I could see myself clutching a small baby, some four days old, and my heart was full of love, and heavy with fear. His body was strong, and his breath full of energy, whilst his shining visage reflected the pure spirit living within him. He had a form that would develop to be like a wild beast when he became a man. His deep, dark memory would be a graveyard for the history of worlds, and his inquisitive mind like an engine more wondrous than anything experienced by humanity up to now. I felt he was overflowing with magic, and that his luck would be exceptionally good, since he had a guardian in the form of a cheeky monkey, who was spreading his rapturous charm everywhere about him.

 

From nowhere, a Splendid Queen appeared before me. She was so pretty, wearing a long flowery skirt, a summertidery straw hat, sandals, and crocheted cardigan. On her left side was a goblin whose face was coloured blue and yellow, who was prancing, and laughing, and chattering constantly. And I knew that she was Tefnuth, the oldest sorceress, and the most powerful, who had been left by her fiancé when she was about to give birth to their baby, according to the tale by Tom the Rhymester. And I could see that she was heavily pregnant. And Rwm bel-Shaftí was the crafty imp who could not stop asking question after question in his loud, shrill voice. He came originally from a long line of excellent butchers but at the time of the First Great Tribulation, he turned his hand to being a cobbler who made the stoutest shoes in the Nw Yrth from the pelt of the cannibal lizard, until he came under the influence of Swtakh. And then, having lost a wager with the Lord of the Wilderness regarding who screams worst in the Bottomless Pit, the justified or the sinners, he became his servant, and a slimy creature, who would work from then on to cause havoc and perplex the Sorcerers. They could not, however, withstand his temptingly complex words, nor the fact that he would bring them sumptuous presents all the time.

 

Looking into the whites of my eyes, the Goddess asked without pronouncing a word whether I would agree to come to nurse her baby. I almost died of fright, but the Otherworldly Noble-woman could read the secrets written on my heart. She promised therefore that if I were to yield to her demand, I could return in due course to the Eyrth, adding with a smile that I would be extensively blessed from then on. Whist considering the words which were charmingly tempting, but full of anguish. I came to the conclusion that I could not refuse. I saw, too, however, that Rwm bel-Shaftí was a most dangerous creature, as he was exceptionally unruly and bubbling with energy that would delight in ransacking lands and maiming souls without compunction. From hearing her fair oration and staring into her shining face, I could not but go with her, and we went arm in arm on the road towards her kingdom, which is not in heaven, nor in hell either, but in Elfan on the Nw Yrth’s Southern Continent. And there, after she brought her child into this Topsy-Turvy World, I did as she demanded, caring for the powerful one, who would inherit everything in his time.

 

Rwm bel-Shaftí was fiercely jealous. Every morning he would come to me in the nursery, and at midday, and every night as well, giggling, and prancing, and offering presents. But I understood that he desired nothing but to harm the innocent baby. Now then, he could not cross the threshold without my permission on the command of the Mother of the Dead. And he would come to hammer on the door of thick oak over and over, and I would ask him what he wanted. And he would answer every time with another question, such as – Would you like pearls? – or, Do you need gems? – or, Do you wish to own more money? And then he would give me the present he was talking about. I would always accept it with the greatest courtesy, explaining that I would present it to my Mistress, who was his Mistress also, rather than keeping it for myself. And on hearing that he would rush off roaring, and stamping, and gesticulating wildly.

 

These tricks continued day after day, night after night, the one month after the other, for years on end. But little by little the boy was growing up and beginning to mature, and the today was getting more and more angry, so that he was almost exploding from the realisation that the period of his influence was coming to an end. On the final day of my service he arrived as usual, asking through clenched teeth – Would you accept, Woman from the Eyrth, everything which I have to offer? I realised at once that that was a trap, as I could not answer yes or no. And so I said immediately, speaking in just the same way as he did, and answering one question with another – Is there any inquiry you cannot answer? Thereupon, the gnome lost his composure completely, jumping up and down, turning somersaults, and screeching curses in tongues and myriad languages, as he could not answer. And in the end, so great was his wrath and his frustration, that he turned into an enormous golden hay-stack which represented everything that he had to offer. And it was so heavy that it sank down through the floor towards the centre of the Nw Yrth, leaving only the echo of his last, odious words, behind.

 

The Holy Goddess was so happy with my work, after I had rid the Immortal Kingdom of the shameless predator, and an enormous feast was held to celebrate the birthday of the Son Foretold who had come of age by then, and to thank me too. And then amongst great joy, mixed with considerable sadness, I was sent homewards through space and time once again. And indeed, I was greatly favoured when I al last returned to the Eyrth, as I had got a recipe in the Nw Yrth regarding how to grow the spiciest beans in the Two Worlds, which had magical powers, that would be awoken only by burning them in a conflagration. But about that I have promised to keep silent. Strange to say, sixteen years had gone by on the Nw Yrth, but only one whole day had passed on our Eyrth. And stranger, soon I discovered that I myself was expecting a baby, although I was a maiden. And I was sure that his name would be called Baldrog, the same as the Son of the Queen of Elfan.

 

– “The Tale of the Queen of Elfan’s Nurse” from “True Folk Tales from the Heart of the Continent,” by Pjetër Mamrick (collector), translated by Daud Pekar, and with illustrations by Steffan Balrog Grossmann.

 

 

 

["Screams from the Outskirts: Chapter 7 Cruel winds." By Helen Balrog Grossmann.] Once, a long time ago it appears, a son’s childhood ago, I cannot count any longer, I was an ambitious mentalist in training on the way to winning fame and renown. But now I am but a lost sailor, or rather a pirate, who’s living from hand to mouth. And so I sail the troubled waters of the cruel Eyrth, going with the flow in a one-woman boat, always on my own, more or less. And now, although I am not sure of it, it is only the voices whispering ceaselessly within me, quieter and quieter as time goes on, which offer me an anchor and a sanctuary. But they are my torture instrument, my stumbling block, and my chastisement at the same time. Oh, what an exceptionally painful thing is hindsight! 

 

It was Summertide when I was – ensnared – the days long and golden, speckled with blood, and in the heavy air the taste of grilled corn on the cob, and the smell of polished bronze, too. It was the Season of the Long Repentance, that time when one puts salt on old wounds. I know, I was there. Of course, here I am holding forth eloquently, and that is boring for you, but – well, I have to speak my mind after my shocking experiences, there is nothing I can do about it, and that’s that. I hope you can forgive me for going on like this – perhaps it’s because I don’t belong to any faith that I’m doing it – but considering everything that has happened, I’ve concluded that confession is necessary, somehow, if I cannot forget completely.

 

Doctor David Procter had insisted that I should go down to the old blue cottage, well, after I came to my senses in the wake of the accident, to recover. One can imagine what kind of a man he is. When he’s decided, no-one can deny him! I had to escape, anyway, to give myself some space, as they say, and the Good Doctor had promised that the Old Soldier would not be there, skulking and simpering. And I was preoccupied with my final essay on the relationship between mentalist methods and ancient tales, or something like that, and had been concentrating so assiduously that I had almost fallen into the Alternate Worlds I was reading about. So, that weekend, I had a lift in the old white van from the mansion to that place in the far end of the estate, with the vehicle packed full of photo-copied manuscripts, and box-files of notes. Snippets of some song pestered me as the Doctor hurled us dangerously fast through the winding lanes. And I remember myself thinking clearly that I was retreating from civilization. I am tone-deaf, I must say (despite my exceptional talent in modern poetry), but against my will, as it were, I began mumbling out loud some old mantra to Nuthkí, who provides everyone with the manna which feeds and kills – “We laugh with the Sun, and weep with the Moon, sowing life’s strong seed, then sleeping in the Ground.” Despite the oppressive afternoon heat, an unexpected shiver thrust itself through my body, and although I am not a believer in any superstitious nonsense, I instinctively made the Yellow Sign with my left hand under the hat that was lying on my lap, silently reciting an age-old prayer to Swtakh Lord of the Wilderness.

 

When we arrived at the cottage, the Good Doctor wasted no time in bidding me farewell. To be perfectly honest, he turned on his heel as soon as I had got to the front door, which was in a terrible state for some reason, although I wasn’t in the least surprised. “Don’t be frightened of the shadows,” said he, his eyes sparkling, “They don’t bite!” And then off he went. Inside the place, the situation was the same, more or less, as I had remembered, although I’d not been there since I’d come to visit the Old Soldier, before he got so much worse, perhaps six months before. It was not my favourite place at all. But there’s no need for me to worry about that anymore. 

 

The key was so stiff in the lock, and only by using all my might did I open the door – but that’s not something unusual or disagreeable to me, I’m sure you’d agree. Whilst I was pushing my way in, the numbers on the door fell to the ground, too, no surprise there, then! As I think more clearly now, perhaps this first instant of doubt, of hesitancy, augured – the developments, the events to come. Who knows? It’s easy to see what will be, or understand what will happen, it seems to me, after it cracks open your skull, and there you are, a complete shambles, lying unconscious on the floor, covered in hot, red blood.

 

Anyway, the cottage was not a home with every mod-con, not in any sense of the words; it was more like some dilapidated farmhouse, and of course it’s been utterly destroyed by now. There was an enormous, draughty space playing the part of kitchen and lounge at the same time, to a certain extent. And that’s not to mention the toilet, that stood in the back of the dwelling, between the two very small bedrooms. Everything there reminded me disagreeably of the Old Soldier, and his particular way of doing things. Of course, there was also the thick oaken door leading down the stairs to the cellar, but I already knew that this was locked as tight as the portcullis in Swtakh’s dungeon. 

 

Oh, behold the antimacassars on the scarred arm-chairs, the repugnant, gaudy bric-à-brac like the enormous yellow pyramid, and the flock wallpaper with the red and green square pattern on it, which was clinging to the walls for its life! He used the word ‘lively’ to describe the place when I was here the last time – Oh, dear Lushfé! Well, they used to do things totally differently in the old days, didn’t they, and none of it looks natural now, believe you me! Indeed, the whole filthy vista was making me sick, and I decided on the spot to get rid of all the old rubbish in due course. 

 

And then again, the stench! It was as thick as whale-fat, enough to make your tongue cleave to the roof of your mouth – by Tefnuth – it was the smell of something very wrong. The gut-wrenching odour of rotting lilies, mixed with the heavy smell of stifling incense, like pines on fire. But the nose is a fickle instrument, and once it got accustomed to the environment, I began to notice another smell. The sharp, pungent smell of ozone, burning my nostrils, and making my eyes water. That was the beginning of the events that have led to the – circumstances – which pertain now. 

 

But, come on, girl, don’t get agitated – you must pull yourself together! Now then, indeed, the end of the World – the closet! When I went to do my business (as a woman has to do from time to time), or more correctly, thereafter, after that, when I pulled the chain in order to wash the sewage down the drain, I met with a most unusual situation. Well, that hellish toilet would not release any water, to be sure. On the other hand, there was to be heard only a choked grumbling, and a wild clanking from the pipes. I could have sworn that the toilet was laughing at me, swearing brutally in a language I could not understand at all!

 

And what a hateful, nasty voice, that was burbling as it mocked me! But, all the time, despite the choice language that was flowing like lava through my fertile imagination, I could think of but one thing, and of its own accord, an image of that one lad (whether he is my deliverer or my destroyer, I know not), formed in my mind’s eye, and he looked exactly as he had appeared the first time I saw him, that is, as a sad, lost boy, with a roguish look about him. 

 

You’ll understand, I’m sure, I was under incredible strain as a result of my Mother’s illness, but her departure had left its mark on me too. Of course, when she died at last, that was when I chose to escape from Father and come to Aberdydd to visit the estranged family in the first place. Only then did I consider that I would claim my birth-right and take the place over, doing things better than them at the same time. However, the guttural sound arising from the bathroom was so purposeful, and also, somehow, so bestial. On the basis of cleanliness alone, then, this woman needed to do something serious about it. Without delay! 

 

And I knew where I could get hold of the exact man to do the job – even if it happened to be dirty work. So, within an hour and a half of my arriving, I had begun walking over to the other side of the estate in order to seek support from my young man, my half-brother, Steffan, and that was a good half hour’s journey. Not that I was dawdling along, you know, but my joints were aching awfully. There was no sound-transceiver there in the cottage of course, and that was my only choice. It was about five o’clock, and warmer than it had been through all the Summertide. Ooh, I feel as if the fateful events were developing before my eyes even now. This is how it happened, then. 

 

I reached the ancient but neat barn (or whatever it was) in the dirtiest part of the estate, where Steffan used to loiter as a rule (perhaps one cannot say that he lived there), and slunk inside. The place was dark and stifling, badly lit by a couple of candles at the farthest end of the room, and smelling of burning rubber, sweaty changing rooms, and sausage, beans and chips. I could not see very well, but as soon as I had gone in I felt so hot and so fearful, and sure that there an enormous, muscled snake coiled up there, confident that the prey would fling itself into its grip, intentionally or not. I mustered up courage, thrusting myself forward into the unknown territory, and suddenly, it was as if I had penetrated into the heart of the mysteries taking place in a pagan temple, replete with hidden glory.

 

Amongst the shadows cast by the quivering light, I could barely discern that there were two human forms moving about as if they were fighting. Or maybe it would be better to say dancing. Or some combination of the two. And there were two voices competing with each other, the one rapidly reciting and reiterating, courteously but insistently, alchemical charms for binding and releasing, as the other purred, and roared wildly, one after the other, declaring the dominion of the desert. I took it that they were Steffan and David, but I could not believe this as all the tomfoolery was so inhuman and unpleasant. But there were the regular systems of society fighting fiercely against the chaotic forces of nature. As a rule, I would have been the first to laugh at them, and then give them a good tongue-lashing. But I dared not draw close to the squirming bodies, so unnatural were the gesticulations and the howling. So, I awaited my chance, with my heart in my throat. Oh, in truth, I was standing nailed to the spot in a condition of abject terror, but, considering everything in more detail now, the distress was mixed with sparks of hatred that men should be able to command such power, or play such games at least. I almost wished I was a Follower of the Prophetess, and a Sacrificial Priestess as well, and a shiver of excitement and fear ran through my marrow. 

 

Oh, there was I, almost dying of fear, when the perplexing ritual terminated completely unexpectedly, with a high-pitched scream from one of the voices, I cannot say which one, but it was loud enough to freeze the blood. And then the place was flooded with the dusk’s heartening light, and David had appeared out of the blue from somewhere behind me, even though he had been prancing in front of me just seconds before that. The last person I wanted to see, and then again, where had Steffan disappeared so suddenly? I scarcely know what to say, and in any case I could barely speak. 

 

After exclaiming rabidly in the name of the Seven, there was I, tongue-tied, explaining the problems with the water-works in the cottage. I’m not one for swooning, after all! Not one word of apology escaped his lips, not surprising to relate. But he was complaining that he had been in real trouble with the authorities ever since the party under the pines, and that he had to escape, so any cash would be most useful. Only thinking about himself, as usual, the dirty, selfish alpaca! But for my part, I had come to the conclusion that I would be really pleased to see the back of him, one way or the other. I know by now that he was only sucking me in further like quicksand, with his silver tongue (or something like that, words fail me!). But at least he expressed his ability, and his readiness, to give help. And so the two of us decided on a time to meet the next day.

 

The release I was feeling because I had taken the first step was mixing equally with my shame. Without a word of a lie, I was exhausted. So, I headed straight for The Lost Sheep on the outskirts of the estate. What a dark, stinking hole that hellish place is! And there, I sat pouting for endless hours, meditating peevishly on the unfairness of the Cosmic Order, and cursing Steffan, that Bulky Bull, for leaving me in the lurch in my hour of need. I don’t remember what exactly I drank there, but it included a bottle of home-made whiskey called ‘Blasted Brains.’ In Wezir’s name, it was strong, as if it were made from paint-stripper, hemlock, rusty nails, and caustic soda! And the drink affected me very oddly, as the more I drank, the more my former fear turned into uncontrollable ire towards everyone and everything. And me usually so agreeable, and ready to do a favour, and wanting from the bottom of my heart to change the broken world and its shattered inhabitants for the better. After staggering back to the cottage, probably, I fell into a troubled sleep, interrupted by a dream I am sure I was sharing with Mrs Grossmann, as I could hear her voice reciting, as if I was in the kitchen of the mansion-house, having eaten some of her very special cakes — 

 

“For ages I have travelled towards the shore of the sea, which is always retreating from me, for monotonous miles over scornful wilderness and through cruel ice-fields, to learn from the salty liquid, and to find an answer to the question asked by humanity from the very beginning. The old womb of the whole World is our Mother the sea, they say, and it is Father to all as well. The abyssal depths know secrets hidden since the Planet with its core of iron came to be in the form of a globe of fiery rock. This is not an empty statement, although it is a fact to be surprised at without a doubt, since from the churning waves of the primordial soup comes everything that has existed to date… 

 

“Who therefore could understand all this information which has been lost so long? The sea gives and it takes away again in the fullness of time. It is as if it makes love until exhausted, bringing forth at the same time as it buries. Then again, I am the last person who remains alive, it appears, after the immense disaster that swept away all states, deleting every society and faith which once was on the face of the Eyrth. With them went our anger, our creativity, our science, our arrogance, and every other aspect of human existence. But it is my right, as the last pilgrim and the only inquisitor, to discern what is the meaning of life. Quaking in fear I shout my question from a promontory high above the unrelenting water…

 

“I never imagined that discovery would be easy. I had sought truth, but I am astonished by the complete silence. The wind whispers, and the deceitful Sun’s bloodshot eye winks in the muddy, grey sky, while the sea licks its fat, parched lips. But suddenly my heart is shattered when I intuit the bald facts I have been searching for throughout my lonely life. There comes no fire nor earthquake, no trumpet blast, only my own still small voice resounding in my head — 

 

“’Behold! We live and we die, that is all. Foundational truth does not exist. We must do our very best, behaving according to common morality to the best of our ability, caring for each other, the Planet, and every creature that is on it, since everything is connected by an exceptionally complex web. Learning, and loving, and changing, and dying is the nature of existence. The Universe owes us nothing, not to mention life. There is no fundamental significance to be found in this life under the uncaring Moon. We are completely free, but as a result, we are forced to invent our own meanings, to create our own tales.’… 

 

“But our species had not realised any of all this through millennia of experience, and it is much too late now. So, I wait peacefully on the shore of the restless sea, mourning for what has been, for things which are, and for what could have been. And this is the bitter message to the ages, which I leave in a bottle thrown into the foam from the mute beach. In due course I shall disappear on my final journey of discovery to join with our forebears in eternal shadow. There, there shall no more be either good or evil, neither thinking nor feeling, no love nor hate, neither destroying nor birthing. And in that condition – I pray – every wrong shall be made right.” 

 

When I awoke at last the next day, I was feeling extremely out of sorts. It was as if a litter of pigs had set up home in my head, with the morning scowling at me threateningly, like a bare-knuckle fighter, who’d won a difficult contest, getting two black eyes and a broken nose in the process. And in the back of my mind, for some reason, Steffan’s voice was echoing, while he recited the words of the Charm of the Eleven Beasts from the fabled Tablet of the Fates — 

 

“Let the poisonous snake, the glorious serpent, 

And the raving viper materialise;

May the deadly scorpion, the electric eel, 

And the muscular bull defend me...”

 

It was obvious that I had been spending too much time listening to the Old Soldier’s raving whilst mopping his addled brow, and then again, the Good Doctor was always prattling on about the power of old words, but why Steffan would be chanting them, I had no idea. I am not sure now whether the magic worked or not, and of course, I have no faith in such things. However, for once, that other wayward lad kept his promise, because he strolled over to the cottage at midday, more or less, with a hessian sack filled with tools. As soon as the lout walked through the door, he started chattering on nineteen to the dozen about his personal problems, and his daring exploits – or rather, his criminal offences – as I tut-tutted and tapped my foot impatiently in complete disbelief, waiting for him to shut his mouth. I was never one for wasting time, and it was torture having to hear about the imagined adventures in the company of the Z-Men in the Hunted Homeland (and being reminded of his sexual conquests was even worse). Well, strike while the iron’s hot is my watch-word, and there were always so many things for me to do, although that’s changed to a great extent by now. 

 

Well, after what seemed to me like an eternity, David rolled up his sleeves and turned to his work on the sewage-disposal system with considerable enthusiasm. I was hiding, pretending to water the mother-in-law’s-tongue at the far end of the tasteless lounge. Then, I don’t know what came over me, but the old green sap rose up unexpectedly; I could scarcely control myself; how laughably did I pretend to be furtive, as I got closer to the half-open door of the toilet, from where that awful sound came bubbling out. 

 

I was feeling so rash – in the name of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers – I was overcome by conflicting emotions! I could not prevent myself from trying to have a crafty peek at him, well, from staring, to be honest. Oh, let me recite all my failings! I was getting an eyeful of the bad lad as he laboured over his work, up to his armpits in u-bend, it appeared. He was wearing only a white vest stained with Hebé-knows-what by then, I should say, and sweating buckets!

 

I’ll be hanged if I can tell you about the contemptuous act I was tempted to perform, as I stood, beguiled by the scars on the boy’s skin, which were dancing over his back and chest, and down his arms like primitive red rwnen. And on his left chest, as if seared with hot iron, there was a scarlet shape – in the form of a shocking symbol from some Other World. And then, I acted, but not intentionally, as my hands moved on their own, I would claim. After all, Lady Meykbeds doted on him, and the Good Doctor found him to be a very interesting specimen, and Steffan loved him, and the Old Soldier was always courting him, it wasn’t fair at all! And egged on by jealousy and hate, I completed the complex magical passes I’d stolen from the Old Solider, which would bind him to me forever in that place, mumbling the charm thrice at the same time. The only thing was that I could not bring them to memory with certainty, and so there was I, intoning: “In the name of the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the maid, the mother, and the crone – the Deathly Malaise, the Intractable Storm, and the Tearful River – With steel I summon thee; with water I compel thee; with blood I bind thee.” 

 

In a flash, I slipped away to the kitchen under a cloud of complete shame, to have a cup of strong tshay (containing a huge slug of ‘Blasted Brains’) and try to quell my excessive agitation. In the end, the self-declared Urban Commando came out victorious over the stubborn plumbing. Then there was some awkward performance, as I shook his hand, pumping his arm up and down, over and over, and pretending to be happy, while he asked, perplexingly, “You like – the – great work – Miss?” 

 

“Yes, thank you very much, David, well, indeed, I am very grateful for your support,” was the only thing I could say in answer, as I fumbled in my designer purse for a banknote of appropriate value before thrusting it towards him. I was sure he had noticed, somehow, my previous peeking, and was feeling a little frail from being in his presence, as there was – well, sweet Lushfé – something bestial about him. I could – smell him! 

 

For a second I held his eyes under the thick, reddish brows – and they were piercing, azure orbs, belonging to some kind of ancient, inhuman, unreasoning creature! Oh, dear Nebesh, save me, I pleaded with the Goddess, even though I was a trainee mentalist, who should know better. It was as if I was staring into the eyes of a goat! While David’s tenacious hand still muscularly mocked mine, the other one reached out – something – from the back pocket of his jeans, and offered it to me with reverence. The afternoon’s entrancing musk hung throbbing between us. Then, the face of the half-wild lad split in a mocking grin, as he said, “Wanting, and having, and birthing, and dying, over and over, that’s how it is, in this World, isn’t it, Miss? That’s the nature of things, right? Nothing can break the cycle, I s’pose?”

 

My mind was racing wildly, possessed by the imps of flighty-fantasy, as my body reeled. As I was on the verge of falling, he caught me, sweeping me off my feet as it were. But, Oh, the thing – that thing – that he pushed into my careless grasp! It was only six inches tall, but then again – so primal – as dark orange as ferric oxide, bloody and flaky, but smoothed by hands full of respect and fear over the ages. It was a small graven image, in the shape of an anchor, or tree, or other-worldly symbol, or beast crowned with a thorny crown. it was neither one thing nor another, but instead, it kept on changing constantly. And, despite its smallness, it was remarkably powerful, swollen with its own existence. 

 

Oh, Nuthkí! I would swear that the heinous icon burned me as David pushed it into the palm of my hand, licking his lips. He was smiling sarcastically, and I would say – if I believed such things – that his cruel eyes were penetrating directly into my soul. There was something forcing me to stare at him, but the initial fear that I would be swallowed up completely yielded to a deeper peace, and after that, to swirling dizziness. The hideous thing was floating before my eyes, and then, the scene exploded into intense sea-green, becoming very cold, as cold as the void. 

 

I do not know what happened that instant, but I must have screamed, dropping the hateful figurine. I came to my senses, on the kitchen floor, alone, with David having disappeared, in all likelihood. That thing was squatting savagely on the table, with the room beating about it, as my head strobed in unison. I managed not to cry, and got up off the floor. The only thing I could think about was that I should get rid of the demonic object immediately. But, here’s the crux of the matter – it was thrusting me back, whilst simultaneously enticing me onwards. 

 

I wanted to be sick when I imagined touching the Incandescent Idol, which had, by then, a frighteningly interesting face, its eyes enormously big, and on its thick lips a cruel but tempting smile. But, despite that, I cannot explain why, my body acted against my will – and I reached out to get it. Oh, Isheth! There was I, fingering the ever-changing form, caressing it, and massaging it. And straight away, it was I who was feeling completely exhausted, very, very old, empty.

 

But when I touched that inhuman piece of handiwork, and then remembered the lad’s scarred flesh – I was pushed over the edge. Oh, if only I could had gone into the kingdom of eternal night – I can see that clearly now! But no, no, playful are the Old Masters, and cruel, too. They give life, as sharp as a razor, when we long for death in its place, and take it away, guffawing, when one pleads for more existence. These thoughts were spinning about confusedly, as I oscillated on the border between Two Worlds, like a hostage bound hand and foot. When I awoke from this devilish dream, when I thought I had woken up, I know that I screamed once again — 

 

Because, whilst the outlines of the cottage were discernible still, it was as if the building’s substance had been deleted from the World’s canvas by some malicious craftsman. Everything appeared lightweight, and transparent. It was there, but then again, it was not there at all. The location was under a covering of shining green grass – inside and out – which was spotted with enormous, knotted stumps, fern-boles, perhaps, which had been there for aeons. But, despite the glutinous pressure of the moist heat, the Resplendent Sun could not be seen. 

 

But – for Swtakh’s sake! The nauseating light flashed out in green and red tongues; the slippery radiance streaming iridescently from that disgraceful image. And by then it had grown as big as a man or bigger, and the demonic child was constantly transmogrifying, whilst sucking the life-force from its womb, our usual World. 

 

I could not see the creatures at that time, but despite that, I could sense them. The fabric of the Eyrth about me was billowing – and then there was straining, swelling, tearing, intrusion, fluttering, and beating of wings. They were attending upon me, whatever kind of beasts they were, but they had – needs, desires – I cannot comprehend even now. I was absolutely soaked, trembling, and about to weep uncontrollably. And then, a strident trumpet-blast shattered the under-water forest, and at once, all hell broke loose! Whilst the grey light flamed, burning my nose, I discerned a form, wound around the Incandescent Idol. And it was a shape like a pallid dead body, but provocative and greedy, too; a very sick man riding a winged serpent and bearing down on me in a wild rush. I realised that the tremors around me were birthing-pangs. Indeed, this whole dreadful landscape had been driven mad by the creative energy; and the creatures of hoof, and horn, and skin, and fur, and scale – absolutely everything – was running wild as a result of this. And I was completely humbled.

 

Oh, Great Wezir – I was swimming amongst that horde of unseen beasts which were touching, and brushing, and tickling, without being bidden. And then again, there was kicking, and whipping, and scratching, and biting, and searing. And as the luminous fog crackled flame-red, I tried to turn my eyes away from those of the sculpture, but I would go on my oath that I was forced to look. I had kindled Kundalini, the Old Serpent, so that she had taken on flesh, and was staring into the Nw Yrth’s gaping maw. And everywhere there was screaming to be heard, from the damned and the blessed alike, as the air, full of the smell of ozone, fizzed and hummed with blue lightning. 

 

But there was the Old Soldier hovering above his death-bed, like a skeletal scarecrow, awaiting whatever hateful fate was before him, while I looked at his villainous face, hearing him making fun of David, and disparaging him atrociously. I realised then and there that the hateful lizard had been trying to govern me and use me since I arrived at the place, and that he would not rest until he possessed me body and soul. And then, it was as if his rotten flesh was melting, and boiling, and bubbling, and in place of the dying man, there was a mad lad fighting for his life against a demon of fire, who was the Old Soldier at the same time. And then he changed once again, becoming a corpse in the form of a terrible cowled monk, his head crawling with maggots. But for some reason I felt like a wild beast living in a pine-forest in a far-away land, like a she-wolf guarding her cub whilst howling under the light of the harsh moon. And then, immediately, that very minute – I had to do it – I needed to – make an end to all the destruction – and there was I finishing the charm begun by Steffan — 

 

“…Let the enormous dragon, the hairy phantom, 

And the mad lion rage around me;

May the great weather-beast bring a fierce storm, 

From the Black Mountains of Kharsag,

To destroy my tormentors outright!” 

 

And then I turned into an enormous ball of pulsing ectoplasm which became a cephalopod with very many arms writhing everywhere, and I was looking into the whites of my Uncle’s eyes as I blew him to smithereens with my new power, while he pleaded, and cried – and disappeared – and an old war-cry of the guerrillas in the Heart of the Continent echoed through the place – “They shall not force us; Nor shall they degrade us; They shall not control us; We shall overcome them!” Then there was electrical silence for a whole minute, as the Beautiful Princess stared at her Handsome Prince. And there was David, Daud, Dai even, the war-hero, lying beside me on a hillock that was also a dirty carpet, holding me lovingly but chastely, before falling asleep like a baby in his Mother’s arms, or a brother embracing his sister. Soon afterwards, however, he, too, disappeared.

 

I must confess that I was terribly frightened, having united completely by accident the powers of the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the girl, the woman, the dame – the killing fatigue, the wild tempest, and teary waters – to interfere in the Great Work of the Wizard. And there was an otherworldly voice belonging to the servant of the Wondrous Trinity, called to reveal the secrets of existence, shooting through the Cleft between the Worlds. It was singing a hymn full of blood and beauty, as fearful as the Song of Tefnuth, who brought Lushfé back to life by sacrificing herself and going down to the Underworld. And thereupon I knew that I had inherited her glory and her burden. And then, I became Álkēstis, Aphrodítē, Inanak, Miàoshàn, Ngeshtin-ana, Prōserpina, Psychē, Semélē, Ushás. It was I who was there when there was neither time nor space – it was I who was the united fundamental force, and within my foamy substance shot out the fruitful fronds of all existence. Nothing, creation, destruction, everything. And as the essence of every living being under the Sun crystallized in my womb, it was as if the names of all the creatures were flowing through me, and I was in the middle of the ceaseless, unrelenting, heedless whirlpool of creation, which is self-initiating, and self-sustaining. Suddenly, my heart full of jubilation and fear, I realised that it is not only men who are able to cast the strongest spells. 

 

Thus it was. When I awoke at last, it was as if some power had gone from within me, I felt that some strength had been stolen from me by an eternal shadow. I became pregnant, and in due course, gave birth to the Son Foretold. I was filled with jubilation at this miracle, and worked so hard to raise him appropriately whilst completing all my other duties. So great were my hopes and my desires! The only thing wrong was that I was unhealthily keen on chowing down on extremely spicy beans all the time whilst expecting, and then they had to be burned to a crisp. I had to plant them everywhere on the estate, the ones that flourish on the banks of the River Sed, there was enough space in any case, and it was not just me who absolutely loved them, they were quite magical, well, in a manner of speaking. 

 

The first thing I did after seizing power when the Old Solider died was get rid of that deceitful Lady Meykbeds to pay her back for her hatred towards me. And at the start I succeeded, my star shining so brightly in the heavens. But the old blood was so strong in him, my son – and the magical strength – by Swtakh, he was using it to get for himself whatever he wanted even when he was a baby! So intelligent, but so unruly and stubborn at the same time! My little squealer was lighting fires all the time, even in the womb. And now he intends to set the whole Universe ablaze!

 

We couldn’t escape the influence of the Sinister Family in Camp Fun-and-Games, either, and now Steffan, Satharāfanu the Skilled Leader, is his right-hand man, who’s steering his development. I ask myself whether it’s me who caused his conversion to the dark side, so that he became an outlaw who’s prepared to use everyone and everything to his own ends. And now the boy had come of age, and my work is finished, he has exiled me to the coast, to complete my – transformation – my rebirth – in the purifying waters. Not even the Mother could withstand the oppressive strength of the un-Eyrthly Child. Was he punishing me, or did he act on a whim? Perhaps the situation is a reward, in a way, which keeps me away from his atrocities. So here I am, then, having rubbed myself clean with most moss, and adorned my dirty hair with garlands of seaweed, trying to make ends meet amongst the wild pigs, whilst orating to them about poetry-making and living, but they don’t listen to me. And after labouring over the cliffs by the merciless waves, I wander through the ruins of a shattered civilization, proclaiming beatitudes to an unhearing wilderness, before lying, lonely, on the sand-dunes. I shall never escape, I have been trapped in this land by some powerful charm. 

 

From time to time Fred from the estate, that really odd goblin, comes to meet me, well, I see him anyway, as he does his physical jerks on the beach. The last thing I heard, all my dear llamas had escaped from the sanctuary and by now, probably, they’ll be running wild all over the northern plains. Fair play to them, they’re wise creatures, and deserve their freedom, the poor pigs, on the other hand, they’re the ones I’m worried about! 

 

I come often to the shore of the hypocritical sea, where, all the time, reflections of the past wash over the present. I cannot ever forget Mrs Grossmann’s dream, either, which was my nightmare, too. Here I sit, having a word with the trees, and as I cogitate, the majority of my woes are annulled by the wind blowing through the rough plants which fleck the sandy slopes. The waves break the beach, whilst I refashion my forgotten ambition. Very slowly, I’m going mad, more than likely, whilst I testify, amongst the heartless shadows, to the futility of hope. Or perhaps I am becoming sane and sensible at last. I understand that water is the element and metal is the key for escaping to the Other World, and that’s why I wait here with my feet in the sea and an ancient dagger of rusty iron in my hands.

 

Perhaps I shall continue to exist like this for years. It will not be my business, of course, whether anyone finds my body or not, and why I am writing this message, Lushfé only knows. But despite that, at the very end of things, when I shall have turned back into star-dust, there will still be heard the invincible voice of the cosmic ebb and flow, Rwm bel-Shaftí’s mad guffawing, in the breeze rustling through the undergrowth, in the fickle spitting of the surf, in the unruly movement of the sand – and in the tsunami which will soon begin to gush through the void between the galaxies, as black as a matt scrying-glass, caused by my Son, as he sings his mischievous song of creation and despair, as he always has done, and as he always will.

Mi fedrwn i ‘ngweld fy hun yn cydio mewn baban bach, yn rhyw bedwar dydd oed, a ‘nghalon yn llawn cariad a thrwm o ofn. Yr oedd ei gorff o’n gryf, a’i anadl yn llawn egni, tra oedd ei wedd lachar yn adlewyrchu’r enaid glân yn byw o’i fewn. Yr oedd arno ffurf fydda’n datblygu i fod fel bwystfil gwyllt pan ddeua’n ddyn. Mi fydda’i gof twyll, dwfn, yn gladdfa i hanes bydoedd, a’i feddwl chwilgar fel peiriant rhyfeddach na dim byd a brofasid gan ddynolryw hyd yn hyn. Mi deimlwn i fod o’n orlawn o hud, ac y bydda’i lwc o’n eithriadol o dda, oherwydd yr oedd ganddo warchodwr ar ffurf mwnci eofn, oedd yn taenu’i gyfaredd berlewygol ym mhob man o’i gwmpas.

 

Yn ddisymwth, mi ddaru i Frenhines Ysblennydd ymddangos o’m blaen i. Yr oedd hi mor bert, ac yn gwisgo sgert hir yn flodau i gyd, het wellt hafaidd, sandalau, a chardigan wedi’i chrosio. Ar ei hochr chwith roedd coblyn a’i wyneb wedi’i liwio’n las a melyn, oedd yn prancio, a chwerthin, a chlebran drwy’r amser. Ac mi wyddwn i mai Tefnuth oedd hi, yr hudoles hynaf, a’r un fwyaf nerthol, a oedd wedi’i gadael gan ei dyweddi pan oedd hi ar fin rhoi genedigaeth i’w baban nhw, yn ôl yr hanes gan Twm Rigymwr. Ac mi fedrwn i weld ei bod yn feichiog iawn. A Rwm bel-Shaftí oedd y pwca ystrywgar na fedra roi’r gorau i ofyn cwestiwn ar ôl cwestiwn yn ei lais uchel, main. Mi ddaeth o’n wreiddiol o dras hir o gigyddion ardderchog ond gyfnod y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf, mi drodd o’i law at fod yn grydd a wnâi’r ‘sgidiau cadarnaf yn y Nw Yrth o groen y fadfall ganibalaidd, nes iddo ddod dan ddylanwad Swtach. Ac wedyn, wedi colli cyngwystl ag Arglwydd yr Anialwch ynghylch pwy sy’n sgrechian waethaf yn y Pwll Diwaelod, p’un ai’r rhai cyfiawn neu’r pechaduriaid, mi aeth o’n was iddo, ac yn greadur llysnafeddog, a fyddai’n gweithio o hynny ymlaen i achosi helynt a pheri penbleth ymhlith y Swynwyr. Ni allent, fodd bynnag, wrthsefyll ei eiriau deniadol o gymhleth, na’r ffaith y deua ag anrhegion helaethwych iddynt bob amser.

 

Wrth edrych ym myw fy llygad, mi ‘naeth y Dduwies ofyn heb yngan gair a fyddwn i’n cytuno i ddŵad i nyrsio’i baban. Mi fu bron i mi farw gan fraw, ond mi fedra’r Foneddiges Arallfydol ddarllen y cyfrinachau wedi’u sgwennu ar fy nghalon. Mi ‘naeth hi addo felly ‘taswn i’n ildio i’w galw mi allwn i ddychwelyd maes o law i’r Ddaear, gan ychwanegu dan wenu y bendithid mi’n helaeth o hynny ymlaen. Wrth ystyried y geiriau oedd yn swynol o ddeniadol ond llawn ing, mi ddes i’r casgliad na fedrwn i wrthod. Mi ‘nes i weld hefyd sut bynnag fod creadur peryglus iawn oedd Rwm bel-Shaftí gan ei fod o’n afreolus tu hwnt ac yn byrlymu o egni fydda’n ymhyfrydu yn anrheithio gwledydd ac andwyo eneidiau’n ddilyffethair. O glywed ei haraith deg a rhythu ar ei hwyneb disglair, ni fedrwn i ond mynd efo hi, ac aethon ni fraich ym mraich ar y ffordd tuag at ei theyrnas, nad yw yn y nef, nac yn yr uffern ‘chwaith, ond yn Elfan ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Nw Yrth. Ac yno, ar ôl iddi ddwyn ei phlentyn i’r Byd Pendraphen ‘na, mi ‘nes i fel y mynnodd hi, gan ofalu am yr un grymus, fydda’n etifeddu popeth yn ei bryd.

 

Yr oedd Rwm bel-Shaftí yn ffyrnig genfigennus. Bob bore mi fydda fo’n dod ataf fi yn y feithrinfa, ac am ganol dydd, a bob nos hefyd, gan biffian, a chrychlamu, a chynnig anrhegion. Ond yr oeddwn i’n deall nad oedd o’n dymuno dim byd ond drygu’r baban diniwed. Nawr ‘te, ni fedra fo groesi’r trothwy heb fy nghaniatâd ar orchymyn Mam y Meirwon. Ac yntau’n dŵad i ffusto ar y drws trwchus o dderw drosodd a throsodd, dyna fyddwn i’n gofyn iddo fo beth oedd o isio. Ac mi ateba fo bob tro efo cwestiwn arall, megis – Hoffech chi berlau? – neu, Oes arnoch chi angen gemau? – neu, A ydych chi am berchen ar ragor o arian? Ac wedyn mi fydda fo’n rhoi i mi’r anrheg roedd o’n sôn amdani. Mi fyddwn i wastad yn ei derbyn hi efo’r cwrteisi mwyaf, gan esbonio y byddwn i’n ei chyflwyno i’m Meistres, oedd yn Feistres iddo fo hefyd, yn hytrach na’i chadw hi i mi fy hun. Ac o glywed hynny mi ruthra fo ymaith gan ruo, a stampio, a ‘stumio’n wyllt.

 

Yr oedd y castiau hyn yn parhau ddydd ar ôl dydd, noson ar ôl noson, y naill fis ar ôl y llall, am flynyddoedd bwygilydd. Ond fesul tipyn yr oedd y bachgen yn tyfu i fyny a dechrau aeddfedu, a’r gwas bach yn mynd yn fwyfwy dig, nes ei fod o bron â ffrwydro o sylweddoli bod cyfnod ei ddylanwad yn dod i ben. Ddydd olaf fy ngwasanaeth mi ‘naeth o gyrraedd fel arfer, gan ofyn a’i ddannedd wedi’u gwasgu – A fyddech chi’n derbyn, Fenyw o’r Ddaear, bopeth sydd gennyf i’w gynnig? Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli ar unwaith mai trap oedd hwnna, gan na fedrwn i ateb byddwn ‘ta na fyddwn. A dyna lle roeddwn i’n deud yn unionsyth, wrth sôn yn enwedig yr un modd ag y ‘naeth o, gan ateb un cwestiwn efo un arall – Oes ‘na unrhyw holiad na allwch chi’i ateb? Gyda hynny, mi ‘naeth y dynan golli’i bwyll yn llwyr, gan neidio i fyny ac i lawr, bwrw tin-dros-ben, a sgrechian melltithion mewn lleisiau ac ieithoedd fyrdd, am na fedra fo ateb. Ac yn y pen draw, cymaint oedd ei fariaeth a’i rwystredigaeth, y ‘naeth o droi’n das o wair euraidd, enfawr, yn cynrychioli popeth roedd ganddo i’w gynnig. Ac yr oedd mor drwm y ‘naeth suddo i lawr drwy’r llawr tuag at ganol y Nw Yrth, gan adael dim ond adlais ei eiriau olaf, ffiaidd ar ôl.

 

Yr oedd y Dduwies Lân mor hapus efo ‘ngwaith, wedi imi waredu’r Deyrnas Anfarwol rhag yr ysglyfaethwr digywilydd, a chynhaliwyd gwledd enfawr i ddathlu pen-blwydd y Mab Darogan oedd wedi dod i oed erbyn hynny, ac i’m diolch i hefyd. Ac wedyn ymhlith gorfoledd mawr a gymysgwyd â chryn dristwch, fe’m hanfonwyd trwy’r gofod ac amser tuag adref drachefn. Ac yn wir fe’m breintiwyd yn ddirfawr pan ddes i yn ôl o’r diwedd i’r Ddaear, gan imi gael rysáit yn y Nw Yrth ynghylch sut i dyfu’r ffa mwyaf sbeislyd yn y Ddau Fyd, a chanddynt bwerau hudol, a ddeffroid dim ond trwy eu llosgi mewn coelcerth. Ond am hynny yr wyf wedi addo cadw’n ddistaw. Rhyfedd sôn, yr oedd un flwyddyn ar bymtheg wedi mynd heibio ar y Nw Yrth, ond dim ond un dydd crwn oedd wedi pasio ar ein Byd ni. Ac yn rhyfeddach, yn fuan mi ‘nes i ddarganfod mai myfi fy hun oedd yn disgwyl baban, er mai morwyn oeddwn innau. Ac yr oeddwn i’n sicr y gelwid ei enw o’n Baldrog, yr un peth â Mab Brenhines Elfan.

 

– “Hanes Nyrs Brenhines Elfan” o “Gwir Chwedlau Gwerin o Galon y Cyfandir,” gan Pjetër Mamrick (casglwr), wedi’i gyfieithu gan Daud Pekar, ac yn cynnwys darluniau gan Steffan Balrog Grossmann.

 

 

 

[“Sgrechiadau o’r Cyrion: Pennod 7 Gwyntoedd creulon." Gan y Helen Balrog Grossmann.] Unwaith, amser maith yn ôl mae’n ymddangos, blentyndod mab yn ôl, ella, dw i’m yn gallu cyfrif mwyach, roeddwn i’n feddyliaethydd uchelgeisiol dan hyfforddiant ar y ffordd i ennill clod a bri. Ond bellach dim ond llongwr ar goll ydw i, neu yn hytrach môr-leidr, sy’n byw o’r llaw i’r genau. A dyna mi’n hwylio ar foroedd aflonydd y Ddaear greulon, gan nofio efo’r llif mewn bad bach â chriw un fenyw, ar ‘mhen fy hun bob amser, mwy neu lai. A'r pryd hyn, er nad wy’n sicr amdano, dim ond y lleisiau’n sisial yn ddi-baid oddi mewn imi’n dawelach dawelach efo treigl amser sy’n cynnig angor a phorthladd noddfa. Ond offeryn fy ngormes, fy ngharreg rwystr, a’m cerydd ydyn nhw ar yr un pryd. O, am beth poenus eithriadol yw ôl-ddoethineb!

 

Roedd yr haf pan gefais fy – rhwydo – a’r dyddiau’n hir ac euraidd, wedi’u britho â gwaed, ac ar yr awyr drom, flas india-corn ar y cobyn wedi’i grilio, ac arogl efydd llathredig, hefyd. Tymor Edifeirwch Hir oedd o, yr amser ‘na pan fydd dyn yn rhoi halen ar hen friwiau. Rwy’n gwybod, mi fues i yno. Wrth gwrs, dyma mi’n parablu’n huawdl, a dyna ddiflas ichi, ond – wel, rhaid imi ddeud fy meddwl ar ôl fy mhrofiadau ysgytwol, ‘does dim y gallaf fi’i ‘neud yn ei gylch, a dyna’r cwbl. Gobeithio bod chi’n gallu maddau imi am falu awyr fel hyn – ella mai am nad wy’n perthyn i unrhyw grefydd rwy’n ’neud o – ond o ystyried popeth sy wedi digwydd, rwy wedi casglu bod cyffesu’n angenrheidiol, rywsut, os na fedraf fi anghofio’n llwyr.

 

Roedd y Doethur David Procter wedi mynnu y dylwn i fynd i lawr i’r hen fwthyn glas, wel, ar ôl imi ddod at fy nghoed yn sgil y ddamwain, i adfywio. Mae dyn yn medru dychmygu sut ŵr yw o. Pan fydd o wedi penderfynu, ni all neb ei wadu! Roedd yn rhaid imi ddianc, beth bynnag, i glirio lle imi fy hunan, fel y meddan nhw, ac roedd y Doethur Da wedi addo na fyddai’r Hen Filwr yno’n llechu a glaswenu. Ac roeddwn i â’m holl fryd ar fy nhraethawd olaf ynghylch y berthynas rhwng dulliau meddyliaethol a chwedleuon hynafol, neu rywbeth o’r fath, ac wedi bod yn canolbwyntio mor astud nes bu bron imi syrthio i mewn i’r Bydoedd Amgen roeddwn i’n darllen amdanyn nhw. Felly, y penwythnos ‘na, mi gefais i lifft yn yr hen fan wen o’r plasty i’r lle ‘na ym mhen draw’r ‘stad, a’r cerbyd yn llawn dop o lawysgrifau wedi’u llun-gopïo, a blychau ffeilio o nodiadau. Roedd tameidiau o ryw gân yn fy mhlagio i wrth i’r Doethur ein hyrddio ni’n beryglus o gyflym trwy’r lonydd troellog. Ac rwy’n fy nghofio fy hun yn meddwl yn glir mod i’n encilio rhag gwareiddiad. Byddar i donau ydw i, raid imi ddeud (er gwaethaf fy medr eithriadol mewn barddoniaeth fodern), ond yn groes i’m hewyllys, fel ‘tasai, ‘nes i ddechrau mwmian yn uchel ryw hen fantra i Nuthkí, a ddarparith i bawb y manna sy'n bwydo a lladd – "Mi chwarddwn efo'r Haul, ac wylo hefo'r Lleuad, wrth hau had ffrwythlon bywyd, cyn huno yn y Ddaear." Er gwaethaf gwres llethol y prynhawn, ‘naeth cryndod annisgwyl ymwthio trwy fy nghorff, ac er nad credwr mewn unrhyw lol ofergoelus mo fi, ‘nes i dynnu’r Arwydd Melyn yn reddfol â’m llaw chwith dan yr het oedd yn gorwedd ar fy arffed, wrth adrodd yn ddistaw weddi oesol i Swtach Arglwydd yr Anialwch.

 

Pan ‘naethon ni gyrraedd y bwthyn, ni ‘naeth y Doethur Da wastraffu dim amser yn canu’n iach â fi. A bod yn berffaith onest, ‘naeth o droi ar ei sawdl cyn gynted ag roeddwn i wedi mynd at ddrws y ffrynt, oedd mewn cyflwr gwael am ryw reswm, er nad o’n i’n synnu yn y lleiaf. “Peidiwch ofni’r cysgodion,” meddai fo, a’i lygaid yn pefrio, “Dyn nhw ddim yn brathu!” Ac wedyn i ffwrdd â fo. Y tu mewn i’r lle, roedd y sefyllfa’r un peth, yn fwy neu lai, ag roeddwn i ‘di chofio, er nad oeddwn wedi bod yno ers pan oeddwn i wedi dod i ymweld â’r Hen Filwr, cyn iddo waethygu gymaint, hwyrach chwe mis o’r blaen. Nage fy hoff le oedd o o gwbl. Ond ‘does dim rhaid imi boeni am hynny mwyach.

 

Roedd y goriad mor stiff yn y clo, a dim ond trwy nerth bôn braich ‘nes i agor y drws – ond nage dyna rywbeth anarferol nac annymunol imi, rwy’n sicr y cytunech chi. Tra o’n i’n gwthio fy ffordd i mewn, ‘naeth y rhifau ar y drws syrthio i’r llawr, ‘fyd, dim syndod yno, ‘te! Wrth imi feddwl yn gliriach bellach, ella mai argoeli – y datblygiadau, y digwyddiadau i ddod – roedd yr ennyd gyntaf hon o amheuaeth, o betruster. Pwy a ŵyr? Mae’n hawdd gweld beth a fydd, neu ddeall yr hyn a ddigwyddith, debyg gen i, ar ôl iddo ddyrnu’ch penglog, a dyna chi’n llanastr llwyr, yn gorwedd yn anymwybodol ar y lawr, ac yn waed coch, poeth i gyd.

 

Beth bynnag, nid cartref â phob cyfleuster oedd y bwthyn mewn unrhyw ystyr o’r geiriau; roedd yn fwy tebyg i ryw dŷ fferm wedi mynd ar ei waeth, ac wrth gwrs mae wedi’i ddistrywio’n llwyr erbyn hyn. Roedd ‘na fan enfawr, drafftiog, yn chwarae rhan y gegin a’r lolfa ar yr un pryd, i ryw raddau. A dyna heb sôn am y tŷ bach, oedd yn sefyll yng nghefn yr annedd, rhwng y ddwy ‘stafell wely fach iawn. Roedd popeth yno yn f’atgoffa i’n annifyr am yr Hen Filwr, a’i ddull neilltuol o ‘neud pethau. Wrth gwrs, roedd hefyd y drws derw trwchus yn arwain i lawr y grisiau i’r seler, ond mi wyddwn i eisoes fod hwn wedi’i gloi mor dynn â’r porthcwlis yn nwnsiwn Swtach.

 

O, edrychwch ar yr antimacasarau ar y cadeiriau breichiau creithiog, y trugareddau coegwych, gwrthun fel y pyramid enfawr melyn, a’r papur wal casnach, â phatrwm sgwarog coch a gwyrdd arno, oedd yn glynu wrth y muriau am ei fywyd! Mi ddefnyddia fo'r gair ‘bywiog’ i ddisgrifio’r lle pan oeddwn i yma y tro diwethaf – O Lushfé cu! Wel, roedden nhw’n arfer ‘neud pethau’n hollol wahanol yn yr hen ddyddiau, nac oedden, a dydy dim byd ohono’n ymddangos yn naturiol erbyn hyn, coeliwch chi mi! Yn wir, roedd yr holl olygfa fochaidd yn codi cyfog arnaf fi, ac mi ‘nes i benderfynu yn y fan a’r lle gael gwared ar yr hen sothach maes o law.

 

Ac eto i gyd, y drewdod! Roedd mor drwchus â braster morfil, yn ddigon i glymu’r tafod – myn Tefnuth – roedd arogl rhywbeth mawr o’i le. Sawr cyfoglyd lilïau pydredig, wedi’i gymysgu â gwynt trwm thus myglyd, fel pinwydd ar dân. Ond offeryn chwit-chwat yw’r trwyn, ac unwaith iddo ddygymod â’r amgylchedd, ‘nes i ddechrau sylwi ar sawr arall. Gwynt llymsur, siarp osôn, yn llosgi fy ffroenau, a ‘neud i’m llygaid ddyfrio. Dyna oedd dechrau’r digwyddiadau sydd wedi arwain i’r – amgylchiadau – sydd ohoni hi bellach.

 

Ond, ty’d ‘mlaen, ferch, paid di â chynhyrfu – rhaid iti ddod atat dy hun! Nawr ‘te, yn wir, diwedd y Byd – y closed! Pan es i i gael fy nghorff i lawr (fel y bydd ar ddynes angen ei ‘neud o bryd i’w gilydd), neu’n fwy manwl gywir, wedyn, ar ôl hynny, pan ‘nes i dynnu’r gadwyn er mwyn golchi’r ysgarthiad i lawr y draen, ‘nes i gwrdd â sefyllfa fwyaf anghyffredin. Wel, ni ollyngai’r toiled uffernol ‘na ddim dŵr, i sicrwydd. Ar y llaw arall, roedd i’w clywed ddim ond grwgnach wedi’i dagu, a chloncian gwyllt gan y pibelli. Mi allwn i fod wedi tyngu bod y tŷ bach yn chwerthin ar fy mhen i, gan regi’n giaidd mewn iaith na allwn ei deall o gwbl!

 

Ac am lais mor ffiaidd, mor frwnt, oedd yn byrlymu wrth iddo fy ngwatwar i! Ond, trwy’r amser, er gwaethaf yr iaith fras oedd yn llifo fel lafa trwy fy nychymig ffrwythlon, ni allwn i feddwl ond am un peth, ac ohoni’i hun, ‘naeth delw o’r un hogyn ‘na (ai 'ngwaredwr ynteu ‘ninistriwr ydy o, ’dwn i’m) ffurfio yn llygad fy meddwl, ac roedd i’w weld yn union fel roedd o wedi ymddangos y tro cyntaf gwelais i fo, hynny yw, yn fachgen colledig, trist, a golwg gwalch arno.

 

Mi fyddwch chi’n deall, rwy’n sicr, roeddwn i dan straen aruthrol o ganlyniad i dostrwydd fy Mam, ond mae ei hymadawiad hi wedi gadael ei ôl arnaf fi hefyd. Wrth gwrs, pan fuodd hithau farw o’r diwedd, dyna oedd pan ‘nes i ddewis dianc o Dad a dod i Aberdydd i ymweld â’r teulu wedi ymddieithrio yn y lle cyntaf. Dim ond wedyn ‘nes i ystyried mi fedrwn i honni fy etifeddiaeth a chymryd y lle drosodd, wrth ‘neud pethau’n well na nhw ar yr un pryd. Fodd bynnag, roedd y sŵn gyddfol yn codi o’r tŷ bach mor fwriadol, a hefyd, rywsut, mor fwystfilaidd. Ar sail glanweithdra yn unig, ‘lly, roedd ar y fenyw ‘ma angen ‘ neud rhywbeth difrifol yn ei gylch. Heb oedi!

 

Ac mi wyddwn lle mi allwn i gael hyd i’r union ddyn i ‘neud y swydd – hyd yn oed ‘tasa’n digwydd bod yn waith budr. Felly, o fewn awr a hanner i’m cyrraedd, roeddwn wedi cychwyn cerdded draw i ochr arall y ‘stad er mwyn gofyn cymorth gan fy ngŵr ifanc, fy hanner brawd, Steffan, a dyna oedd taith o hanner awr dda. Nid fy mod i’n cerdded yn ling-di-long, wyddoch chi, ond roedd fy nghymalau’n gwynegu’n ofnadwy. Doedd dim sain-drosdderbynnydd yno yn y bwthyn, wrth reswm, a dyna oedd f’unig ddewis. Roedd tua pump o’r gloch, ac yn dwymach nag roedd hi wedi bod trwy gydol yr haf. Ww, rwy’n teimlo fel ‘tasa’r digwyddiadau tynghedus yn datblygu o flaen fy llygaid hyd yn oed yn awr. Dyma sut y darfu hi, felly.

 

‘Nes i gyrraedd y ‘sgubor hynafol ond glanwaith (neu beth bynnag oedd hi) yn rhan fwyaf bawlyd y ‘stad, lle roedd Steffan yn arfer loetran fel rheol (ella na all dyn ddeud ei fod o’n byw yno), a sleifio i mewn. Roedd y lle’n dywyll a myglyd, wedi’i oleuo’n wael gan gwpl o ganhwyllau ar ben pellaf y ‘stafell, ac yn gwynto o rwber yn llosgi, ‘stafelloedd newid chwyslyd, a sosej, bîns a tsips. Ni allwn i weld yn dda iawn, ond cyn gynted ag y es i i mewn roeddwn i’n teimlo mor boeth ac mor ofnus, ac yn sicr bod ‘na sarff enfawr, gyhyrog yn gorwedd yn dorch yno, yn hyderus yr ymdaflai’r ysglyfaeth i’w afael, p’un ai’n fwriadol neu beidio. ‘Nes i fagu gwroldeb, gan fy ngwthio fy hun yn fy mlaen i’r diriogaeth anhysbys, ac yn sydyn, roedd fel ‘taswn i wedi treiddio i galon y dirgelion yn digwydd mewn teml baganaidd, yn orlawn o ogoniant cuddiedig.

 

Ymhlith y cysgodion wedi’u taflu gan y golau crynedig, o’r braidd y gallwn i ganfod bod ‘na ddwy ffurf ddynol yn symud o gwmpas fel ‘tasen nhw’n brwydro. Neu ella mai gwell fydda deud dawnsio. Neu ryw gyfuniad o’r ddau. Ac roedd ‘na ddau lais yn cystadlu efo’i gilydd, y naill yn cyflym adrodd ac ailadrodd, yn wâr ond taer, swynion alcemegol ar gyfer rhwymo a gollwng, wrth i’r llall ganu crwth, a gwyllt ruo, bob yn ail, gan ddatgan goruchafiaeth yr anialwch. Roeddwn i’n cymryd mai Steffan a David oedden nhw, ond allwn i’m coeli hyn am fod y giamocs oll mor annynol ac annymunol. Ond dyna lle roedd cyfundrefnau rheolaidd cymdeithas yn brwydro’n ffyrnig yn erbyn grymoedd caotig natur. Fel rheol mi fydda wedi bod y gyntaf i chwerthin am eu pennau, ac wedyn rhoi pryd o dafod iddyn nhw. Ond ni feiddiwn i ddynesu at y cyrff yn gwingo, mor annaturiol oedd yr ystumiau a’r udo. Felly, mi ‘nes i aros fy nghyfle, a’m calon yn fy ngwddf. O, mewn gwirionedd, roeddwn i’n sefyll wedi fy hoelio i'r fan mewn cyflwr o bryder dirfawr, ond, o ystyried popeth yn fwy manwl bellach, roedd yr ing wedi’i gymysgu efo gwreichion o gasineb mai dynion ddylai allu gorchymyn y fath bŵer, neu chwarae’r fath gemau o leiaf. Mi fu bron i mi ddymuno mai Dilynwraig y Broffwydes o’n i, ac Offeiriades Aberthol ar bwn hynny, a ‘naeth ias o gyffro a dychryn redeg trwy fy mêr.

 

O, dyna lle roeddwn i bron â threngi o fraw, pan ‘naeth y ddefod astrus ddibennu’n gwbl ddisymwth, efo sgrech fain gan un o’r lleisiau, dw i’m yn gallu deud p’un, ond roedd yn ddigon uchel i fferru'r gwaed. Ac wedyn, wedi’i foddi gan olau calonogol y cyfnos roedd y lle, a David wedi ymddangos o rywle y tu ôl imi heb ei ddisgwyl, hyd yn oed er iddo fo fod yn prancio y tu blaen imi ond eiliadau cyn hynny. Y person olaf ro’n i isio’i weld, ac eto, i ble roedd Steffan wedi diflannu mor sydyn? Bron na wyddwn i beth i'w ddeud, ac o'r braidd y gallwn i siarad, p’run bynnag.

 

Ar ôl ebychu’n gynddeiriog yn enw’r Saith, dyna oedden i’n llyncu fy ngeiriau wrth esbonio’r problemau efo’r gwaith dŵr yn y bwthyn. Nage un am lewygu dw i, wedi’r cwbl! ‘Doedd yr un gair o ymddiheuriad o’i enau, ni ryfedd deud. Ond roedd o’n cwyno ei fod wedi bod mewn helynt go iawn efo’r awdurdodau byth oddi ar y parti dan y pinwydd, a bod rhaid iddo ddianc, felly unrhyw arian parod fyddai’n ddefnyddiol iawn. Dim ond meddwl amdano fo’i hun, fel arfer, yr alpaca hunanol, bawlyd! Ond o’m rhan i, mi ddaethwn i’r casgliad y byddwn i’n falch iawn o gael ei gefn, y naill ffordd na'r llall. Rwy’n gwybod erbyn hyn mai dim ond fy sugno i mewn ymhellach fel traeth byw roedd o efo’i dafod melys (neu rywbeth tebyg, geiriau ballant!). Ond o leiaf mi ‘naeth o fynegi’i allu, a’i barodrwydd, i roi cymorth. A dyna oedden ni'n dau’n penderfynu ar amser i gyfarfod y dydd nesaf.

 

Roedd y gollyngdod a dwimlwn gan fy mod i 'di cymryd y cam cyntaf yn cymysgu’n gydradd efo ‘nghywilydd. Heb air o gelwydd, roeddwn i wedi ymlâdd. Felly, mi ‘nes i bwrw hi’n syth am Y Ddafad Golledig ar gyrion y ‘stad. Am dwll drewllyd, tywyll yw’r lle uffernol ‘na! Ac yno ‘nes i eistedd dan bwdu am oriau di-ben-draw wrth synfyfyrio’n biwis dros annhegwch y Drefn Fawr, a melltithio Steffan, y Tarw Swmpus ‘na am fy ngadael i ar y clwt ar awr gyfyng. Dw i’m yn cofio be’n union ‘nes i yfed yno, ond roedd yn cynnwys potel o wisgi cartref o’r enw ‘Meddwl Mall.’ ‘Neno Wezir, roedd yn gryf, fel ‘tasa wedi’i ‘neud o dynnwr paent, cegiden, hoelion rhydlyd, a soda costig! A ‘naeth y ddiod effeithio arnaf fi’n od iawn, oherwydd po fwyaf a yfwn i, mwyaf y bydda f’ofn blaenorol yn troi’n llid aflywodraethus tuag at bawb a phopeth. A minnau wastad mor ddymunol, a pharod fy nghymwynas, ac isio o waelod fy nghalon wella’r Byd toredig a’i drigolion drylliedig. Ar ôl gwegian yn ôl i’r bwthyn, siŵr o fod, mi ‘nes i syrthio i gwsg anesmwyth, darfwyd arno gan freuddwyd ro’n i’n sicr fy mod yn rhannu efo Mrs Grossmann, gan mi allwn glywed ei llais yn adrodd, fel ‘taswn i yng nghegin y plasty, wedi llyncu ambell un o’i theisennau tra arbennig —

 

“Ers achau rwy’n teithio tuag at lan y môr sy wastad yn encilio rhagof fi; am filltiroedd undonog dros anialdir dirmygus a thrwy feysydd iâ creulon, i ddysgu gan yr hylif hallt, ac i gael hyd i ateb i’r cwestiwn a ofynnwyd gan ddynolryw o’r cychwyn cyntaf. Hen groth y Byd i gyd yw’n Mam ni’r môr, meddant, ac mae’n Dad i bawb at hynny. Gŵyr y dyfnderau affwysol gyfrinachau wedi’u cuddio er pan ddaeth y Blaned â’i chraidd o haearn i fod ar ffurf glôb o graig danbaid. Nid gosodiad ofer yw hwn, er mai ffaith i synnu ati ydy heb os nac oni bai, gan mai o donnau corddol y cawl cychwynnol y daw pob peth byw sydd wedi bodoli hyd hyn…

 

“Pwy felly a all ddeall yr holl wybodaeth hon sydd wedi’i cholli cyhyd? Rhy’r môr, ac fe ddwg ef ymaith unwaith eto gyda threigl amser. Y mae fel petai’n caru nes ei fod yn ymlâdd, gan esgor yr un pryd y cladd. Eto i gyd, myfi yw’r person olaf sy’n dal i fyw, ymddengys, ar ôl y drychineb ddirfawr a ysgubodd ymaith y taleithiau i gyd, gan ddileu pob cymdeithas a chrefydd a fu unwaith ar wyneb y Ddaear. Gyda hwythau aeth ein dicter, ein creadigaeth, ein gwyddoniaeth, ein rhyfyg, a phob agwedd arall ar fodolaeth ddynol. Ond fy hawl i, fel y pererin olaf a’r unig chwilyswr, yw dirnad beth yw ystyr bywyd. Yn gryndod byw fe waeddaf fy nghwestiwn o benrhyn yn uchel uwchben y dŵr diarbed…

 

“Ni ddychmygais erioed y byddai darganfod yn hawdd. Ceisiaswn wirionedd, ond fe’m syfrdanir gan y tawelwch llwyr. Sibrwd y gwynt, a wincia llygad gwaetgoch yr Haul hocedus yn yr awyr lwyd, leidiog, tra llyf y môr ei wefusau sychedig, tewion. Ond yn sydyn chwelir fy nghalon pan wyf yn syth-weld y ffeithiau moel rwy wedi bod yn chwilio amdanynt trwy gydol fy mywyd unig. Ni ddaw tân na daeargryn, na chorn yn canu, dim ond fy llais distaw main fy hun yn diasbedain yn fy mhen i —

 

“’Wele! Yr ydym yn byw ac yn marw, dyna i gyd. Gwir sylfaenol nad yw’n bod. Rhaid i ni wneud ein gorau glas gan ymddwyn yn ôl moesoldeb cyffredin hyd eithaf ein gallu, gan warchod ein gilydd, y Blaned, a phob creadur sydd arni, gan fod popeth wedi’i gysylltu gan we eithriadol gymhleth. Dysgu, a charu, a newid, a thranc yw natur bodolaeth. Dim byd sydd ar y Bydysawd inni, heb sôn am fywyd. Nid oes dim arwyddocâd gwaelodol i’w gael yn y fuchedd hon dan y Lleuad anystyriol. Hollol rydd ydym ni, ond o’r herwydd fe’n gorfodir i ddyfeisio’n hystyron ein hunain, i greu’n hanesion ein hunain.’…

 

“Ond ni sylweddolasai ein rhywogaeth ddim o hyn oll trwy filenia o brofiad, ac mae’n rhy hwyr o lawer bellach. Dyma fi’n aros yn llonydd felly ar lan y môr aflonydd, gan alaru dros beth a fu, am bethau sydd, ac am yr hyn a allasai fod. A dyma’r neges chwerw i’r oesoedd, a adawaf mewn potel wedi’i thaflu i’r ewyn o’r traeth mud. Maes o law fe ddiflannaf ar fy nhaith ddarganfod derfynol i ymuno â’n cyndeidiau mewn cysgod tragwyddol. Yno ni fydd mwyaf na da na drwg, na meddwl na chlywed, na serch na chas, na difetha nac esgor. Ac yn y cyflwr hwnnw – weddïaf – yr adferir pob cam.”

 

Pan ‘nes i ddihuno o’r diwedd y diwrnod wedyn, ro’n i’n teimlo yn ddi-hwyl ar y naw. Roedd fel ‘tasa torllwyth o foch wedi ymgartrefu yn fy mhen, a’r bore’n cuchio arnaf fi’n fygythiol, fel paffiwr â dyrnau noeth, oedd wedi ennill gornest anodd, wrth gael dau lygad du a thorri’i drwyn ar yr un pryd. Ac yng nghefn fy meddwl, am ryw reswm, atseinio yr oedd llais Steffan wrth iddo adrodd geiriau Swyn yr Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg, o Dabled Tynghedau chwedleuol —

 

“Boed i'r neidr wenwynllyd, y sarff ogoneddus, 

A'r wiber gynddeiriog ymrithio;

Boed i'r sgorpion angheuol, y llysywen drydanol, 

A'r tarw cyhyrog f'amddiffyn…”

 

Roedd yn amlwg fy mod i wedi bod yn treulio gormod o amser yn gwrando ar refru’r Hen Filwr wrth fopio’i dalcen dryslyd, ac eto, roedd y Doethur Da wastad yn parablu am nerth hen eiriau, ond pam y byddai Steffan yn eu siantio,‘doedd gen i ddim syniad. Dw i’m yn sicr erbyn hyn a ‘naeth yr hud weithio neu beidio, ac wrth reswm, nid oes gennyf ffydd mewn pethau o’r fath. Sut bynnag am unwaith, ‘naeth yr hogyn anwadal arall ‘na gadw ei addewid, am iddo rodio draw i’r bwthyn am hanner dydd, mwy neu lai, efo sach hesian wedi’i llenwi ag arfau. Cyn gynted ag y cerddodd y llabwst drwy’r drws, mi ‘naeth o ddechrau breblian pymtheg y dwsin am ei broblemau personol, a’i gorchestion beiddgar – neu yn hytrach, ei dramgwyddau troseddol – wrth imi dwt-twtian a tharo ‘nhroed yn ddiamynedd mewn angoel lwyr, gan ddisgwyl iddo fo gau’i geg. ‘Do’n i byth yn un am wastraffu amser, ac artaith oedd gorfod clywed am yr anturiaethau dychmygol yng nghwmni’r Dynion Sed yn y Famwlad Aflonydd (a chael f’atgoffa o’i goncwestau rhywiol oedd waeth byth). Wel, curo tra bo’r haearn yn boeth oedd f’arwyddair i, ac roedd wastad cymaint o bethau imi eu ‘neud, er bod hynny wedi newid i raddau helaeth erbyn hyn.

 

Wel, ar ôl beth welwyd i mi fel tragwyddoldeb, ‘naeth David dorchi’i lewys a throi at ei waith ar y system waredu carthion â chryn frwdfrydedd. Cuddio ro’n i, gan esgus dyfrio’r tafod mam yng nghyfraith ym mhen draw’r lolfa ddi-chwaeth. Wedyn, ‘dwn i’m beth ddaeth dros fy mhen i, ond ‘naeth yr hen sug gwyrdd yn codi’n ddisyfyd; prin y gallwn i’n rheoli fy hun; pa mor chwerthinllyd ro’n i’n smalio bod yn lladradaidd wrth imi fynd yn nes at ddrws cilagored y tŷ bach, o le dôi’r sŵn ofnadwy ‘na’n byrlymu.

 

Ro’n i’n teimlo mor fyrbwyll – neno’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd – fe’m llethwyd gan emosiynau anghyson! Do’n i ddim yn gallu fy rhwystro fy hun rhag ceisio cael cip arno fo’n ddichellgar, wel rhag syllu, a bod yn onest. O, gadewch imi adrodd fy ngofidiau oll! Ro’n i’n llygadu’r hogyn drwg wrth iddo lafurio dros ei waith, hyd at ei gesail yn y bibell bedol, ymddangosai. Roedd o’n gwisgo dim ond fest wen wedi’i baeddu â Hebé-a-ŵyr-beth erbyn hynny, ddylwn i ddeud, ac yn chwysu chwartiau!

 

Dros fy nghrogi na allaf fi ddweud wrthoch chi am y weithred ddirmygus mi demtiwyd i i’w chyflawni, wrth imi sefyll, wedi fy huno gan y creithiau ar groen y bachgen, oedd yn dawnsio dros ei gefn a’i frest, ac i lawr ei freichiau fel rwnau cochion, cyntefig. Ac ar ei frest chwith, fel 'tasa wedi’i serio â haearn poeth, roedd siâp ‘sgarlad – ar ffurf symbol echrydus o ryw Fyd Arall. Ac wedyn,‘nes i weithredu, ond nid yn fwriadol, gan mai symud ar eu hunain ‘naeth fy nwylo, mi honnwn i. Wedi’r cwbl, roedd yr Arglwyddes MacBeth yn ffoli arno fo, a’r Doethur Da’n ei gael o’n greadur diddorol iawn, a Steffan yn ei garu, a’r Hen Filwr wastad yn ei ganlyn o, ‘doedd yn deg o gwbl! Ac wedi f’annog gan genfigen a chasineb, ‘nes i gyflawni’r ystumiau hudol cymhleth ro’n i wedi’u dwyn gan yr Hen Filwr, fyddai’n ei rwymo wrthof fi am byth yn y lle ‘na, gan fwmial geiriau’r swyn deirgwaith ar yr un pryd. Yr unig beth oedd na allwn i’u dwyn nhw i gof i sicrwydd, ac felly dyna o’n i’n llafarganu: “Yn enw’r tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – y forwyn, y fam, a’r wrach – y Syrthni Angheuol, y Ddrycin Anhydrin, a'r Afon Wylofus – Efo dur dwi’n dy wysio di; efo dŵr dw i’n dy gymell di; efo gwaed dw i’n dy rwymo di.”

 

Mewn chwinciad, dyna lle ro’n i’n llithro ymaith i’r gegin o dan gwmwl o gywilydd llwyr, i gael paned o de cryf (ac ynddi joch enfawr o ‘Meddwl Mall’) a cheisio peidio â chynhyrfu cymaint. Yn y pendraw, mi ddaeth y Comando Trefol hunanhonedig allan yn drechwr dros y plymwaith ystyfnig. Mi fuodd yna ryw berfformiad chwithig, wrth imi ysgwyd ei law, gan bwmpio ei fraich lan a lawr, drosodd a throsodd, ac esgus bod yn hapus, ac yntau’n gofyn yn ddyrys, “Chi’n hoffi – y – gwaith mawr – Miss?”

 

“Ydw, diolch yn fawr iawn, David, wel, yn wir, rwy’n ddiolchgar iawn am eich cymorth,” oedd yr unig beth y gallwn ei ddeud mewn ymateb, wrth imi ymbalfalu yn fy mhwrs cynllunydd am bapur arian o werth priodol cyn ei wthio tuag ato fo. Roeddwn i’n sicr iddo sylwi, rywsut, ar fy sbecian o’r blaen, ac yn teimlo ychydig yn wanllyd o fod yn ei ŵydd, gan fod ‘na – wel, Lushfé cu – rywbeth anifeilaidd yn ei gylch. Mi allwn i – glywed ei oglau!

 

Am eiliad ‘nes i ddal ei lygaid o dan yr aeliau cochlyd, trwchus – a phelenni asur, meinion o’n nhw, yn perthyn i ryw fath o greadur direswm, annynol, hynafol! O, annwyl Nebesh, achuba mi, roeddwn i’n deisyf ar y Dduwies, a minnau’n feddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant ‘fyd, ddylai wybod yn well. Roedd fel ‘tawn i’n syllu i lygaid gafr! Tra oedd llaw afaelgar David yn gwawdio f’un i’n gyhyrog eto, mi ‘naeth yr un arall estyn – rhywbeth – o boced gefn ei jîns, a’i roddi fo imi hefo parch. Roedd mwsg llesmeiriol y p’nhawn yn dychlamu hongian rhyngom ni. Wedyn, mi ‘naeth wyneb yr hogyn hanner gwyllt hollti mewn crechwen watwarus, wrth iddo ddeud, “Awchu a chael, a geni, a lladd, a marw, drosodd a throsodd, dyna sut y mae hi, yn y Byd ‘ma, on’d ife, Miss? Dyna natur pethau, reit? Does dim byd yn gallu atal y cylch, sbo?”

 

Roedd fy meddwl yn rasio’n wyllt, dan reolaeth coblynnod darfelydd, wrth i’m corff simsanu. A minnau ar fin syrthio, mi ‘naeth o ‘nal i gan ysgubo mi oddi ar fy nhraed, fel petai. Ond, O, y peth – hwnnw – ‘naeth o’i wthio i ‘ngafael esgeulus! Dim ond chwe modfedd o daldra oedd o, ond eto i gyd – mor gyntefig – mor oren tywyll ag ocsid fferrig, yn waedlyd a fflawiog, ond wedi’i lyfnhau gan ddwylo llawn parch ac ofn drwy’r oesau. Cerfddelw fach oedd hi, ar lun angor, neu goeden, neu symbol arallfydol, neu fwystfil wedi’i goroni â thorch o ddrain. ‘Doedd o ddim y naill beth na’r llall, ond yn lle ‘ny, roedd yn dal i newid yn gyson. Ac, er ei bychander, yr oedd yn hynod nerthol, yn chwyddedig â’i bodolaeth ei hun.

 

O, Nuthkí! Mi fyddwn i’n tyngu i’r eicon anfad fy llosgi i wrth i David ei wthio i gledr fy llaw, dan lyfu’i wefusau. Roedd o’n gwenu’n goeglyd, ac mi ‘nawn i ddeud – ‘tawn i’n credu’r fath bethau – fod ei lygaid creulon yn treiddio’n uniongyrchol i’m henaid. Roedd ‘na rywbeth yn fy ngorfodi i rythu arno, ond ‘naeth y braw cyntaf y cawn i fy llyncu’n llwyr ildio i lonyddwch dyfnach, ac ar ôl hynny, i bendro chwyrlïol. Roedd y peth erchyll yn arnofio o flaen fy llygaid, ac yna, ‘naeth yr olygfa ffrwydro’n wyrddlas ddwys, gan ddod yn oer, oer, cyn oered â’r gwagle.

 

‘Dwn i’m beth ddigwyddodd yr eiliad ‘na, ond rhaid mod i wedi sgrechian, gan ollwng y ffiguryn atgas. Mi ddes i at fy nghoed, ar lawr y gegin, ar fy mhen fy hun, a David wedi diflannu, yn ôl pob tebyg. Roedd y peth ‘na’n cyrcydu’n fileinig ar y ford, a’r ‘stafell yn curo o’i amgylch, wrth i’m pen strobio’n gyfun. Mi ‘nes i lwyddo i beidio â chrio, a chodi oddi ar y llawr. Yr unig beth ro’n i’n gallu meddwl amdano oedd mi ddylwn i gael gwared ar y gwrthrych cythreulig yn syth. Ond, dyma wreiddyn y mater – yr oedd o’n fy nhaflu yn f’ôl, wrth fy nenu ymlaen yn gydamserol.

 

Roedd arnaf eisiau chwydu wrth ddychmygu cyffwrdd â’r Eilun Eirias, roedd ganddo erbyn hynny wyneb brawychus diddorol, a’r llygaid yn fawr anferth, ac ar y gwefusau trwchus wên greulon ond deniadol. Ond, serch ‘ny, alla i’m esbonio pam, ‘naeth fy nghorff weithredu’n groes i’m hewyllys – ac mi ‘nes i ymestyn i’w gyrraedd. O Isheth! Dyna o’n i’n byseddu’r ffurf gyfnewidiol, gan ei mwytho, a’i thylino. Ac yn union, myfi oedd yn teimlo’n hollol luddedig, yn hen hen, yn wag.

 

Ond pan ‘nes i gyffwrdd â’r gwaith llaw annynol ‘na, ac wedyn cofio cnawd creithiog yr hogyn – mi gefais fy ngwthio dros y dibyn. O na bawn i wedi mynd i mewn i deyrnas nos dragwyddol – rwy’n gallu gweld ‘ny’n glir rŵan! Ond, na, na, chwareus ydy’r Hen Feistri, a chreulon, hefyd. Mi ‘nân nhw roi bywyd, cyn llymed ag ellyn, pan ‘nawn ni chwennych marwolaeth yn ei le, a mynd â fo ymaith dan chwerthin dros bob man, pan ymbil am ragor o fodolaeth ‘naiff dyn. Ymdroelli’n ddryslyd roedd y meddyliau ‘ma, wrth imi bendilio ar y ffin rhwng Dau Fyd, fel gwystl wedi’i rwymo draed a dwylo. Pan ‘nes i ddihuno o’r freuddwyd ddieflig hon, neu yn hytrach, pan o’n i’n meddwl imi ddeffro, rwy’n gwybod i mi weiddi unwaith ‘to —

 

Oherwydd, tra oedd amlinellau’r bwthyn yn ganfyddadwy o hyd, yr oedd fel 'tasa sylwedd yr adeilad wedi cael ei ddileu oddi ar gynfas y Byd gan ryw grefftwr maleisus. Roedd popeth yn ymddangos yn ysgafn, a thryloyw. Yr oedd yno, ond eto, nid oedd yno o gwbl. Dan orchudd o wellt gwyrdd, disglair roedd y fangre – y tu mewn a’r tu fa – oedd yn frith o foncyffion anferth, ceinciog, bonion rhedyn, ella, oedd wedi bod yno ers hydoedd. Ond, er pwysau gludiog y gwres llaith, ni ellid gweld yr Haul Llachar.

 

Ond – er mwyn Swtach! Dyna oedd y golau cyfoglyd yn fflachio mewn tafodau gwyrddion a chochion; y gwawl llithrig yn ffrydio’n symudliw o’r ddelw warthus ‘na. Ac erbyn hynny roedd wedi tyfu cymaint â dyn neu’n fwy; ac roedd y plentyn demonig yn gweddnewid yn gyson, wrth sugno’r grym bywiol o’i groth, ein Byd arferol ni.

 

Ni allwn i weld y creaduriaid yr adeg honno, ond er hynny, mi allwn eu synhwyro. Roedd deunydd y Ddaear o’m hamgylch yn tonni – a dyna lle roedd ‘na straenio, chwyddo, rhwygo, ymwthio, dychlamu, a churo adenydd. Ro’n nhw’n gweini arnaf fi, pa angenfilod bynnag o’n nhw; ond roedd ganddyn nhw – anghenion, awyddau – dw i ddim yn gallu’u hamgyffred hyd yn oed yn awr. Ro’n i’n wlyb diferu, crynu, ac ar feichio llefain. Ac wedyn, ‘naeth utganiad croch ddryllio’r goedwig danddwr, ac ar unwaith, mi aeth pethau dros ben llestri! Tra ffaglai’r golau llwyd gan losgi ‘nhrwyn, mi ganfûm ffurf, wedi’i phlethu o gwmpas yr Eilun Eirias. A llun fel corff marw, gwelwlas oedd o, ond pryfoclyd a gwancus, hefyd; gŵr nychlyd iawn yn marchogaeth sarff asgellog a nesáu ataf fi ar ruthr gwyllt. Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli mai gwewyr geni oedd y dirgryniadau o’m cwmpas. Yn wir, wedi’i gwallgofi gan yr egni creadigol roedd yr holl dirwedd ddychrynllyd hon; ac roedd y creaduriaid o garn, a chorn, a chroen, a blew, a chen – pob dim – yn rhedeg yn wyllt o ganlyniad i hyn. Ac mi gefais fy narostwng yn gyfan gwbl.

 

O, Wezir Fawr – myfi oedd yn nofio ymhlith yr haid ‘na o fwystfilod anweledig oedd yn cyffwrdd, a brwsio, a chosi, heb eu gwahodd. Ac eto i gyd, roedd ‘na gicio, a chwipio, a chrafu, a brathu, a serio. Ac wrth i’r niwl goleuol glecian yn fflamgoch, ‘nes i geisio troi fy llygaid heibio rhag eiddo’r cerflun, ond mi awn i ar fy llw mi gefais fy ngorfodi i edrych. Ro’n i wedi cynnau Kundalini, yr Hen Sarff nes iddi ymrithio yn gnawd, ac yn syllu i safnau rhwth y Nw Yrth. Ac ym mhob man roedd sgrechian i’w glywed, gan y damnedig a’r dedwydd fel ei gilydd, wrth i’r awyr yn llawn sawr osôn hisian a sïo â mellt gleision.

 

Ond yno roedd yr Hen Filwr yn hofran uwchlaw’i wely angau, fel bwgan brain esgyrnog, gan ddisgwyl pa dynged ffiaidd bynnag oedd o’i flaen, a minnau’n sbio ar ei wyneb ysgeler o, wrth ei glywed yn ‘neud sbort am ben David, a’i ddirmygu fo’n enbyd. Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli yn y fan a’r lle i’r fadfall ffiaidd fod yn ceisio fy rheoli a’m defnyddio ers imi gyrraedd y lle, ac na fydda’n gorffwys nes iddo feddu arnaf yn gorff ac enaid. Ac wedyn, roedd fel ‘tasa’i gnawd pwdr yn toddi, a berwi, a byrlymu, ac yn lle’r dyn ar farw, roedd yr hogyn gorffwyll yn brwydro am ei einioes yn erbyn cythraul o dân, oedd yr Hen Filwr ar yr un pryd. Ac wedyn ‘naeth yntau newid unwaith eto, gan ddod yn gelain ar ffurf mynach cwflog arswydus, a’i ben yn gynrhon byw. Ond am ryw reswm roeddwn i’n teimlo fel bwystfil gwyllt yn byw mewn fforest binwydd mewn gwlad hirbell, fel bleiddast yn gwarchod ei chenau wrth oernadu dan olau’r lleuad lem. Ac yna, ar f’union, y munud hwnnw – ro’n i’n gorfod i'w ’neud – yr oedd yn rhaid imi – ‘neud diwedd ar y dinistr oll – a dyna o’n i’n gorffen y swyn wedi’i dechrau gan Steffan —

 

“…Boed i'r ddraig anferth, y bwgan blewog, 

A'r llew gwallgof ffromi o'm cwmpas;

Boed i fwystfil mawr y tywydd ddod â storom ffyrnig 

O Fynyddoedd Duon Kharsag,

I ddifa f'arteithwyr yn llwyr!”

 

A dyna o’n troi yn belen enfawr o ectoplasm curuadol a aeth yn geffalopod a chanddo lawer iawn o freichiau’n chwyrlïo ym mhob man, ac ro’n i’n edrych ym myw llygaid fy Wncwl wrth ei chwythu fo’n deilchion efo ‘mhŵer newydd, ac yntau’n crefu, a llefain – a diflannu – wrth i hen ryfelgri gan yr herwfilwyr yng Nghalon y Cyfandir adleisio trwy’r lle – “Ni orfodant hwy ni, Methant hwy’n diraddio ni, Ni reolant hwy ni, Nyni fydd yn drech na hwy!” Mi fuodd wedyn ddistawrwydd trydanol am funud cyfan wrth i’r Dywysoges Brydferth rythu ar ei Thywysog Golygus. A dyna lle roedd David, Daud, Dai hyd yn oed, yr arwr rhyfel, yn gorwedd yn f’ochr i ar fryncyn gwyrdd gloyw, oedd hefyd yn garped brwnt, wrth fy nhal i’n gariadus ond yn ddiwair, cyn syrthio i gysgu fel baban ym mreichiau’i Fam, neu frawd yn cofleidio ei chwaer. Toc wedyn, sut bynnag, yntau, ‘fyd, ‘naeth ddiflannu.

 

Rhaid cyffesu mai arswydo’n arw ro’n i, wedi uno ar hap a damwain rymoedd y tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – yr eneth, y ddynes, a’r nain – y lludded sy'n lladd, y dymestl wyllt, a'r dyfroedd dagreuol – i ymyrryd yng Ngwaith Mawr y Dewin. Ac roedd ‘na lais arallfydol yn perthyn i was y Drindod Odidog, wedi’i alw i ddatgelu dirgelion bodolaeth, yn saethu trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Roedd yn canu emyn llawn gwaed a harddwch, mor arswydus â Chân Tefnuth a ddaeth â Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd trwy'i haberthu’i hun a mynd i lawr i’r Isfyd. A chyda hynny mi wyddwn i mai myfi a oedd wedi etifeddu’i gogoniant a’i baich. Ac yna, mi ddes i’n Álkēstis, Aphrodítē, Inanak, Miàoshàn, Ngeshtin-ana, Prōserpina, Psychē, Semélē, Ushás. Myfi fuodd yno pan na fu nac amser na’r gwagle – myfi oedd y grym sylfaenol unedig, ac oddi mewn i’m sylwedd ewynnog y saethodd ffrondiau ffrwythlon bodolaeth oll. Dim byd, creu, difrod, popeth. Ac wrth i hanfod pob bod byw o dan yr Haul grynhoi yn fy nghroth, yr oedd fel ‘tasa enwau creaduriaid oll yn llifo drwof fi, a myfi yng nghanol trobwll di-hidio, diarbed, di-baid creadigaeth sydd yn hunangynhyrfiol a hunanbarhaol. Yn sydyn, a'm calon yn llawn gorfoledd ac ofn, 'nes i sylweddoli nage dynion yn unig sy'n medru bwrw'r hud cryfaf.

 

Felly yr oedd. Pan 'nes i ddihuno o'r diwedd, roedd fel 'tasa rhyw bŵer wedi mynd oddi mewn i mi, ro'n i'n teimlo mai rhyw nerth a ddygasid oddi wrthyf fi gan gysgod tragwyddol. ‘Nes i feichiogi, a maes o law, esgor ar y Mab Darogan. Llawn gorfoledd fues i oherwydd y fath wyrth, a gweithio mor galed i’w fagu’n briodol wrth gyflawni ‘nyletswyddau eraill i gyd. Cymaint oedd fy ngobeithion, a ‘nymuniadau! Yr unig beth o’i le oedd fy mod yn afiach o awyddus i lyncu ffa sbeislyd tu hwnt drwy’r amser wrth ddisgwyl, a’r rheini wedi’u llosgi’n ulw. Roedd yn rhaid imi eu plannu nhw ym mhob man ar yr ystâd, y rhai sy’n ffynnu ar lannau Afon Sed, roedd ‘na ddigon o le beth bynnag, ac nid mi yn unig oedd yn ffoli arnyn nhw, roedden nhw’n eithaf hudol, wel, mewn ffordd o siarad.

 

Y peth cyntaf ‘nes i ar ôl gipio grym pan fu farw’r Hen Filwr oedd cael gwared ar yr Arglwyddes MacBeth ddichellgar ‘na i dalu’r pwyth ‘nol iddi am ei chasineb tuag ataf fi. Ac ar y dechrau mi ‘nes i lwyddo, a’m seren yn disgleirio mor llachar yn entrych y nef. Ond yr oedd yr hen waed mor gryf ynddo, fy mab – a’r nerth hudol, myn Swtach, roedd o’n ei ddefnyddio i gael iddo’i hun beth bynnag a fynnai hyd yn oed yn faban! Mor ddeallus, ond mor afreolus ac ystyfnig ar yr un pryd! Roedd fy ngwichiwr bychan yn cynnau tanau bob amser, hyd yn oed yn y bru. A rŵan mae o’n mynnu rhoi'r Bydysawd oll ar dân!

 

Ni allem ni ddianc rhag dylanwad y Teulu Anfad yng Ngwersyll Hwyl a Sbri, ‘chwaith, a bellach Steffan, Satharāfanu y Tywysydd Medrus, ydy’r llaw dde, sy’n llywio’i ddatblygiad. Rwy'n gofyn i’m hun ai myfi a achosodd ei dröedigaeth i'r ochr dywyll, fel yr aeth e'n herwr sy'n barod i ddefnyddio pawb a phopeth i'w ddibenion ei hun. A rŵan mae’r bachgen wedi dod i oed, a ‘ngwaith wedi’i gwpla, mae o wedi f’alltudio i’r arfordir, i gwblhau fy – nhrawsffurfiad – f’ailenedigaeth – yn y dyfroedd glanhaol. Ni fedra hyd yn oed y Fam wrthsefyll nerth gormesol y Plentyn Annaearol. Oedd o'n fy nghosbi, neu 'naeth o weithredu ar fympwy? Ella fod y sefyllfa'n wobr, mewn ffordd, sy'n fy 'nghadw i oddi wrth ei erchyllterau. Dyma mi, felly, wedi fy rhwbio fy hun yn lân efo mwsogl suddlon, ac addurno ‘ngwallt blêr efo garlantau o wymon, yn ceisio cael y ddau ben llinyn ynghyd ymhlith y moch gwyllt, wrth arteithio wrthyn nhw am farddoni a bywyd, ond dyn nhw'm yn gwrando arnaf. Ac ar ôl ymlwybro dros y clogwyni ar bwys y tonnau didrugaredd, rwy’n crwydro trwy adfeilion gwareiddiad ar chwâl, gan gyhoeddi gwynfydau i ddiffeithwch diglywed, cyn gorwedd yn unig ar y twyni tywod. Ni ‘na i byth ddianc, dw i wedi fy nal yn y tir ‘ma gan ryw swyn nerthol.

 

O bryd i'w gilydd mae Ffred o'r ystâd, y pwca od iawn 'na, yn dŵad i gwrdd â fi, wel, dw i'n ei weld o be' bynnag, wrth iddo 'neud ei ymarfer corff ar y traeth. Y peth ola' glywais i, roedd f'annwyl lamaod i gyd wedi dianc o'r warchodfa ac erbyn hyn, siŵr o fod, mi fyddan nhw'n rhedeg yn wyllt ledled gwastatiroedd y gogledd. Chwarae teg iddyn nhw, creaduriaid call ydyn nhw, ac yn haeddu'u rhyddid, y moch druain, ar y llaw arall, dyna'r rhai dw i'n poeni amdanyn nhw!

 

Mi ddof fi’n aml i lan y môr rhagrithiol, lle, drwy’r amser, mae adlewyrchiadau’r gorffennol yn golchi dros y presennol. Ni fedraf fi byth anghofio breuddwyd Mrs Grossmann, ‘chwaith, oedd fy hunllef ‘fyd. Yma, rwy’n eistedd gan dorri gair efo’r coed, ac wrth imi fyfyrio, mi ddiddymir y mwyafrif o ‘ngwaeau gan y gwynt yn chwythu drwy’r planhigion garw sy’n brychu’r llethrau tywodlyd. A dyma’r tonnau’n torri’r traeth, wrth imi ail-lunio f’uchelgais anghofiedig. Yn araf deg, rwy’n mynd yn lloerig, debyg iawn, wrth dystio, ymhlith y cysgodion digalon, i seithuctod gobaith. Neu ella mod i'n dod yn synhwyrol a chall o'r diwedd. Rwy'n deall mai dŵr yw'r elfen a metel yw'r 'goriad ar gyfer dianc i'r Byd Arall, a dyna pam rwy'n aros yma a 'nhraed yn y môr ac yn fy nwylo ddagr hynafol o haearn rhydlyd.

 

Falla mi ddaliaf i fodoli fel hyn am flynyddoedd. Nid fy musnes fydd, wrth reswm, a geith neb hyd i ‘nghorff, ai peidio, a pham rwy’n sgwennu’r neges ‘ma, Lushfé yn unig a ŵyr. Ond er hynny, ymhen y rhawg, pan fyddaf wedi cael fy nhroi yn ôl yn lluwch sêr, mi glywir eto lais anorchfygol y llanw a thrai cosmig, crechwenu gwallgof Rwm bel-Shaftí, yn yr awel yn siffrwd trwy’r isdyfiant, ym mhoeri anwadal distrych y don, yn symudiad anhrefnus y tywod – ac yn y tswnami fydd yn fuan yn dechrau ffrydio trwy’r gwagle rhwng y galaethau, cyn ddued â drych sgrio afloyw, achosir gan fy Mab, wrth iddo ganu’i gân gellweirus o greadigaeth ac anobaith, fel y mae wastad wedi ‘neud, ac fel y ‘naiff o hyd.