and the whole place. Up to now I’ve been experimenting, trying out lots of names, titles, personalities, and ways of behaving to see and feel how being someone else would feel. I still don’t know who I am yet. I can’t help thinking of the words ‘Skilled Leader’ for some reason, although I dunno what the meaning is, but it sounds fine, doesn’t it, like something from one of those comics I’ve been producing to entertain the little nephew who’s terribly clever. For my part, I’m keen to be an expert, a famous mentalist like Elen, although I’ll have to make it on my own terms. She’s using brand-new experimental methods which involve acting, and pretending, and finding your voice. As a result, there’s so much shouting, running about, and swearing going on throughout the whole estate every day.

I’m playing a very important part too, ‘cos I write exciting scripts for the characters to tell them what to do. Imagine if I become rich and famous, and buy a title, ‘The Worshipful Steffan,’ not any old numerologist, you know – but, until I get a job, I’m not sure I can afford to do the training – the price of life is very high, after all, isn’t it? But no, Mam, I will not be a dentist, and I don’t give a fig about the old nonsense you go on about all the time. Really, I don’t give a damn about helping people in the White-land to look after their teeth, why should I? I don’t want to be a counsellor for people who’re experiencing personal problems in the scarcely-mentionable Diploma Mills, nor for those who’ve survived religious education, either! Oh, and one other thing, I’ve got no interest in poetry at all! 

Well, the wheel of fate turns, and I need to answer the question of how should I be faithful to what I promised to the Old Holy Warrior for the future of the World, and to me myself on top of that. But, steady on, now, mate, I'm sorry, I see I'm losing it and that my imagination's running away with me. And we know what happened to David when he began to believe in his own fantasies. It's all too easy in this place, there's no denying the fact. So what about being an illustrator, or writer, or both, who reveals the truth through his work in a concealed way? I’d fancy that, and I’ve got plenty of excellent ideas, I tell you, trying not to sound too proud of myself!

Behold the Dread Planet, where the light of the harsh moon fries your eyeballs, and where two tribes of beasts kill each other in rivers of boiling bile. There, a Prince Charming from one side falls head over heels in love with a Beautiful Princess from the other who is kept under lock and key in an ivory tower on a sumptuous estate. 

Consider the mystical union between the two! He would win greatness beyond his wildest dreams, but he cannot kill; she would release enormous goodness, but is not able to love. Having fought against all the odds he’ll succeed in seizing her and bear her away. After many adventures, they, the Daughter of the Dawn and the Unsuccessful Hero, shall have a baby, the Son Foretold. But the Oppressive Forces are still seeking them in order to to punish them and take possession of the wondrous child to use him for their own nefarious ends.

Against all the odds, the Happy Family succeeds in hiding, but then the Dad dies whilst sending the kid to live amongst us on the Eyrth. Then, after spending considerable time discovering where exactly the child has escaped, and devoting all their energies to casting the appropriate magic, the otherworldly beings communicate with an order of monks on the Eyrth called the Cowled Brotherhood, under the authority of a dread preacher, The Red Priest. These vengeful, vitriolic villains kidnap the lad who by now has become a mercenary.

They use nightmares, drugs, and sorcery to influence everyone who comes across them, and that causes unforeseen and far-reaching consequences, which will entwine the lives of the inhabitants on the Two Worlds, whilst the Eyrthlets fatten themselves for sacrifice. It appears that only exterminating the Old Masters’ Chosen One will prevent the End of the Universe, and only Satharāfanu, the Skilled Leader of the Superheroes’ Union can stop this… 

Well, there we are, friends, that’s where the story’s led us so far. And like they say, real life is stranger than anything made-up, isn’t it? So, on the basis of all this old nonsense – and accepting I don’t report absolutely correctly all the time, unfortunately, as I’m only human, although I do my very best, and that’s enough for the time being – I wonder how this tall tale will develop next?

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

[*] Now, the letters of my private language have stuck together, and I can see words, more than likely (see below). But my eyes must be deceiving me as everything insists on changing, slowly but surely, making me feel as sick as a damned dead parrot all the time.

It’s awful. I’m sure the pulsating shapes mean something truly crucial. And that somewhere, somehow, sometime, I knew what it was. But, like a tune lurking in the back of your mind that you can’t get recall properly, I haven’t a clue about the pronunciation or the meaning. I feel like they’re saying polar opposites are wrong, that they always get stuck and grind to a halt eventually, that you need threes to keep things moving. But my knowledge is like a drop in a sea of ignorance. I’m lost and failing. — P.M.

Seiliwyd y cymeriad llenyddol o’r enw Kéfá Péhusón, Patarasanū Pūshan, Pétros Páōn, neu Petrus Faunus, hynny yw, y bachgen na thyfai’n ŵr, ar frawd yr awdur a’i creodd, a fu farw pan oedd yn fachgen ifanc. Pe buasai’n aeddfedu, gallasai’r hwn fod yn dduwdod cryf a gwyllt yn prancio ymhlith y geifr wrth chwarae’n afreolus gyda grymoedd anorchfygol natur. Pa mor nerthol ac aruchel fyddai wedi bod, ond pa mor anystyriol o farwol ar yr un pryd? Ond yn lle hyn mae’n dewis, ynteu’n cael ei orfodi gan gyfuniad o amgylchoedd na all eu dirnad, i ddal yn blentyn anrhywiol yn gwisgo gweoedd a dail yr hydref, sy’n gwrthod dod i oed wrth ddyheu mor daer am fam. Mae’n parhau’n ifanc trwy osgoi cael ei addysgu, gwrthod cyfrifoldebau cymdeithasol, ac anghofio’r hyn y bydd yn ei ddysgu am y byd yn ystod ei anturiaethau. Mae’n rhannol yn fod dynol a rhannol yn anifail, a medru o ganlyniad wneud bron unrhyw beth, megis brwydro’n ddewr, hedfan, dynwared seiniau a lleisiau, a synhwyro peryglon nas gwelir, a thrwy ddychmygu, mae’n gallu dod â phethau i fod. O’r herwydd, broliwr dibryder, difeddwl, a hunanol ydy ef, y bachgen colledig parhaol. Mae’n honni ei fod yn fawr, a chredu mai ‘antur fawr’ fydd tranc, er na ddaw byth i ddeall byw. Mae’i gysgod drygionus (neu “ho-páredros”), ysbryd mebyd myfïol, sydd yn gallu gweithredu’n annibynnol arno, yn cynrychioli’r holl agweddau a nodweddion hyn, ond dan ddylanwad merch ifanc sydd yn dod yn ffrind iddo, ni all ddianc rhag y dyfyn-ysbryd direidus hwn, na gwadu ei wir natur am byth.

Heia, shw mae! Stevie, Steffan, sy ‘ma. Dw i ‘di bod yn meddwl llawer, ar ôl popeth sy ‘di digwydd yn ddiweddar, ac wedi ‘sgrifennu rhai o’r syniadau yn y darn ‘ma. Wrth gwrs, dw i ‘di dysgu cymaint gan ‘yn Wncwl, y pŵr dab, oedd yn arbenigwr mewn sawl pwnc esoterig er do’n i byth yn darganfod beth yn union. Dw i ‘di dod i’r casgliad bod enwau’n arbennig, bron yn swynol, falle. Mae fel ‘sen nhw’n ddrychiolaethau disylwedd pobl, a symbolau annaearol gallu cudd [*]. Nage dyna lot o hen rwtsh, ife? Wel, dyna beth oedd pobl yn y Deyrnas Hynafol yng nghanol Anialwch Coch yn gredu, amser maith yn ôl. Y rhai adeiladodd Dai Aileni, dw i’n golygu. O’n nhw’n arfer meddwl bod yr enw a’r cysgod (a phethau eraill) yn rhannau hanfodol y bersonoliaeth ddynol, yn ôl ‘y niweddar Wncwl. A dw i ‘di bod yn ‘sgrifennu llawer o straeon wedi’u seilio ar y fath syniadau, a thynnu lluniau ‘fyd. Ta be’, gadwech i fi esbonio. ‘Sgusodwch y gerddoriaeth sy’n chwarae yn y cefndir – “Arswydau Gefn Dydd Golau” gan Pey-kíla – dw i’n dwlu ar rithiau o bob math, ch’wel, a theimlo bod ‘na gysgodion yn hedfan o boptu i fi drwy’r amser, ‘fyd.

Fi'n hunan – dw i’n credu mod i’n cofio Mam yn gweud wrtha i amdani (ymhlith popeth arall fyddai hi'n rhygnu 'mlaen drwy’r amser amdano) – oedd eisoes biau sawl enw, pan ges i ‘ngeni. Nage enwau o’n i ‘di dewis, yn ddigon naturiol, achos do’n i’m yn gallu siarad heb sôn am ddeall y fath gymhlethdod. Be’ bynnag fyddwch chi’n feddwl o’m dewision eraill o ran sut i fyw, dylech chi fod yn siŵr taw nad un ohonyn nhw oedd dewis yr enwau. Y seithfed o Orfoledd-fis (y seithfed un) oedd y dyddiad tynghedus pan ddes i mas i’r Byd – yr un dydd, mewn gwahanol flwyddyn, wrth gwrs, pan werthwyd bara tafellog am y tro cyntaf gan Siop Fara Otowshreduh – a’r peth gorau er cyn cof, dw i ‘fyd, medd Mam. (Dim ond bara gwenith cyflawn, croyw, fyddwn ni’n fwyta yn ein cartre’ ni, mae’n rhywbeth wedi’i gysylltu ag ymarferion crefyddol hynafol, yn ôl y sôn, ac mae ‘mherfeddion llid yn chwarae rhan bwysig, ‘fyd).

Ar ben ‘ny, dyna pan fu farw Faslwydd Fach, Archoffeiriad y Garwdiroedd , flwyddyn arall ‘to, raid gweud! Felly, yno o’n i, yn crawcian a sgrechian, a ‘neud popeth mae baban yn ‘neud, a finnau’n ddwy wythnos yn hwyr achos dw i'm wedi eisiau gadael y lle ‘na, y groth gysurus, gynnes, dywyll (er mod i’n gwybod yn well erbyn hyn, a cheisio bod i’r amser bob tro) wrth ddihoeni dan olau uwchfioled inciwbator yn yr ysbyty, gan drio cael gwared â’r clefyd melyn achoswyd gan aros ble na ddylwn i fod wedi bod am amser mor hir. Fi – Steffan Balrog Grossmann – sy ar fai achos mod i ‘di peri gwythiennau geni Mam, fy angyles i. Dw i’n crynu o ddychmygu sut arferai hi ddiodde’ o’r oriau mân tan nos (ond heb gwyno o gwbl) wedi colli’i gŵr i ryw fenyw arall o ben tlota’r dre’ (er iddi hi briodi arian, wrth gwrs) pan o’n i’n llanc plorynnog yn ei arddegau.

O ganlyniad i ddyddiad ‘ngeni, gallwn i fod wedi’n enwi’n Reydfwls, ar ôl dyn anllythrennog oedd wedi cael tröedigaeth at yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang; neu Alirdwis, iachäwr ffyddlon a wellodd salwch merch yr Ymerawdwr Etrwsgaidd o’r enw Māros Fégistos. Yn ôl pob tebyg, ‘naeth Tad awgrymu enw Italeg mor anuniongred, sef Konsus, er cof am dduwdod ffrwythlondeb yr hen Ītalíā, a’i ddydd gŵyl wedi’i ddathlu ar ‘mhen-blwydd i, er 'does neb yn gwybod pam. Ond eto i gyd, ‘swn i wedi bod yn ferch, gallwn i fod ‘di bod yn Thalusfwrca, oedd yn blentyn siawns a thywysoges ymhlith Llwythau'r Goresgynwyr Dirifedi ‘fyd. Dychmygwch ‘ny – diolch, ond na, dim diolch, yn fawr iawn!

Dw i’n dymuno gallwn i fod wedi protestio’n ffyrnig am yr enwau, ond o’n i’n rhy brysur yn cwyno am bopeth arall – yr unig be’ o’n i’n ‘neud oedd gwingo, llefain, ac oernadu fel cath. Ta p’un i, f’enw cynta’, Steffan, oedd dewis Mam yn bendant, a falle bod hyn yn golygu taw dewis fy Mam-gu oedd e ‘fyd, o nabod ‘nheulu i. Yn llythrennol, mae’r gair yn golygu ‘yr hyn sy’n amgylchynu neu’n cwmpasu,’ a daeth i ddynodi torch, neu goron, neu fri, neu wobr a roddwyd i enillwyr yn y Chwaraeon Dwyfol. Oedd Mam wastad yn mwydro byddai Stefan (neu Sven, neu Shtjefën, hyd yn oed, ‘nenw’r Saith), yn enw da yn iaith y Wlad-wen, syniad gaeth hi gan Dad, siŵr o fod, pan oedd e’n teithio yno gan gasglu llawysgrifau goliwiedig ar y farchnad ddu yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr.

Oedd y ddau hen goes yn edmygwyr go iawn Steffan Lân, a roddodd ei enw i’r catacwmau dan Dŷ’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, ‘does angen dweud. Rhifolegwr ardderchog a foddwyd mewn cerwyn enfawr o fêl gan y paganiaid filenia yn ôl o achos ei doniau anghyffredin oedd e, ac felly, y merthyr cynta’ i berthyn i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang (wel, yr un cynta'n dwyn enw dyn ni'n wybod i sicrowdd, o leia). Gwyryf ‘fyd, gaeth ei gyffeithio’n berffaith gan y mêl, nes na fyddai fe byth yn heneiddio. Fe allwch chi ddal i’w weld e heddi’, ym Mhencadlys yr Eglwys Filwrol, yn disgleirio o ogoniant glân. ‘Naethon nhw erioed danto ar f’atgoffa i am y ffaith – wedi’r cwbl, byddai trannoeth Gŵyl Alban Arthan, Dydd Steffan Lân, wastad yn llawer gwell na’r Ŵyl ei hunan, yn nhyb y teulu, o leia’.

Gweddill f’enwau personol yw bai fy nhad-cu i – wel, heb ei fai, heb ei eni, falle, ha, ha! Wedi gweud ‘ny, dw i’n tybio bod chi ddim yn gallu bwrw’r bai arno fe am ei gyfenw e. Oedd e’m wedi colli’i iaith, o leia’, wel, ddim yn llwyr, ta be’. Dyn o’r Fforestydd Gemog (neu’r Coedwigoedd Iâ) oedd e, yn rhywle yn y Gogledd Pellennig ar y Cyfandir, o’r enw Andrea Jakob Großmann. Fe gyfieithodd e’i enw i'r Bretaneg yn hwyrach, neu yn hytrach i Gimbreg, a dod yn Andras Iago Grossmann, i fod yn llai arswydus i drigolion ein gwlad hyfryd ni rywbryd ar ôl iddo gael ei lusgo â nerth bôn braich yr awdurdodau oddi ar fad pysgota anghyfreithlon yng nghanol y Gwlff Didoliadol. Ond dyna stori arall.

Oedd e’n perthyn o bell i Johannes Großmann, a fu yn yr un dosbarth ag Albertus Anstan yr ymchwiliwr i anianeg yn yr ysgol. O’n nhw (Johannes ac Albertus) yn ffrindiau gorau, a’r cyntaf helpodd yr ail i ddeall sut i oresgyn grym disgyrchiant gan ddefnyddio magnetau cryf iawn. Wel, wrth gwrs oedd y Barwn Ishakí o Drenewydd wedi sylwi fod e’n bosib symud afalau bach o haearn o gwmpas fel hyn gan ddefnyddio tynfaen ganrifoedd o’r blaen, ond gyflawni’r stori ‘naeth y ddau ffrind ysgol. Ta be’ – oedd Andrea yn ‘ddyn mawr’ yn wir, rhyw chwe throedfedd a thair modfedd o uchder pan ymsythai fe i’w lawn daldra yn nhraed ei ‘sanau. Yn anaml fyddai’r enw’n cael ei sillafu’n gywir, ac fe fyddai’n cael ei gam-ynganu lawn cyn amled â pheidio. Ac mae’r un peth yn dal i ddigwydd heddi’. Felly, o achos yr enw, mae pobl wedi bod yn galw enwau o bob math arna i, fel ‘boldew, boliog, cestog, bolfawr, tew-fel-hwch, braisg,’ ers i fi gychwyn ar ‘nhaith broblemus yn y Byd, fel petai. Oedd e’m yn ddechrau gobeithiol i fabi ar fraich ei Fam, dw i’n siŵr byddwch chi’n cytuno.

Mae stori ‘Nhad-cu’n ddiddorol iawn, gyda llaw, yn enwedig achos iddo ddod yn fôr-leidr, mewn ffordd o siarad. Gaeth e’i eni yn y Famwlad Aflonydd, a gaeth e’i fagu ar fferm ar bwys Alathak Iasoer, prifddinas yr ardal, wedi’i lleoli ar bwys hen gastell ar lannau Afon Sed. Oedd deg brawd a chwaer ‘da fe – sa i’n credu ‘ny, ond dyna oedd y stori, ta be’. Oedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw i gyd godi am chwech o’r gloch bob bore i fwydo’r anifeiliaid, cyn iddyn nhw gerdded saith milltir i’r ysgol fyddai’n cael ei chynnal mewn un o’r Tabernaclau Annibynnol anfad – unwaith eto, fel oedd e’n arfer dweud. Oedd e’n tyibio’i fod e ar y ffordd i unlle, a bod yn hollol onest.

‘Lly pan oedd e’n rhy ifanc i chwythu’i drwyn ei hunan, ‘naeth e redeg bant, ac ymuno â Chwmni Cludiant y Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig wedi’i sefydlu gan alltudion o Gimbria oedd wedi gadael amser yr erledigaeth ddiwylliannol fawr gynta’ ganrifoedd yn ôl, ac sy’n siarad tafodiaith hynafol o’r Gimbreg hyd heddi’. Teithiodd e ledled y Byd mewn lorïau enfawr gwyn ac arnyn nhw Symbol ‘Sgarlad y genedl ‘na, wrth gludo pethau fel fodca mêl, rholiau jam ac ynddyn nhw smotiau o aur, a chaws tra-chaled, amhrisiadwy. Canlynodd anturiaethau, trafferthion, brwydrau, pechodau, maddeuant, ac ati, yn ôl y sôn. Diddorol sylwi byddai’r Cwmni ‘ma’n dod yn aelod sefydlol o’r Undeb Masnachol Milwrol maes o law.

O ystyried y cefndir a geir uchod, ni ryfedd gweud taw’r Gimbreg (neu ryw fersiwn ar Hen Fretaneg o leia’) oedd iaith ddirgel y masnachwyr. Yn wir, mae llai o bobl yn medru iaith gysefin y Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig tu fewn i’r wlad ei hunan nag sy’n siarad y Gimbreg dros y Byd heddi. Oedd y Tad-cu’n dal i fwynhau gyrfa lesol iawn (tan i rai Dug gael e saethu, dw i’n credu), gan ddarparu clociau cwcw, siocled anghyffredin o foethus, cyllyll poced, a watshis milwyr. Ond wedyn fe gaeth yr hen anffodusyn ei ddal wrth groesi’r Gwlff Didoliadol (wel, glaslanc gwirion oedd e ar y pryd, ond fe fydda i’n parhau i ddefnyddio’i eiriau’i hunan). Oedd e ‘di bod yn teithio dros y Cyfandir heb y teithebau priodol, ac oedd y tusw o berlysiau wedi’i guddio lawr 'i drôns yn ddigon i beri pryder mewn unrhyw swyddog cwmws. Oedd y cŵn synhwyro’n mynd o’u co’ o ddod o fewn llathenni iddo fe. Gaeth e’i anfon i’r carchar yn Aberdydd, achos bod cyn lleied yn digwydd yn fan’na ar y pryd, ac fel mae’n digwydd, oedd fy Mam-gu’n yn helpu mas yno, am bod hithau’n arfer dwlu ar weini ar anghenion y carcharorion o ganlyniad i’w chrefydd gref ond od.

Oedd dim dewis ‘da fe ond bod yn hoff iawn ohoni, byddwch yn sicr am ‘ny, oedd hi’n fenyw rymus a phenderfynol iawn. O ffenest fechan ei gell, yn edrych dros gaeau’r ‘stad, fe fyddai fe’n gweld hi’n chwarae ymhlith y coed, wrth iddo sibrwd, "Dacw ‘nghariad i lawr yn y berllan." Ei hymyriad di-drai, stwrllyd, ac anfoesgar a adawodd iddo gael ei ryddhau’n gynnar. Priodon nhw ar ôl iddo syrthio lawr y staer droellog ddydd ola’ ei ddedfryd (gweithred gan yr Hen Dduwdodau, falle), cymaint oedd sŵn iaith cariad yn llosgi’i fron. Aeth e ‘rioed ‘nôl i’r Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig, heb sôn am y Famwlad Aflonydd, hen wlad ei dadau. Fyddai Mam-gu 'rioed 'di gadael iddo ‘neud y fath be’. Ond eto i gyd, ‘nelai fe lawer o fusnes wrth fewnforio meddyginiaethau amgen a sylweddau anodd dod o hyd iddyn nhw yn ei wlad fabwysiedig.

Wel, dyna’r enw cynta’, Steffan, a’r cyfenw Grossmann i chi, a sa i’n mynd i gwyno am ‘ny mwyach. Ond, f’enw canol – y pla ‘na ar f’enaid i, y sgerbwd ‘na ar y bryn sy’n ‘neud i bawb ‘ngwawdio fi – gyda Thad-cu, yno mae’r cyfrifoldeb diamodol, ‘sdim amheuaeth amdani. Ond oedd y felltith ar ben ‘Nhad cyn i fi etifeddu’r baich. Pam ar wyneb y Ddaear ‘naeth Mam-gu hala’r hen smyglwr i Neuadd y Delweddau i gofrestru’r enedigaeth? Ta be’, pan gaeth fy Nhad ei eni, o’n nhw eisiau’i enwi’n ‘Baldrog,’ ar ôl ysbryd harddwch caotig ar y Nw Yrth, oedd â gwallt golau a llygaid glesni’r awyr. Yr un mwy llachar a theca’ o bryd oedd y duwdod hwn, a gaeth ei ladd ar ddamwain o fwriad gan saeth wedi'i 'neud o'i gwinwydd wedi'u caledu trwy hud y castiwr Swtach.

Mae’r enw ‘ma’n eitha’ cyffredin mewn gwledydd ar bwys y Coedwigoedd Iâ. Wel, dyna oedd stori’r hen fachgen, ac oedd yr hen goes wastad yn mynnu bod hi wedi dewis ‘Falarithe’ sy’n dod o gwpl o eiriau yn ieithoedd fyrdd Llwythau'r Goresgynwyr Dirifedi, ‘vlaro’ yn golygu ‘dewr,’ a ‘ridha’ yn golygu ‘grym.’ Oedd hi wedi clywed llawer am yr enw ar yr SDDd, yn ôl y sôn, mewn rhaglenni am Gyfrinach Guddiedig y Goncwest gan y Llu Du, Bugeiliaid Blêr y Greirfa Gandryll, a Medrau Meddyliol y Naw Marchog Niwminaidd (poenus o eclectig oedd ei chwaethau), ac oedd hi’n ystyried fod e’n ‘bosh bosh,’ a byddai’n ‘agor drysau’ i’w fab.

‘Sdim ots am darddiad yr enw cythreulig (esgusodwch ‘yn jôc fach ‘ma!), ond, rhaid bod y cofrestrydd wedi bod yn ddrwm ei chlyw, a heb amheuaeth oedd hi’m wedi cyfarfod enw mor rhyfedd o’r blaen, siŵr o fod, na gallai hi ddeall be’ ‘naeth y ffŵl twp weud â’i lais cryd oedd ag arno acen gref ei famwlad hyd yn oed er iddo fe fynd o ‘na cyhyd yn ôl. Falle bod y swyddog yn meddwl am eiriau megis ‘balog,’ sef, ‘offeiriad, arweinydd,’ a ‘tafod bwcl,' neu, ‘baldog,’ sy’n golygu ‘clebrwr, person byr a thew,’ neu ‘barog,’ hynny yw, ‘llawn llid neu ddicter’, neu falle ‘barrig,’ sydd â’r ystyr ‘wedi ei amgáu â bariau neu reiliau,’ neu hyd yn oed ‘sbardun.’ Be’ bynnag, mae’n amlwg bod hi’n selogyn dros waith yr ysgolheigion ‘na sy’n dyfeisio Bydoedd ac Ieithoedd Eraill, achos iddi ‘sgrifennu ‘Balrog,’ o bob pethau, ar y dystysgrif geni yn y diwedd.

Enw canol unigryw felly oedd ‘da ‘Nhad – ‘Cythraul Grymus’ yw ei ystyr. Nawr am ryw reswm, byddai Tad yn mynd bant drwy’r amser rhwng yr holl waith academaidd, ‘neud rhaglenni teledol, ymchwilio i gyffuriau ddefnyddir gan lwythau siamanaidd, chwilio am nythod cwhwrw, a chyfweld â gwleidyddion ysbrydoledig. Ac yna fe fyddai’n gadael i Mam edrych ar ôl popeth, gyda help ei ffrind, y deintydd (dw i’n credu taw honno oedd ei alwedigaeth ta be’). Oedd yn rhyw surpréis pan gyrhaeddais i’n ddirybudd, a Thad i ffwrdd ar ochr arall y Byd, ac o’n i’n teimlo fod e ddim yn lico fe'n fawr achos byddai fe wastad yn ffafrio’r plant eraill ar y ‘stad pan ddeuai fe’n ôl. Falle fod e’n gas achos fod e ddim yno i ‘nghroesawu fi pan ges i ‘ngeni. Wedi gweud ‘ny, ‘naeth yr enw lynu wrtho i, ‘fyd, fel gwynt drwg, i gythraul ag enwau cyfandirol, melltigedig! Ond o leia' enw canol yw e, medda i, wrth gyfri’ ‘mendithion bychain i.

Wel, dyna hen ddigon ar yr hen hanes am y tro. Rhaid symud ‘mlaen nawr. Wel, nawr te, dyma awgrym da i chi: byddwch yn sicr taw athro neu athrawes yw un o’ch rhieni chi, achos gall hyn fod yn gyfleus iawn ar achlysuron, ch’ mod O’m rhan i, fe ddechreuais i siarad a ‘sgrifennu’n eithriadol o gynnar, anrheg gan Mam a Mam-gu sy ‘di aros gyda fi hyd yn hyn (dw i’n dal i glebran yn ormod drwy’r amser, meddan nhw!). Ond, ‘nes i benderfynu camsillafu a cham-ynganu f’enw blaen i’n ddigri’, ac felly ges i ‘ngalw’n ‘Staffy ’ gan y teulu, ac o ganlyniad, fe ddes i’n ‘Gi tarw’, a hefyd yn ‘Darw swmpus’ – ond peidiwch gweud wrth neb, gan fod e’n enw anwes maen nhw’n ddefnyddio hyd yn oed heddi’, os byddwch yn esgusodi fi am y gair mwys, ha ha! Dw i’m eisiau cael ‘ngalw’n ‘Gostowci’ ‘chwaith!

Ar ôl ‘ny, i’r ysgol â fi, gyda’r cryts eraill – ach a fi! Yno, des i’n Stevo, ynghyd â Davo, Paulo, Tomo, ac yn y blaen. O’n i wastad yn gweud straeon am ‘nheulu sbesial, am y Tad dewr o filwr a’r Fam brydferth sy’n brith perthyn i’r Brenin Melyn yn byw ym mhalas tywod Etneksha, ac am ein hanturiaethau mewn rhannau anghysbell o’r Byd o’r Wlad Werdd Newydd i Jyngloedd Anweledig y Gorllewin. O, o’n i’n dwlu ar chwedleua, hyd yn oed bryd ‘ny. Ym Mhrifdechnig Tref Emrallt, am ryw reswm, ges i gwpl o ‘z’ ffasiynol yn y llysenw a ddefnyddiwyd yn y neuadd breswyl – o ran cellwair, falle, sut yn y Byd gallwn i weud? O’n nhw ’n honni taw ‘yn ‘enw hudol’ oedd e. Falle fe ddigwyddodd o achos yr holl siantio, a siglo ‘nôl a ‘mlaen, a bloeddio gweddïau, fyddwn i’n tueddu i ‘neud.

Fe weden nhw mod i’n swnio fel ryw wenynen enfawr, unig yn carco’r stôr o fêl amhrisiadwy yn ei chwch. A gweud y gwir, wedi dyfeisio’n seremoni’n hunan o’n i, o’r enw Defod Amasus, fyddwn i’n defnyddio i ddarganfod pethau am y myfyrwyr eraill, dod o hyd i gryn dipyn o arian, dianc o’r campws gyda’r nos, a chael llawer o hwyl, a dweud y lleia’! Y peth mwya' pwysig oedd dyfeisio iaith gyfrin ar gyfer y llafarganu. Do’n i’m yn aros yno am amser hir, wrth gwrs, yn y pen draw, o achos y, wel, yr amgylchiadau. Meddyliai'r rhifolegwyr dan hyfforddiant eraill fod hynny oll yn wych er gwaetha ‘nhrafferthion oll (wel, cyn belled ag rwy’n gallu cofio). Falle’u bod nhw’n chwerthin am ‘mhen i, ond, serch ‘ny ‘nes i ddim casáu’r enw, felly arhoswn i’n ‘Stezza’ am amser maith.

Nawr ‘te, yn y fan a’r lle, dan gysgodion y pinwydd, well i fi gyfadde’ taw fi sy ‘di bod yn ‘neud peth gwael wrth gael y sgwrs fach ‘ma gyda chi i gyd. Rhaid i fi weud y gwir wrthoch chi – y gwir, yr holl wir, a dim ond y gwir (wel, dim ond rhannau amheus y stori, ‘sdim amser ar gyfer popeth) – nes cocho Swtach. Y peth yw hyn – am bob math o resymau, a drwy’r amser hyd yn hyn – o’n i ‘di bod yn gwadu dylanwad negyddol diffyg Tad ar ‘nygiad i, ac anwybyddu prinder ei gyfraniad i ‘mywyd. Ond yn wir, o’n i am gael gwared ar y ‘Balrog’ wedi’i rannu rhyngon ni'n dau, ein cythraul cyffredin ni. O’n i ‘di ‘narbwyllo’n hunan fod ‘na gwmwl du’n hongian droso i, gan achosi i fi deimlo mor wael, a taw arwydd o hynny oedd yr enw. Yn ôl be’ dw i ‘di ddysgu yn y Clinig ‘ma, o’n i ‘di bod yn camu ‘nôl wrth gamu ‘mlaen yn y Byd o ganlyniad i’r fath batrymau o feddwl.

Wel, er gwaetha’ ‘ny, ‘nes i lwyddo i anghofio am ‘Nhad i’n llwyr, ar wahân i’r amser fe ges i fisa pan o’n i lawer yn iau, i ymweld â’r Dywysogaeth Orllewinol Deyrngar, ac wedyn oedd angen i fi gydnabod bodolaeth yr hen gythraul. Wrth gwrs oedd e’n byw yng Nghalon y Cyfandir gyda’i ail deulu erbyn ‘ny, mae’n ymddangos nawr. Ta be’, es i yno fel cenhadwr dros yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang i drio dod ag aelodau o’r preiddiau ar goll yn ôl i’r gorlan. Ac yno fe ddechreuodd yr helbul a’r helynt pan ‘nes i ymhél â David (wel, ch'mod, 'Daud'), gan achub e o ffrwydrad mewn garej ymosodwyd arno gan hurfilwyr. Ond sa i eisiau gweud mwy am ‘ny ar hyd o bryd. A be bynnag, mae popeth mor ddryslyd gan fod pawb yn ddefnyddio enwau gwahanol mewn gwledydd eraill (‘Stjepan’ o’n i – o diar mi!).

Ar ôl i fi’i chawlio hi gymaint ar y ffordd i ddod i oed, yn Nhref Emrallt dw i’n feddwl, ‘nes i wynebu’r ellyllon ‘na, yn y pendraw, a bwrw nhw mas. Dw i’m yn gallu gweud celwydd, ond oedd dim dewis ‘da fi, dan yr amgylchiadau. Fe allwn i fyw, neu farw, dyna oll. Wrth gwrs, chwaraeodd y ‘ddamwain’ ddifrifol pan fu bron i fi farw – a’r chwalfa nerfol ‘naeth ddilyn – ran bwysig iawn yn y stori a ddatblygai. Nabod David ataliodd fi rhag mynd oddi ar y cledrau’n llwyr – wedi’r cwbl, bywyd pwy allai fod wedi bod yn waeth na’i un e?

Des i ‘nôl ‘ma (ac fe ddaeth David ‘fyd) gyda help Jack Procter, a sefydlodd y Clinig cyn teithio ledled y Byd i godi arian a chyhoeddi’r gwaith arloesol maen nhw’n ‘neud ‘ma. Dyna sut darodd Jack, Andreas Grossmann, a John Baxter (a gâi’i alw’n Ivan Pekar dramor yn ogystal â llawer o enwau eraill) ar draws ei gilydd, siŵr o fod, yn ystod eu hanturiau. Falle bod nhw'n cymryd arnyn nhw taw môr-ladron o'n nhw, neu'u bod nhw'n chwarae rhan Lushfé, Wezir, ac Isheth o'r Hen Chwedleuon. Ond be' bynnag o'n nhw'n 'neud, fe fyddai'r chwaraeon yn eu newid nhw, fesul tipyn, nes i bob un ohonyn nhw ddatgelu, yn ei ffordd ei hunan, taw Swtach y twyllwr oedd e, yn y bôn.

O, rhaid crybwyll y Doethur David Procter yn fras 'ma 'fyd. 'Nelai'r brawd ifancach fawr o werth yma yn niogelwch y Clinig tra byddai'r llall bant ac yn gweithio mor galed er lles y Byd i gyd. Fel arfer, y gwragedd oedd yn gorfod ' neud yr holl waith rown' fan 'yn bob amser, a dyw llawer wedi newid heddi'. Ta be’, Jack a gymerodd i pan o’n i ar ben ‘nhennyn, ac achub fi, heb os. Cwrddon ni gyda’n gilydd mewn parti rhydd dan y pinwydd yn y cefn gwlad wedi’i drefnu gan David. Fe olygai’r therapi, ‘nes i ymgymryd â fe yn sgil y storm ‘na oedd yn bygwth ‘ninistrio i, gryn dipyn o bethau. Mae rhai ohonyn nhw gyda’r tasgau anhawsa’ – ond ar yr un pryd, y rheiny sy ‘di rhoi’r ddealltwriaeth fwya’ i fi – rwy ‘di dod ar eu traws erioed drwy gydol f’oes. Trwy chwarae rhan weithredol yn ‘nhriniaeth ‘yn hunan, dw i ‘di darganfod digonedd o wybodaeth amdana’n hunan, ac am hud enwau ac enwi.

Ymhellach, wrth ddatblygu’r dewrder sydd ei angen i ‘sgrifennu am y syniadau ‘ma a’u rhannu nhw â phobl eraill, dw i ‘di bwrw’n seicolegol i ddyfroedd duon, dyfnion yr anymwybod, ac adennill i’n hunan yr hyder i fynd yn ‘mlaen a goresgyn cysgod ‘Nhad oedd yn hofran dros ‘mywyd i. (Ac wedi gweud ‘ny, dw i’n credu fod e ‘di cael rhyw ddylanwad ar sut fydda i’n tynnu ‘mlaen gyda Mam, ‘fyd). Ac eto i gyd, pan ‘naeth fy chwaer wedi’i mabwysiadu, Elen, ddwyn ei baban bach i’r Byd – a dyna oedd dim ond rhyw gwpl o fisoedd ar ôl i’w – wel, ei phartner, David – er, ar ôl iddo, wel, ddiflannu – ‘naeth yr holl Fyd newid ar gyfer pawb, yn ‘nghynnwys i.

Pan aeth e bant, David, oedd fel ‘swn i wedi codi o farw’n fyw, rywsut. ‘Nes i ddechrau gweld pethau o’r gorffennol yn wahanol, ac o ystyried popeth oedd wedi digwyddodd, rhaid i fi weud yma taw ‘ffrindiau gorau’ yw gair cry’ am ein perthynas ni – sa i eisiau honni taw hurtyn neu ddihiryn oedd e, ddylai dyn ddim lladd ar y meirw, sbo, ond oedd e’ n dipyn o dderyn heb os. a llanc do’n i byth yn nabod yn dda iawn. Ta be’, fi a ddaeth yn ewythr, ac yn fuan bydd y bachgen yn ‘ngalw i’n ‘Wncwl Staffy,’ a dyma deitl dw i bron yn boenus o falch o’i ddwyn. O synfyfyrio dros ‘ny’n aml, dw i’n clywed llais o rywle anhysbys yn sibrwd rhywbeth mewn iaith sa i’n gallu deall, ‘Sedaravanthí a fu – Stharafan sydd – Satharāfanu a fydd,’ sy’n ‘neud i fi grynu. Wel, peidiwch â phoeni am ‘ny, dw i wrth fy modd o fod yn angel gwarcheidiol – yn dad maeth, adewch i ni weud – i’n nai fi, o’r enw Elfan Baldrog Bacster.

‘Bacster’ yw'r ffurf yn y Gimbreg ar gyfenw’r Tad, fel y gwelwch chi’n hawdd. Mae’r enw cynta’, ‘Elfan,’ i fod i ddwyn i’r co’r enwau Ieuan, Iefan, Ifan, Efan, a hefyd y gair 'elfen.' Yn Islandeg, mae’n golygu 'yr afon.’ A be’ am enw’i Fam, Elen, oedd yn ‘Mamaeth i Frenhines Elfan,’ hynny yw, Gwlad Hud a Lledrith? ‘Naethon ni ddewis yr enw i ‘neud coffa am yr Wncwl arall ‘fyd, yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a arferai ddysgu’r Disgyblaethau Diflanedig – ac oedd yn arbenigwr ar Dai Aileni, ‘fyd. Dyn trist ac unig oedd e o achos y sgandal ‘naeth ddifetha’i fywyd yn y pen draw. Caru ar y slei oedd Mrs Procter (ei wraig) a ‘ Nhad, dyna pan fyddai’n hala cymaint o amser oddi cartre ’(fyddai fe gyda hithau), a rhedon nhw i ffwrdd gyda’i gilydd, yn y diwedd, heb ddod yn ôl unwaith. Elen yw’u merch ordderch nhw, ch’wel, ac felly fy hanner chwaer ar yr un pryd, neu rywbeth tebyg, a bod yn onest. Mae hithau’n defnyddio’r cyfenw Grossmann, wrth reswm, ond so hi’n gweud wrth neb taw ‘Balrog’ yw’i henw canol ‘fyd, yr un peth â fi!

O’n i’n arfer credu ei bod hi’n ferch i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a’i bod hi a’r Fam wedi marw mewn damwain drasig – o achos rhyw arbrawf wedi’i gysylltu â’r alcemeg – a dyna pam ddaeth yntau’n gysgod o be’ oedd e ‘di bod o’r blaen pan fuodd yn brwydro, ac yn arwr rhyfel, ‘fyd. Ond trasiedi o iawn ydy iddo fe farw ar ei ben ei hunan yn ddigon buan ar ôl goroesi’r tân a ysodd ei fwthyn hynafol a pheryglus e. Ac oedd digon o fflamau’n wir, achoswyd, i bob diben, gan fyrgleriaid ffaeledig – er gwaetha’r larwm cartre’ (bechingalw trydanol marwol os dw i’n onest), a’r arwyddion rhybudd rhyfedd wedi’u paentio â llaw ym mhob man (oedd yn edrych fel rhyw sgriblan dirgel o’r Nw Yrth, yn ‘marn i). A dyna pam mae ‘Baldrog’ yn ei ystyr o ‘enaid glân’ (yn hytrach na ‘chythraul o dân’) yn enw canol addas iawn ar gyfer ein baban newydd-anedig ni.

Felly, dyma ni i gyd yn dal ar dir y rhai byw. Wel, pawb ond am yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd – a David, y truan – ond oedd ei fywyd yntau wastad yn anodd, rhwng y cyffuriau, y ddiod, yr ansicrwydd am ei, wel, ynghylch ei ‘gyfeiriadedd,’ yr anallu i astudio, a’r gamdriniaeth pan oedd e’n blentyn. Cyw a fegir yn uffern, yn uffern y myn fod, sbo. Wrth fyw fe ganai drwy’r amser gân y seidr, a’r cwrw, a’r llwydni llesmeiriol, a’r llaeth mwnci, fel petai. O’r braidd na fyddai dan ddylanwad y naill sylwedd na’r llall. Well iddo fe fod yn y bedd, yn ‘nhyb i, na dal i fyw a diodde’ gymaint. Rhaid i fi weud bod Elen wastad yn ceisio cadw mewn cysylltiad gyda’i theulu colledig, ond oedd cyfathrebu ddim yn hawdd yn y dyddiau ‘na. Fe ddaeth hi yn ôl i’r nyth yn ei harddegau canol cyn mynd i’r Boly-ysgol i astudio a dysgu gan bobl eraill, tra o’n i’n ‘neud popeth ar ‘yn liwt ‘yn hunan. Ond eto i gyd, doedd byth yr un doniau ‘da hi nag oedd ‘da fi, meddai Mam, yr Hen Dduwiau a’i bendithio!

Wel, dyna oedd hi’n cyrraedd yn hollol annisgwyl, a honni’r hawl i aros yma fel ‘sai hi’n rhedeg y lle, a gweud fe ddylai hi etifeddu popeth ar ôl i Wncwl farw. Dw i’n synnu o hyd ar y ffaith ‘naeth y Procteriaid ill dau’i chymryd hi dan eu hadain i’r fath raddau, fel ‘sai hi’n rhyw dywysoges arallfydol, neu rywun gyda pwerau sbesial. Nage Miss Procter, wrth gwrs, hynny yw Mrs Grossmann ‘yn Mam, ‘naeth dderbyn y fath ystrywiau. Oedd yn anodd iawn iddi, chi’n gallu dychmygu, a Thad wedi ffoi mor gywilyddus, a’i ferch e’n ymddangos mor sydyn i ‘neud difrod i’r byd bach delfrydol oedd hi wedi’i greu yn fan’ma.

Ond menyw lew ydy, a dwi’n gallu gweud yn hyderus iddi hi ymladd nerth deng ewin yn nannedd anfanteision i ddal ei thir. Ar y llaw arall, nage’r Arglwyddes MacBeth mo hi, a’i dwylo coch gan waed, nac Arianrhod, na Blodeuwedd, ‘chwaith. Ac felly ni fyddai hi wedi bod yn delio 'rioed gyda rhyw gyn-filwr, dros y blynyddoedd, gan adael pwysi ar bwysi o bupur egsotig mewn sachau hesian iddo fe’u gwerthu’n gyfnewid am arian parod, a – a phleserau eraill – fyddai hi? Dych chi’m yn disgwyl i fi gredu ‘ny? Does bosib!

P’un bynnag, oedd pethau ddim ‘run fath ar ôl i Elen gymryd drosodd – dim ond i helpu ni i wella’r sefyllfa, dyna’r peth. Ond be’n y Byd oedd yr angyles angau brydferth ‘na, y weddw ddu mewn croen menyw, yn feddwl pan ddechreuodd ganlyn David, y llanc cwrs ‘na, ‘sgen i ddim clem o gwbl! Falle bod hi’n cael ei rheibio gan yr agwedd ewn a haerllug oedd e ‘di datblygu wrth gael ei hel o bant i dalar. Dyn a ŵyr. Ond hyd y gwelwn i, oedd e’m yn gwerthfawrogi’r gofal cyson ond di-ofyn-amdano gaeth ganddi hi. Ddim o gwbl. Oedd yntau’n dangos llawer mwy o ddiddordeb yn yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, ac yn wir, ymddangosai ei fod yn addoli olion traed y dyn hŷn. Fyddai fe byth yn gadael llonydd iddo. O, mor boenus byddai’r tad maeth damweiniol yn rholio’i lygaid gwaetgoch a rhincian ei ddannedd melyn o gael 'i orfodi i gadw ar ddihun ar hyd y nos unwaith ‘to wrth wrando ar y llanc colledig yn parablu. Fe gaeth yr Arwr Anhysbys ‘na’i eni i ddiodde’, a ‘naeth e ‘ny i raddau helaeth heb rithyn o amheuaeth.

O'n i'n arfer barchu fe, yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, gymaint, o hala oriau yn ei ŵydd gyda gweddill y Dynion Sed, yn dysgu Amddiffyn rhag Lledrith Adwythig. Y fath feistr oedd e, fe allai fod wedi bod yn gweithio i'r ochr arall drwy'r amser. Ac O, dyma sut fyddai fe’n sôn wrthon ni, pan oedd e’n gry’ a llawn nerth wrth gwrs, cyn iddo fynd rhwng y cŵn a’r brain —

“Mae'n Ddaear ni dan fygythiad mawr gan rymoedd anweladwy ac anhysbys y dyddiau yma, a dyna pam mae'r Byd yn llawn peryglon, megis rhyfel, pla, newyn, a thrychinebau naturiol. Yn y gorffennol, byddai'r Angau'n ein disgwyl ni i gyd ar ben taith bywyd, ond yn awr mae pethau wedi newid, a pwy a ŵyr yr hyn fydd yn digwydd yn y dyfodol? Er bod ychydig iawn yn deall y ffaith, dyw’r dimensiwn o'r enw amser ddim yn hollol sad, ac ar adegau prin, bydd dyn yn rhwygo'r llen a syrthio trwyddo gan greu Byd Arall ar ei gyfer ei hunan sy'n eithriadol o ansad, ac a fydd yn methu yn y pen draw gan ddileu'r greadigaeth ddychmygol. Ac wedyn fe all y siocdonnau foddi’n Cosmos ni hefyd gan achosi canlyniadau erchyll. Dŵr yw'r elfen fydd wastad yn ffurfio'r ffin rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Rhaid trin taclau o fetel i droedio trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd os na fydd y daith yn ffaelu…

“Ar ôl i’r Cyndadau Hynafol ddiflannu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear, filenia yn ôl, a neb yn medru esbonio pam y digwyddodd hyn mor sydyn, doedd dim ond ychydig yn arfer deall pam a sut y crëir yr Un Etholedig, fydd yn perthyn ar bwerau arbennig ac yn neidio ymhlith y sêr maes o law, ond yn cael ei ddirdynnu gan hunllefau gwael nes i’r amser ddod. Ond fi sy’n gwybod, a fi sy wedi trefnu popeth fel y bydd yn cyrraedd mewn pryd i ysgubo’r gwehilion ymaith a thrawsffurfio’r Byd galarus. Ond rwy’n dweud wrthych: fe fydd y rhai o'i gwmpas yn ceisio'i ddinistrio wrth ymlafnio atal eu hunain rhag mynd i Ebargofiant oherwydd ei weithgareddau fydd mor ddifrodol ond mor greadigol ar yr un pryd…

“Byddan nhw'n ymddwyn o ganlyniad yn afresymol, yn rhyfedd, ac yn dreisiol, gan achosi trafferth ddigynnig. Yn ddiweddarach, fodd bynnag, poenydir nhw am amser maith gan freuddwydion ynghylch pethau dryslyd a brawychus heb ddirnad yr achos. Serch hynny, bydd y Bydysawd yn dal i fynd rhagddo os bydd yr Un Etholedig yn llwyddo, ac yn awr mae Amser Cystudd wedi cyrraedd. Mae arnom ni angen cofio y dywedir wrthym ni fod popeth a ddigwydd yn digwydd am ryw reswm yn ôl y Drefn Fawr. Fi sy wedi deall hyn, ac o bawb yn byw heddiw, fi sydd wedi bod yn gweithio nerth fy mhen i sicrhau dyfodol i’r ffyddloniaid. Gadewch i ni obeithio bod hyn oll yn gywir.”

Yn anaml fe fyddai'n sôn am ei bwerau rhyfedd, gan sibrwd am swynion erchyll a pheryglus iawn i'w trin. Dyw'r pŵer 'ma ddim yn naturiol, dw i'n golygu fod e’m yn ymlynu wrth strwythur y Byd tu hwnt i ddynolryw. Ar y llaw arall, mae'n tarddu o wareiddiad a'i foddau cymhleth o weithredu, a'r mwya' bydd cymdeithas yn datblygu, y cryfa' tyfiff e. Mae'n amhosib ei rwystro fe, fel 'sai'n Lefiathan yn cuddio mewn ffos ar y gwaelod môr gan fwydo ar egni oll y Byd wrth iddo ddisgwyl ac esblygu'n ddiatal. Fe fydd y rhai gwaetha' ymhlith y teyrnedd yn gweithio nes iddyn nhw bron â marw i gael eu trwytho â'r grym eithriadol. Ond trwy 'neud felly, os llwyddan nhw, fe ân nhw'n greaduriaid nerthol dros ben, ond dirmygus, nad ydynt yn fodau dynol mwyach. Fe wedodd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wrtha i'n gwmpasog ac ar y slei bach i'w frawd geisio harneisio'r pwerau hyn yn y Clinig trwy'i arbrofion gyda'r cleifion. Ychwanegodd yn dywyll gallai'r dyn anfad fod wedi cyrraedd ei nod (trwy ddefnyddio a rheoli meddyliau a gweithrediadau cwpl – Tefnuth a Lushfé, meddai fe), o greu ffurf newydd ar fywyd.

Fe symudodd e'n gyflym yn ei flaen i esbonio taw, eto i gyd, hud arall sy'n bodoli ar wahân i bob confensiwn cymdeithasol. Fe ddaw o eni a marw, o ddŵr a thân, o annibyniaeth lwyr a chysylltiad hollol. Dyw'm yn bosib perchen arno na'i reoli. Ceisio hyn fyddai'n arwain at dranc. Y rhai ar ymylon cymdeithas, dyn nhw ddim yn meddu ar awdurdod, y werin bobl gan amla', sy'n ei deimlo'n rhuthro heibio iddyn nhw. Mae'n ddangos ei hunan i bobl dyn nhw'm gyda'r mwya', yr artistiaid, yr alltudiaid, y siamaniaid, y rhai wedi'u taflu ymaith, sy 'di cwympo trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Yr isa' byddwch chi wedi disgyn, y tebyca' byddwch chi o'i glywed yn corddi. Ac er na all dyn afael ynddo, fe ellir ei sianeli a'i lywio i drawsffurfio dirwedd. Ond esboniai fe’m sut allai hyn ddigwydd.

Fodd bynnag, oedd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wedi dysgu wrth lafurio drwy gydol ei oes, a rhoi'r gorau i'w anghenion ei hunan, sut i 'neud y fath be'. Oedd ganddo'r ddawn o droi'r gofod tu chwith mas o gwmpas y Clinig, i greu drysfa, nes bod amser yn eich gadael chi yn ôl yma ar y 'stad. Dych chi wedi sylwi erioed, er enghraifft, ar y ffaith fod y lle'n llawn sbiralau'n cylchdroi byth a hefyd i ddal y rhai byrbwyll, esgeulus, a difeddwl? Ac fel y meddai fe, mae nerth y crochenydd yn codi o ffurf gyfnewidiol y sbiral, sy'n gadael iddo fowldio sylwedd crai bodolaeth dros dro i ddyfeisio bydoedd newydd a chael profiadau sy ddim ar gael fel arfer.

Fel hyn, awgrymai fe, fe fydd yn bosib encilio i'r cyflwr llawn cysgodion cyn genedigaeth, a chyrraedd y deyrnas rithiol cyn cenhedliad, hyd yn oed, sy'n ymylu mor frawychus ar fro anhraethol y meirwon. Ond dyw hynny oll ddim yn golygu dim byd o'i gymharu â'r cipolygon ar bethau ddylai'n amhosib eu dychmygu, fel y lliwiau'n chwerthin, yr heidiau o ymadroddion ffrwydrol, a'r sêr byw'n canu clod y greadigaeth. Felly, drwy dalentau'r Hen Feistri fedr dyn fyth ddianc oddi 'ma unwaith fe fydd wedi'i rwydo gan y we ludiog o gyd-ddigwyddiadau fydd yn tueddu i ddamweinio arno'n ddi-ffael. A ble bynnag yr ewch chi yn fan'ma, fe ddewch chi'n ôl i'r un man cychwyn, ymhlith adfeilion hynafol y gorffennol anghofiedig ble bydd cysgodion hir y coed pin yn denu bob tro fel bysedd duon.

Yno'n cyrcydu ar ei orsedd fe welais i fe o'r diwedd y dydd terfynol 'na (wel, dydd y farn oedd e ar gyfer un o leia'), ar y gadair esmwyth a'i breichiau'n dyllau dwfn i gyd. Oedd e'n gwisgo gŵn hir oedd wedi bod yn ‘sgarlad unwaith, ond oedd yn llwyd, hendraul erbyn ‘ny, ac yn wylo dagrau tewion o waed fel Dewin wedi'i glwyfo'n ddifrifol. A bod yn hollol onest, oedd e’n edrych fel sombi arallfydol o hen ffilm arswyd neu lyfr graffig oedd wedi ailgyfodi i weiddi sennau mewn iaith amhosib ei hynganu. Fe ailadroddai’n orffwyll fantra drosodd a thro i drio talu iawn am y ddamwain ofnadw' oedd yn bygwth ei atal rhag byw am sbel hwy wrth iddo gyflawni'i dasg ddyngarol – a hefyd i ddial ar y rhai fyddai'n rwystro fe.

Fe ges i'n hyrddio i rywle arall, i ryw Ddimensiwn Amgen, mae'n ymddangos, sa i'n moyn cofio ble, nag am faint o amser fues i yno. Ond pan ddes i'n ôl, wedi achub dau fywyd, peidiwch â gofyn i fi sut, rhy arswydus yw cofio, pan ddihunais i o 'nhrwmgwsg, dyna oedd pan sylweddolais i fe fyddai'n hanfodol i fi fyw a chael hyd i ffordd o ymgymryd â'r Gwaith Mawr i amddiffyn y Ddaear rhag Llengoedd Llachar yr Isfyd. O’n i’n gwybod yn nwfn ‘nghalon fod ‘na ryw bŵer creadigol wedi’i guddio oddi mewn i fi, oedd yn rhaid i fi ddefnyddio, ond o’n i ‘di mynd ar gyfeiliorn pan o’n i’n ifanc ac wedi afradu ‘ngallu wrth ennill dim ond tlysau diwerth, ac fe addawais i'n hunan taw dyn oedd wedi newid yn llwyr fyddwn i o 'ny 'mlaen. Ac am fod yr Un Wir Eglwys wedi ‘nghyfradael i, fe dyngais i lw difrifol taw fi fyddai’n penderfynu droso’n hunan byth oddi ar ‘ny, ‘fyd.

Ac yn wir, dw i’n dal i synnu ar y newid i’w weld yno i’n hunan, ta be’, mae fel ‘sai rhywun wedi bwrw hud drosta i, a’r holl le. Hyd yn hyn dw i’n arbrofi, gan drio llawer o enwau, teitlau, personoliaethau, a ffyrdd o fihafio i weld a chlywed sut fyddai'n teimlo bod yn rhywun arall. ‘Dwn i’m pwy dw i ‘to. Sa i’n gallu peidio meddwl am y geiriau ‘Tywysydd Medrus’ am ryw reswm, er dw i’m yn deall be’ yw’r ystyr, ond mae’n swnio’n ffein, ond ydy, fel rhywbeth o un o’r comics ‘na dw i ‘di bod yn cynhyrchu i ddifyrru’r nai bach sy’n glyfar ofnadw’. O’m rhan i, dw i’n cael awydd dod yn arbenigwr, yn feddyliaethydd enwog fel Elen, er bydd yn rhaid i fi lwyddo ar ‘nhelerau’n hunan. Mae hi’n defnyddio dulliau arbrofol, newydd sbon sy’n golygu actio, ac esgus, a ffeindio’ch llais chi. O ganlyniad mae ‘na gymaint o weiddi, rhedeg o gwmpas, a rhegi’n mynd ‘mlaen ledled y ‘stad i gyd bob dydd.

Fi sy’n chwarae rhan bwysig iawn ‘fyd, achos mod i’n ‘sgrifennu sgriptiau cyffrous i’r cymeriadau i weud wrthon nhw be’ i ‘neud. Dychmygwch os bydda i’n dod yn gyfoethog ac enwog, a phrynu teitl, ‘Yr Anrhydeddus Steffan,’ nage unrhyw hen rifolegwr, ch’mod – ond, nes i fi gael swydd, dw i’m yn siŵr alla i fforddio ‘neud yr hyfforddiant – mae pris bywyd yn uchel iawn, wedi’r cwbl, on’d yw e? Ond na, Mam, ddim deintydd fydda i, a sa i’n malu’r un ffeuen am yr hen rwtsh ti’n sôn am bob amser. Yn wir, sa i’n hidio’r un daten am helpu pobl yn y Wlad Wen i edrych ar ôl eu dannedd, pam ddylwn i? Sa i eisiau bod yn gynghorwr i bobl sy’n profi problemau personol yn y Ffatrïoedd Graddau bondibrybwyll, na’r rhai sy ‘di goroesi addysg grefyddol, ‘chwaith! O, ac un peth arall, ‘sdim diddordeb ‘da fi mewn barddoniaeth o gwbl!

Wel, mae rhod ffawd yn troi, a dw i angen ateb y cwestiwn o sut ddylwn i fod yn ffyddlon i’r hyn addawais i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd o ran dyfodol y Byd. Ond, gan bwyll, nawr, 'achan, mae'n flin 'da fi, dw i'n gweld mod i'n colli arna i'n hunan a bod 'nychymig yn mynd yn drech na fi. Ac fe wyddwn ni beth ddigwyddodd i David pan ddechreuodd e gredu yn ei ffantasïau'i hunan. Rhy hawdd o lawer ydy yn y lle 'ma, 'sdim gwadu'r ffaith. 'Lly be' am fod yn arlunydd, neu sgrifennwr, neu’r ddau, sy’n datgelu’r gwir trwy’i waith mewn modd cuddiedig? Fe fyddwn i’n ffansïo ‘ny, ac mae ‘da fi ddigonedd o syniadau rhagorol, medda i, a thrio peidio swnio’n rhy falch o’n hunan!

Wele’r Blaned Yrth, ble mae golau’r lleuad lem yn ffrio pelenni’r llygaid, a ble mae dau lwyth o angenfilod yn lladd ei gilydd mewn rhaeadrau o fustl berwedig. Yno, mae Tywysog Golygus o’r naill ochr yn cwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â Thywysoges Brydferth o’r llall a gedwir dan glo mewn tŵr o ifori ar ystâd foethus.

Ystyriwch yr uniad cyfriniol rhwng y ddau! Fe fyddai’n ennill mawredd y tu hwnt i’w freuddwydion mwyaf gwyllt ond all e’m lladd; hithau fyddai’n rhyddhau daioni enfawr ond fedr hi’m caru. Wedi brwydro yn erbyn galluoedd cryfach bydd e’n llwyddo i’w chipio, a’i dwyn hi ymaith. Ar ôl llawer o anturiaethau, fe fyddan nhw, Merch y Wawr a’r Arwr Aflwyddiannus, yn cael babi, y Mab Darogan. Ond dyna’r Grymoedd Gorthrymus yn dal i’w ceisio nhw, i’w cosbi ac fel y gallan nhw feddu ar y plentyn rhyfeddol i’w ddefnyddio i'w dibenion anfad eu hunain.

Er gwaetha’ pob disgwyl, mae’r Teulu Hapus yn llwyddo i guddio, ond dyna’r Tad yn marw wrth ddanfon y crwt i fyw yn ein plith ni ar y Ddaear. Wedyn, ar ôl treulio cryn amser ar ddarganfod i ble yn union mae’r plentyn wedi dianc, a chysegru’u hegnïon oll i fwrw’r hud priodol, dyna’r bodau allfydol yn cyfathrebu ag urdd o fynachod ar y Ddaear, o’r enw Y Frawdoliaeth Gwflog, dan awdurdod pregethwr dychrynllyd, Yr Offeiriad Coch. Bydd y dihirod gwenwynllyd, dialgar 'ma'n herwgipio’r llanc fydd wedi dod yn filwr tâl erbyn 'ny.

Fe fyddan nhw’n defnyddio hunllefau, cyffuriau, a hud i ddylanwadu ar bawb fydd yn dod ar eu traws nhw, a dyna fydd yn achosi canlyniadau annisgwyl a chyrhaeddgar, fydd yn plethu bywydau’r trigolion ar y Ddau Fyd, wrth i’r Daearolion dewhau’u hunain ar gyfer aberth. Mae’n ymddangos taw dim ond difodi Etholedig yr Hen Feistri fydd yn atal Diwedd y Cyfanfyd, a dim ond Satharāfanu, Tywysydd Medrus Undeb yr Archarwyr all rhwystro hyn…

Wel, dyna ni, ffrindiau, dyna ble mae’r stori wedi’n dilyn ni hyd yn hyn. Ac fel y dywedan nhw, mae bywyd go iawn yn fwy anghredadwy nag unrhyw beth dychmygol, on’d ydy? Felly, ar sail yr holl hen ddwli ‘ma – ac o dderbyn dw i’m yn gohebu’n fanwl gywir drwy’r amser yn anffodus, achos taw dim ond dyn meidrol dw i, er mod i’n ‘neud ‘ngorau glas, a dyna ddigon am y tro – tybed sut fydd yr hanes hynod ‘ma’n datblygu nesa’?

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[*] Nawr, mae llythrennau fy iaith breifat i wedi glynu wrth ei gilydd, a dw i’n gallu gweld geiriau, debyg iawn (gweler isod). Ond rhaid fod fy llygaid yn fy nhwyllo i, gan fod popeth yn newid o hyd, yn araf deg a fesul tipyn, gan wneud i fi deimlo mor sâl â pharot marw uffernol drwy’r amser.

Mae’n ofnadwy. Dw i’n siŵr bod y siapiau’n pylsadu’n golygu rhywbeth tra phwysig. A taw rywle, rywsut, rywbryd, ro’n i’n gwybod be. Ond, fel tiwn yn llechu yng nghefn eich meddwl, dych chi’m yn gallu gafael arni, ‘sdim clem ‘da fi am yr ynganiad na’r ystyr. Dw i’n teimlo fel petaen nhw’n dweud bod gwrthwynebau dirgroes yn rong, eu bod nhw wastad yn mynd yn sownd, arafu a sefyll o’r diwedd, bod chi angen trioedd i gadw pethau i redeg. Ond fel diferyn yw ‘ngwybodaeth i, mewn môr o anwybodaeth. Dw i ar goll ac yn methu. — P.M.