From the very earliest times, before memory, the One amongst Many, the Dazzling Sun. And he was alone, having lost himself in deep meditation, imagining and sighing, as if his tendrils of fire had become wrapped in a thick layer of yellow sand. And there he shone benevolently in the heavens for ages, knowing no-one apart from himself. And the mists came, and the clouds came, and the rains went away once again, but they could never extinguish his light. For the One’s light is life, which brings fruitfulness to the entire Planet also.

 

Despite all that, fickle was the oceans’ spray, and the winds’ breath was mute, and the grass that grew luscious on the face of the Planet spoke not to the One who is Father to everything. And he was a lonely, white-hot heart in the heavens, who was waiting for something to happen. And with the passage of time, although there was nothing to measure it but the restlessness of the unique Light amongst the countless, distant stars, at long last, the Sun who shines over everyone wanted more than his own thoughts for company.

 

So, in the same way that waves breaking on the beach wear away the shore, he reformed his dreams. Never before had he stared so intently at the stately trees, feeling each tiny movement of their branches. Now he experienced the joy that comes when scorched soil deinks fresh water; for the first time he recognised the excitement when buds sprout afresh. Then and there, as the One shopped to listen, all creation began to speak. And the One still shone on.

 

In those days at the dawn of memory, far from anywhere, when the One would come down from the firmament, and the flowers spoke secrets, moving creatures of all kind – animals that run and hunt and mate, wildlife on the moors, fish in the sea, birds in the air, creeping things that slither, and insects that scurry – came to exist on the Planet, because the One used to walk the high lands and the plains alike without impediment, and as he did this, little by little he became entranced. The motion of every branch filled him full up with rejoicing, and as his experience intensified, he broke into song.

 

Never before had any sound of the same kind been heard on the Yrth, nor even in the firmament, apart from the distant music of the heavenly places. And in that first instant when the thoughts of the One burst forth in spoke words, the Planet responded. The soil itself turned to thick, sticky fluid, and in places the rocks were smashed to smithereens, and even the beating of the Planet’s fiery heart could be heard. And then gradually, the molten lava, which had just been crying out from below the round World’s stony skin, began to break through the crust, spurting out and rising up in fingers of rocky liquid, which reached out towards the fresh air, before subsiding, and sloshing down to the depths of the Planet once again.

 

Then, as peace descended, with the tender sighing of a breeze, the Sun began to notice the slightest amount of change. And in surprise the One watched all that was happening, but not in silence. For by now brand-new creatures were conversing with him, now, the russet, fleshy children of the soil assumed their own life for the first time. And from then on, the Planet would be totally different forevermore; and the Nw Yrth would be its new name. As the One who is above everything breathed quickly as a result of this miracle, the animals sensed the life-giving gust of wind, and drew up around him to sing their lives. And then the One proclaimed these words to all:

 

While trees bear fruit they bend and are humble, 

Full of rain, heavy clouds slumber in peace,

Those who move should shout and play joyously, 

For that is the true meaning of life under the Sun.

 

Thus, it is from these beginnings, my children, that there came to be every moving creature which dwells with us today. But we were not made in the image of the One himself, to be like him, to be masters who rule over everything on the entire Planet not to mention in the Cosmos. He was not working under his own initiative either, to be perfectly honest, but rather, he was only following a path created by the wandering of the other stars. Needless to say, first of all, we were all of the same kind, and sisters and brothers to each other, although our forms were unclear. Then again, from start to finish, the plans of the One are always under a cloak of secrecy. But you can be sure that he would put an end to that condition of innocent stupidity in due course.

 

Now, in those freshest days, when the Sun would yet come down from the heavens in order to dance amongst us, and play with us, every living thing on the face of the Nw Yrth used to look the same, and they sang the same song to each other and to the Resplendent One. And whilst the Sun’s light spread from the East to the West every day, life ventured here and there into the good places, and every creature used to go to dwell up a hill or in a valley, on dry land or in the waters of the lakes and the sea, according to his heart’s song. Whilst the brand-new members of creation were being warmed by the rays of the Dazzling One, even the rocks and the rivers joined in with the joyous music.

 

But when the Sun descended from the sky, and went out of sight at the end of each day, in order to visit far lands somewhere else overseas, the creatures would become fearful, and come together for reassurance. And their voices were strident because of their doubt as they stared up at the Fickle Moon, whose face is not constant, but which instead waxes and wanes at night during each month.

 

And then, they sang a sad song without words in the moonlight, lamenting the departure of the Father of all. And here is the meaning of that song. They declared: We should collect together raw materials, stones, and branches, and water, and mud; and we should build a tall tower reaching to the Moon. Because only the Moon stays with us when it gets dark and cold, when the One has gone away. And again, while the Sun leaves and returns once during the day according to the usual order, the Moon hides her face and reveals it regularly with the cycle of the seasons.

 

In this way we shall come closer to the Moon our Mother, looking on her lovingly, and singing to her tenderly, and embracing her life-giving light; and everyone shall sing together the same strong song, so that everyone who hears it shall know that we are the children of the Moon. And then we shall not fear any more, but instead of this we shall be strong sisters and robust brothers, one and the same, and it is we who shall own the whole face of the Nw Yrth, sharing it with each other, and we shall bear the same name and sing the same song, knowing that we can live without the Sun’s light. Since, rather, we shall be daughters and sons of the Moon! And so, unanimously, and with one song, the spawn of the soil began to erect their tower – the majority of our forebears, anyway, but not every one of them, because eight slunk away, pretending that they needed to practise more in order to sing perfectly.

 

But in the heavens above, hidden by the clouds, the Father of everything heard their sad singing, and saw their building, and knew they had rejected him, giving themselves solely to the Moon, that eye that twinkles cheekily in the night sky. And when he saw that all the creatures were labouring together, like the Moon’s progeny, singing the same song as they worked, then he whispered to himself. And here is what he was saying. Well, now my children are forgetting me, and they do not care any more for my reviving light either, and they are working together to raise a tower reaching towards the Moon, who winks like a mad eye in the depths of the night.

 

Who knows what they will do from here on, as I do not understand their intentions, and anyway, the only thing I want to do all the time is play in the heavens with the clouds and the winds, and dance on the green face of the Nw Yrth, singing a song whose words no-one else understands. And moreover, the Moon only reflects my light, and although I know that the next day will follow the previous one for the time being, despite that, I shall, in the end, grow old and tire of my playing, and all life shall come to an end at that time, going back to whence it came, under the veil of eternal night, only to begin once again, perhaps, in a way, and in a form, I am not able to foresee.

 

So, since my children forget me, and work and sing together rather than play with me, mocking me, I shall laugh at them, reminding them that it is only because of my life-giving light that they exist, and that the Moon only reflects my light, and that when I become exhausted, then everything shall return to the muck from which it came originally, and at that time shall all singing cease.

 

And this is what I shall do. I shall sing a majestic song of fear and rejoicing, and it shall call on each living creature separately from every other one, and in a different way, as soon as he hears it. And within that instant he shall transform and become unlike the rest of the other creatures on the face of the Nw Yrth. And then his song shall change too. No longer shall he choose his voice and his words, nor shall he live in complete harmony with all the other creatures on this Planet.

 

Rather, the one shall contend with the other, and there shall be strife; and not one of them shall be able to live and to grow in peace; nor shall the one kind couple with the other kinds. And it is at that time that all the creatures, one by one, and each one on his own, shall remember that I am the only One who gives them life and they shall call on my name so that I will give them help. And while the One sang these thoughts in deep meditation, prancing on top of a mountain under a veil of fog, verily, they came to pass. Unexpectedly, the hard-working creatures felt a sudden shudder of fear as if a great, cold wind was rising, and then blowing cruelly trough the trembling vegetation of the Nw Yrth.

 

Now, as the Father of all’s song, terrifyingly beautiful and handsomely frightening, flowed over them, in truth, every sister and brother was beginning to change. And as they became different, their bodies. and their faces, their shapes, and their colours, were transformed; and their songs began to change too. And there, in a swoon, was every sort of new creature saying his unique name out loud and separate from the others for the first time. And here is part of what they spoke, which is by now the most powerful spell of naming and binding:

 

"... dalatha, bravlu, klendru, eshempa – silpistí, madrolu, bamlaru, zileví – turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, veraza – endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala – brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta – anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista – vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí;”

 

“... rabbit, lynx, marten, housefly – bee, thrush, moose, spider – cockerel, cricket, dog, polecat – toad, goat, hen, horse – bear, mole, owl, mouse – pig, raven, sheep, snake – swan, worm, buffalo, us."

 

The animals continued to make themselves throughout the day and throughout the night, from one end of the week to the other, through the entire month, and the light of the Moon came, and went away again, whilst the creatures created themselves and introduced themselves to the One and to each other. And the ones who spoke last were the ones on the Nw Yrth’s southern continent, who had told lies to their comrades, in order to hide themselves from being punished and to avoid the Sun’s frivolousness. Eight of them there were, and they had given many names to themselves, such as ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ as if they desired to overcome the oppressive power of language, and make the One’s fate into a laughing stock.

 

And to some extent they succeeded, the ones who had fled in the beginning, as they were not changed, and they stayed in the same primal form. And they fashioned personal names for themselves too, namely Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtakh. And these are the Seraphic Sorcerers, seven of them at least, who appear terrifying even today. And they hate the whole World and everything which is in it, as it mocks them and reminds them of the changeable past which was once, but will never be again. And so, they try to remake it in their own harsh image. But while Seven of these would rule tyrannically over the New Yrth in the future, one would become slave to the rest as a result of his rebellion. And about that the snake knew, and knows still, more than he would say; and he speaks less still now, whilst slithering unseen, grinning silently.

 

And having finished declaring their names, the ones of one kind could not understand the song of the other kind. But the name of the one showed the sharpness of his beak, or the keenness of his eyes, or the swiftness of his wings, or the grip of his tail. And so they went away under the azure sky in order to investigate the possibilities of their new bodies, and to talk with their new voices, although one kind could not speak a single word to the other.

 

And some splashed in water, and others panted whilst labouring up mountains, and another went to dwell amongst the ice, and another again to wander on the plains, but then again there were some venturing onto the winds. And each one had his own special characteristic, which differentiated between the one and the other. But something else entirely happened to our ancient forefathers, the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, who had come first of all the creatures to the Sun to receive his judgement and their fate, full of good spirits, laughing and jumping, as they loved our Mother and trusted our Father too.

 

Thus, each type of creature went away downhearted, following his own path, and speaking his particular language, from the prairie where the One had taught them to speak, and from where they had been scattered across the face of the Nw Yrth. And from then on, the Planet was a colder and harder place, but then again, it was more varied and colourful too.

 

And the World’s inhabitants flourished, and multiplied, fighting against one another, and when the one had killed the other, then he would eat it, or leave its corpse to rot. And variety gave birth to difference according to the song of the Sun, in the same way that plants sprout without thinking about the consequences.

 

But at the same time the Seraphic Sorcerers, who had given themselves many names, needed to be fruitful, and cover the World with their offspring, and the Idolaters were already hateful to them, who hated everything irregular and inconstant. And already they sent thousands and thousands of enemies to attack our ancestors, insisting that they were the best, because it is only the Resplendent Sun, their loving Father, who gives life, and the Fickle Moon, cousin to the Nw Yrth, but reflects his light weakly, confusing those who worship her as Mother.

 

Of course, the Father of everyone will claim that he knows nothing in particular about anything of importance save the last days of our World. But despite that, through playing rather than planning, he will always succeed in accomplishing the results that are best for the Nw Yrth. And we must remember that we are all children of the Sun too, who are bound by the same song, despite the different languages and appearances, although some amongst us do not realise the fact nor admit it.

 

Throughout his oration, as the story unfolded, the voice of the old one in his scarlet gown was growing slower and quieter, and with these words, at last, he fell asleep.

 

Tall Tales Chapter 18 Singing

 

Yr oedd, ers cyn cof, o’r cychwyn cyntaf, yr Un ymhlith Llawer, yr Haul Disglair. Ar ei ben ei hunan ydoedd, wedi'i golli ei hun mewn dwfn fyfyrdod, gan ddychmygu ac ochneidio, fel pe bai ei dendriliau o dân wedi'u lapio mewn haenen drwchus o dywod melyn. Ac yno y disgleiriai‘n raslon yn y nefoedd am y rhawg ar hugain, gan adnabod neb heblaw amdano ei hun. A dôi’r tarthoedd, a deuai’r cymylau, ac âi’r glawogydd ymaith unwaith eto, ond ni allent byth ddiffodd ei oleuni. Am mai bywyd yw golau’r Un, sydd yn dod â ffrwythlondeb i’r Blaned gron hefyd.

 

Serch hynny oll, chwit-chwat oedd ewyn y moroedd, ac roedd anadl y gwyntoedd yn fud, ac ni siaradai’r glaswellt a dyfai’n dirf ar wyneb y Blaned â’r Un sy’n Dad i bopeth. A chalon eiriasboeth, unig yn y nefoedd ydoedd, a arhosai i rywbeth ddigwydd. A chyda threigl amser, er nad oedd dim byd mewn bodolaeth yn ei fesur, ond anesmwythder y Golau unigryw ymhlith y sêr anghysbell, di-rif, ymhen yr hir a’r hwyr, roedd ar yr Haul sy’n tywynnu dros bawb awydd cadw cwmni mwy nag ei feddyliau ei hun.

 

Felly, yn yr un modd y bydd tonau’n torri ar y traeth yn treulio’r lan, yr oedd yn ailffurfio ei freuddwydion. Nid oedd erioed wedi syllu mor ystyriol o'r blaen ar y coed urddasol, gan synhwyro bob symudiad bychan eu canghennau. Yn awr yr oedd yn profi’r llonder sy’n dod pan yf pridd cras ddŵr croyw; am y tro cyntaf yr oedd yn cydnabod y cynnwrf a fydd pan flagura egin o’r newydd. Yn y fan a’r lle, wrth i’r Un oedi i wrando, dechreuodd y greadigaeth i gyd lefaru. Ac eto y daliai’r Un i lewyrchu.

 

Yn y dyddiau hynny ar wawr cof, ymhell o bobman, pan ddisgynnai’r Un o’r wybren, a sibrydai’r blodau gyfrinachau, fe ddeath creaduriaid symudol o bob math – anifeiliaid sy’n rhedeg a hela a chyplu, bywyd gwyllt ar y gweundiroedd, pysgod yn y môr, adar yn yr awyr, ymlusgiaid sy’n llithro, a phryfed sy’n cythru – i fodoli ar y Blaned, am mai'r Un arferai dramwyo'r tiroedd uchel a’r gwaelodion fel ei gilydd heb rwystr, ac wrth iddo wneud hyn, bob yn ychydig y’i hanfonid yn berlewyg. Symud pob cangen a oedd yn ei lenwi’n llawn i’r ymyl â gorfoledd, ac wrth i’w brofiad ddwysáu, fe drawodd ef gân.

 

Nid oedd unrhyw sain o’r un fath erioed wedi'i chlywed o’r blaen ar yr Yrth, na hyd yn oed yn y ffurfafen, ar wahân i gerddoriaeth anghysbell y nefolion leoedd. Ac yn yr eiliad gyntaf honno pan ebychodd meddyliau’r Un yn eiriau llafar, atebodd y Blaned. Y gweryd ei hunan a wnaeth droi’n hylif gludiog, trwchus, ac mewn mannau malwyd y creigiau’n ysgyrion, a hyd yn oed curiad calon danllyd y Blaned y gellid ei glywed. Ac yna’n raddol, cychwynnodd y lafa tawdd, a oedd newydd fod yn gweiddi oddi isod i groen caregog y Byd crwn, dorri trwy’r grawen, gan ffrydio allan a chodi mewn bysedd o hylif creigiog oedd yn ymestyn tuag at yr awyr iach, cyn ymsuddo, a slochian i lawr i berfeddion y Blaned unwaith eto.

 

Wedyn, wrth i lonydd ddisgyn, gyda sibrwd tyner awel, fe ddechreuodd yr Haul sylwi ar y mymryn lleiaf o newid. Ac yn syfrdan roedd yr Un yn gwylio hyn oll a oedd yn digwydd ond nid yn ddistaw. Gan mai erbyn hyn creaduriaid newydd sbon a oedd yn sgwrsio â fe, yn awr roedd plant cnawdol, cochdduon y pridd yn cymryd eu bywyd eu hunain am y tro cyntaf. Ac o hynny ymlaen, fe fyddai’r Blaned yn hollol wahanol yn oes oesoedd; a’r Nw Yrth fyddai ei henw newydd hi. Wrth i’r Un sydd uwchben pob dim anadlu'n gyflym o ganlyniad i’r wyrth hon, yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn clywed y chwa fywhaol o wynt, a dynesu yn ei gylch ef er mwyn canu eu bywyd. Ac wedyn y cyhoeddodd yr Un y geiriau hyn i bawb:

 

Wrth i goed ffrwytho fe blygant ac ymostwng, 

Llawn glaw, fe gwsg cymylau trymion mewn hedd, 

Dylai’r rhai a symuda weiddi a chwarae’n hoenus, 

Gan taw hynny yw ystyr gwir hoedl o dan yr Haul.

 

Felly, o’r dechreuadau hyn, fy mhlant i, y daeth i fod bob creadur symudol sy’n trigo gyda ni heddiw. Ond ni chawsom ein gwneud yn ddelw o’r Un ei hunan i fod yn debyg iddo, i fod yn feistri sy'n rheoli dros bopeth ar y Blaned gyfan heb sôn am yn y Cyfanfyd. Nid oedd yn gweithio o’i ben a’i bastwn ei hun ‘chwaith, a bod yn berffaith onest, ond yn hytrach, dim ond dilyn llwybr wedi’i greu gan grwydro’r sêr eraill a wnaeth. Does angen dweud, yn gyntaf oll buom ni i gyd o’r un fath, ac yn chwiorydd a brodyr inni’n gilydd, er bod ein ffurfiau ni’n aneglur. Eto i gyd, o ben bwy gilydd y mae cynlluniau’r Un wastad dan orchudd o ddirgelwch. Ond fe ellwch fod yn siŵr y byddai ef yn rhoi pen ar y cyflwr hwn o hurtrwydd diniwed maes o law.

 

Nawr, yn y dyddiau ffresiaf hynny, pan ddeuai’r Haul eto i lawr o’r nefoedd er mwyn dawnsio yn ein plith ni, a chwarae gyda ni, arferai pob creadur byw ar wyneb y Nw Yrth ymddangos yr un peth, ac fe ganent yr un gân i’w gilydd ac i’r Un Disglair. Ac wrth i olau’r Haul ymledu o’r Dwyrain i’r Gorllewin bob dydd, byddai bywyd yn mentro draw a thraw i mewn i’r mannau da, a byddai pob creadur yn mynd i fyw i lan bryn neu mewn cwm, ar dir sych ynteu mewn dyfroedd y llynnoedd a’r môr, yn ôl cân ei galon. Tra twymid aelodau newydd grai cread gan belydrau’r Un Llachar, hyd yn oed y creigiau a’r afonydd a oedd yn ymuno â’r gerddoriaeth lon.

 

Ond pan ddisgynnai’r Haul o’r awyr, a mynd o’r golwg ddiwedd pob dydd, er mwyn ymweld â gwledydd pell rywle arall dros y môr, fe âi’r creaduriaid yn ofnus, a chynnull at ei gilydd ar gyfer cysur. Ac roedd eu lleisiau’n groch oherwydd eu hamheuaeth wrth iddynt syllu i fyny ar y Lleuad Oriog, nad yw ei hwyneb yn gyson, eithr yn hytrach a dyfa a lleihau gyda’r nos yn ystod pob mis.

 

Ac wedyn, yr oedden nhw’n canu cân drist heb eiriau yn y lloergan, gan alarnadu ymadael Tad pawb. A dyma ystyr y gân honno. Fe gyhoeddasant: Fe ddylem gasglu at ei gilydd ddefnyddiau crai, meini, a changhennau, a dŵr, a llaid; ac fe ddylem adeiladu tŵr tal yn estyn at y Lleuad. Oblegid mai dim ond y Lloer arhosa gyda ni pan fydd hi’n nosi ac yn oeri, pan fydd yr Un wedi mynd i ffwrdd. Ac eto, tra bydd yr Haul yn gadael a dychwelyd unwaith yn ystod y dydd yn ôl y drefn arferol, y Lloer fydd yn cuddio’i hwyneb a’i ddatgelu’n rheolaidd gyda chylchred y tymhorau.

 

Fel hyn y gallwn ni ddod yn nes at y Lleuad ein Mam, gan edrych arni’n gariadlon, a chanu ati hi’n dyner, a chofleidio’i golau bywiocaol; ac fe gân pawb gyda'i gilydd yr un gân gref, fel y gwybydd pob un a’i clyw taw plant y Lleuad ydym. Ac yna nid ofnwn ni mwyach, ond yn lle hyn y byddwn yn chwiorydd cryfion a brodyr cedyrn, yr un a’r unrhyw, a nyni fydd biau holl wyneb y Nw Yrth gan ei rannu gyda’n gilydd, ac fe ddygwn ni’r un enw a chanu’r un gân, gan wybod y gallwn ni fyw heb olau’r Haul. Am fod yn hytrach, fe fyddwn ni’n ferched a meibion i’r Lloer! Ac felly, yn unfryd, a chydag un gân, cychwynnodd epil y pridd godi eu tŵr – y rhan fwyaf o’n henafiaid, beth bynnag, ond nid pob un ohonynt, gan fod wyth a sleifiodd ymaith, yn esgus bod arnynt angen ymarfer mwy er mwyn canu’n berffaith.

 

Ond yn y nefoedd uwchben, wedi’i gelu gan y cymylau, fe glywodd Tad popeth eu canu’n drist, a gweld eu codi, a gwybod eu bod nhw wedi’i wrthod ef, gan gadw eu hunain yn unig i’r Lleuad, y llygad hwnnw fydd yn ysmicio’n hyf yn awyr y nos. A phan welodd ef fod y creaduriaid i gyd yn llafurio gyda’i gilydd, fel hiliogaeth y Lloer, gan ganu’r un gân wrth iddynt weithio, wedyn y sibrydodd wrtho’i hun. A dyma’r hyn a ddywedodd. Wel, yn awr mae fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac ni dda ganddyn nhw ‘mo’m golau adfywiol rhagor ‘chwaith, ac maen nhw’n cydweithio i godi tŵr yn estyn tuag at y Lleuad, sy’n amrantu fel llygaid lloerig yn nhrymder y nos.

 

Pwy a ŵyr beth a wnân nhw o hyn ymlaen, am nad ydw i’n deall eu hamcanion, a ta be’, yr unig beth dw i eisiau ‘neud bob amser yw chwarae yn y nefoedd gyda’r cymylau a’r gwyntoedd, a dawnsio ar wyneb gwyrdd y Nw Yrth gan ganu cân nad yw neb arall yn deall ei geiriau. Ac ar ben hynny, dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau a wna’r Lloer, ac er i fi wybod y bydd y diwrnod nesa’n dilyn yr un o’i flaen yn amseroedd, serch ‘ny, fe fydda i yn y pen draw yn heneiddio a blino ar fy chwarae, ac fe ddaw bywyd i gyd i ben yr adeg honno, gan fynd yn ôl i’r lle y daeth ohono dan lenni nos dragwyddol, dim ond i ddechrau unwaith eto, falle, mewn ffordd, ac ar ffurf, dw i’m yn medru’i rhagweld.

 

Felly, achos bod fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac yn gweithio a chanu gyda’i gilydd yn hytrach na chwarae gyda fi, gan fy ngwatwar i, fi a wna chwerthin am eu pennau nhw, gan eu hatgoffa nhw taw dim ond o achos fy ngolau bywiocaol y maen nhw’n bodoli, ac mai dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau i a wna’r Lleuad, ac mai pan fydda i’n mynd yn lluddedig, wedyn y dychwel popeth i’r llaid o ble y daeth yn wreiddiol, a’r pryd hynny y gorffen y canu i gyd.

 

A dyma beth a wna i. Canu cân fawreddog o ofid a gorfoledd a wna, ac fe eilw hi at bob creadur byw ar wahân i bob un arall, ac mewn ffordd wahanol, cyn gynted ag y bydd yn ei chlywed. Ac o fewn yr eiliad honno y bydd e’n trawsffurfio a dod yn annhebyg i weddill y creaduriaid eraill ar wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac yna y newidia ei gân hefyd. Nid rhagor bydd e’n dewis ei lais na’i eiriau, na bydd e’n byw yn hollol gytûn â’r creaduriaid eraill i gyd ar y Blaned hon.

 

Yn hytrach, fe fydd y naill yn ymryson â’r llall, ac fe fydd helynt; ac ni fydd yr un ohonyn nhw’n medru byw na thyfu mewn heddwch; na bydd y naill fath yn paru â’r rhai eraill. A bryd hynny y cofia’r creaduriaid i gyd, fesul un, a phob un ar ei ben ei hunan, taw’r Un unig ydw i sy’n rhoi bywyd iddyn nhw, ac fe alwan nhw ar f’enw er mwyn i fi estyn cymorth iddyn nhw. Ac wrth i’r Un ganu’r meddyliau hyn mewn myfyrdod dwys, gan brancio ar ben mynydd dan orchudd o niwl, yn wir, fe ddarfuant. Yn ddisymwth, fe deimlodd y creaduriaid gweithgar ias sydyn o ofn fel petai wynt mawr, oer yn codi, ac wedyn chwythu’n greulon trwy lystyfiant crynedig y Nw Yrth.

 

Yn awr, wrth i gân Tad popeth, ddychrynllyd o hardd, a phrydferth o frawychus, lifo drostynt, mewn gwirionedd, pob chwaer a brawd a ddechreuodd newid. Ac wrth iddynt fynd yn wahanol, trawsffurfiwyd eu cyrff, eu hwynebau, eu siapau a’u lliwiau; a chychwyn newid a wnaeth eu caneuon hefyd. Ac yno, mewn llewyg, yr oedd pob math o fwystfil newydd yn dweud ei enw unigryw ar goedd ac ar wahân i’r lleill am y tro cyntaf. A dyma ran o’r hyn a lefarasant, sydd erbyn hyn y swyngan rymusa’ o enwi a rhwymo:

 

""...dalatha, bravlu, klendru, eshempa – silpistí, madrolu, bamlaru, zileví – turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, veraza – endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala – brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta – anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista – vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí;"

 

“... cwningen, lincs, belau, pryf – gwenynen, bronfraith, mws, corryn – ceiliog, cricsyn, ci, ffwlbart – llyffant, gafr, iâr, ceffyl – arth, gwadd, tylluan, llygoden – mochyn, cigfran, dafad, sarff – alarch, mwydyn, byfflo, nyni.”

 

Yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn parhau i enwi eu hunain drwy gydol y dydd, ac ar hyd y nos, o'r naill ben i'r wythnos i'r llall, drwy'r mis crwn cyfan, a daeth golau’r Lleuad a mynd i ffwrdd unwaith eto, wrth i’r creaduriaid greu eu hunain ac ymgyflwyno i’r Un ac i’w gilydd. A’r rhai a siaradodd olaf oedd y rhai ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Nw Yrth, sydd wedi dweud celwyddau wrth eu cymrodyr, er mwyn ymguddio rhag cael eu cosbi ac i osgoi gwamalu’r Haul. Wyth ohonynt oedd, ac yr oeddent wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, megis ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ fel petaent yn dymuno goresgyn grym gormesol iaith, a gwneud tynged yr Un yn gyff gwawd.

 

Ac i ryw raddau llwyddasant, y rhai a oedd wedi ffoi yn y dechreuad, am nas newidiwyd, ac arosasant yn yr un ffurf gysefin. Ac fe luniasant enwau personol iddynt eu hunain hefyd, sef Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtach. A dyma’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, saith ohonynt o leiaf, sy’n ymddangos yn ddychrynllyd hyd yn oed heddiw. Ac maent yn casáu’r Byd i gyd a phopeth sydd ynddo, am ei fod yn eu gwatwar a’u cofio am y gorffennol newidiol a fu unwaith ond na fydd byth eto. Ac felly y maent yn ceisio ei ail-wneuthur ar eu delw lem eu hunain. Ond tra byddai Saith o’r rhain yn teyrnasu’n ormesol dros y Nw Yrth yn y dyfodol, un a ddeuai’n was i’r lleill o ganlyniad i’w wrthryfel. Ac am hynny, y sarff a wyddai, ac a ŵyr o hyd, fwy nag a ddywedai; ac mae’n siarad lai byth erbyn hyn, wrth ymlusgo’n anweledig dan laswenu’n ddistaw.

 

Ac wedi gorffen datgan eu henwau, ni allai’r rhai o’r naill fath ddeall cân y llalll. Ond enw’r un a ddangosai awch ei big, neu graffter ei lygaid, neu gyflymder ei adain, neu afael ei gynffon. Ac felly yr aethant i ffwrdd o dan yr awyr asuraidd er mwyn archwilio posibiliadau eu cyrff newydd, a llefaru â’u lleisiau newydd, er na siaradai’r naill fath yr un gair â’r llall.

 

A sblasiai rhai mewn dŵr, a dyheai rhai eraill wrth lafurio i fyny mynyddoedd, ac âi un arall i drigo ymhlith yr iâ, ac un arall eto i grwydro ar y gwastatiroedd, ond eto i gyd byddai rhai’n mentro i’r gwyntoedd. Ac roedd gan bob un ei nodwedd arbennig ei hunan, a oedd yn gwahaniaethu rhwng y naill a’r llall. Ond rhywbeth arall yn llwyr a ddigwyddodd i’n cyndadau hynafol ni, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, a oedd wedi dod gyntaf o’r creaduriaid i gyd at yr Haul i dderbyn ei farn a’u ffawd yn llawn hwyliau da, dan chwerthin a neidio, gan eu bod yn caru’n Mam ac yn ymddiried yn ein Tad hefyd.

 

A'r gwahaniaeth sylfaenol oedd hyn: ni fyddent yn gorffen newid byth, nac aros mewn un ffurf o gwbl wrth drawsffurfio bob amser. Yn hytrach fe fyddent wastad yn prancio a chwarae, wrth ganu’n gyson eu cân gaotig a chyfnewidiol o orfoledd ac anobaith i’n Mam, y Lleuad, wrth ganu clod ein Tad, yr Haul hefyd. And the fundamental difference was this: they would never finish changing, nor stay in one form at all whilst transforming all the time. Rather, they would always gambol and play whilst constantly singing their chaotic and changeable song of exultation and despair to our Mother, the Moon, whilst praising our Father, the Sun, also. Felly yr oedd pob math o greadur yn ei throi hi’n ddigalon, gan ddilyn ei lwybr ei hun, a llefaru ei iaith neilltuol, o’r paith lle roedd yr Un wedi dysgu iddynt siarad, ac o ble roeddent wedi'u gwasgaru dros wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac o hynny ymlaen, roedd y Blaned yn fangre oerach a chaletach, ond eto i gyd, roedd yn fwy amryfal a lliwgar hefyd.

 

A ffynnu a wnâi trigolion y Byd, a lluosogi, gan ymladd yn erbyn ei gilydd; a phan fyddai’r naill wedi lladd y llall, wedyn y’i bwytai, neu ynteu adael i’w gelain bydru. Ac amrywiaeth esgorai ar wahaniaeth yn ôl cân yr Haul, yn yr un ffordd fel y blagura’r planhigion heb feddwl am y canlyniadau.

 

Ond ar yr un pryd, roedd angen ar y Swynwyr Seraffaidd, sydd wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, fod yn ffrwythlon, a gorchuddio’r Byd â’u hepil. Ac roedd y Delw-addolwyr yn enwedig yn gas ganddynt hwy, a oedd yn ffieiddio popeth afreolaidd ac anghyson. Ac eisoes yr anfonent filoedd ar filoedd o elynion i ymosod ar ein hynafiaid, gan fynnu mai hwynt-hwy oedd y gorau, oblegid mai dim ond yr Haul Llachar, eu Tad cariadus, sy’n rhoi bywyd, ac mai’r Lloer Oriog, cyfnither i’r Nw Yrth, na fydd ond yn adlewyrchu ei olau’n wan, gan ddrysu’r rhai fydd yn ei haddoli fel Mam.

 

Wrth gwrs, fe fydd Tad pawb yn honni nad ydy’n gwybod dim byd yn enwedig am ddim byd o bwys ond dyddiau olaf ein Byd ni. Ond serch hynny, trwy chwarae yn hytrach na chynllunio, fe fydd wastad yn llwyddo i ennill y canlyniadau sydd orau i’r Nw Yrth. A rhaid cofio mai plant yr Haul ydym ni oll hefyd, sy’n rhwym wrth yr un gân er gwaetha’r ieithoedd a’r gweddau gwahanol, er nad yw rhai yn ein plith ni’n sylweddoli’r ffaith na’i chyfadde’.

 

Drwy gydol ei araith, wrth i’r stori fynd rhagddi, roedd llais yr henuriad yn ei ŵn ysgarlad yn mynd yn arafach ac yn is, a chyda hynny o eiriau, o’r diwedd, fe syrthiodd i gysgu.

 

Hanesion Hynod Pennod 18 Canu

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 summery straw hat, sandals, and crocheted cardigan. On her left side was a goblin whose face was tattooed red and green, 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.]

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 tywyll, 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 datŵo’n goch a gwyrdd, 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 ‘sgidiau cadarnaf yn y Nw Yrth o groen y fadfall ganibal, 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 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.]

Once, there was a tribe living at the far end of the World, before real history had been invented. They had practically nothing worth talking about, but they succeeded to scrape an existence by scavenging for food and eating roots, shoots, and nuts whilst wandering from place to place in search of pure, running water. They believed that it was necessary to move, and that they would die if they stayed in the same place, since they were moving creatures. And they also had an enormous cauldron of green brass that they would take with them wherever they travelled, although no-one could remember from where the cauldron had come originally, nor who had made it, not whether their forefathers had found it centuries ago, even, in days of yore. The cauldron would always hold the roots, shoots, and nuts (and sometimes also the leaves) that they found whilst foraging so diligently. One day it would be full, the next day it would contain next to nothing. No-one, and especially not the wise-men and the great-women, could say which from one day to the next.

 

Now, as the tribe wandered, they flourished, and the number of them increased incredibly until there were seven great families. But as time progressed, the land became barren, and the people began to starve. They kept on wandering, beseeching the Sun and cursing the Moon until they were completely exhausted and dead on their feet. When the cauldron was totally empty, they stopped on the bank of a vast, flat expanse of still liquid as black as jet in the middle of a desolate wilderness. And there they declared: "Let us all walk straight into that lake of thick, dark stuff whilst our strength persists, until it flows over us, and destroys us, and takes away our pain." Unanimously the horde agreed, and they went to it, walking or crawling into the hot, black oil, the old carrying the babies, the adults leading the aged, and the children running in front of their parents. And when they had all reached the crater containing the enormous pool and were on the verge of jumping, or falling, into the treacly substance, a voice began to hold forth as follows —

 

"Wait! You are ready to sacrifice yourselves to the Old Masters, although you do not know them yet. Thus, we ourselves, the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, are delighted. We shall be most pleased to have your fealty and accept your tribute from now on. And in our turn, we shall feed you and cause you to flourish. You need only do this one little thing. You shall put every one of the tribe who dies into the cauldron of green brass before the body rots. We shall welcome them all in glory on the Nw Yrth, having snatched them from the jaws of oblivion. And as a result, the cauldron shall never be empty, and you shall dominate the whole fruitful Planet. If you agree, we shall be your masters, and you shall be our servants. 'Delkurí' will be our secret name for you (although you shall be known by the World as 'Deklo'), as we shall feed each other. And the names of the seven families shall be: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, and Ulkru. You shall own the whole World in our Name. These are our final and immutable words. Believe me, as it is I, Swtakh, Lord of the Wilderness, and servant to the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, who speaks!"

 

Immediately, every member of the tribe shouted with one voice: "We agree! Do as you have said! Save us and cause us to flourish!" And thus it was, and this it is. Into the cauldron went every one of the tribe who died, and the cauldron was always full to overflowing of delicious ambrosia, a jet-black liquid which made everyone who drank it become very strong but rather stupid. And as the people flourished and grew without restraint, they began to build a city and keep animals, and in the middle of the city they raised up a House of Rebirth in the form of a great ziggurat to contain the cauldron which was the Bridge to the Other World. Soon thereafter it came to pass that they came upon other peoples. Every time this happened, the voice issuing from the depths of cauldron would tell them that they needed to force their beliefs on the unclean strangers with sword and fire. And so they did. And as the piles of bodies lying around the cauldron grew higher and higher, reaching towards the Moon even, before they were put into it, the Terrible Old Masters rejoiced on the Nw Yrth. And indeed, the cauldron of green brass always was full.

 

[From 'Collected Works of Daud Pekar,

also known as David Baxter,

and Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,' by P Mamrick (ed.)] 

Unwaith, roedd 'na lwyth yn byw ym mhen draw'r Byd, cyn i hanes go iawn gael ei ddyfeisio. Doedd ganddyn nhw fawr o ddim gwerth sôn amdano, ond llwyddon nhw i grafu byw trwy chwilota am fywyd a bwyta gwreiddiau, blagur, a chnau wrth grwydro o le i le gan chwilio am ddŵr rhedegog, croyw. Ro'n nhw'n credu bod rhaid symud, ac y bydden nhw'n marw 'sen nhw'n aros yn yr un fan, am taw creaduriaid symudol o'n nhw. Ac roedd ganddyn nhw hefyd grochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, y bydden nhw'n mynd â fe gyda nhw i ble bynnag y teithien nhw, er na allai neb gofio o ble roedd y crochan wedi dod yn wreiddiol, na phwy oedd wedi'i lunio fe, nac a oedd eu cyndadau wedi dod o hyd iddo ganrifoedd o'r blaen hyd yn oed, yn yr hen amser gynt. Byddai'r crochan bob tro'n dal y gwreiddiau, y blagur, a'r cnau (ac o bryd i'w gilydd, y dail, hefyd) y daethon nhw o hyd iddyn nhw trwy chwilota mor astud. Un dydd, byddai'n llawn, y dydd nesa', byddai'n cynnwys y nesa' peth i ddim. Doedd neb, ac enwedig nid y dynion doeth na'r gwragedd mawr, allai ddweud p'un o'r naill ddydd i'r llall.

 

Nawr, wrth i'r llwyth grwydro, 'naethon nhw ffynnu, a 'naeth y nifer ohonyn nhw gynyddu'n aruthrol nes bod saith teulu mawr. Ond gyda threigl amser, aeth y tir yn ddiffrwyth, ac roedd y bobl yn dechrau newynu. Dalion nhw i grwydro wrth ymbil ar yr Haul a melltithio'r Lleuad hyd nes eu bod nhw wedi blino'n lân ac yn cysgu ar eu traed. A'r crochan yn hollol wag, stopion nhw ar lan ehangder dirfawr, gwastad o hylif llonydd cyn ddued â'r muchudd yng nghanol anialdir diffaith. Ac yno datganon nhw: "Gadewch i ni oll gerdded yn syth i mewn i'r llyn 'na o stwff tywyll trwchus tra bo'n cryfder barhau, nes iddo lifo droston ni, a'n distrywio ni, a dileu'n poen." Yn unfryd cytunodd y lliaws, a aeth ati i gerdded, neu gropian i mewn i'r olew du, poeth, a'r hen yn cario'r babis, y rhai mewn oed yn arwain yr henoed, a'r plant yn rhedeg o flaen eu rhieni. A nhwthau oll wedi cyrraedd y crater yn cynnwys y pwll enfawr ac ar fin neidio, neu syrthio, i mewn i'r sylwedd trioglyd, dyma lais yn dechrau datgan fel a ganlyn —

 

"Arhoswch! Yr ydych yn barod i aberthu'ch hunain i'r Hen Feistri, er na wyddoch mohonom ni eto. Felly yr ydym ninnau, y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, wrth ein boddau. Fe fyddwn ni'n falch iawn o gael eich gwrogaeth a derbyn eich tynged o hyn ymlaen. Ac yn ein tro, byddwn ni'n eich bwydo a pheri ichi ffynnu. Ni fydd ond yn rhaid ichi wneud yr un peth bach hwn. Fe fyddwch yn rhoi pob un o'r llwyth a fydd farw i mewn i'r crochan o bres gwyrdd cyn i'r corff bydru. Fe fyddwn ni'n eu croesawu hwy i gyd mewn gogoniant ar y Nw Yrth, wedi'u cipio o safnau ebargofiant. Ac o'r herwydd, ni fydd y crochan byth yn wag, ac fe fyddwch chi'n deyrn ar yr holl Blaned ffrwythlon. Os cytunwch, nyni fydd eich Meistri, a chwychwi fydd ein gweision. 'Delkurí' fydd ein henw dirgel arnoch (er yr adwaenir chi gan y Byd fel 'Deklo'), gan y byddwn ni'n bwydo'n gilydd! A'r enwau ar y saith teulu fydd: Ampashu, Azarié,  Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. Chwychwi fydd biau'r Byd i gyd yn ein Henw ni. Dyma'n geiriau terfynol a digyfnewid ni. Credwch fi, oblegid mai myfi, Swtach, Arglwydd yr Anialwch, a gwas i'r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, sydd yn siarad!"

 

Gyda hynny dyna weiddi pob aelod o'r llwyth ag un llais: "Cytunwn! Gwnewch chi fel rydych chi wedi'i ddweud! Achubwch ni a pheri i ni ffynnu!" Ac felly yr oedd, ac felly y mae hi. I mewn i'r crochan o bres gwyrdd yr âi pob un o'r llwyth a fu farw, ac roedd y crochan wastad yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o ambrosia pêr, hylif purddu a 'nâi i bob un a'i hyfodd ddod yn gryf iawn ond yn eitha' twp. Ac wrth i'r bobl ffynnu a thyfu'n ddilyffethair, dechreuon nhw adeiladu dinas a magu anifeiliaid, ac yng nghanol y ddinas fe godon nhw Dŷ Aileni ar ffurf sigwrat mawr i gynnwys y crochan oedd yn Bont i’r Byd Arall. Yn fuan wedyn, ddarfu iddyn nhw ddod ar draws pobloedd eraill. Bob tro y digwyddai hyn, fe fyddai'r llais yn tarddu o ddyfnderoedd y crochan yn dweud wrthon nhw fod arnyn nhw angen gorfodi'u credau ar y dieithriaid aflan â chleddyf ac â thân. Ac felly y 'naethon nhw. Ac wrth i'r pentyrrau o gyrff yn gorwedd o gwmpas y crochan dyfu'n uwch uwch gan ymestyn tuag at y Lleuad hyd yn oed, cyn iddyn nhw gael eu rhoi ynddo, roedd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll yn llawenhau ar y Nw Yrth. Ac roedd y crochan o bres gwyrdd wastad yn llawn yn wir.

 

[O 'Holl Weithiau Daud Pekar,

a adwaenid hefyd fel David Baxter,

a Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,' gan P Mamrick (gol.)]

Once, on the Harsh Planet, a long time ago when the Blue Moon and the Resplendent Sun were young, there were two tribes, or two factions, fighting against each other. One side was conservative, disciplined, and militaristic, and rejoiced in their purity, their ruthlessness, and their strength. The subjects of this kingdom spoke the original language of the Planet, and each one of the seven great families claimed that it descended from one of the group of ancient rulers. And these are the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who were said to have founded the tribe, and given them laws, and order. They acknowledged the teaching and authority of these beings, although no-one knew whether they had existed in reality, or had been invented by the tribe millennia ago to strengthen their beliefs, and justify their actions. And all of these were bloody and oppressive indeed.

 

Progressive, open, and equitable was the other society, where everyone, women and men, old and young, foreigners and natives, lived in harmony with the World and each other, mostly anyway. There, there was a great variety of peoples, and very many languages were spoken, and things were always changing, including the lively language. A considerable number of the citizens would communicate often with the forces of nature, receiving inspiration, sharing ideas, and absorbing ever-changing attitudes. And their name for these entities, or this world-view, was the Indolent Idolaters, who were represented in the form of myriad carvings and pictures, combining the characteristics of animals, and people, and objects. The leaders of the Farmers were the Wise Man and the Great Woman, who were elected every five years from amongst the elders to steer the council containing one member of each family that had lived in the land for two years, tending the ground, and looking after the animals.

 

The flag of one group, the inheritors of the Sorcerers, namely the Warriors, was a trident aimed at the Sun on a blue background, and that of the others, the children of the Idolaters, that is, the Agriculturalists, was a pitchfork planted in the earth on a red ground. The Warriors were very fond of inventions and would spend considerable time making and analysing machines of all kinds, whilst the Farmers would sing, and carve, and tell tales after finishing their work. The former group considered that they were civilized, and upright, and correct, but that the other side was uncivilized, backwards, and degenerate. Therefore, the Warriors were full of boiling bile, as it were, and wanted to destroy the Cultivators entirely. Their enemies, however, had no such ideas, and they were peaceful, democratic, and welcoming.

 

Sole ruler over the Warriors was the Tyrant, who lived in the Rosy Citadel above the Paths of Wickedness, an enormous network of tunnels, and passages, and chambers weaving through one another which was mighty difficult (if not impossible) to find the way out of. The Despot alleged that he was a descendant of Swtakh, who had been exiled from the Sorcerers’ tribe. And he would gain supremacy through deceit and murder most often, rather than through birth-right, as Swtakh had tried to do before him. May·nover was the name of the current Tyrant, as he believed that life was futile were it not for the constant fight to survive and oppress. And living with him at the start was the Queen called Oal·layt, as her pure face shone with the light of all the stars, although she was not permitted to exercise particular influence in political affairs. They had a daughter, too, the Princess Ari·adní, whose name meant that she was Mistress of Snakes.

 

After the Queen died, the Despot had taken another woman as wife, to be a companion for himself, and a stepmother for his daughter. This woman used to be Lady of the Bedchamber to the late Queen, and some would say that she killed her mistress to be able to marry the Tyrant, and take the kingdom over. In no time, the Lady had borne a son, the Bull-man (that is, Man·toru to the Warriors, and Nanathuru to the Husbanders). As the name suggests, he was part man and part bull, and some would whisper that she had created him through evil magic that we could call genetic engineering these days. When he was born, his skin was as white as the face of Lotké servant to Nebesh who was transformed into a pillar of chalk. It’s no surprise to say that he wasn’t jumping with joy as a result of his condition.

 

A haughty, and ambitious, and cruel woman was the Stepmother, and she would not be gainsaid, despite the customs of the Warriors. After she took up the reigns in the Fortress, she commanded that the Princess be kept under lock and key in a green tower of jade on a sumptuous estate in the heart of the stronghold. This was for her own benefit, said the Stepmother, as she was so beautiful, and it was necessary to keep her safe. The Stepmother hit upon another excellent idea, too. Every year, she suggested, youths from the Growers’ tribe should come to visit the Stronghold under the white flag, and meet the Princess as she looked down at them from the splendid isolation of her high tower.

 

And after that, it would be possible for the Princess’s suitors to ask the Despot for permission to marry her, if they thought they were good enough for her. She would give them tasks to complete then to prove that they were worthy. And these would always involve being sent down to the Paths of Wickedness to meet the Man-bull, and their destruction. The Tyrant would pretend that they had died trying to accomplish a quest in search, for example, of the Cauldron of Rebirth, Sorakados’ Sword, the Multi-coloured Coat, the Holy Grail, the Philosophers’ Stone, or the Grey Wizard’s Staff. In this way, year after year, the lazy Despot and the scheming Stepmother would get rid of the brave and strong young men from the rival faction. And as the lads would bring tribute every time, they believed they would get rich beyond their wildest dreams at same time, too. Or so they thought. And that’s why everyone said that the Lady was the Bloody Stepmother from then on.

 

To tell the truth, by the time he had matured, his skin as red as the sand in the desert around the Houses of Rebirth, the Bull-man had had a gut-full of his exile as the wretch downstairs in the cellar as it were, amongst the dust, the darkness, and the cold. He was an enormous, muscular creature, and of course, he could have attacked his unwilling visitors, and torn them limb from limb easily, one or two at a time, at least. But he craved light-hearted chat, and intellectual discussion, and mental stimulation. Thus, rather than killing his comrades in oblivion, he would encourage them to join him, suggesting that they could train, keep fit, and learn the art of warfare, to create an army and overthrow the Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother. From time to time he had to roar, and rage, and stamp his forked hooves to persuade them. It was no great surprise to him, then, when they would agree not to fight, become blood brothers, and swear an oath to fight the good fight shoulder to shoulder with each other, prevailing or perishing in the attempt.

 

In the meantime, the situation was developing very interestingly upstairs. The Princess Ari·adní, trapped in her tower, had become a pampered vixen after her Mother departed, so great was her sadness that she herself had not killed the blessed woman. She was wasting half the resources of the whole kingdom on fulfilling her needs and satisfying her whims. And despite how busy she was with the constant stream of suitors for her hand, she always had plenty of time to laugh at the Bloody Stepmother using a megaphone. Furthermore, she would sow the seeds of discord my means of satirical shadows cast on the walls of the keep. And to crown it all, she would also threaten to do totally silly things like giving the serfs the citizens’ rights, especially the right to vote, freeing all the slaves, and creating a society where all could participate as equal members.

 

Well, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? What a social-justice warrior-woman! And talk of doing the impossible! But one year, a Bumpkin from the other side joined the visiting team from the Country-folks’ fruitful fields on the sly, pretending that he was a Handsome Lord. He chose the name Kuv·ínoor (or Hufanoru in the language of his own tribe), as in him were united many conflicting characteristics: he was ugly but charming, fearful but brave, rough but loving. And there he was bowing before the Princess in her eyrie in due course. From the first moment he heard her harsh voice ejaculating from the top of the tower, he decided to fall head over heels in love with her. Perhaps it was because their social status was so different that she was so attractive to him, with him having descended from an excellent line of butchers. And that meant that he was highly respected amongst his community, as although they could kill, the majority were reluctant to do so. Come to think of it, it would be a very practical marriage, as he’d not expressed romantic love before, and she’d not yet exercised her deadly instincts. But then again, the young lovers weren’t thinking logically, as the two of them were suffering terribly from love-sickness from being kept apart for so long. They could conquer the Cosmos together, not as Warrior-woman and Agronomist, but as Skilled Leaders, after uniting his smouldering passion with her creative nightmares!

 

But although the Bumpkin was son to the Leaders of the Growers-and-Breeders, the Wise Man and the Great Woman (she’d got to know about him from the two talkative birds, a white dove and a black crow, that he was using to send messages back to the tribe in the Hinterland), the Princess believed that it would be a good idea to put him to the test. So, she arranged for him to undergo trial by ordeal like in the Red Book of Blood and Rust. And indeed, he had to squat in a dungeon painted sky-blue for many a long day without food or water, staring at a matt-black scrying-glass, with a thick layer of iridescent oil on its surface, to call on the Idolaters to share more of their mystic power. And after that, he had to dance around a bonfire on the top of a minaret until he collapsed of exhaustion, trying to force the Sorcerers to reveal a tiny morsel of their hidden knowledge. But as he completed the tasks, he came by complete accident into mental contact with a seer amongst the rebels’ hidden army deep below the Citadel. They had been practising for ages under the authority of the Bull-man, and were ready to run amok by then. When the Princess heard all this, she decided that they needed to take the opportunity immediately, and hatched a daring plan. Then the Bumpkin told the rebels to attack the keep from below through the sewers, on the night of the Festival of Glory and Gladness, that is, two days thence (he would remind those living without the Sun about the timing) . 

 

The forces of the Man-bull acted decisively, following constant mentalist instructions from the Bumpkin, while the Despot and his followers were blind drunk on mead during the yearly party to celebrate the wedding of the Royal Couple. All the Lords and Ladies of the kingdom were there, and not for nothing was the occasion called the Red Feast in the Annals of the Harsh Planet from the on, but at least the fighting came to an end quickly, since the soldiers had spent so much time preparing, and all the guests were blotto. Fittingly, the freedom-fighters (or the terrorists, depending on your point of view), wielded tridents that were very similar to pitchforks. Having said that, the Bull-man wasn’t feeling too well that day, as he’d gobbled down too many mushrooms-in-honey for breakfast, and he stayed in his lair in the guts of the labyrinth sulking. Anyway, the prospective Dictator did not need to fight too hard against the odds (as it were) to succeed in snatching his lover after all. He did not need to steal her away, either, as she flung herself into his hairy arms (although not from the top of the green tower, thank goodness!). And they both took control together in the Rosy Citadel immediately.  

 

After the Rapid Revolution by the inhabitants of the maze succeeded, it was necessary to punish the old Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother, who had not been killed by then. She was covered with a thick layer of bull-fat, and locked in a small, blue chamber, full of prickly fire-lice, which infested her, and feasted on her until she became a living corpse. He was forced to drink all her toxic potions, so that his body swelled up into an enormous ball of ectoplasm, which constantly belched and bubbled. And after experimenting on them both for a long time, the Skilled Leader killed the Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother and their heads were displayed on the ramparts of the Stronghold, as a warning to anyone who would attempt to oppose the new Despots. There was one important thing waiting to be done, however, and that was for the Princess to get rid of the Man-bull, who was competition for the Steel Throne, and a constant reminder of the Bloody Stepmother. So, Ari·adní slipped into the Paths of Wickedness, with a wheelbarrow carrying a large ball of poisoned thread, as sharp as a razor.

 

Ari·adní had got this deadly present (the toxic razor-string, not the wheelbarrow) from Ichrus, son to Thethalu, who was an accomplished spy, an ingenious inventor, and a sly assassin for any one of the great families who would pay her. They were both under great suspicion by then, and had plotted to escape from the iniquitous hosts by flying away on fake wings. But to do this they had to get hold of the appropriate bits-‘n’-bobs, like an awful lot of wrapping paper, a considerable amount of sealing-wax, and yards of leather laces, as well as the most important element, namely an enormous quantity of the best parchment. Whilst they could buy everything else in the market, they had to turn to the Princess to provide the hide from the palace scriptorium. As it happens, they succeeded in fleeing, but whether because the materials bought from the merchants were lacking, or because the Princess had tricked them, to test some abstruse hypothesis, somehow other, when they flew so high that they approached the Sun, a Cleft opened in the heavens which they fell through, whence, no-one knew.

 

But the Princess was too busy to give a fig about them anyway by then. So, she was standing stock-still in the heart of the Paths of Wickedness to wait for her bull of a mutant half-brother, pretending that she’s a life-size marble statue (and so inspiring too many street performers today). She was white as death, wearing a long, black cloak that used to belong to the Stepmother, to hide her in the shadows, and on her terrifying lips was jet-black lipstick. Truly she looked quite similar to Lotké servant to Nebesh after being turned into a pillar or chalk whilst trying to steal Lushfé’s tears from Swtakh in his Excruciating Hive.

 

And because Lotké failed to complete this all-important task, the Tearful River would never stop flowing. Nebesh would never give up weeping in her fitful sleep, either, before coming to the Eyrth, and turning all the seas there to tears of blood. But the Princess had firmly decided that she would not fail in her task. So, as the Man-bull rushed by Ari·adní lurking in the cowardly shadows, he was cut to shreds by her trap which is almost invisible, but extremely dangerous, and she pierced him once again, cursing his soul. And the Bull-man retreated to his lair to die, in the deepest depths of the Paths of Wickedness below the Rosy Citadel. And when he died, his skin was as black as the fake-wings of the first aviators when they disappeared through the Cleft between the Words, unbeknownst to them.

 

After lots of conquering and oppressing, the Lucky Couple, the Princess and the Lout, had a baby. And although no-one had organised nor imagined such a thing, it was he who was the Son Foretold, who could unite the powers of the Idolaters with that of the Sorcerers to create a new World, possibly. The child was named twice, so special was he, as Keth·kela a Hethehela (in the languages of the two tribes), as the colour of his skin was glaucous. Perhaps this had happened due to the fragile situation in the Fortress, as I shall explain next, as the entire court had turned its back on the Sorcerers, and was riven by contention. The argumentative factions were always trying to harm each other and seize power, by sending spies to collect scraps of information, whilst spreading lies, and poisoning the food and the water. In the House of Rebirth, the eternal flame had gone out. The Vexatious Voice had become silent. And the fabled cauldron of green brass was nowhere to be seen any longer.

 

And in this matter, the chieftains of the seven Warrior families were behaving so similarly to the Seraphic Sorcerers, blaming, and quarrelling, and brawling. Trying to get them to agree was an impossible task. But with regards to enforcing iron discipline and maintaining order, the Lout was not much use at all. The life of everyone living in the Fortress was affected by the threatening whispers, the drugs in the mead, the ceaseless provocation, and the lack of sleep. Now we would say that they had to put up with constant psychological torture, but they said that an Evil Enchantress was casting spells on them, the old chauvinist pigs (although there’s nothing wrong with pigs, either!). The Princess warned him constantly that there was some evil afoot with the nobles, but he had much more important things on his mind. Little use is wife’s advice to her man, but he’ll rue the day he ignores her, as they say.

 

What was the big problem, then, that can cause people to change colour? Well, to speak plainly, it is the food that was to blame, probably, or the lack of it. We must remember that the inhabitants of the Fortress were not Farmers but Warriors. They were more familiar with oil and leather, with rock and wood, that with fruit and veg, or with fish and meat. So, no-one in the Citadel had a balanced diet by a long way, to say the least. Furthermore, the Lout was mad about growing exceptional fungus from the Hinterland that developed magically beneficial properties from being kept in honey for a year and a day. And he would persuade, or encourage, or force his son to gobble down vast quantities of it, and although it caused terrifying visions as well as odd feelings, strange twitches, and iridescent skin, it didn’t taste too awful. But having said that, of course, you can always have too much of a good thing, too., and it’s possible to choke on excess. Despite that, the Happy Family managed to keep alive if not healthy, despite the innumerable troubles.

 

Despite that, the neglectful parents were too busy doing their own thing, with military objectives in mind (on the part of one), or following agricultural pleasures (on the part of the other), to care appropriately for the little boy who was very precocious. And this meant that he came under the influence of the Deceitful Lords’ children who were as bad, if not worse, than their own parents. One day, whilst playing with the little devils, Keth·kela Hethehela ran off. One said he was hunting a mouse, whilst the others that he had gone after a ball that had escaped from his grip and rolled down a passageway, although no-one had seen where exactly he’d gone. Whether they were telling the truth or not about his location, the kid had penetrated into the guts of the Fortress. And in the deepest, darkest, and most terrifying cellar, he had fallen into an enormous vat in the form of a cauldron of green brass full to overflowing with pitch-black liquid which was sweet ambrosia full of honey, and drowned. When he had not returned by midnight, the parents went crazy, worrying that they would be judged lacking, and getting angry at the thought that, possibly, they had lost a very valuable asset.

 

Through his mentalist powers, which were almost supernatural, the Lout discerned that to find the boy, the searcher would have to possess exceptional linguistic skill, since revelation and exposition go hand-in-hand as it were. The Lout asked the Wizards how to solve the problem, and they answered that the successful seer would need to solve the following riddle – ‘Somewhere, a bullock had been born, which would change its colour twice during its lifetime, from white, to red, to black. What would the best way of describing the colours of this creature?’

 

Now, there was in the kingdom at that time a Shaman called Ohl·weled. His name means that he could foresee many things, and he would have been a famous mentalist and numerologist today. He desired with his whole heart to return to his homeland, far across the Great Grey Sea, buy had been refused by the Tyrant because of his myriad talents. Anyway, it was him who solved the riddle, declaring – “The colours of the bullock are like those of the Man-bull, who shall save the folk and damn them too, as he was white when he was born, he is red at present as he rants and raves in the Paths of Wickedness, and he shall be black the day he is killed by the Bloody Princess.” The Lout was flabbergasted by such words, and sent the Shaman to fetch his son, wherever he might be.

 

The Shaman wandered through the winding corridors, and the vast halls, and the narrow paths, for days without a pause, until his feet were bleeding. Down and down he went, further and further, zig-zagging purposelessly without a single idea about direction nor destination. But unbeknownst to him, he was aiming straight for the black heart of the Sinister Stronghold. At last he discovered the body of the boy after seeing an owl chasing a swarm of bees away from the Fortress’s wine cellar deep in the roots of the place. The corpse had been perfectly preserved by the ambrosia so that it would never age. And there was the boy upside-down in the enormous cauldron of green brass, his face shining with holy glory. The Lout was delighted to get his son’s body back, but this was still not enough for him.

 

Then the Lout commanded the Shaman to restore his son to life. And indeed, the old man was familiar with the tale about Tefnuth singing a magical song stolen from the Sun that she could die, descend to the Underworld, collect and heal Lushfé, and bring him back to his throne of blue steel in the Chief Ziggurat. However, he recognised his limitations as well, and although he’d found the body of the poor child in the cellar so like the Underworld, after searching for an age, he had to admit that he couldn’t resuscitate him. Well, the Lout went raving mad when he heard this, insisting that the wise man, who didn’t appear too clever at that point in time, should be locked up in a dungeon with the corpse. And he would have nothing at all to eat, and nothing in his hand but a sword, either.

 

The Shaman was completely confused considering his situation and his circumstances. When he was almost dying of hunger, he succeeded in killing a serpent that had slid under the thick door of oak towards the child, to prevent it from harming his body. (And he did this either with the sword or with a handy stone, either by accident or on purpose. The stories aren’t clear here. Who can say, now?) That was a pity, in the sense of being a mistake, perhaps, as the old snake is mistress of very many secrets, including how to heal the dead, a miracle taught to her by Tefnuth. As the Shaman waited to consider how to eat the animal without cooking it, another serpent appeared. When it saw its sweetheart lying dead on the cold slates, it disappeared at once. But contrary to the old man’s expectation, it came back in no time, bearing in its mouth the leaves of some herb, or maybe they were mushrooms. And to his great surprise, when it put the plant on the body of the dead serpent, she came back to life immediately.

 

Without much attention to health and safety, not to mention clinical trials (they used to do things very differently in the old days, it was rather like being in some undeveloped country on the Southern Continent today), the Shaman put some of the magical stuff on the corpse of the child who had died by being steeped in the ambrosia containing lots of honey. And he awoke straight away, thanks to the power of the nitrogenous chemicals called alkaloids, which originate from plants that grow in cattle dung. But it’s necessary to remember that honey, also, was essential to the apparent biochemical sorcery. And in this matter, the child fulfilled a prophecy which was associated with Lushfé in the first place — The sacrifice did perish, But came back to life once more; So all the pines are singing, To know that the withered bough, Shall flourish again in joy.

 

The Lout was beside himself with joy from getting his son back. Despite that, he would not allow the Shaman to leave before he had taught the secrets of magic to the boy. The old man agreed as he did not have any choice at all, and taught the son sorcery. And then, he was allowed to leave. But, with the ship on the point of sailing away, the Shaman asked the boy to spit into his mouth. The son did so (that’s disgusting, isn’t it!), forgetting on the spot all the secrets he’d learned from the wise man. The Shaman returned homewards without delay. But because the boy had died in the cauldron, he was therefore the only soul to escape without crossing the Bridge to the Other World. And the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers were incensed at losing him, and determined to get the special lad back.

 

Now, little by little, new Lords had appeared from the ranks of the mercenaries after the Red Feast, to lead the various crews. And under secret influence by the Seven Sorcerers, the agents of the competing factions would never give up trying to kill the Happy Family, following the familiar pattern. The parents could defend themselves, But the Lout decided to collect the strongest magic from everywhere to give to the boy, Keth·kela Hethehela, in exchange for the power taken away by the Shaman. Then, to keep him from harm and death, he sent the Son Foretold to the Eyrth through the Cleft between the Worlds created, perhaps, by the daring but unfortunate aviators.

 

The journey of the Son Foretold was an act that would cause unexpected and far-reaching consequences, weaving together the lives of the inhabitants on the Two Worlds from then on, for the Severn Sorcerers were incandescent with rage when they realised from afar what had happened. And when the leaders of the great families saw the kid disappearing in a column of flaming cloud that had appeared above the Rosy Fortress, they immediately arose in rage, uniting to set upon the Lout ferociously and tear him apart. And in this matter, they were behaving exactly like Swtakh relishing dismembering Lushfé’s body. And so, the Lout died. However, after that, they began their old tricks again, plotting all kinds of mayhem, but they could not agree on anything any more, and they immediately fled to far lands. And due to their treachery, the Princess took the place of her dear departed husband as Despot after almost half a day of intense mourning.

 

Ari·adní wanted revenge on those who had brought about Hufanoru’s demise, and caused her to lose Keth·kela Hethehela, and she spent considerable time on training to be a warrior-woman. She discovered to where exactly the criminals had escaped, far away from her Kingdom, (they were lurking in the Shaman’s homeland, to be perfectly correct), and then she waited her chance. Several years later, she led a campaign against the land of the Lords who had fallen from grace, pretending that she was claiming tribute in the name of her late husband. When they saw the strength of her army, and the glory of her war-chariots, the common people were humbled.

 

The proud and stupid Lords continued to scorn the Princess however, saying that she was a worm compared with the Tyrant May·nover, or even the Dictator Hufanoru, and that she could never rule because she was a woman. So, without batting an eyelid, she killed every one of them there in an enormous slaughter, destroyed the city completely, burned the place, and sowed the ground with salt. Even the ancient Shaman called Ohl·weled who had saved her son, died in the First Great Tribulation. As a result, although she was not anyone’s Stepmother, since she did not marry ever again, she got the nickname the Bloody Princess. And then, whilst taking a small break from the terrible task, Ari·adní asked the empty sky whether she was indeed as great at the dead Tyrant.

 

Having established herself as Tyrant, the Bloody Princess began to use the agricultural skills she’d learned from her lost lover, as well as magical techniques (or pioneering scientific ones, as we would say in our refined language today) contained in her late Stepmother’s confidential notebooks. In this way, she was able to cultivate vast crops of mushrooms, and very spicy beans, and glaucous fungi, and to produce jet-black ambrosia with herbs and honey in it. And she not only became exceptionally wealthy, but also tightened her grip over a large swathe of the Planet, as these foods had strange powers to affect peoples’ minds, as well as their bodies, and their behaviour. She also organised the seven great families so that the members would be numerologists, mentalists, and priests, astrologers, alchemists, inquisitors, and interpreters, and established rites and ceremonies they would have to keep to avoid the wrath of the Old Masters, and devised chants full of power in the old original language to summon them and compel them, to plead with them and threaten them.

 

The Bloody Princess promised that the faithful and submissive vassals would go to the Underworld when they died, on a blue and green Planet, far away from there, where they would live in bliss for ever, if they behaved according to all the strict rules of the Sorcerers’ Extremely Exalted Empire. But, she warned that they would go to Eternal Torment in the Bottomless Pit in the Planet’s fiery heart otherwise. And she declared that every graven image was an abomination, and the image of any creature, as they were full of power. She forbade all the people from depicting the Sorcerers in any fashion, on pain of death, and threatened that all unbelievers would be accursed, and every one who held any belief apart from the universal orthodox one.

 

And the Bloody Princess did all this, claiming that she was the First Prophetess of the World-Wide Faith, and that her holy task was to purify, discipline, punish, and save, and that that would be the privilege and the duty of every obedient vassal of the Sorcerers too from then on. And she said with the greatest certainty that her exceptional power sprang from the magic that arose in her womb when she was carrying the Son Foretold who united the power of the Sorcerers and the understanding of the Idolaters. For it was he who had died and then come back to life. And that allowed her to recite the Most Powerful Charm of Naming and Binding, to call and command the life-force of every creature on the face of the Planet.

 

And then, the Bloody Princess turned her attention towards the Eyrth, that fertile Planet across the Cleft between the Worlds, which was the new home to the Son Foretold who had taken the discipline of the Sorcerers as well as the insight of the Idolaters. And that World was ready to be conquered indeed. She imagined also that that was where the essences of the Lout and the Man-bull had been transported the moment they died, not to mention Thethalu and Ichrus.

 

With her shrewd mind’s eye, as she stared into the enormous cauldron of green brass which by then always stood beside the Steel Throne of the Despot, the Bloody Princess perceived things happening on the Eyrth. Thus, she could see, as if on some miraculous viewing screen, the Old Soldier, the Youngest Wizard, and the Numerologist Manqué, the Lady Macbeth, the Trainee Mentalist, the Urban Commando, and the Unborn. There were most attractive pictures of enchanting and suffering, of murdering, sacrificing, and burning. She discerned that Deklo was the species of those living on the Eyrth, and that they were very like her tribe the Delkurí living on the Harsh Planet.

 

And the Bloody Princess knew in her heart that Keth·kela Hethehela was growing, and maturing, and waiting, and conniving, as the unthinking Eyrthlings rushed towards self-destruction, although she herself could not foresee at all what would happen from then on. But imagining all the wonders that the mind can create, there she was, laughing for a very long time.

 

[From, 'The Bloody Kingdom (A text-heavy graphic novel),'

by the Shadow (Mamrick), and the Viking (Grossmann),

based on an idea by the Unfortunate Hero (Baxter).]

Unwaith, ar y Blaned Yrth, amser maith yn ôl pan oedd y Lleuad Las a'r Haul Disglair yn ifanc, roedd yna ddau lwyth, neu ddwy garfan yn brwydro yn erbyn ei gilydd. Roedd yr un ochr yn geidwadol, disgybledig, a milwrol, ac yn ymfalchïo yn eu purdeb, eu hanhrugaredd, a’u nerth. Siaradai deiliaid y deyrnas hon hen iaith gysefin y Blaned, a honnai pob un o’r saith teulu mawr iddo fe hanu o un o’r grŵp o reolwyr hynafol. A dyma’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd y dywedwyd amdanyn nhw iddyn nhw sefydlu’r llwyth a rhoi iddyn nhw gyfreithiau a threfn. Roedden nhw’n arddel athrawiaeth ac awdurdod y bodau hyn, er na wyddai neb a oedden nhw wedi bodoli mewn gwirionedd, neu wedi cael eu dyfeisio gan y llwyth filenia yn ôl i gryfhau eu coelion, a chyfiawnhau eu gweithrediadau. A gwaedlyd a gormesol oedd y rhain i gyd yn wir.

 

Blaengar, agored, a chyfartal oedd y gymdeithas arall, ble roedd pawb, yn wragedd a dynion, yn henoed a phlant, yn dramorwyr a brodorion, yn byw mewn cytgord â’r Byd a’i gilydd, gan amlaf beth bynnag. Yno, roedd amrywiaeth helaeth o bobloedd, a siaradwyd llawer iawn o ieithoedd, ac roedd pethau wastad yn newid, yn cynnwys yr iaith fywiog. Fe gyfathrebai cryn nifer o’r dinasyddion yn aml â grymoedd natur, gan dderbyn ysbrydoliaeth, rhannu syniadau, ac amsugno agweddau cyfnewidiol. A’u henw nhw ar yr hanfodion hyn, neu’r byd-olwg hwn, oedd y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, a gynrychiolid ar ffurf cerfluniau a lluniau fyrdd, yn cyfuno nodweddion anifeiliaid, a phobl, a gwrthrychau. Arweinyddion yr Amaethwyr oedd y Gŵr Hysbys a’r Wraig Fawr a gafodd eu hetholi bob yn bum mlynedd o blith yr hynafiaid i lywiai’r cyngor yn cynnwys aelod o bob teulu oedd yn byw yn y wlad ers dwy flynedd, wrth drin y tir, ac edrych ar ôl yr anifeiliaid.

 

Fflag y naill grŵp, etifeddion y Swynwyr, sef y Rhyfelwyr, oedd tryfer yn anelu at yr Haul ar gefndir glas, ac eiddo'r lleill, plant y Delw-addolwyr, hynny yw, yr Amaethwyr, oedd picfforch wedi’i phlannu yn y ddaear ar gefndir coch. Roedd y Rhyfelwyr yn hoff iawn o ddyfeisiadau a bydden nhw’n treulio cryn amser yn gwneud a dadansoddi peiriannau o bob math, tra byddai’r Amaethwyr yn canu, a cherfio, a chwedleua ar ôl cwpla’u gwaith. Fe dybiai’r grŵp cyntaf eu bod nhw'n wâr, a chyfiawn, a chywir, ond bod yr ail ochr yn anwar, annatblygedig, a dirywiedig. O'r herwydd, llawn bustl berwedig oedd y Rhyfelwyr fel petai, ac am ddinistrio’r Amaethwyr yn llwyr. Nid oedd tybiad o’r fath gan eu gelynion, fodd bynnag, oedd yn heddychlon, rhyddfrydol, a chroesawgar.

 

Unig reolwr dros y Rhyfelwyr oedd y Teyrn, oedd yn byw yn yr Uchelgaer Rosliw uwchben Llwybrau Drygioni, rhwydwaith enfawr o dwneli, a chynteddau, a siambrau’n gweu drwy’i gilydd roedd yn dra anodd (os nad amhosibl) cael hyd i’r ffordd allan ohono. Fe honnai’r Teyrn taw disgynnydd Swtach, a alltudiasid o lwyth y Swynwyr, oedd e. Ac fe fyddai’n ennill goruchafiaeth trwy dwyll a llofruddiaeth gan mwyaf, yn hytrach na thrwy enedigaeth-fraint, fel yr oedd Swtach wedi ceisio’i wneud o’i flaen. May·nover oedd enw’r Uwchben presennol, gan ei fod yn credu taw ofer oedd bywyd oni bai am y frwydr barhaol i oroesi a gormesu. A byw gyda fe ar y dechrau roedd y Frenhines o’r enw Oal·layt, am fod ei hwyneb pur yn disgleirio â golau’r sêr i gyd, er na adawyd iddi feddu ar ddylanwad neilltuol mewn materion gwladol. Roedd ganddyn nhw ferch hefyd, y Dywysoges Ari·adní, a’i henw yn golygu taw Meistres y Seirff oedd hi.

 

Ar ôl i’r Frenhines farw, roedd y Teyrn wedi cymryd menyw arall yn wraig, i fod yn gymar iddo yntau, ac yn llysfam i’w ferch. Arferai’r fenyw hon fod Boneddiges y Siambr Wely i’r ddiweddar Frenhines, a rhai a ddywedai iddi hi ladd ei meistres i gael priodi’r Teyrn, a chymryd y deyrnas drosodd. Cyn pen dim, roedd yr Arglwyddes wedi dwyn mab, y Dyn-darw (hynny yw, Man·toru i’r Rhyfelwyr, a Nanathuru i’r Amaethwyr). Fel yr awgryma'r enw, roedd e’n rhannol dyn a'n rhannol tarw, a sibrydai rhai iddi ei greu trwy ddewiniaeth ddrwg y byddem yn ei galw'n beirianneg genetig y dyddiau hyn. Pan gaeth e ei eni, roedd ei groen cyn wynned â wyneb Lotké was i Nebesh a drawsffurfiwyd yn biler o sialc. Nid syndod dweud nad oedd e'n cael modd i fyw o ganlyniad i'w gyflwr.

 

Menyw drahaus, ac uchelgeisiol, a chreulon oedd y Llysfam, ac ni chymerai ei gwrthod, er gwaethaf arferion y Rhyfelwyr. Ar ôl iddi hithau gymryd yr awenau yn yr Uchelgaer, fe orchmynnodd i’r Dywysoges gael ei chadw dan glo mewn tŵr gwyrdd o jâd ar ystâd foethus yng nghalon y cadarnle. Dyma oedd er ei lles ei hun, meddai’r Llysfam, am ei bod mor brydferth, ac roedd rhaid wrth ei chadw’n ddiogel. Fe darodd y Llysfam ar syniad ardderchog arall, hefyd. Bob blwyddyn, awgrymodd hithau, fe ddylai glaslanciau o lwyth yr Amaethwyr ddod i ymweld â'r Ysgor dan y faner wen, a chwrdd â'r Dywysoges wrth iddi edrych i lawr arnyn nhw o arwahanrwydd gogoneddus ei thŵr uchel.

 

Ac ar ôl hynny, byddai'n bosibl i’r ymgeiswyr am law’r Dywysoges ofyn i’r Teyrn am ganiatâd i’w phriodi hi os oedden nhw'n meddwl eu bod yn ddigon da iddi. Fe fyddai hithau’n rhoi gorchwylion iddyn nhw i'w cyflawni wedyn i brofi eu bod yn deilwng.  Ac fe fyddai'r rhain bob tro'n cynnwys cael eu hanfon i lawr i Lwybrau Drygioni i gyfarfod â'r Dyn-darw, a'u tranc. Fe fyddai’r Teyrn yn cymryd arno iddyn nhw farw wrth geisio cyflawni ymchwil, i gyrchu, er enghraifft, wrthrychau anhygoel fel Pair Dadeni, Cleddyf Sorakados, y Siaced Fraith, y Greal Sanctaidd, Carreg yr Athronwyr, neu Hudlath y Dewin Llwyd. Fel hyn, o'r naill flwyddyn i'r llall, fe fyddai’r Teyrn diog a’r Llysfam gyfrwys yn cael gwared ar lanciau ifanc, cry’ a dewr o’r garfan groes. Ac am y deuai’r llanciau â theyrnged bob tro, fe greden nhw y bydden nhw’n dod yn graig o arian ar yr un pryd, hefyd. Neu felly y meddylient. A dyna pam roedd pawb yn dweud taw'r Llysfam Waedlyd oedd yr Arglwyddes o hynny ymlaen.

 

A dweud y gwir, erbyn iddo aeddfedu, a’i groen cyn goched â’r tywyn yn yr anialwch o gwmpas y Tai Aileni, roedd y Dyn-darw wedi cael llond bol ar ei alltudiaeth fel y truan lawr staer yn y seler fel petai, ymhlith y llwch, y tywyllwch, a'r oerni. Creadur enfawr, cyhyrog oedd e, ac wrth gwrs, fe allai fod wedi ymosod â’r ymwelwyr anfodlon, a’u tynnu nhw’n bedwar aelod a phen yn hawdd, fesul un neu ddau o leiaf. Ond roedd e’n ysu am ymgom siriol, trafodaeth ddeallusol, ac ysgogiad meddyliol. Felly yn hytrach na lladd ei gymrodyr mewn ebargofiant, fe'u hanogai nhw i ymuno â fe, gan awgrymu y gallen nhw hyfforddi, cadw’n heini, a dysgu rhyfela, i greu byddin a dymchwel y Teyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd. O bryd i’w gilydd roedd yn rhaid iddo fe ruo, a ffromi, a stampio’r llawr â’i garnau fforchog i’w darbwyllo nhw. Doedd dim syndod mawr iddo felly, pan gytunen nhw i beidio â ffraeo, dod yn frodyr gwaed, a thyngu llw i ymdrechu ymdrech deg ysgwydd wrth ysgwydd â’i gilydd, gan drechu, neu farw ar y cynnig.

 

Yn y cyfamser, roedd y sefyllfa’n datblygu’n ddiddorol lan staer. Roedd y Dywysoges Ari·adní, yn gaeth i’w thŵr, wedi mynd yn genawes fwythlyd ar ôl i'w Mam ymadael, cymaint oedd ei thristwch nad oedd hithau'i hun wedi lladd y wraig fendigedig. Gwastraffid hanner adnoddau’r deyrnas oll ar gyflenwi ei hanghenion a bodloni ei mympwyon. Ac er gwaethaf pa mor brysur oedd hi gyda’r llif cyson o ymgeiswyr am ei llaw, roedd ganddi bob tro ddigon o amser i chwerthin am ben y Llysfam Waedlyd gan ddefnyddio megaffon. Ymhellach, fe fyddai’n hau dannedd y ddraig trwy gyfrwng cysgodion dychanol wedi’u taflu ar waliau’r gorthwr. Ac i goroni popeth, fe fyddai hefyd yn bygwth gwneud pethau hollol dwp fel cyflwyno hawliau dinesydd i’r taeogion, yn enwedig yr hawl i bleidleisio, rhyddhau'r caethweision i gyd, a chreu cymdeithas lle gallai pawb gymryd rhan yn llawn fel aelodau cyfartal.

 

Wel, dyna fyddai’n neis, on’ fyddai? Am ryfelwraig dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol! A sôn am gael caws o fola ci! Ond un flwyddyn, ymunodd Llabwst o’r ochr arall â thîm yr ymwelwyr o feysydd ffrwythlon yr Amaethwyr ar y slei bach, gan ymhonni bod yn Arglwydd Golygus. Dewisodd e’r enw Kuv·ínoor (neu Hufanoru yn iaith ei lwyth ei hunan), gan taw ynddo fe yr unwyd llawer o nodweddion anghyson: roedd e’n hyll ond swynol, yn ofnus ond dewr, yn arw ond yn gariadus. A dyna lle roedd e’n moesymgrymu gerbron y Dywysoges yn ei huchelfan maes o law. O'r foment gyntaf iddo glywed ei llais cryg yn ebychu o dop y tŵr, fe benderfynodd e gwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â hi. Efallai mai am fod eu statws cymdeithasol mor wahanol, roedd hithau mor deniadol iddo, ac yntau'n disgyn o linach wych o fwtsieriaid. A dyna olygai ei fod yn dra pharchedig ymhlith ei gymuned, gan mai er eu bod nhw’n gallu lladd, cyndyn o wneud felly oedd y mwyafrif. Erbyn meddwl amdani, fe fyddai'n briodas ymarferol iawn, ac yntau heb fynegi cariad rhamantus o'r blaen, a hithau heb ymarfer ei greddfau marwol eto. Ond eto i gyd doedd y cariadon ifainc ddim yn meddwl yn rhesymegol, gan fod y ddau ohonyn nhw’n dioddef yn enbyd o wewyr serch o gael eu cadw ar wahân ers cyhyd. Fe fedren nhw goncro'r Cosmos gyda'i gilydd, nid fel Rhyfelwraig ac Amaethwr, ond fel Tywyswyr Mentrus ar ôl uno'i angerdd yn mudlosgi â'i hunllefau creadigol hi!

 

Ond er taw mab i Arweinyddion yr Amaethwyr, y Gŵr Hysbys a’r Wraig Fawr, oedd y Llabwst (roedd hi wedi cael gwybod amdano fe gan y ddau aderyn siaradus, colomen wen a chigfran ddu, roedd e’n defnyddio i hala negeseuon yn ôl i’r llwyth yn y Gefnwlad), fe gredai'r Dywysoges taw syniad da fyddai ei roi fe ar brawf. Felly fe drefnodd iddo ddioddef diheurbrawf fel yn Llyfr Coch Gwaed a Rhwyd. Ac yn wir, roedd yn rhaid iddo gyrcydu mewn dwnsiwn a beintiwyd yn las yr awyr am ddyddiau maith heb fwyd na dŵr, gan syllu ar ddrych sgrio du, afloyw ac ar ei wyneb haen drwchus o olew symudliw, i alw ar i'r Delw-addolwyr rannu rhagor o’u pŵer cyfrin. Ac ar ôl hynny, roedd arno angen dawnsio o amgylch coelcerth ar ben meindwr nes iddo syrthio o orflinder, gan geisio gorfodi’r Swynwyr i ddatgelu mymryn bach o’u gwybodaeth gêl. Ond wrth iddo gyflawni'r gorchwylion, fe ddaeth ar hap a damwain i gysylltiad meddyliol â gweledydd ymhlith byddin guddiedig y rebeliaid yn ddwfn islaw'r Uchelgaer.  Roedden nhw wedi bod yn ymarfer ers talwm dan awdurdod y Dyn-darw, ac yn barod i redeg yn benwyllt erbyn hynny. Pan glywodd y Dywysoges hyn oll, fe benderfynodd y byddai raid iddyn nhw’i mentro hi ar eu hunion, a dyfeisio cynllwyn beiddgar. Wedyn fe ddywedodd y Llabwst wrth y rebeliaid am ymosod ar y gorthwr oddi isod trwy'r carthffosydd, noson Gŵyl Gogoniant a Gorfoledd, ddau ddiwrnod wedyn (yntau fyddai’n atgoffa’r rhai’n byw heb yr Haul am yr amseru).

 

Fe weithredodd grymoedd y Dyn-darw’n ddibetrus, gan ddilyn cyfarwyddiadau meddyliaethol cyson gan y Llabwst, a’r Unben a’i ddilynwyr wedi meddwi'n gaib ar fedd yn ystod y parti blynyddol i ddathlu pen-blwydd priodas y Cwpl Brenhinol. Roedd holl Arglwyddi ac Arglwyddesau’r deyrnas yno, ac nid am ddim cafodd yr achlysur ei enwi fel y Wledd Goch ym Mlwyddnod y Blaned Yrth o hynny ymlaen, ond o leiaf daeth y brwydro i ben yn gyflym, gan fod y milwyr wedi treulio cymaint o amser yn paratoi, a bod y gwesteion i gyd yn chwil ulw. Yn weddus, fe driniai’r ymladdwyr dros ryddid (neu’r terfysgwyr, yn dibynnu ar eich safbwynt) dryferi oedd yn debyg iawn i bicweirch. Wedi dweud hynny, doedd y Dyn-darw ddim yn teimlo’n rhy dda y dydd hwnnw, am iddo slaffio gormod o fadarch wedi’u preserfio mewn mêl i frecwast, ac fe arhosodd yn ei ffau ym mherfeddion y labyrinth dan bwdu. Beth bynnag, doedd dim rhaid i'r ddarpar Unben frwydro yn rhy galed yn erbyn galluoedd cryfach (fel petai) er mwyn llwyddo i gipio'i gariad wedi’r cwbl. Doedd arno angen ei dwyn hi ymaith, 'chwaith, gan iddi’i thaflu’i hunan i’w freichiau blewog e (er nad oddi ar dop y tŵr gwyrdd, diolch byth!). A ’naethon nhw ill dau gymryd y llyw gyda’i gilydd yn yr Ysgor Rosliw ar unwaith.

 

Ar ôl i'r Chwildro Chwim gan drigolion y ddrysfa lwyddo, roedd rhaid wrth gosbi’r hen Deyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd, nad oedd wedi cael eu lladd erbyn hynny. Caenwyd hithau â haen drwchus o saim twrw, a chlowyd mewn siambr fechan, las, yn llawn llau tân, pigog, a’i heigiodd hi, a gwledda arni nes iddi fynd yn gelain fyw. Gorfodwyd yntau i yfed ei dognau gwenwynllyd oll, fel y chwyddodd ei gorff yn belen enfawr o ectoplasm, oedd yn bytheirio a byrlymu’n gyson. Ac ar ôl arbrofi arnyn nhw ill dau am amser maith, fe laddodd y Tywysydd Medrus y Teyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd ac fe ddangoswyd eu pennau ar fylchfuriau’r Amddiffynfa yn rhybudd i neb fyddai’n ceisio gwrthwynebu’r Unbeniaid newydd. Roedd un peth pwysig yn aros i’w wneud, fodd bynnag, a dyna oedd i’r Dywysoges gael gwared â’r Dyn-darw, oedd yn gystadleuydd am yr Orsedd Ddur, ac atgoffäwr cyson am y Llysfam Waedlyd. Fe wnaeth Ari·adní sleifio i mewn i Lwybrau Drygioni felly, gyda whilber yn cario pelen fawr o linyn gwenwynig, mor finiog â rasel.

 

Roedd Ari·adní wedi cael yr anrheg angheuol hon (y llinyn rasel gwenwynig, nage'r whilber) gan Ichrus, mab i Thethalu, oedd yn gampwr ar ysbio, dyfeisiwr cywrain, a lleiddiad cyfrwys i unrhyw un o’r teuluoedd mawr a fyddai’n ei thalu hi. Roedden nhw ill dau dan amheuaeth fawr erbyn hynny, ac wedi cynllunio i ddianc rhag y lluoedd anfad trwy hedfan i ffwrdd ar adenydd ffug. Ond i wneud hyn roedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw gael hyd i'r geriach priodol, fel llawer iawn o bapur llwyd, cryn dipyn o gwyr selio, a llathenni o gareiau lledr, yn ogystal â'r elfen bwysicaf, sef maint mawr o'r memrwn gorau. Tra gallen nhw brynu popeth arall yn y farchnad, roedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw droi at y Dywysoges i ddarparu'r croen o ysgrifendy'r palas. Fel mae’n digwydd, fe lwyddon nhw i ffoi, ond p'run ai am fod y deunyddiau wedi'u prynu o'r masnachwyr yn ddiffygiol, neu gan i'r Dywysoges eu twyllo nhw i brofi rhyw ddamcaniaeth ddyrys, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, pan wnaethon nhw hedfan cyfuwch nes iddyn nhw nesáu at yr Haul, agorodd Hollt yn y nefoedd y syrthion nhw trwyddo, i ble, ni wyddai neb.

 

Ond roedd y Dywysoges yn rhy brysur i hidio taten amdanyn nhw beth bynnag erbyn hynny. Dyna oedd hi'n sefyll yn stond yng nghalon Llwybrau Drygioni i ddisgwyl ei tharw o hanner brawd mwtant, gan gymryd arni ei bod hi'n gerflun marmor o faint naturiol (ac fel hyn, yn ysbrydoli gormod o berfformwyr stryd heddiw). Cyn wynned â’r angau oedd hi, ac yn gwisgo mantell hir, ddu oedd yn arfer perthyn i’r Llysfam, i’w chuddio hi yn y cysgodion, ac ar ei gwefusau arswydus roedd minlliw purddu. Yn wir roedd hi i'w gweld yn eithaf tebyg i Lotké was i Nebesh ar ôl cael ei droi’n biler o sialc wrth drio dwyn dagrau Lushfé oddi wrth Swtach yn ei Gwch Dirboenus.

 

A chan i Lotké fethu cyflawni’r neges hollbwysig hon, ni pheidiai’r Afon Wylofus byth â ffrydio. Ni fyddai Nebesh yn rhoi’r gorau i wylo yn ei drwmgwsg ysbeidiol, ‘chwaith, cyn dod i’r Ddaear, a throi’r moroedd oll yno’n ddagrau o waed. Ond Roedd y Dywysoges wedi penderfynu’n gadarn na fyddai’n ffaelu yn ei thasg. Felly, wrth i’r Dyn-darw ruthro heibio Ari·adní yn llechu yn y cysgodion cachgïaidd, wedi'i falu'n chwilfriw gan ei bagl oedd bron yn anweladwy, ond yn dra pheryglus, dyna hi'n drywanu fe unwaith eto, gan felltithio'i enaid. A dyna'r Dyn-darw'n encilio i'w ffau i farw, ym mherfeddion dyfnaf Llwybrau Drygioni o dan yr Ysgor Rosliw. A phan fu farw, roedd ei groen cyn ddued ag adenydd ffug yr awyrenwyr cyntaf wrth iddyn nhw ddiflannu trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, heb yn wybod iddyn nhw.

 

Ar ôl llawer o goncro a gormesu, fe gafodd y Cwpl Lwcus, y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst, faban. Ac er nad oedd neb wedi trefnu na dychmygu’r fath beth, fe oedd y Mab Darogan, a allai uno pwerau’r Delw-addolwyr ag eiddo’r Swynwyr i greu Byd newydd, o bosibl. Fe enwyd y plentyn dwywaith, mor arbennig oedd e, yn Keth·kela a Hethehela (yn ieithoedd y ddau lwyth), gan fod lliw ei groen yn wyrddlwyd, neu lwydlas neu lwydwyrdd. Efallai i hyn ddigwydd oherwydd y sefyllfa fregus yn yr Ysgor, fel y esboniaf nesaf, am fod y llys oll wedi cefnu ar y Swynwyr ac wedi’i hollti gan gynnen. Roedd y carfannau ymrafaelgar wastad yn trio newidio'i gilydd a chipio grym, trwy anfon ysbïwyr i gasglu tameidiau o wybodaeth wrth daenu celwyddau, a gwenwyno'r bwyd a'r dŵr. Yn Nhŷ Aileni, roedd y fflam dragwyddol wedi diffodd. Roedd y Llais Trallodus wedi tawelu. Ac nid oedd y crochan chwedlonol o bres gwyrdd i’w weld yn unman rhagor.

 

Ac yn hyn o beth, roedd penaethiaid saith teulu’r Rhyfelwyr yn ymddwyn mor debyg i’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, gan weld bai, a chweryla, a ffrwgwd. Ceisio cytundeb rhyngddyn nhw oedd fel bwyta uwd â rhaw. Ond gyda golwg ar gadw disgyblaeth haearnaidd a chynnal trefn, doedd y Llabwst fawr o beth o gwbl. Fe ddylanwadid ar fywyd pawb yn byw yn yr Uchelgaer gan y sibrydion bygythiol, y cyffuriau yn y medd, y pryfocio di-baid, a'r diffyg cwsg. Erbyn heddiw dywedem ni ‘u bod nhw’n gorfod dygymod â chamdriniaeth seicolegol barhaus, ond dyweden nhw fod yna Reibes Ddrwg yn bwrw hud arnyn nhw, yr hen foch siofinistig (er nad yw dim byd o’i le ar foch, ‘chwaith!). Ei rybuddio fe’n gyson a wnâi’r Dywysoges, fod yna ryw ddrygioni ar droed gan yr uchelwyr, ond roedd pethau pwysicach o lawer yn pwyso ar ei feddwl. Bychan y tâl cyngor gwraig, ond gwae y gŵr nas cymero, fel y meddan nhw.

 

Beth oedd y broblem fawr, felly, a all beri i bobl newid lliw? Wel, a sôn yn blwmp ac yn blaen, y bwyd oedd ar fai, siŵr o fod, neu’r prinder ohono. Rhaid cofio nad Amaethwyr oedd trigolion yr Amddiffynfa, ond Rhyfelwyr. Roedden nhw’n fwy cyfarwydd ag olew a lledr, â charreg a phren, nag â ffrwythau a llysiau, ynteu â physgod a chig. Felly nad oedd neb yn yr Ysgor yn cael deiet cytbwys o bell ffordd, a dweud y lleiaf. Ymhellach, roedd y Llabwst yn gwirioni ar dyfu ffwng eithriadol o’r Gefnwlad a ddatblygai nodweddion hudol o lesol o’i gadw mewn mêl am flwyddyn a diwrnod. Ac fe fyddai’n perswadio, neu’n annog, neu’n gorfodi ei fab i lyncu meintiau enfawr ohono, ac er ei fod yn achosi gweledigaethau brawychus yn ogystal â theimladau od, ystumiau rhyfedd, a chroen symudliw, doedd e ddim yn blasu’n rhy wael. Ond wedi dweud hynny, wrth gwrs, gormod o ddim nid yw da, hefyd, a gormod o bwdin dagith gi. Serch hynny, roedd y Teulu Hapus yn llwyddo i gadw'n fyw os nad yn iach, er gwaethaf yr helbulon rif y gwlith.

 

Er hynny, roedd y rhieni esgeulus yn rhy brysur yn mynd trwy'u pethau, wrth anelu at nodau milwrol (o ran y naill), neu ganlyn pleserau amaethyddol (o ran y llall), i ofalu’n briodol am y bachgen bach oedd yn hen iawn o’i oed. A dyna olygai ei fod yn dod dan ddylanwad plant yr Arglwyddi Dichellgar oedd cynddrwg, os nad gwaeth, na’u rhieni nhwthau. Un dydd, wrth chwarae gyda’r diawliaid bychain, fe redodd Keth·kela Hethehela i ffwrdd. Dywedodd y naill ei fod yn hela llygoden, tra honnodd y lleill iddo fynd ar ôl pêl a oedd wedi dianc o’i afael a rholio lawr tramwyfa, er nad oedd neb wedi gweld ble yn union roedd e wedi mynd. A oedden nhw’n dweud y gwir neu beidio am ei leoliad, roedd y crwt wedi treiddio i berfeddion yr Uchelgaer. Ac yn y seler ddyfnaf, dywyllaf, a mwyaf brawychus, roedd e wedi cwympo i mewn i gerwyn enfawr ar ffurf crochan o bres gwyrdd yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o hylif purddu oedd ambrosia pêr llawn mêl, a boddi. Pan nad oedd e wedi dod yn ôl erbyn hanner nos, fe gollodd y rhieni arnyn nhw eu hunain, dan boeni y caent eu barnu’n ddiffygiol, a mynd yn grac o feddwl o bosibl eu bod wedi colli ased gwerthfawr iawn.

 

Trwy’i bwerau meddyliaethol, oedd bron yn oruwchnaturiol, canfu’r Llabwst taw er mwyn cael hyd i'r bachgen, byddai raid i'r chwiliwr feddu ar ddawn ieithyddol eithriadol, gan fod datguddiad ac esboniad yn mynd law yn llaw fel petai. Gofynnodd y Llabwst i'r Dewiniaid sut i ddatrys y broblem, ac atebon nhw y byddai angen ar y gweledydd llwyddiannus ddehongli'r pos canlynol – ‘Yn rhywle, roedd bustach wedi cael ei eni, fyddai’n newid ei liw ddwywaith yn ystod ei oes, o wyn, i goch, i ddu; Beth fyddai'r ffordd orau i ddisgrifio lliwiau'r creadur hwn?'

 

Nawr, bu yn y deyrnas y pryd hynny Siaman o'r enw Ohl·weled. Mae'r enw'n golygu y gallai ragweld llawer o bethau, ac fe fuasai wedi bod yn feddyliaethydd a rhifolegwr enwog heddiw. Roedd e'n dymuno â'i holl galon ddychwelyd i'w famwlad, yn bell dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd, ond wedi cael ei wrthod gan yr Unben o achos ei dalentau fyrdd. Beth bynnag, fe a ddatrysodd y pos, gan ddatgan – “Mae lliwiau'r bustach fel eiddo'r Man·toru, fydd yn achub y werin a’u damnio hefyd, gan ei fod yn wen pan gaeth e’i greu, mae’n goch ar hyd o bryd wrth iddo regi a thaeru yn Llwybrau Drygioni, ac fe fydd yn ddu ar y dydd gaiff e’i ladd gan y Dywysoges Waedlyd.” Syfrdanodd y Llabwst o glywed y fath eiriau, ac anfon y Siaman i nôl ei fab, ble bynnag y bo.

 

Crwydrodd y Siaman trwy'r coridorau troellog, a’r neuaddau dirfawr, a’r llwybrau cul, am ddyddiau heb saib, nes bod ei thraed yn gwaedu. I lawr ac i lawr aeth e, yn bellach bellach, wrth igam-ogamu’n ddiamcan heb yr un syniad am gyfeiriad na chyrchfan. Ond heb yn wybod iddo, roedd e’n anelu’n syth at galon ddu’r Amddiffynfa Anfad. O'r diwedd fe ddarganfu gorff y bachgen ar ôl gweld gwdihŵ'n hela haid o wenwyn ymaith o seler win yr Ysgor yn ddwfn yng ngwreiddiau’r lle. Roedd y gelain wedi'i chyffeithio’n berffaith gan yr ambrosia nes na fyddai byth yn heneiddio. A dyna oedd y bachgen wyneb i waered yn y crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, a'i wyneb yn disgleirio o ogoniant glân. Roedd y Llabwst wrth ei fodd o gael corff ei fab yn ôl, ond doedd hyn ddim yn ddigon iddo o hyd.

 

Wedyn gorchmynnodd y Llabwst i’r Siaman adfer ei fab i fywyd. Ac yn wir, roedd yr hen ddyn yn gyfarwydd â'r chwedl am Tefnuth yn canu cân hudol wedi'i dwyn gan yr Haul fel y gallai hi farw, disgyn i'r Isfyd, casglu a gwella Lushfé, a dod â fe yn ôl i’w orsedd o ddur glas yn y Prif Sigwrat. Fodd bynnag, roedd e'n adnabod ei gyfyngiadau hefyd, ac er iddo ddod o hyd i gorff y plentyn druan yn y seler mor debyg i Annwfn, ar ôl chwilio am amser maith, roedd arno angen cyfaddef nad oedd e'n medru'i atgyfodi. Wel, aeth y Llabwst yn wyllt gacwn o glywed hyn, gan fynnu y dylai'r gŵr doeth, nad oedd yn ymddangos yn rhy ddeallus ar hynny o bryd, gael ei roi dan glo mewn claddgell gyda'r gelain. Ac ni fyddai ganddo ddim byd o gwbl i'w fwyta, a dim byd yn ei law ond cleddyf, ‘chwaith.

 

Roedd y Siaman wedi drysu'n lân o ystyried ei sefyllfa a'i amgylchiadau. Ac yntau bron a marw o newyn, llwyddodd i ladd sarff a oedd wedi llusgo dan y drws trwchus o dderw tuag at y plentyn, i'w hatal rhag niweidio’i gorff. (Ac fe wnaeth e hyn naill ai â'r cleddyf neu â cherrig hylaw, naill ai ar ddamwain neu o bwrpas. Dyw’r straeon ddim yn glir yma. Pwy all ddweud, bellach?) Trueni oedd hynny, yn yr ystyr o fod yn gamgymeriad, efallai, gan fod yr hen sarff yn feistres ar lawer iawn o gyfrinachau, yn cynnwys sut i iacháu'r meirwon, gwyrth a ddysgwyd iddi gan Tefnuth. Wrth i’r Siaman aros i ystyried sut i fwyta'r anifail heb ei goginio, ymddangosodd sarff arall. Pan welodd hi'i chariad yn gorwedd yn farw ar y llechi oer, fe ddiflannodd hi ar unwaith. Ond yn groes i ddisgwyliad yr hen ddyn, fe ddaeth hi yn ei hôl cyn pen dim, gan ddwyn yn ei cheg ddail rhyw lysieuyn, neu efallai mai madarch oedden nhw. Ac er ei fawr syndod, pan rodd hi'r planhigyn ar gorff y sarff farw, fe gododd hithau'n fyw yn y fan.

 

Heb fawr o sylw i iechyd a diogelwch, heb sôn am arbrofion clinigol (roedden nhw'n arfer gwneud pethau'n dra gwahanol yn yr hen ddyddiau, roedd yn eitha debyg i fod mewn rhyw wlad annatblygedig ar y Cyfandir Deheuol heddiw), fe rodd y Siaman dipyn o’r stwff hudol ar gelain y plentyn a fu farw o gael ei drwytho yn yr ambrosia’n cynnwys llawer o fêl. Ac yntau ddihunodd ar ei union, diolch i nerth y cemegion nitrogenaidd o'r enw alcaloidau, sy'n tarddu o blanhigion a dyf mewn tail gwartheg. Ond rhaid wrth gofio mai mêl hefyd oedd yn hanfodol i'r hudoliaeth fiocemegol ymddangosiadol. Ac yn hyn o beth, fe gyflawnodd y plentyn broffwydoliaeth oedd a wnelo â Lushfé yn y lle cyntaf — Fe fuodd yr aberth farw, Ond daeth ef yn ôl yn fyw; Fe gana’r holl goed pin felly, O wybod mai’r gangen wyw, Flagura drachefn mor syw.

 

Roedd y Llabwst uwchben ei ddigon o gael ei fab yn ôl. Serch hynny, ni adawai i'r Siaman adael cyn iddo yntau ddysgu cyfrinachau dewiniaeth i'r bachgen. Fe gytunodd yr hen ddyn gan nad oedd ganddo ddim dewis o gwbl, a dysgu dewiniaeth i'r mab. Ac wedyn, roedd e'n cael gadael. Ond, a’r llong ar fin hwylio ymaith, fe ofynnodd y Siaman i'r bachgen boeri yn ei geg. Fe wnaeth y mab felly (dyna ffiaidd, on’d ife!) gan anghofio yn y fan a'r lle’r holl gyfrinachau roedd e wedi'u dysgu gan y gŵr hysbys. Dychwelodd y Siaman tuag adref heb oedi. Ond oblegid bu farw’r bachgen yn y crochan, felly efe oedd yr unig enaid i ddianc heb groesi’r Bont i’r Byd Arall. Ac roedd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd yn cynddeiriogi o’i golli, ac yn benderfynol o gael y llanc arbennig yn ôl.

 

Nawr, bob yn dipyn, roedd Arglwyddi newydd wedi ymddangos o rengoedd yr hurfilwyr ar ôl y Wledd Goch, i arwain yr amryw griwiau. A than ddylanwad cyfrinachol gan y Saith Swynwr, ni fyddai asiantau'r carfannau croes byth yn rhoi'r gorau i geisio lladd y Teulu Hapus, wrth ddilyn y patrwm cyfarwydd. Fe allai’r rhieni eu hamddiffyn eu hunain. Ond dyna’r Llabwst yn penderfynu casglu’r hud cryfaf o bobman i'w roi i'r bachgen, Keth·kela Hethehela, i'w amnewid am y pŵer a ddygodd ymaith gan y Siaman. Wedyn, i’w gadw fe rhag niwed a thranc, fe anfonodd y Mab Darogan i’r Ddaear trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd wedi’i greu, hwyrach, gan yr awyrenwyr beiddgar ond anffodus.

 

Taith y Mab Darogan oedd gweithred a achosai ganlyniadau annisgwyl a chyrhaeddgar, gan weu bywydau’r trigolion ar y Ddau Fyd ynghyd o hynny ymlaen, gan i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd gael y gwyllt o sylweddoli o bell yr hyn oedd wedi digwydd. A phan welodd arweinyddion y teuluoedd mawr y crwt yn diflannu mewn colofn o gwmwl fflamllyd oedd wedi ymddangos uwchben yr Uchelgaer Rosliw, am unwaith fe godon nhw mewn dig, gan uno i ymosod ar y Llabwst yn ffyrnig a’i larpio. Ac yn hyn o beth roedden nhw’n ymddwyn yn enwedig fel Swtach yn ymhyfrydu mewn darnio corff Lushfé. Ac felly fu farw’r Llabwst. Fodd bynnag, wedi hynny, fe wnaethon nhw ddechrau eu hen gastiau drachefn, gan gynllwyno helynt a hanner, ond ni allen nhw gytuno ar ddim byd rhagor, a ffoeon nhw ar eu hunion i wledydd pell. Ac oherwydd eu brad, fe gymerodd y Dywysoges le'i hannwyl ŵr ymadawedig fel Unben ar ôl bron hanner dydd o alar dwys.

 

Roedd Ari·adní eisiau dial ar y rhai a oedd wedi achosi tranc Hufanoru, a pheri iddi golli Keth·kela Hethehela, a threuliodd hi gryn amser ar hyfforddi i fod yn filwraig. Fe ddarganfu i ble yn union roedd y troseddwyr wedi dianc, yn bell oddi ar ei Theyrnas (roedden nhw'n llechu ym mamwlad y Siaman a bod yn fanwl gywir), ac wedyn aros ei chyfle. Sawl blwyddyn yn ddiweddarach, fe arweiniodd hi gyrch yn erbyn gwlad yr Arglwyddi oedd wedi syrthio oddi ar ras, gan esgus mai hawlio teyrnged yn enw ei diweddar ŵr roedd hi. O weld cryfder ei byddin, a gogoniant ei cherbyd rhyfela, y werin bobl a ddarostyngwyd.

 

Roedd yr Arglwyddi balch a gwirion yn dal i ddirmygu’r Dywysoges fodd bynnag, gan ddweud taw mwydyn oedd hi o’i chymharu â’r Unben May·nover, neu hyd yn oed yr Unben Hufanoru, ac na reolai hi byth gan taw gwraig oedd hi. Heb droi blewyn felly, fe laddodd hithau bob un ohonyn nhw yno mewn galanastra enfawr, dinistrio'r ddinas yn llwyr, llosgi’r lleoliad, a halltu’r ddaear. Hyd yn oed y Siaman hen iawn o’r enw Ohl·weled oedd wedi achub ei mab, a fu farw yn y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf. O’r herwydd, er nad Llysfam i neb oedd hi, am na phriododd hi erioed eto, fe gafodd hi’r llysenw y Dywysoges Waedlyd. Ac wedyn, wrth gael saib bach rhag y gorchwyl enbyd, fe ofynnodd Ari·adní i'r awyr wag a oedd hithau cymaint yn wir â'r Unben marw.

 

Wedi sefydlu ei hunan fel Unben, fe ddechreuodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ddefnyddio’r sgiliau amaethyddol roedd wedi eu dysgu gan ei chariad colledig, yn ogystal â thechnegau hudol (neu rai gwyddonol arloesol, fel y dywedem ni yn ein hiaith goeth ni heddiw) gynhwyswyd yn llyfrau nodiadau cyfrinachol y ddiweddar Lysfam. Fel hyn roedd hi’n medru amaethu cnydau enfawr o fadarch, a ffa tra sbeislyd, a ffyngau gwyrddlwyd, a llwydlas, a llwydwyrdd, a chynhyrchu ambrosia purddu ac ynddo berlysiau a mêl. Ac nid yn unig dod yn gyfoethog eithriadol a wnaeth hi, ond hefyd tynhau rheolaeth dros ran fawr o’r Blaned, am fod gan y bwydydd hyn bwerau rhyfedd i effeithio ar feddyliau pobl, yn ogystal â’u cyrff a’u hymddygiad. Fe drefnodd hefyd y saith teulu mawr fel mai’r aelodau fyddai’n rhifolegwyr, meddyliaethyddion, ac offeiriaid, sêr-ddewiniaid, alcemyddion, chwilyswyr, a dehonglwyr, a sefydlodd ddefodau a seremonïau y byddai’n rhaid eu cadw i osgoi llid yr Hen Feistri, a dyfeisiodd lafarganeuon llawn nerth yn yr hen iaith gysefin, i’w galw a’u gorfodi nhw, i ymbil arnyn nhw a’u bygwth.

 

Fe adawodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd taw i’r Isfyd yr âi’r deiliaid ffyddlon ac ymostyngar pan fuon nhw farw, ar Blaned werdd a glas, yn bell oddi yno, ble bydden nhw’n byw’n wynfydedig am byth, petaen nhw’n ymddwyn yn unol â rheolau llymion oll Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig y Swynwyr. Ond, fe rybuddiodd hithau taw i Artaith Dragwyddol yn y Pwll Diwaelod yng nghanol tanbaid y Blaned yr aent fel arall. Ac fe ddatganodd hithau taw ffieiddbeth oedd pob delw gerfiedig, a delwedd unrhyw greadur, gan eu bod yn llawn nerth. Fe waharddodd hithau’r holl bobl rhag darlunio’r Swynwyr mewn unrhyw fodd, ar boen eu bywyd, a bygwth taw melltigedig fyddai pob anghredinwr, a phob un oedd yn glynu wrth unrhyw gred heblaw'r un uniongred, gyfanfydol.

 

A hyn oll a wnaeth y Dywysoges Waedlyd, gan honni taw hi oedd Proffwydes Gyntaf y Ffydd Fyd-Eang, a taw ei thasg sanctaidd oedd puro, disgyblu, cosbi, ac achub, a taw dyna fyddai braint a dyletswydd pob taeog ufudd y Swynwyr hefyd o hynny ymlaen. Ac fe ddywedai hithau gyda’r sicrwydd mwyaf fod ei phŵer eithriadol yn tarddu o’r hud a gododd yn ei bru o ddwyn y Mab Darogan a unodd grym y Swynwyr a dealltwriaeth y Delw-addolwyr. Am taw efe a fu farw ac wedyn dod yn ôl yn fyw. A dyna adawai iddi adrodd Swyn Grymusaf Enwi a Rhwymo i alw a gorchymyn grym bywiol pob creadur ar wyneb y Blaned.

 

Ac wedyn, fe drodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ei sylw tuag at y Ddaear, y Blaned ffrwythlon honno ar draws yr Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, oedd yn gartref newydd i’r Mab Darogan oedd wedi mynd â disgyblaeth y Swynwyr yn ogystal â threiddgarwch y Delw-addolwyr. A pharod i’w goncro oedd y Byd hwnnw’n wir. Dychmygai hi hefyd taw dyna lle roedd hanfodion y Llabwst a’r Dyn-darw wedi’u cludo ar y foment y buon nhw farw, heb sôn am Thethalu ac Ichrus.

 

Yn llygaid craff ei meddwl, wrth rythu i’r crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd a safai erbyn hynny yn ymyl Gorsedd Ddur yr Unben drwy’r amser, fe ganfyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd bethau oedd yn digwydd ar y Ddaear. Felly fe allai weld, fel petai ar ryw sgrin archwilio wyrthiol, yr Hen Filwr, y Dewin Ifancaf, a’r Rhifolegwr Colledig, yr Arglwyddes Macbeth, y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant, y Comando Trefol, a’r Ananedig. Dyna oedd lluniau tra deniadol o hudo a dioddef, o lofruddio, aberthu, a llosgi. Fe ganfu hithau mai Deklo oedd rhywogaeth y rhai yn byw ar y Ddaear, a'u bod yn debyg iawn i’w thylwyth hi’r Delkurí yn byw ar y Blaned Yrth.

 

Ac fe wyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd yn ei chalon fod Keth·kela Hethehela yn tyfu, ac aeddfedu, a disgwyl, a chynllunio, wrth i’r Daearolion difeddwl ruthro tuag at hunanddinistr, er na allai hithau ragweld o gwbl beth fyddai’n digwydd o hynny ymlaen. Ond o ddychmygu’r holl ryfeddodau all y meddwl eu creu, dyna oedd hithau’n chwerthin, am amser maith.

 

[O, 'Y Deyrnas Waedlyd (Nofel Graffig yn drwm o ran testun),'

gan y Cysgod (Mamrick), a'r Ficing (Grossmann),

ar sail syniad gan yr Arwr Anffodus (Baxter).]

On the Harsh Planet, the Last Days are arriving, when all the water has evaporated from the seas, and the rivers, and the brooks, so that every living thing is scraping the earth like a dying dog to try to drink and eat. Having travelled for three days, as the Distant Eye in the Sky destroys the clouds, the Father and the Son reach the enormous plain called the Field of Mourning appointed by the Seven Sorcerers, which is surrounded by seven quartz mountains. And there, in the middle of the field, Ishakí the Father must bind Adauvam the Son, before shouting out the appropriate prayer over the body of the sacrifice to satisfy the Old Strange Divinities. But this time, contrary to the usual version of the story which is reported in the Old Book, as soon as the Vexatious Voice gives the command to plunge the sharp dagger into the Son’s chest, orating as if talking to itself in parables, the Father obeys immediately, despite his awful fear, allowing the terrible powers to run without restraint from World to World.

 

And Adauvam – Thoahatha, now – explodes into a swarm of red butterflies which swiftly turn into tiny birds. And as this happens, Ishakí – Ihahi – becomes a ram caught in a thicket by its horns, being devoured by tongues of fire while the loquacious little cardinals taunt him, and peck him to death. Immediately, there’s Lotké – Lothihi – in the form of a living pillar of chalk in Swtakh’s Steel Hive absorbing a tiny bit of Lushfé’s tears from the hopeless atmosphere, so that he fragments into bits that get blown through the Cosmic Cleft opening wider and wider, to pollinate the expectant Creation with billions of new concepts...

 

In another place, having fallen for ages and broken through from one reality to an alternate one, Rwm bel-Shaftí has been woken from his deep sleep as a big stack of golden hay, so deep below the Planet’s crust, by an accidental tremor caused by a powerful but inexperienced Wizard. As he rises from his hidey-hole, he releases great quantities of sweet-smelling oil containing loads of bits of pure gold. And the slimy imp rejoices exuberantly, hopping and bouncing about, flying through the air, and singing majestic threnodies in the Old Yrthian Language, so great is his pleasure in getting his pompous, insistent voice back. And as usual, the wily gnome still can’t stop asking one question after the other, although by now he knows full well that the good, the bad, and the ugly mourn as loudly as each other in the Bottomless Pit, tortured by his ex-Master, Swtakh, Lord of Misrule.

 

He tempts each and every one within earshot, day and night, day after day, as he shoots around the World, promising impossible-to-get prizes, always sowing the seeds of strife and causing contention. The cantankerous devil’s hateful words echo through the excited air, asking, “Is there nothing you can go without? How would you make your life perfect? What do you want above all else?” And they’re full of unruly power that urges all who hear them to riot, rob, and harm, whilst Rwm bel-Shaftí, who’s now using the name Lonelihahi, guffaws madly...

 

Here’s Sorakados of the Red Book of Rust and Blood, a young and extremely handsome young man of twenty-one, who’s just hit upon the truth about his secret history. He’s laboured across the void to the Nw Yrth to seize glory, information, and power, whilst striking a blow for freedom against the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, getting revenge on his Father, and rescuing his Mother. And there, exhausted by all the trials, he feasts his eyes on multi-coloured moving images of everything that’s been, everything that is, and everything that will be, learning numberless secrets. (Although he doesn’t realise the fact, Swtakh himself is the source of the visions, which are absolutely correct despite their strangeness). And at this time, his most heart-breaking supposition is confirmed beyond all doubt. He won’t be able to return to the Eyrth with all the new information, and if he does succeed to go back at all, he’ll be a broken child, who’ll never think, nor love, nor create ever again. 

 

And he sits silently for hours on end, staring at the kaleidoscope of dizzying spirals forming in the layer of blood on the surface of the flat stone which is playing the part of a scrying-glass for him. But, whilst doing this, in the middle of his chanting amidst the provocative living pictures, he understands how, perhaps, to succeed in his aims, to some extend at least, but not in the way he’d intended. Not without terrible loss, either.

 

He pretends, therefore, that be believes the tissue of lies recounted by two-faced Tefnuth, dressed up like a dog’s dinner, about his pitiful Mother, during their mad tarantella in the Cloudy Castle. How polite is the reincarnated Astrologer whilst conversing with Hebé about his Haughty Love, although she is as vulgar as a butcher from the Hinterland selling baby-flesh during the First Great Tribulation. And he remains gracious and charming even while she hands him over to Swtakh in the Sand Palace of Etneksha, so that he can escort him towards the Yellow King’s Fort. And all the time, the merciless Messenger of Misinformation chatters about the importance of blind justice, suitable prejudice, and ceaseless reparation for unknown sins.

 

It’s no great surprise then when the Prince discovers that Dendrah the Assassin is lurking there in the catacombs of the obsidian spiders to hunt him. And there everything is on fire and burning with an inextinguishable, blue flame. Having enchanted him, she hurls him into the jagged branches of the hellish bushes that surround the place. And he strikes out wildly through the gardens of the deadly Palace, as the roots of the weeds that are as sharp as barbed wire penetrate through the frozen soil to cut him like war-mongering octopuses. In the end, after fighting against unimaginable other-worldly chimeras, he’s dropped, almost naked, and covered in sweat and wounds, amongst an enormous pine-forest. And there, he’s pushed closer and closer to the edge of the Well of Souls, that leads to the Bottomless Pit. 

 

As the predatory flames rise up to consume him, voluntarily he offers his life-force to the Terrible Old Masters using the two-edged sword carrying the charm in the language of the old Sumerians. But now, the glyphs have rearranged themselves so that they say: “The feast is over, and now the lamps expire: All fled, all done; therefore lift me on the pyre!” And although he has the four appropriate tokens to help him on the journey, he chooses bravely and wisely to throw them to one side, breaking the magic staff inscribed with red runes into smithereens at the same time. And the symbols fly off in the form of scarlet dragonflies. Of course, as a result, he shall never be able to return. But by doing this he succeeds in sending a signal to the Eyrth to begin releasing some kind of exceptional power pent up there, whilst providing a way for his successors, willing and unwilling alike, to escape from the Nw Yrth. And the signals, similar to electric serpents, containing much powerful magic and directions on how to establish a Secret Society to oppose the agents of the Seven, do indeed reach the Blue-green Planet, the very instant he dies. And at this time, Thoahatha is his new name.

 

[From 'Fragments from the Two Worlds' by Frederick Llwynlesg and Pjetër Mamrick, with an Extensive Foreword by Professor Jelena Pekar (Chair, Council of United Independent Educational Institutions).]

Ar y Blaned Yrth, dyma'r Dyddiau Olaf yn cyrraedd, a’r holl ddŵr wedi anweddu o'r moroedd, a'r afonydd, a'r nentydd, fel bod pob bod byw yn crafu'r pridd fel ci ar farw i drio yfed a bwyta. Wedi teithio am dridiau, a'r Llygad Pell yn y Nefoedd yn difetha'r cymylau, mae'r Tad a'r Mab yn cyrraedd y maestir enfawr o'r enw Cae Galar wedi'i benodi gan y Saith Swynwr a amgylchynir gan saith mynydd o gwarts. Ac yno, yng nghanol y maes, mae'n rhaid i Ishakí Dad rwymo Adauvam Fab, cyn bloeddio’r weddi briodol dros gorff yr aberth i fodloni'r Hen Dduwdodau Rhyfedd. Ond y tro 'ma, yn groes i fersiwn arferol y stori a adroddir yn yr Hen Lyfr, gyda bod y Llais Trallodus yn rhoi'r gorchymyn i blannu'r dagr miniog ym mrest y Mab, gan areithio fel petai’n siarad â’i hun mewn damhegion, dyna'r Tad yn ufuddhau ar unwaith, er ei ddychryn ofnadwy, gan adael i'r grymoedd erchyll redeg heb lestair o Fyd i Fyd.

 

A dyma Adauvam – Thoahatha, bellach – yn ffrwydro'n haid o bili-palod cochion sy'n chwim droi'n adar bychain. Ac wrth i hyn ddigwydd, dyna Ishakí – Ihahi – yn dod yn hwrdd wedi'i ddal mewn dryslwyn gan ei gyrn, gan gael ei ysu gan dafodau o dân wrth i'r cardinaliaid bach, siaradus ei ddannod, a'i bigo i farwolaeth. Ar y gair, dyna Lotké – Lothihi – ar ffurf piler byw o sialc yng Nghwch Dur Swtach yn amsugno'r mymryn lleia' o ddagrau Lushfé o'r awyrgylch anobeithiol, nes ei fod yn ymddarnio'n ddrylliau sy'n cael eu chwythu trwy'r Hollt Gosmig yn agor letach letach, i beillio'r Greadigaeth ddisgwylgar â biliynau o gysyniadau newydd.

 

Mewn man arall, wedi cwympo am hydoedd a thorri drwodd o un realiti i un amgen, mae Rwm bel-Shaftí wedi’i ddihuno o'i drwmgwsg hir ar ffurf tas fawr o wair euraidd, mor ddwfn islaw cramen y Blaned, gan ddaeargryn damweiniol wedi'i achosi gan Ddewin nerthol ond amhrofiadol. Wrth iddo godi o'i guddfan, mae'n rhyddhau meintiau enfawr o olew aroglus yn cynnwys gronynnau fyrdd o aur pur. A dyna'r pwca llysnafeddog yn ymlawenhau'n afieithus, gan hopian a sboncian o gwmpas, hedfan drwy'r awyr, a chanu galarganau mawreddog yn yr Hen Iaith Yrtheg, cymaint ei bleser o gael ei lais taer, rhwysgfawr yn ôl. Ac fel arfer all y dynan castiog ddim peidio gofyn y naill gwestiwn ar ôl y llall eto, er mai erbyn hyn mae'n gwybod i’r dim mai'r da, y drwg a'r diolwg sy'n galaru mor uchel â'i gilydd yn y Pwll Diwaelod, wedi'u harteithio gan ei gyn-Feistr, Swtach, Arglwydd Anwiredd.

 

Mae'n temtio pawb a phob un o fewn glyw, ddydd a nos, ddiwrnod ar ôl diwrnod, wrth iddo wibio o amgylch y Byd, gan addo gwobrau amhosib eu cael, gan bob amser hau hadau anghytgord a chodi cynnen. Mae geiriau ffiaidd y cythraul cecrus yn adleisio drwy'r awyr lawn cyffro, gan ofyn, "Oes 'na ddim byd na allwch chi fyw hebddo? Sut fyddech chi'n 'neud eich bywyd yn berffaith? Be' dych chi eisiau uwchlaw pob dim?" Ac maen nhw'n llawn pŵer annisgybledig sy'n cymell pawb yn eu clywed nhw i derfysgu,  lladrata, a niweidio, a Rwm bel-Shaftí, sy'n defnyddio'r enw Lonelihahi bellach, yn gwallgo' grechwenu.

 

Dyma Sorakados o Lyfr Coch Rhwd a Gwaed, dyn ifanc a thra golygus yn un ar hugain oed, sy newydd daro ar y gwir am ei hanes cêl. Mae wedi ymlafnio dros y gwagle i’r Nw Yrth i gipio gogoniant, gwybodaeth, a  grym, wrth daro dros ryddid yn erbyn y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, dial ar ei Dad, ac achub ei Fam. Ac yno, wedi'i flino gan y trafferthion oll, mae'n gwledda’i lygaid ar ddelweddau symudol, amryliw o bopeth a fu, popeth sydd, a phopeth a fydd, gan ddysgu cyfrinachau aneirif. (Er dyw e'm yn sylweddoli'r ffaith, Swtach ei hun yw ffynhonnell y gweledigaethau, sydd yn fanwl gywir er gwaetha'u rhyfeddod). A'r pryd hwn, fe gadarnheir ei ddyfaliad mwya' torcalonnus y tu hwnt i amheuaeth. Fydd e'm yn gallu dychwelyd i'r Ddaear gyda'r hysbysrwydd newydd oll, ac os bydd e'n llwyddo i fynd yn ôl o gwbl, fe fydd yn blentyn drylliedig, na fydd yn meddwl, na charu, na chreu byth eto.

 

A dyna fe'n eistedd yn fud am oriau bwy gilydd, gan rythu ar y caleidosgop o sbiralau pensyfrdanol yn ffurfio yn yr haen o waed ar wyneb y maen gwastad sy'n chwarae rhan drych sgrio iddo. Ond, wrth 'neud hyn, yng nghanol ei siantio ymhlith y lluniau byw, pryfoclyd, dyna fe'n deall sut, falle, i lwyddo yn ei amcanion, i ryw raddau o leia', ond ddim yn y ffordd roedd e wedi bwriadu. Nage heb golled enbyd, 'chwaith.

 

Mae'n esgus felly ei fod yn credu'r llwyth o gelwyddau adroddir gan Tefnuth ddauwynebog wedi'i gwisgo fel cangen Mai am ei Fam druenus, yn ystod eu tarantela orffwyll yn y Castell Cymylog. Mor foesgar yw'r Sêr-ddewin eilwaith yn y cnawd wrth ymgomio â Hebé am ei Gariad Drahaus, er ei bod hithau mor aflednais â bwtsier o'r Gefnwlad yn gwerthu cnawd baban gyfnod y Cythrwfl Mawr Cynta'. Ac mae'n dal yn raslon a swynol hyd yn oed wrth iddi'i roi fe yn nwylo Swtach ym Mhalas Tywod Etneksha fel fod yntau'n gallu'i hebrwng tuag at Gaer y Brenin Melyn. A thrwy'r amser, mae Cennad Camhysbysrwydd didostur yn parablu am bwysigrwydd cyfiawnder dall, a rhagfarn addas, ac atgyweiriad diatal am bechodau anhysbys.

 

'Does fawr o ryfeddod felly i'r Tywysog ddarganfod mai Dendrah Leiddiad sy'n llechu yno yng nghatacwmau'r corrod obsidian er mwyn ei hela fe. Ac yno mae popeth ar dân ac yn llosgi â fflam las, oer, anniffodd. Wedi'i reibio fe, mae hi'n ei hyrddio i ganghennau danheddog y llwyni uffernol sy’n amgylchynu'r fan. A dyna fe'n chwalu'n wyllt trwy erddi'r Palas angheuol, wrth i wreiddiau'r chwyn mor finiog â weiren bigog dreiddio trwy'r tir rhewllyd i'w dorri fel octopysau rhyfelgar. Yn y pen draw, ar ôl brwydro yn erbyn cimerâu arallfydol, annychmygadwy, mae'n cael ei ollwng, bron yn noeth, ac yn chwys a briwiau i gyd, ymhlith coedwig enfawr o bin. Ac yno, mae'n cael ei wthio'n nes nes tuag at ymyl Ffynnon Eneidiau, sy'n arwain at y Pwll Diwaelod.

 

Wrth i'r fflamau rheibus godi i'w ysu, o'i wirfodd mae'n offrymu'i rym bywiol i'r Hen Feistri Dychrynllyd gan ddefnyddio'r cleddyf deufin yn dwyn y swyn yn iaith yr hen Swmeriaid. Ond bellach mae'r glyffiau wedi'u hail-ddrefnu'u hunain nes iddyn nhw ddweud: "Mae'r wledd wedi gorffen, mae'r lampau wedi diffodd: Mae pawb wedi ffoi, mae popeth bellach drosodd; Nawr rhowch fi yn y tân, gyneuwch oddi danodd." Ac er mai'r pedwar tocyn priodol sydd ganddo i’w gynorthwyo ar y daith, mae'n dewis yn ddewr ac yn ddoeth eu taflu nhw o'r neilltu, wrth dorri'i hudlath wedi’i harysgrifio â rwnau coch yn yfflon ar yr un pryd. Ac mae'r symbolau'n hedfan bant ar ffurf gweision y neidr rhuddgoch. Wrth gwrs o ganlyniad, ni fydd yntau byth yn gallu dychwelyd. Ond trwy 'neud hyn mae'n llwyddo i anfon arwydd i'r Ddaear i ddechrau rhyddhau rhyw fath o bŵer eithriadol wedi'i gronni yno, wrth ddarparu modd i'w olynyddion, yn fodlon ac anfodlon fel ei gilydd, ddianc o'r Nw Yrth. A chyrraedd y Blaned Wyrddlas mae'i signalau'n debyg i seirff trydanol, yn cynnwys llawer o hud nerthol a chyfarwyddiadau ar sut i sefydlu Cymdeithas Gudd i wrthwynebu asiantau’r Saith, yr eiliad mae'n marw. Ac erbyn hyn, Thoahatha yw'i enw newydd.

 

[O 'Dernynnau o'r Ddau Fyd' gan Frederick Llwynlesg a Pjetër Mamrick, gyda Rhagair Helaeth gan yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar (Cadeirydd, Pwyllgor Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig).]

At the very beginning, somewhere or other in the great beyond, there were two areas with an empty space between them. One place was dark, and cold, and full of ice, whilst the other was light, and hot, and full of fire. The flaming tongues and the freezing breezes fought in the void for countless ages but neither one force nor the other could win. However, through their constant interplay, in the end, the warmth and the coldness created some kind of strange, smoky mist which condensed very slowly into myriad drops of thick, black liquid, that did not contain either water or fire. This was the first conscious substance in the All-World, and it was so excited at being created from nothing, as if in a rapture, that it exploded to fill the two worlds. In the fiery land, the droplets formed an enormous block of formless clay, and in the frosty wasteland, they flew around changing their colour, and their shape, and their size all the time.

 

At last, the crazy sparks moved as a flock through the void and landed on the sleepy clay which absorbed them, growing bigger and bigger. And there was the block sweating and shuddering before splitting into two fleshy chunks in an earthquake that also released a river of milky fluid to nourish the living hunks of matter. And as they lay there dozing, they competed to imbibe different amounts of the white ambrosia, growing and changing as a result. After a long time, they had developed to be two heavenly bodies. The bigger and hotter one was the Sun, the smaller and colder one was the Moon. The Sun was full of fire and steam, and was rash and warlike, whilst the Moon was discerning and crafty, and full of snow and ash.

 

The Moon, who at that time appeared like a snake with a bull’s head, accepted the rules of time, and wanted to enjoy the journey of existence, whilst the Sun in the form of a hawk with a lion’s head resisted change and decay, and always needed to rush to his destination. The Moon realized that living in a world ruled by time involved loss and anguish as well as joy. She chose voluntarily to follow the twisting red path of the hero full of thorns and difficulty. On the other hand, the Sun insisted on striding along the black road that’s straight and leads towards success and renown. Even in the twilight of the All-World, he would be running wildly with the great hunt, shouting, “Let my will be done, as above, so below also!”

 

The Moon and the Sun were very powerful, but they were not divinities. Rather, they were forces of nature, and they could not create things directly. So, there were both of them declaring with one voice, “Woe is me, who will be able to kill, and watch things die, but who cannot produce anything at all on my own!” Before the Yrth came to be in the form of a physical planet, they were there meditating for a very long while on their own and in vain. There were lots of ideas flying around at random in the mind of the Sun and the Moon about how things should be. The Moon understood that the cycles of nature would mean change and pain, thinking, “A different thing will you be when you come out of the storm, compared with what you were when you went in.” 

 

On the contrary, the Sun only worried about his part in the red sunset, which would not be complete destruction, but an end to things as they were then, lamenting, “I desire to sing like a bird, without worrying about who is listening nor about what they think.” Things began to happen when some of the thoughts wandered off and met in the void. That was the start of the great carpet of knowledge, similar to a bejewelled net, and in it lay the Moon and the Sun like two dreamers, the one creating the other.

 

First, because of their imaginings, there was an intelligent wind blowing above the primal ocean which had appeared in the middle of the void, rising a shining mist that created the four Underworlds which were insubstantial, ever-shifting, and full of shadows. The wind’s voice awoke a host of holy beings which opened their eyes and saw the creation for the first time like a field of incredible flowers opening their petals. The first world was a small, dark, and cramped island in the middle of four seas, where the holy beings lived together with the mist people, the silly folk, and the great trickster (these were the original ancestors). And there, everything was different shades of blue. Amongst the tribe of the silly folk, the first father living in the north and the first mother living in the west found each other by waving torches and walking until they met in the middle of the first world.

 

Then, they dug a hole in the sky in the east of the first world, and led everyone through it. There they were then in the second world, which was also enclosed and lightless, and home to sleek, turquoise serpents and hairy, glaucous monsters. Everything there was red, and yellow, and green. There, the original ancestors offended the serpents’ chief, who exiled them from the second world. But when the first father fashioned a ladder of jet, they were able to escape through a hole in the sky in the south of the second wold. The extensive third world contained several intersecting rivers and sacred mountains, and there lived the welcoming tribe of the fire-beasts. There, the main colours were black, and white, and grey, if we can call those colours, and the whole place was bathed in ultraviolet light that caused a strange glow everywhere.

 

But the great trickster could not resist kidnapping the lord of the fire-beasts’ children. And as a result, the king caused a flood, and so the original ancestors had to flee. And that is how they reached the fourth world, where a tribe of water-beasts was living in the enormous seas under the light of Sun and Moon. Everything was shining, and multi-coloured, and warm there. And there the original ancestors flourished, as they governed life with the help of the seasons, and communed with the Sun and the Moon on top of the sacred mountains they had re-created with soil from the second world.

 

And there, in the fourth world, the first mother and the first father had twins who became great heroes, and killed the water-beasts. Then, they travelled all the way through the seas to the south pole. When they arrived there, the wind from the sails of their boat kissed a huge piece of salty ice causing it to melt, and release two trees, which developed to be a proud, tall, she-angel, and a clever, short he-demon. These married and had five magical children who were the masters of the five elements, namely air, water, metal, soil, and fire. These children killed everyone in the tribe of the silly folk, using their bodies to form the physical shape of the Yrth and the Heavens, and thinking they would rule the fifth world, the Yrth, from their magnificent but ostentatious castle. At that time, all the land on the surface of the Yrth was one huge, circular continent surrounded by the Salty Outer Ocean. In the middle of the continent was the Little Inner Sea, full of fresh water, and in its centre was an island where there was a field of rushes. In the dead centre of this island was the stronghold of the five masters of the Yrth.

 

Then, as the five rejoiced in their work of making, and using, and transforming, which was so destructive but so creative at the same time, the old trickster appeared suddenly to make a wager with them. “Behold!” he said, “I shall throw this stone into the fountain in the heart of your fortress. If it descends to the bottom, I promise that everyone who dies here shall go back to the third world to live from here on.” But the five masters laughed at him, as he dropped the stone in the well. And so the rock sank deeper and deeper, as the five masters guffawed louder and louder. How much time went by as they stood there waiting? No-one will ever know for sure. Of course, the stone reached the bottom in due course, with a single quiet plop. And with that, the five masters were sucked down the well, following the path of the rock, leaving the place empty apart from the great deceiver, together with the holy beings and the mist people who had been watching all this in complete silence.

 

When the old trickster pulled the mask off his face, and the cloak off his back, he looked like some terrible monster with a body like a lion, legs like a man, eyes like an owl, antlers like a stag, and a tail like a cat. But despite his appearance, indeed it was the Sun who was the great trickster. The two tribes responded differently to each other, however. Whilst the mist people exclaimed, and shouted, and spluttered in surprise, the holy spirits sang the praises of the Glittering Sun. And that’s why the pure spirits were allowed to ascend to the heavens where they became the stars, whilst the mist people were thrown out into the void. And there the Fickle Moon tended to them, so that, in the end, they would grow to be new planets. In contrast to the Sun and the Moon, then, the Yrth was not there at the very beginning, and it contains lots of water, and salt, and soil, and iron, and behaves like a cheeky child, playing, and singing, and picking its nose, and shouting, and breaking wind.

 

Now, the Sun and the Moon were always contending with each other. The Sun would claim that he was master of the All-World, and the Moon would say that she had created herself. Despite his exceptional strength, that was a statement that provoked the Sun terribly, and so he summoned the Moon to appear and challenged her, saying “Let us see who can make the best thing!” Then, the Sun and the Moon materialized on the Yrth in the form of a wise man and a great woman standing on the shore of the Little Inner Sea. And there was the old man dancing in the waters of the sea as the waves formed themselves into bright and shining spirits which zipped about everywhere. But after that, the fair woman answered by prancing amongst the sand, which began to grow into strangely enticing plants, of every kind, and size, and colour. They were enormous and very strong, and could move around, but only very slowly.

 

Then, the wrinkled man commanded, “Let the creations speak!” Thereupon, the air spirits began to sing, and shout, and recite, saying, “The Sun is the lord of all.” The Moon was reluctant to do the same thing, answering, “Why should I obey you, brother? We were created at the same time. You’re not in charge of me, although you are so much bigger, and much stronger.” But when she heard the spirits laughing at her, she tried to cause her fruits and vegetables to speak to her, tickling them, and beseeching them, and scolding them. Despite every effort, however, the plants would but whisper, and mumble, and giggle, whilst waving their branches and their stems weakly. And so, the Moon was shamed, but the Sun would not give up competing yet.

 

And there was the old codger saying, “Make for yourself a hut, and go in with your pitiful creatures. Then I shall burn it to ashes. If you survive, I shall bow down low before you, declaring that you created yourself!” Although she was terrified about whatever would happen, the beautiful woman said, “No-one gets to live the life she chooses. I might as well go to my doom as a hero, winning eternal life in the mind of the All-World.” At that very moment, she went into the temporary cottage made of their limbs by the vegetation, the rest of the moving plants with her. 

 

It was as if the shed was a sort of green cocoon made of verdant foliage. She said to herself, “It’s not possible for fear to disappear, it can’t go anywhere. But being brave is knowing what to do, and doing it. So, into the hut with me to change a challenge into an opportunity!” Now, everything was green and full of sap, and so it took a considerable time for the wise man to light a fire in the material of the place. Whilst he worked with all his might to destroy his sister, there were the vines producing great round pods, as the muscular roots of all the plants burrowed through the soft soil that opened up before them to form a tunnel leading underground to safety on the island in the middle of the Little Inner Sea. 

 

So, as the Moon and the moving vegetation escaped, crawling, there was the Sun succeeding to burn the hut, and rejoicing to hear the shells exploding noisily, imagining that the thorn in his side was perishing. But the Moon was safe, far from the beach, and when the Sun went into the shed that was only a ruin by then, he went raving mad on realizing her stratagem. The Sun went to it and set upon her in the form of a snake, and a lion, and a waterfall, and a fire, but she herself sat there before him in the form of a stone statue depicting the shape of an enormous pregnant woman. And as she squatted there reciting, “What was yesterday is not today, what is today will not be tomorrow,” her brother could not hurt her. Because the air spirits hated hearing and seeing the heavenly bodies fighting so badly, they descended to the centre of the Yrth through the plants’ tunnels, melting everything before them, and that is how the exceptional power came to exist in the heart of the planet today.

 

On top of that, so violent was their passage that they split the single continent into two halves separate from each other full of mountains and valleys, and caused the fresh water in the Little Inner Sea to accumulate in lakes and flow in rivers. The Sun cursed the plants, and spread them over the face of the planet, saying that they would never move again although he could not destroy the work of his sister the Moon completely. And because it had changed so much, the Nw Yrth was the name of the planet from then on. And the competitiveness between the son and daughter of the void only increased also.

 

And so, through the ceaseless fighting between the Fickle Moon and the Dazzling Sun, came the two great tribes to live on the Nw Yrth, the one called the Dladli on the northern continent, and the other called the Sunri on the southern continent, as we have heard about in the tale named the Sunsong. The hard-working and sensible Sunri were movers and shakers, who appeared like proud and oppressive sorcerers to less developed races. And they would malign the Dladli, calling them childish game players, stupid country bumpkins, and wasters of valuable time and resources, and claiming that they were just good-for-nothing idlers. 

 

About the Dladli themselves, we do not know much at all, as they were secretive and mysterious, despite their exceptional strength. So, the rest of this tale will deal with the Sunri, although the Dladli exerted exceptional influence over them from behind the scenes. Suffice it to say that in the end, the one tribe needed the other to survive, not to mention flourish. And in the same way that the Sun and the Moon came from the same substance originally, although they were not very fond of admitting the fact, the two groups needed to unite once again at last.

 

Amongst the Sunri there were eight nobles, namely: the brother and sister Lufsi the hunter and Tvetni the musician; the brother and sister Nukti the famer and Hepi the smith; the brothers Orzi the scholar and Itsi the wizard; and the brother and sister Sukti the fool and Nezpi the sailor. To be completely accurate, Nukti would change from being a man to being a woman every other year, as he had stared at the face of the Blue Moon for too long when her was a child. The Sunri were not people, nor beasts, not spirits either, but some strange combination of the three things. Lufsi was like a water-horse, Tvetni like a wine-dust-bird, Orzi like a flaming black dog, Nukti like a white sow or a white boar, Itsi like a flying water-beast, Hepi like a bony mare, Sukti like a three-headed dragon, and Nezpi like a water-leaper. Perhaps it would be fair to say that they were magical beings with personalities very like those legendary creatures. Leader of the tribe was Lufsi the hunter, who came to exist in three other aspects, namely as Azli the teacher, Selki the thief, and Belzi the butcher.

 

“A place for everyone, and everyone in his place,” was the watchword of the Sunri. Every one of them was very proud of his character, and his job, and his social standing, apart from Sukti, who wanted to prance about doing one thing after the other without finishing any of them. The others said that Sukti was a fool since in their opinion it appeared as if he refused to take responsibility for a single aspect of running the tribe, or cooperating with them to impose order on the Nw Yrth. In truth, Sukti preferred travelling about the planet to visit unknown lands and discover secrets, whilst everyone else was working exceptionally hard in the glorious motherland. He said that he was the legate of the Sunri to the suffering nations, and ambassador plenipotentiary at large, and that he was bringing a message of liberation through unflinching obedience, satisfaction through military discipline, and understanding through blind faith. But on the sly, Sukti was trying to fulfil his own mysterious ends, to be sure. 

 

And indeed, when they had become established, and grown strong enough, the Sunri began to go around sowing the seeds of civilization and dispensing food, and strength, and knowledge. Lufsi gave the bow and arrows, Tvetni, war-songs and lullabies; Nukti, the plough and grain; Hepi, iron and the forge; Orzi, parchment and glyphs; Itsi, numbers and the calendar; and Nezpi, maps and sails. Sukti would just ferret about, ask questions, and build strange devices. Indeed, the seven Sunri tamed the primitive races they came across, who were uncivilized cannibals in all probability, and would usually die very young after pitiful lives full of fear and pain. But when the folk had received their presents, the Sunri would become, as it were, a massive dragon, roaring, “Do this,” and “Do not do that” on pain of death or worse. And wherever they went, they would build cities, containing sweat-shops, punishment and conditioning centres, and houses of humiliation and supplication. They would catch the local folk there, half way between the exciting dangers of the natural world, and the imagined glory of the heavens, binding them with rules, laws, commandments, faiths, obligations, duties, and accounts. 

 

The Sunri always had to suppress individuality so that they people would play the part of cogs in the social machine. And they would teach their serfs to embrace the worldly values of utility and acquisitiveness, in place of the sacred ones, namely playfulness, letting-go, and sacrifice. Despite that, the former were not real gifts from the children of the Sun, but tools to ensnare and coerce those who were seeking stability and an end to pain. Sukti amongst the Sunri refused to abase himself to these oppressive ideals, suffering terribly in the end.

 

However, the Sunri dragon would bind people to selfishness and fear so that they would not enjoy the money, or the power, or the luxuries, or the myriad pleasures they would win, imprisoning them in the middle of multiple very complex and interconnected systems, and releasing evil into the Nw Yrth. Even when some rebels would go into the forest along unseen paths, to search for the gold of enlightenment, like dogs chasing the scent, and find it, they would come bring back to civilization carrying nothing but the ashes of disappointment, if they were not exceptionally strong in body and spirit.

 

In the meantime, the seven hardworking comrades in the tribe of the Sunri, all of them apart from Sukti that is, had taken possession of the plain in the heart of the southern continent and had transformed it into a fruitful paradise with their exceptional skills, and built seven ziggurats there to live in as they began to rule and order everything around them. In the middle of the field of rushes amongst the ziggurats was placed an enormous, flat stone, in which was a well leading very deep into the material of the Nw Yrth. This well, in the form of a cauldron of green brass was always full of thick, black liquid, and when the seven drank it, they would become very strong, and terribly clever, and very happy for a while, until the effects faded. As it happens, this stuff caused them to live for many long years as well. This was the situation, then. Over the years, the Sunri had come to govern the whole southern continent with military precision and unwavering discipline, from their headquarters in the enormous ziggurats amongst the field of rushes. 

 

These were full of miraculous machines which transformed the hidden energy dammed up in the core of the planet into heat, and light, and movement, and sound. Since they believed that it was the Resplendent Sun who gave such strength and ability to them, he was their divinity, their symbol, and their guardian, whilst it was the Fickle Moon who was, on the contrary, obviously the deceiver, the enemy, and the representative of everything bad and to be eschewed. Even more definite was the fact that the Treacherous Moon smiled on those terrible and totally unknown creatures which scraped an existence on the northern continent in most uncivilized and straitened circumstances. Without a doubt, according to the Sunri, the other faction deserved being utterly destroyed, as they were always changing, and refused to exercise the appropriate authority over their extensive, wild territory. Having said that, they would never attack the lands of the south, fighting back only when they needed to defend themselves in truth.

 

To be perfectly honest, it’s completely true that the Dladli only wanted to keep things on an even keel, those ones who used to live rough-and-tumble lives, spending their time carousing, feasting and getting drunk, playing unruly and dangerous sports, watching farcical and violent plays, and dancing furiously all night to loud, fast music, and so on and so forth. They would use their ever-changing language as a tool to spark direct communication from mind to mind, intuit answers to abstruse riddles, and guess correctly about things that had not yet happened. In this regard, the effects of the Dladli tongue were similar to magical techniques used in other lands. 

 

Despite all that, the truth is that it would be calumny to say that the Dladli hated order, perseverance, and commitment. They knew as well as anyone else on the Nw Yrth that regularity was common and very important in the world of nature. But contrary to the Sunri, they believed passionately, and from their own experience, that the creative patterns could not be compelled, and that they should arise spontaneously. And the strangest thing about the Dladli was how they succeeded to hide themselves, for one could not find them by seeking them, nor see them by looking straight at them. For definite, many would doubt that they were there at all.

 

But from time to time the Dladli would come across someone by complete accident who would want to cut himself free from the civilized oppression of the Sunri, and learn how to begin saving himself, and then, the world and his fellow-creatures, by kindling living sparks of imagination in his life. They would explain that there is black and white in everything under the Moon, and that we all need to work very hard all the time to choose the correct path for ourselves without too much self-hatred or self-righteousness. Indeed, there would be no cease to the need for choice, change, and growth, and only death would be waiting at the end of the journey. The Dladli would share their thoughts, their feelings, and their experiences, for to them, individual consciousness was a secondary function.

 

First, the apprentice would have to prepare by undergoing trials, wandering and getting lost all the time, but finding some aspect of his true self every time he stumbled and fell. And he would then begin to accept himself and love himself as he was, rather than as he wanted to be. Thus could his mind, his spirit, begin to roam free beyond the confines of the body, opening doors in bank walls. In this way he would succeed, perhaps, in descending to the Underworld, penetrating the lost worlds of the original ancestors, and swimming from the fourth multicoloured world, to the third black, white, and grey world, to the second red, yellow, green world, and down, towards the first, blue world, even. Secondly, he would need to take off the armour of societal conventions before penetrating the most terrifying cave to kill the dragon that guards the treasure he had been seeking so diligently. After jumping into the void, in the form of a winged fish, then, at the start of his spaceless, timeless flight, he would discover that there is no holy kingdom where ultimate established meaning exists. But instead of that, he would reach the home of pure being, where there is no longer inside and outside any more, and where all meaning has melted.

 

And after the apprentice has deleted the mental forces that were binding him, so that he is at one with the world as it really is, he would see that pain and pleasure are the same thing, as are good and bad, hell and heaven, virtue and vice, divinities and demons. And then having got rid of his attachment to things, he would realise there was nothing important for him to do any longer, as he would see that discipline leads to pleasure, illusions give way to illumination, and by seeking release he becomes trapped. Furthermore, having embraced the evil monster within himself, and having loved it, he could unite with it in order to kill it. 

 

The hero would have come full circle, and become an old wistful wizard. He could then return in the form of a sea-horse with the eyes of a falcon. to share the story and open the doors of dream to those others who would want to learn from him, showing them how to play seriously again. And perhaps if that happened, the fetters of conventional society would disappear without them having to leave the wrists, as it were. And indeed, the Sunri detested the Dladli because of their disordered ideas, their informal doctrine, and their revolutionary practices, and worked with all the might of their bodies, minds, and spirits to bring the influence of their sworn enemies to nought.

 

In due course, back in the field of rushes, Itsi married Hepi and they had a daughter, Zuvti, who was like a black goat. Orzi too married Nukti, who bore a girl called Harti, who was like a banshee. Nezpi and Sukti would be off most of the time, but when they were home, they would live together but they were not man and wife. And Sukti at least was very jealous of those others who had had children, and decided to prevent Lufsi and Tvetni from having a baby. Well, that was what he whispered to himself. But in his heart he was furious, as he thought that the other Sunri insulted him and mocked him because of his odd beliefs and his unusual behaviour. He was sure that things would be much better with him at the helm. If Lufsi needed to die to achieve this, so be it! Three tries for a usurper would it be from then on, therefore, as we shall see.

 

First, Sukti dug a deep hole full of sharp spikes in the area where Lufsi used to go hunting, and covered it with leaves and branches. When Lufsi fell into it, he was pierced and died. But there were the plants around the hole dropping healing herbs on his broken body, and filling it with fruitful, moist humus. And there Lufsi lay for three days being transformed, and when he awoke, he was Azli the teacher, and in his hand was an ancient book, as he had learned the secrets of the grave. When Sukti saw this, he was very frightened, and fled straight away to the south pole before the others could catch him, to size up the situation and plan the next ruse.

 

Then, after a suitable period, Sukti built a tall, splendid tower with a spiral staircase in it, on a beach not too far from the ziggurats of the Sunri and lit a fire at its top. When Azli went to investigate, Sukti caused the door to lock before he reached the top. And as Azli stood there surveying his territory proudly, his enemy lit a fuse and the place exploded burning Azli to cinders, which were blown away by the wind. But the breeze dropped every speck of the embers on the dry red soil, full of haematite around the tower where they continued burning. When it began to rain after three weeks, the water and the air mixed with the ash, the clay full of metal, and the living fire which would not be extinguished. And there was a giant with a flaming skull digging himself out of the ground. This was Selki the thief, who had stolen the power of all the elements. 

 

Sukti was frightened to such an extent when he heard and saw this terrifying creature roaring that he ran off like a cat out of hell, or a weasel, or a doe, or a greyhound. He was still running like the wind when he reached the northern continent. And there, he fell down almost dead, and there he languished, until the unseen inhabitants of the area came to him, and cared for him. Perhaps it is true that they could not be seen because there is some way of enhancing the bodily senses through sacrificing that body. But although their words were very powerful, they were much more than mere voices. After considerable time, Sukti revived and came to his senses with the help of their hellishly effective magic. But in addition to their food, and their medicines, he had sucked up lots of their ideas and their attitudes, and learned surprising methods of playing wildly with the forces of nature from the Dladli although he could not see them. In the end, the two parties were delighted as a result of the unexpected visit, one lot because they loved spreading mischief, the other as he believed he would get his own way at last and pay back the cruel Sunri.

 

Now, Selki was spending days on end in Tvetni’s ziggurat, and in no time, he had made her pregnant. Whilst everyone else was celebrating, the accountant and informant Rumpi son of Shafti the butcher, slunk off to tell his master Sukti who was lurking by then in an old blue cottage on the banks of the swift river at the foot of the mountain of limestone on the outskirts of the pine forest at the northern end of the southern continent. When Sukti heard the happy news, he almost ignited with fury, and there and then decided to act to harm his enemies terribly as soon as would be possible. Under the influence of the cunning Dladli, therefore, Sukti fashioned a cleaning device to squirt hot water containing a mixture of potash and cassia oil over one’s whole body. His name for the wonderful machine was the “odd soup.”

 

The toady Rumpi took the device to Selki’s ziggurat and left it there with full instructions on how to use it. Now Tvetni could not stop complaining that what with the hunting, and the oppressing, and the thieving, Selki was stinking all the time. Indeed, he always smelled as if he’d just been dug up from the grave. So, he welcomed the unknown present warmly, immediately took off his tunic, his laurel wreath, and his sandals, and jumped in. But unbeknownst to him, Sukti had arranged for the thingumyjig to heat the cleaning fluid so much that Selki would leap high into the air, and out of his skin. Then, with him halfway between the ground and the heavens, stark naked and covered in soap, poisoned razor-wire would shoot out and entwine him, tearing him to pieces. According to the wisdom of the Dladli, that was the only way of killing him stone dead. And that’s what happened, with horrid Rumpi hovering there to collect the bloody chunks of flesh and spirit them off when he heard the screams.

 

Cackling with laughter, Sukti himself scattered the lumps of bone and gristle, muscle and fat over the whole face of the Nw Yrth, in the rivers, on top of the mountains, at the bottom of the sea, amongst the forests, and in the valleys, so that no-one would be able to find them to re-create his most hated enemy. And although he got battered and bruised all over, he enjoyed his work enormously. But he could not travel over the limestone mountains by the swift river to reach the middle of the pine forest at the northern end of the southern continent. And that was because Elni and the legions of Warrior-women was guarding the sacred place. Before he walked away, however, the hessian sack containing bloody chunks of Selki’s body over his shoulder, he succeeded in snatching a fistful of the plant with feathery foliage called Spikni. And as soon as it touched his skin, all his wounds healed.

 

So sorrowful was Tvetni because of this outrage against her companion, and especially so because she knew she was about to bring their innocent and defenceless child into the cruel and predatory world very soon. But she also realized that if she were to depart from the field of rushes to go and help Selki, she would need a nurse to look after the young whelp for her, as she ranged over the Nw Yrth trying to find her mate and heal him. So, with the support of the other Sunri, she brought a woman from some Other World, and thereupon gave birth to a son, Blardi, who was like a man-dog, and the most beautiful person on the whole Nw Yrth.

 

The woman agreed to look after him while Tvetni was away, and defend him from the ceaseless attacks by Rumpi until the lad reached the age of sixteen. And that’s what she did very successfully winning praise and renown before returning to her own world to bear a son in due course although she was a maiden. She took myriad secrets about agriculture back with her, and the name Blardi too, and that’s why versions of it are so common in lands by the Ice Forests on her planet today. The lad was most brilliant entity, and the fairest of countenance, ever to be seen on the face of the Nw Yrth, and he had sky-blue eyes, and long, blond hair. But whilst he was strong and very intelligent, he was stubborn, and incredibly unruly too, and cruel on occasions. It was he who created for the Sunri from the primal slime in the Bottomless Pit the race of terrifying xenomorphs, as living weapons to kill, and tear, and destroy.

 

Tvetni travelled from pillar to post, searching high and low, and asking everyone and everything whether they knew where Selki had disappeared, but everywhere she got the same answer, “We do not know where the Lord is.” But despite her anguish, she remembered also her little boy, and as she went around, she said to those she spoke to, “Thank you very much, kindly stranger! But can I ask one other little favour before I go on my way? Will you promise not to harm my son, the most beautiful person in all the Nw Yrth, if you would be so kind?”

 

And everyone agreed straight away, in his own particular fashion. There she was then, trekking over the whole face of the planet from the south pole to the northern swamp. Although no-one could say where Selki was, as she searched, she came across to tiny chunks of his body that called to her from the valleys, amongst the forests, at the bottom of the sea, on top of the mountains, and in the rivers. She became more anxious every time she discovered another chunk, and whilst everyone promised they would not harm Blardi, nevertheless Tvetni despaired of being able to collect every piece of his father’s body.

 

When Tvetni reached the far north of the southern continent, Elni, Skilled leader of the Warrior-women told her that they had turned Sukti away, and she did not penetrate the sacred pine-forest either. And so, one plant did not agree that it wouldn’t harm Blardi. And that was the one called Spikni which is so smooth, and as aromatic as fresh hay, and grows wild in the thick forest amongst the grassland defended by enormous mountains of limestone. And then Tvetni became more disheartened than ever when she imagined Selki’s shredded body, and thought she would never regain all the bits. It was Elni who spoke thus to her then, “Although we cannot help you in your anguish, remember this. The Sun sees everything and knows the name of everything. When he calls, everything answers. When he commands, everyone obeys. Follow the Sun therefore and perhaps you will find that which you seek.” Tvetni did not understand but went on her way following the Sun’s trail whilst playing her harp, and over the years, she visited every corner of the Nw Yrth.

 

As Tvetni laboured up and down, over hill and dale, hither and thither, day after day, without complaining or grousing, she began to discern words in the twittering of the birds, in the breaking of the waves, in the whispering of the grass, and in all the sounds made by every thing under the Sun. Whilst this was happening, however, the Resplendent Sun was much too busy singing, and dancing, and laughing to pay attention to Tvetni eavesdropping, so charming was the sound of her harp. And there she was therefore, stealing the Sun’s words and weaving them all to form a song more magical than anything that had ever been heard before —

 

 

"... Dalatha, bravlu, klendru, eshempa;

Silpistí, madrolu, bamlaru, zileví;

Turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, veraza;

Endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala;

Brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta;

Anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista;

Vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí.”

 

Then Tvetni waited her chance. At the time of the Full Moon during the seventh month, she climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the Nw Yrth, and began to sing the song stolen from the Sun. Truly the words were flowing without restraint from her blessed mouth so sweetly and powerfully as they were naming every thing existing on the face of the Nw Yrth, and in the oceans and the sky also, and declaring its purpose and its fate. But they had already begun to change before they left her lips —

 

 

“... Taalth, vlavlo, hlenthla, espa;

Sipzí, melthru, manliré, shiví;

Tuhríthí, thirop, bahwach, birisha;

Edid, adyzidz, lilif, hestahl;

Brubunga, elethlop, hwalu, tiiah;

Afir-asé, kowróakri, aeherrereh, shthessihs;

Vilhstha, hwich, fatlasrish, dehlo.”

 

And they were able to hold or let go, depending on the true desire of the one who was chanting them. For sixteen years Tvetni had been wandering around seeking Selki. That night, of course, she wanted more than anything else to have him back, and as she sang, all the pieces of his flesh collected together to re-form his body in front of her.

 

Then Tvetni was beside herself with joy, but her happiness was short-lived, because the sallow form just hung there jiggling in the tickling, moist air, without pronouncing a word, mocking her like a rough block of slimy clay as dead as a door-nail. Tvetni didn’t know what to do but cry, and pluck the strings of her harp, and sing, but now it was a most sad song. “What would I not do to get him back?” asked she, answering herself, “Indeed, I would do anything, even give my own life for his!” So powerful was the melody that some essence of Tvetni’s companion heard it from the third world, and there was the horrific, sweaty effigy dropping tear after tear on the mountain’s barren soil, causing it to sprout. But once again, the words were different —

 

“…Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu;

Size, nilara, narala, sifi;

Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa;

Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe;

Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha;

Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha;

Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.”

 

With that, Tvetni was so greatly astonished that she swooned, falling down as her essence left her body and followed the tears’ path towards the third world. And there Tvetni’s spirit discovered her mate’s soul, and the two embraced, intertwining, before rising together very slowly towards the top of the highest mountain once again. When they alighted there, each of the two reconnected with the correct body, and Tvetni’s companion was whole, and uninjured, and strong, and vigorous once again. The tears, however, escaped, continuing to descend through the layers of the Underworld, burning their mournful way down, and at last they reached they first blue world. There they collected in a large hole to form a deep lake, its surface perfectly still like a pool of quicksilver, where one could see everything happening in the five worlds, and beyond if one so desired. And then back on the Nw Yrth the lovers lounged in each other’s arms for a long time, before kissing tenderly once.

 

And that second there were loud peals of laughter troubling the hot air scented with ozone, as an enormous flash of lightning tore the heavens leaving a violet glow everywhere. Because Tvetni had been willing to sacrifice herself, and with the Sun’s magic so strong, she had been able to drag the essence of her companion from the Underworld. But there is always a price to pay for every magical act, believe you me, be it cheaper or more expensive, as it upsets the great order of the cosmos to some degree, be it insignificantly or substantially. When the charm had come to an end, then, it was not Selki who stood opposite Tvetni, but Belzi the butcher with a bloody axe in his hand, as he had bested death thrice. 

 

Tvetni would be the most beguiling sorceress on the Nw Yrth therefore, from then on, and the Mother of All the Dead too. The echoes of her glorious song that was triumphant, and mournful, and joyous at the same time impressed themselves on the material of the All-World as they flowed through time and space, melting and breaking apart —

 

“…Tha la sa fe fa he tha fu ru lu

Si ze ni la ra na ra la si fi

Thu ri the thi ro pu pa ha ha pi li sa pa

E thi tha a thi sa li la le ni the

Po ru pu nu e le tha u a la thi a ha

A fi ra se ho u ro u hu fi li fe se si ha

Fi li si tha hu i ha fa tha le ri the he lo.”

 

Even then, discerning fragments of the original song would allow those who could recombine them and sing in harmony with the new hymn, or threnody, or tale, cast very strong spells. But the words were so powerfully slippery that it was dangerous to give voice to them, as they would tend to escape from the wizard’s control, re-organizing themselves to cause stunning and earth-shattering results more often than not. But that was not all. As a result of Tvetni’s Descent, she who is Mistress of the Dead, at the time of the Full Moon in the seventh month of every year from then on, the gates of the third world would open, so that the spirits of the departed could wander unfettered amongst the living for a night, helping or hurting according to their wont.

 

And so Blardi’s sixteenth birthday, when he would be accepted into the ranks of the Sunri, became a double celebration. That is when the son would come of age, and when the reborn father would return in glory. Sukti was as angry and frustrated as a volcano that had not been allowed to explode for millennia when he realized this, to say the least. He swore then that he would get revenge on the happy family once and for all. But he would have to act on his own initiative this time, as his today Rumpi had disappeared so suddenly off the face of the Nw Yrth after failing to get rid of the hateful child Blardi, who was being hailed as the spirit of the planet’s chaotic beauty. A week before the great party, Sukti flew to get advice from the Dladli on the northern continent. There were the unseen forms laughing madly at learning that he had taken a sprig of Spikni from the outskirts of the Warrior-women’s pine forest. The tricksters showed him how to fashion a dart from Spikni stems, and told him how to harden it and make it unstoppable using a very powerful charm called the Amsasi Ritual.

 

Sukti hurried home as quick as he could therefore on the back of an enormous white eagle to plan the great work, which would lead to Blardi’s demise and break the heart of Tvetni and Belzi. And by doing that, and killing the only scion of the tribe, perhaps he would shatter the domination of the Sunri over most of the Nw Yrth also. That was his despicable and wicked plan. Of course, as we know, unfortunately at the time, only males could inherit power and reign over the tribe, and that caused considerable indignation to the girls Zuvti and Harti, who were strong, and intelligent, and headstrong. To speak plainly, they hated Blardi, the young upstart, so much, that they would do anything to get rid of him.

 

So, during the days before the great feast, Sukti fashioned three darts of Spikni stems, that plant that had not promised that it would never harm Blardi, and hardened them with the words of the Amsasi Ritual under the light of the Fickle Moon, so that they would be unstoppable. When he pronounced the words for the first time, his guts full of ice -- “He-tleki, Mi-tleki; Etzi, Itzi; E’tsetpi U’yi; Mi-vrasi El-rui” – he released stupendous power into the All-World which would develop its own life, although no-one would say the words correctly again. Three darts were needed, needless to say, as Blardi had three fathers, in a manner of speaking, namely Lufsi the hunter, Azli the teacher, and Selki the thief.

 

It was easy for Sukti to convince the two angry and sullen women to play a part in his awful plan, having beguiled them with his blandishments, and he gave one dart to Zuvti whose blond hair was a veil over half of her face, and one dart to Harti whose black hair was cut very short, whilst keeping the third for himself. And then Sukti transformed himself into a tentacled ball of ectoplasm, and then became a great fanged mollusc, and finally took the shape of a maiden called Dendri with an enormous shock of red hair. The day of the great festival, everyone assembled to witness Blardi being immersed in the enormous cauldron of green brass in the middle of the black stone amongst the ziggurats of the Sunri, a laurel crown on his charming but merciless head.

 

And there were Dendri, Zuvti, and Harti standing at the vertices of an equilateral triangle on the circumference of the enormous stone, with an unstoppable dart hidden up the sleeve of each one. The seven other Sunri were forming a circle around the cauldron, with Blardi hanging in a harness above it, wearing a traditional tunic of white hessian with a green belt about his waist. The very second that Belzi commanded that the lad be let down into the black, thick, sticky liquid, the three assassins flung their darts simultaneously towards him with all their strength. Since the Spikni had not refused to harm Blardi, the darts had no choice, and under the influence of the Amsasi Ritual they were unstoppable indeed. And there was one piercing the lad through his right eye, another one through his heart, and the third through his left thigh. Sukti had arranged everything so it would appear that the hoist had broken releasing the deadly, sharp bits. And so Blardi, scion of the Sunri, and mundane star, died.

 

Immediately, the place was filled with a dread sound, like lions roaring, seas raging, wolves howling, and swords gobbling lives. It was as if the infernal commotion would persist for ever, and destroy the whole Nw Yrth, as it was too much for the world to bear. The sky went purple. The cauldron drained, bubbling sickeningly. The stone split with a deafening snap, creating an Ephemeral Rift between the Nw Yrth and the other worlds. Blardi’s corpse fell feet-first down the well-shaft following the cauldron. The fruitful soil turned to a wilderness of broken glass. The water in the moat around the settlement became pure liquor that would be a holy drink consecrated to lost Blardi later on.

 

And there was everyone tumbling head over heels into the Ephemeral Rift that had opened so suddenly between the five worlds, and down and down went everyone into the abyss. When all the nobles of the Sunri tribe had gone through the screeching gap, it closed behind them like the jaws of a monstrous, bored reptile. It was Sukti who fell furthest, reaching the first world of the original ancestors. And there he was, shut up in an excruciating blue hive, below an underwater river, from where he had to watch every single thing that happened in the other worlds. Although he wasn’t there in person to interfere with the plans of the Sunri, he was able to wreak havoc, with considerable effort. After a while, he began to extend his psychic tentacles across time and space to do evil elsewhere, too.

 

To the second world went the other Sunri, where they learned a very great deal, before managing to return to the Nw Yrth and continue their eternal war against the Dladli. And what about Blardi, the most good-looking lad, and one hardest to deal with who ever existed? He fell to the third world where he stayed, and no-one knows his fate, although maybe he ruled there in bliss of ever. Perhaps that would be a good bargain: the exchange of Blardi’s life for the lives of his three fathers, Lufsi, Azli, and Selki. But it is said today by enlightened wizards that his familiar-spirits Pfenti, word, and Rzahsi, action, will come when the magician calls on the name of their holy master to defend him from Zuvti the fire-demoness, and Harti the ice-spirit.

 

During the extended exile of the Sunri, it happened that the Dladli came into mental contact with dreamers, shamans, artists, and mystics, on other planets across the All-World, and their revolutionary message was getting spread far and wide, although they didn’t care about that in the least. After the Sunri clawed their way back to the Nw Yrth, a task that was mighty difficult as the Ephemeral Rift had sealed itself behind them after their fall, they spent a considerable amount of their time fighting amongst themselves. When they weren’t doing that, they battle between the Dladli and the Sunri continued, and the Sunri were even more jealous, and angry, and spiteful when they saw the unintentional success of their mortal enemies. They began, therefore, to send secret agents to the other worlds, to pervert the influence of the Dladli, using technology based on the primitive magic of the Underworld to create their coercive dragons that would bind and silence individuals, bridle nonconformity, demand obedience, and govern society. And there they would feed on the live-force of the living, and send the souls of the dead to lanour in the Bottomless Pit back on the Nw Yrth.

 

In the first world of the original ancestors, Sukti was becoming stronger and  stronger, and beginning to vex the Sunri. As a result, Lufsi travelled down to the Agonizing Blue Hive in the form of Azli the teacher, Selki the thief, and Belzi the butcher, to beg him, reason with him, and in the end command him and compel him to be their watchful eye, their incarcerated ambassador, and their ensnared legate. And although Sukti ranted and raved, so powerful was Lufsi in his three aspects that he could not but agree. Now, although Sukti had been cast down, he never gave up hindering the schemes of his former compatriots, traying to put the cat amongst the pigeons and upset the apple cart at every possible opportunity. But every time he would send his mental imps or his imaginary bogey-men out to hinder the campaigns of his hateful peers, the attempt would go wrong, and turn against him to help them instead of harming them in the end. Once, it happened that his unskilled meddling with the cosmic continuum opened a gate to another world called the Harsh Planet, giving free rein for the seven Sunri to change the course of its development completely and for ever. 

 

Terribly slowly, but nevertheless surely, Sukti, in the aspect of the Red Painter who could distort space and turn back time, and make dreams become substantial, collected acolytes, agents, and vassals across the All-World, with his mental powers and his promises of fame, fortune, and the fulfilling of every desire, as well as his threats of eternal torture. On some worlds they would appear like cowled monks, but like wily, smooth-tongued serpents on other planets, and they would take many alternative forms besides. At last, however, when the Red Sun was on the verge of exploding before deleting every morsel of life off the face of the Nw Yrth, it is Sukti who stepped into the breach as it were. 

 

But it is sure he would not have done that had not Lufsi descended to the Excruciating Blue Hive at the bottom of the original ancestors’ first world, countless ages before, maybe, to bind Sukti with the strongest magic. And then, at the end of the next cosmic era, it would be Sukti’s constant tricks that would unite the Dladli and the Sunri to create a new race called the Tlevki, hurling them all through space towards a blue, green, and fruitful planet, and one ready to be despoiled, where they could feast jubilantly on the bodies, and minds, and spirits of the ignorant inhabitants for a considerable time. Despite that, naturally enough, it wasn’t possible for anyone to challenge the Great Order regarding change, and degeneration, and death for ever, and in the end, those trying to compel the All-World were tricked and overthrown too. After all, even the Red Sun, the Blue Moon, the Nw Yrth and the Misty Planets died after a terrifyingly long lifetime, and doubtless the Harsh Planet will perish in its turn also. Be that as it may, the Tlevki were punished appropriately for their presumption as if they were naughty children who had stolen fire and been burned, but only after they’d changed the course of history once again, using the skills they’d won on the Harsh Planet, but not in the way they’d imagined or intended. 

 

Perhaps it would not be far-fetched to venture the opinion that the pupils they trained were worse than the masters themselves. But then again, maybe that was a prize, for the Tlekvi at least, who were nothing but mud and sunshine to begin with. Although Sukti would not produce an heir, he would go on to use many names, wear many masks, and possess many personalities, appearing as an orphan, soldier, thief, doctor, artist, teacher, priest, and poet, amongst other things, and his influence was very extensive. And the name of that pitiful planet was the Eyrth, so far away, lost in the mists of time, which was transformed beyond all recognition by the Tlekvi, as the syllables of Tvetni’s song of transformation continued to permeate the All-World, changing all the time — “Li tha ru ha ho ha – si he ni sa a ra ze sa – la li tha the ra e – i lu a a pi fi a – e si pa la thu ni – ha tha se nu na thi – thi ru fa fa ra – si thi ro pa li fi – le la ri la fi fu – pu u thi pu ha – si le ro he tha fe hu – u po lo ri fi the sa – la le se ha tha tha – fe u the hu li…” But that is another story entirely.

 

 

["Why Things Are as They Are,"

from “True Folk Tales from the Heart of the Continent,”

by Pjetër Mamrick (collector),

from a sound recording by Frederick Llwynlesg.]

Ar y cychwyn cyntaf, yn rhywle neu’i gilydd y tu draw i’r llen, ro’dd yna ddwy ardal a rhyngddyn nhw ofod gwag. Ro’dd y naill le’n dywyll, ac oer, a llawn iâ, tra o’dd y llall yn olau, a phoeth, a llawn tân. Brwydrai’r tafodau fflamllyd a’r chwaon rhewllyd yn y gofod am oesoedd di-rif ond ni all yr un grym na’r llall ennill. Fodd bynnag, drwy’u cyd-adweithio cyson, yn y pen draw, fe greodd y gwres a’r oerni ryw fath o niwl myglyd, rhyfedd a dewychai’n ara ara’n ddiferion fyrdd o hylif du, trwchus, do’dd yn cynnwys na dŵr na thân. Dyma o’dd y sylwedd ymwybodol cyntaf yn yr Holl Fyd, ac ro’dd mor gynhyrfus o gael i greu o ddim, fel petai mewn perlewyg, iddo ffrwydro i lenwi’r ddwy wlad. Yn yr anial tanllyd, ffurfiodd y diferynnau floc enfawr o glai afluniaidd, ac yn y tir orest, rhewllyd, hedfanen nhw o gwmpas gan newid eu lliw, a’u siâp, a’u maint drwy’r amser.

 

O’r diwedd, symudodd y gwreichion gorffwyll yn haid trwy’r gofod a glanio ar y clai cysglyd a’u llyncai, gan dyfu’n fwyfwy. A dyna lle’r o’dd y bloc yn chwysu a chrynu cyn ymrannu’n ddau dalp cnodiog mewn daeargryn a ryddhaodd hefyd bedair afon o wlybwr llaethog i feithrin y talpiau byw o fater. Ac wrth iddyn nhw orwedd yno’n pendwmpian, ro’n nhw’n cystadlu i amsugno meintiau gwahanol o’r ambrosia gwyn, gan dyfu a newid o ganlyniad. Ar ôl amser maith, ro’n nhw wedi datblygu i fod yn ddau gorff wybrennol. Yr un fwyaf a phoethaf o’dd yr Haul, yr un lleiaf ac oeraf o’dd y Lleuad. Ro’dd yr Haul yn llawn tân ac ager, ac yn fyrbwyll a rhyfelgar, tra o’dd y Lleuad yn graff a chyfrwys ac yn llawn eira a llwch.

 

Ro’dd y Lleuad, o’dd bryd hynny’n ymddangos fel sarff â phen tarw, yn derbyn rheolau amser, ac eisiau mwynhau taith bodolaeth, tra o’dd yr Haul ar ffurf gwalch ac arno ben llew yn gwrthwynebu newid a braenu, a bob tro ro’dd arno angen rhuthro tuag at ei gyrchfan. Ro’dd y Lleuad yn sylweddoli bod byw mewn byd wedi’i reoli gan amser yn golygu colled a dolur yn ogystal â llawenydd. Fe ddewisodd hi’n wirfoddol ddilyn llwybr coch, troellog yr arwr yn llawn drain ac anhawster. Ar y llaw arall, ro’dd yr Haul yn mynnu brasgamu ar hyd y ffordd ddu sy’n syth a rwydd tuag at lwyddiant a bri. Hyd yn oed yn ystod cyfnos yr Holl Fyd, fe fyddai’n rhedeg yn wyllt gyda’r helfa fawr, gan weiddi, “Gwneler fy ewyllys, megis uchod, felly isod hefyd!”

 

Ro’dd yr Haul a’r Lleuad yn nerthol iawn, ond nage duwdodau o’n nhw. Yn hytrach ro’n nhw’n rymoedd natur, a fedren nhw ddim creu pethau’n uniongyrchol. Felly dyna lle’r o’dd y ddau’n datgan ag un llais, “Gwae fi, fydd yn gallu lladd, a gwylio pethau’n marw, ond na all gynhyrchu dim byd o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun!” Cyn i’r Yrth ddod i fod ar ffurf planed gorfforol, ro’n nhw yno’n synfyfyrio ers tro byd ar eu pennau’u hunain ond yn ofer. Ro’dd llawer o syniadau’n hedfan o gwmpas ar hap ym meddwl yr Haul a’r Lleuad ynghylch sut y dylai pethau fod. Ro’dd y Lleuad yn deall byddai cylchoedd natur yn golygu newid a loes, gan feddwl, “Peth gwahanol fyddi di pan ddoi di allan o’r storm, o’th gymharu i’r hyn o’t ti pan est ti i mewn.”

 

I’r gwrthwyneb do’dd yr Haul ond yn poeni am ei ran yn y machlud coch, na fyddai’n ddinistr llwyr ond yn ddiwedd ar bethau fel yr o’n nhw y pryd hynny, gan alaru, “Yr wyf yn dymuno canu fel aderyn, heb boeni am bwy sydd yn gwrando nac am yr hyn y maent yn ei feddwl.” Fe ddechreuodd pethau ddigwydd pan grwydrodd rhai o’r meddyliau bant a chwrdd yn y gofod. Dyna o’dd cychwyn carped mawr gwybodaeth, yn debyg i rwyd emog, ac ynddi gorweddai’r Lleuad a’r Haul fel dau freuddwydiwr, y naill yn creu’r llall.

 

Yn gyntaf, o achos eu dychmygion, ro’dd yna wynt deallus yn chwythu uwchben y cefnfor cysefin o’dd wedi ymddangos yng nghanol y gofod gan godi tarth llachar a greodd y pedwar Isfyd o’dd yn ansylweddol, a chyfnewidiol, a llawn cysgodion. Fe ddihunodd llais y gwynt liaws o fodau glân a agorodd eu llygaid a gweld y cread am y tro cyntaf fel cae o flodau anhygoel yn lledu’u petalau. Ro’dd y byd cyntaf yn ynys fach, dywyll, a chyfyng yng nghanol pedwar môr, lle ro’dd y bodau glân yn byw yn ogystal â phobl y tarth, y werin wirion, a’r twyllwr mawr (dyma o’dd y cyndadau cysefin). Yno ro’dd popeth yn wahanol arlliwiau o las. O blith llwyth y werin wirion y tad cyntaf yn byw yn y gogledd a’r fam gyntaf yn byw yn y gorllewin gaeth hyd i’w gilydd trwy chwifio ffaglau a cherdded nes iddyn nhw gwrdd yng nghanol y byd cyntaf.

 

Wedyn fe balon nhw dwll yn yr awyr yn nwyrain y byd cyntaf, ac arwain pawb trwyddo. Dyna lle ro’n nhw felly yn yr ail fyd, o’dd hefyd yn gaeedig a heb olau. ac yn gartref i seirff gwyrddlas, llathraidd, ac angenfilod llwydlas, blewog, Ro’dd popeth yno’n goch, a melyn, a gwyrdd. Yno, naeth y cyndadau cysefin dramgwyddo yn erbyn pennaeth y seirff, a’u halltudiodd nhw o’r ail fyd. Ond pan naeth y tad cyntaf lunio ysgol o fuchudd, fe allen nhw ddianc trwy dwll yn yr awyr yn ne’r ail fyd. Ro’dd y trydydd byd helaeth yn cynnwys sawl afon yn croesi'i gilydd, a mynyddoedd sanctaidd, ac yno ro’dd llwyth croesawgar y bwystfilod tân yn byw. Yno, du, a gwyn, a llwyd o’dd y prif liwiau, os byddwn ni’n gallu galw’r rhain yn lliwiau, ac ro’dd y lle i gyd yn fôr o oleuni uwchfioled, a achosai lewyrch rhyfedd ym mhob man.

 

Ond allai’r twyllwr mawr ddim peidio herwgipio plant arglwydd y bwystfilod tân. Ac o ganlyniad, fe achosodd y brenin ddilyw, ac felly ro’dd yn rhaid i’r cyndadau cysefin ffoi. A dyna sut y cyrhaeddon nhw’r pedwerydd byd, ble ro’dd llwyth o fwystfilod dŵr yn byw yn y moroedd enfawr dan olau’r Haul a’r Lleuad. Ro’dd popeth yn amryliw, a llachar, a thwym yno. Ac yno ro’dd y cyndadau cysefin yn ffynnu, wrth reoli bywyd trwy gymorth y tymhorau, a chyfathrebu â’r Haul a’r Lleuad ar ben y mynyddoedd sanctaidd ro’n nhw wedi’u hail-greu gyda phridd o’r ail fyd.

 

Ac yno yn y pedwerydd byd, ro’dd y fam gyntaf a’r tad cyntaf yn cael gefeilliaid a ddaeth yn arwyr mawr, a lladd y bwystfilod dŵr. Wedyn fe deithion nhw’r holl ffordd drwy’r moroedd i begwn y de. Pan gyrhaeddon nhw yno, naeth y gwynt o hwyliau’u cwch gusanu darn mawr o iâ hallt gan achosi iddo doddi, a rhyddhau dwy goeden, a ddatblygodd i fod yn angyles dal falch a chythraul byr, clyfar. Fe briododd y rhain a chael pump o blant hudol o’dd meistri’r pum elfen, sef awyr, dŵr, metel, pridd, a thân. Fe laddodd y plant ‘ma bawb yn llwyth y werin wirion, gan ddefnyddio’u cyrff i lunio ffurf gorfforol i’r Yrth a’r Nefoedd, a meddwl fe fydden nhw’n rheoli’r pumed byd, yr Yrth, o’u castell godidog ond rhwysgfawr. Y pryd hwnnw, ro’dd y tir i gyd ar wyneb yr Yrth yn un cyfandir enfawr crwn wedi’i amgylchu gan y Cefnfor Allanol Hallt. Yng nghanol y cyfandir ro’dd y Môr Bach Mewnol yn llawn o ddŵr croyw, ac yn ei ganol, ro’dd ynys ble ro’dd maes brwyn. Yng nghanol union yr ynys hon ro’dd cadarnle pum meistr yr Yrth.

 

Yna, wrth i’r pump ymhyfrydu yn eu gwaith o wneud, a defnyddio, a thrawsffurfio, o’dd mor ddinistriol ond mor greadigol ar yr un pryd, naeth yr hen gastiwr ymddangos yn ddisymwth i daro cytundeb gyda nhw ar gyngwystl. “Wele!” ebe fe, “Fe fyddaf yn taflu’r garreg hon i’r ffynhonnell yng nghalon eich uchelgaer. Os bydd hi’n disgyn i’r gwaelod, addawaf mai yn ôl i fyw yn y trydydd byd yr âi pawb fydd farw yma o hyn ymlaen.” Ond chwerthin am ei ben yntau naeth y pum meistr, wrth iddo ollwng y garreg yn y pydew. A dyna lle’r o’dd y cerigyn yn suddo’n ddyfnach ddyfnach, wrth i’r pum meistr grechwenu’n uwch uwch. Faint o amser aeth heibio wrth iddyn nhw sefyll yno’n disgwyl? Fydd neb byth yn gwybod i sicrwydd. Wrth gwrs fe gyrhaeddodd y cerigyn y gwaelod maes o law, gydag unig blop tawel. A chyda hynny, gaeth y pum meistr eu sugno i lawr y ffynhonnell, yn dilyn trywydd y garreg, gan adael y lle’n wag ar wahân i’r twyllwr mawr, yn ogystal â’r bodau glân a phobl y tarth o’dd wedi bod yn gwylio hyn oll mewn tawelwch llwyr.

 

Pan dynnodd yr hen gastiwr y mwgwd oddi am ei wyneb, a’r clogyn oddi ar ei gefn, ro’dd i’w weld yn debyg i ryw anghenfil enbyd gyda chorff fel llew, coesau fel dyn, llygaid fel gwdihŵ, rheiddiau fel hydd, a chynffon fel cath. Ond er gwaethaf ei wedd, yr Haul o’dd y twyllwr mawr yn wir. Fe ymatebodd y ddau lwyth yn wahanol i’w gilydd, fodd bynnag. Tra o’dd pobl y tarth yn ebychu, a gweiddi, a bwldagu’n syn, ro’dd y bodau glân yn canu clod yr Haul Disglair. A dyna pam gadawyd i’r bodau glân esgyn i’r nefoedd ble daethon nhw’n sêr, tra gaeth pobl y tarth eu taflu mas i’r gofod. Ac yno fe dendiai’r Lleuad Oriog arnyn nhw, fel taw yn y pen draw y tyfen nhw i fod yn blanedau newydd. Yn wahanol i’r Haul a’r Lleuad, felly, do’dd yr Yrth yno yn y cychwyn cyntaf, ac ma’n cynnwys llawer o dŵr, a halen, a phridd, a haearn, ac yn ymddwyn fel plentyn eofn, gan chwarae, a chanu, a phigo’i thrwyn, a gweiddi, a thorri gwynt.

 

Nawr, ro’dd yr Haul a’r Lleuad bob tro’n ymryson â’i gilydd. Fe fyddai’r Haul yn honni taw meistr yr Holl Fyd o’dd e, a’r Lleuad yn dweud ei bod hithau wedi’i chreu’i hun. Er gwaethaf ei nerth eithriadol e, dyna o’dd gosodiad a bryfociai’r Haul yn enbyd, ac felly galwodd ar y Lleuad i ymddangos a’i herio hithau, gan ddweud, “Gadewch inni weld pwy all wneuthur y peth gorau!” Wedyn, ymrithiodd yr Haul a’r Lleuad ar yr Yrth ar ffurf dyn hysbys a gwraig fawr yn sefyll ar lân y Môr Bach Mewnol. A dyna lle’r o’dd yr hen ŵr yn dawnsio yn nyfroedd y môr wrth i’r tonnau ymffurfio’n ysbrydion gloyw a disglair a wibiai ym mhobman. Ond ar ôl hynny, fe atebodd y fenyw deg trwy brancio ymhlith y tywod, a ddechreuai dyfu’n blanhigion rhyfeddol o ddeniadol, o bob math, a faint, a lliw. Ro’n nhw’n ddirfawr a chryf iawn, ac yn gallu symud o gwmpas, ond dim ond yn araf iawn.

 

Wedyn naeth y dyn crebachlyd orchymyn, “Boed i’r creadigaethau siarad!” Ar hynny, dechreuodd ysbrydion yr awyr ganu, a bloeddio, ac adrodd gan ddweud, “Yr Haul yw arglwydd popeth.” Ro’dd y Lleuad yn gyndyn o wneud yr un peth, gan ateb, “Pam dylwn i ufuddhau i ti, frawd? Fe gaethon ni’n creu ar yr un pryd. Ddim trech na fi wyt ti, er dy fod ti gymaint yn fwy, ac yn fwy nerthol o lawer” Ond pan glywodd hi’r ysbrydion yn chwerthin am ei phen, fe geisiodd beri i’w ffrwythau a’i llysiau sôn wrthi, gan eu cosi, a chrefu arnyn nhw, a’u ceryddu. Er gwaethaf pob ymdrech, sut bynnag, dim ond sisial, a myngial, a phiffian a wnâi’r planhigion, wrth chwifio’u canghennau a’u coesynnau’n wan. Ac felly fe godwyd cywilydd ar y Lleuad, ond fyddai’r Haul ddim yn rhoi’r gorau i gystadlu eto.

 

A dyna lle’r o’dd yr hen gono’n dweud, “Gwnewch chi gwt ichi’ch hun, a chewch i mewn gyda’ch creaduriaid pitw. Wedyn fe fyddaf yn ei losgi fe’n ulw. Os byddwch chi’n goroesi, fe fyddaf yn moesymgrymu ger eich bron chi, gan ddatgan i chwychwi eich creu’ch hun!” Er ei bod hi’n arswydo am beth bynnag fyddai’n digwydd, dywedodd y wraig hardd, “Chaiff neb fyw’r bywyd ma’n ei ddewis. Man a man i fi fynd i ‘nhranc fel arwr, gan ennill bywyd tragwyddol ym meddwl yr Holl Fyd.” Ar y gair, aeth hithau i mewn i’r bwthyn dros dro wedi’i wneud o’u haelodau gan y llystyfiant, a gweddill y planhigion symudol gyda hi.

 

Ro’dd fel petai’r cwt yn fath o gocŵn gwyrdd wedi’i neud o ddeiliant irlas. Fe ddywedodd wrthi hi’i hun, “Dyw’m yn bosibl i ofn ddiflannu, all e’m mynd i unman. Ond bod yn ddewr yw gwybod be i’w neud, a’i neud e. ‘Lly i mewn i’r cwt â fi i newid sialens yn gyfle!” Nawr ro’dd popeth yn wyrdd a llawn sudd, ac felly fe gymerodd gryn amser i’r dyn doeth gynnau tân yn neunydd y lle. Tra o’dd yntau’n gweithio nerth deng ewin i ddinistrio’i chwaer, dyna lle’r o’dd y gwinwydd yn cynhyrchu plisg mawr crwn, wrth i wreiddiau cyhyrog y planhigion oll durio trwy’r pridd meddal a ymagorai o’u blaenau i ffurfio twnnel yn arwain dan y ddaear at ddiogelwch ar yr ynys yng nghanol y Môr Bach Mewnol.

 

Wrth i’r Lleuad a’r llystyfiant symudol gropian dianc felly, dyna lle’r o’dd yr Haul yn llwyddo i losgi’r cwt, ac yn llawenhau o glywed y masglau’n ffrwydro’n swnllyd, gan ddychmygu bod y ddraen yn ei ystlys yn trengi. Ond ro’dd y Lleuad yn saff, ymhell oddi ar y traeth, a phan aeth yr Haul i mewn i’r cwt nad o’dd ond murddun erbyn hynny, aeth e’n gacwn gwyllt o sylweddoli’i hystryw hi. Aeth yr Haul ati ac ymosod arni ar ffurf neidr, a llew, a rhaeadr, a thân, ond eisteddodd hithau o’i flaen e ar ffurf delwedd garreg yn darlunio siâp menyw enfawr feichiog. Ac wrth iddi gyrcydu yno’n adrodd, “Beth fu ddoe nad yw heddi; beth sy heddi na fydd ‘fory,” allai’r brawd ddim ei niweidio hi. Gan fod yn gas gan ysgrydion yr awyr glywed a gweld y cyrff nefol ffraeo cynddrwg, fe ddisgynnon nhw i ganol yr Yrth trwy dwnelau’r planhigion, gan doddi popeth o’u blaenau, a dyna sut daeth y pŵer eithriadol i fodoli yng nghalon y blaned heddi.

 

Ar ben hynny, mor chwyrn o’dd eu taith iddyn nhw hollti’r unig gyfandir yn ddau hanner ar wahân i’w gilydd yn llawn mynyddoedd a chymoedd, ac achosi i’r dŵr ffres yn y Môr Bach Mewnol gronni mewn llynnoedd a llifo mewn afonydd. Fe felltithiodd yr Haul y planhigion, a’u taenu nhw dros wyneb y blaned, gan ddweud na fydden nhw’n symud byth eto er na allai fe’i ddinistrio gwaith ei chwaer y Lleuad yn llwyr. Ac am iddi newid cymaint, y Nw Yrth o’dd enw’r blaned o hynny ymlaen. A dim ond cynyddu a wnâi’r ysbryd cystadlu rhwng mab a merch y gofod hefyd.

 

Ac felly, trwy’r brwydro di-ball rhwng y Lleuad Oriog a’r Haul Disglair fe ddaeth y ddau lwyth mawr i fyw ar y Nw Yrth, y naill o’r enw y Dladli ar y cyfandir gogleddol, a’r llall o’r enw y Sunri ar y cyfandir deheuol, fel dyn ni wedi clywed amdano yn y chwedl o’r enw Cân yr Haul. Ysgogwyr a chynhyrfwyr o’dd y Sunri gweithgar a difrifol, fyddai’n ymddangos fel swynwyr ffroenuchel a gorthrymus i hilion llai datblygedig. Ac fe fydden nhw’n dweud yn ddrwg am y Dladli, gan eu galw’n chwaraewyr gemau plentynnaidd, llabystiau gwladaidd gwirion, a gwastraffwyr amser ac adnoddau gwerthfawr, a honni taw dim ond segurwyr da i ddim o’n nhw.

 

Ynghylch y Dladli eu hun, dydyn ni’m yn gwybod llawer o gwbl, achos eu bod yn gyfrinachgar a dirgel, er gwaethaf eu nerth eithriadol. Felly, bydd gweddill yr hanes hwn yn ymwneud â’r Sunri, er bod y Dladli yn arfer dylanwad aruthrol arnyn nhw o’r tu hwnt i’r llenni. Digon dweud bod yn y pen draw, yr o’dd ar y naill lwyth angen y llall i oroesi, heb sôn am ffynnu. Ac yn yr un ffordd i’r Haul a’r Lleuad ddod o’r un sylwedd yn wreiddiol, er nad o’n nhw’n hoff iawn o addef y ffaith, ro’dd yn rhaid i’r ddau grŵp uno unwaith eto o’r diwedd.

 

Ymhlith y Sunri, ro’dd yna wyth pendefig, sef: y brawd a chwaer Lufsi yr heliwr a Tvetni y cerddor; y brawd a chwaer Nukti y ffermwr a Hepi y gof; y brodyr Orzi yr ysgolhaig ac Itsi y swynwr; a’r brawd a chwaer Sukti y ffŵl a Nezpi y morwr. A bod yn fanwl gywir, fe fyddai Nukti yn newid o fod yn ddyn i fod yn wraig bob yn ail flwyddyn am iddo syllu ar wyneb y Lleuad Las am yn rhy hir pan o’dd yn grwt. Do’dd y Sunri ddim yn bobl, na bwystfil, nac ysbrydion chwaith, ond yn rhyw gyfuniad rhyfedd o’r tri pheth. Ro’dd Lufsi fel ceffyl dŵr, Tvetni fel adar llwch gwin, Orzi fel ci du fflamllyd, Nukti fel hwch wen neu dwrch gwyn, Itsi fel afanc hedegog, Hepi fel caseg esgyrnog, Sukti fel draig driphen, a Nezpi fel llamhigyn y dŵr. Falle byddai’n deg dweud eu bod yn fodau hudol â phersonoliaethau’n debyg iawn i’r creaduriaid chwedlonol ‘na. Arweinydd y llwyth o’dd Lufsi yr heliwr, a daeth i fodoli mewn tair agwedd arall, sef fel Azli yr athro, Selki y lleidr, a Belzi y bwtsiwr.

 

“Lle i bawb, a phob un yn ei le,” o’dd arwyddair y Sunri. Ro’dd pob un ohonyn nhw’n falch iawn o’i gymeriad, a’i swydd, a’i safle cymdeithasol, heblaw am Sukti, o’dd eisiau prancio o gwmpas wrth neud y naill beth ar ôl y llall heb orffen yr un ohonyn nhw. Ro’dd y lleill yn dweud taw ffŵl o’dd Sukti achos taw yn eu tyb nhw yr ymddangosai fel petai fe’n gwrthod cymryd cyfrifoldeb dros yr un agwedd ar redeg y llwyth, na chydweithio gyda nhw i osod trefn ar y Nw Yrth. Mewn gwirionedd, ro’dd yn well gan Sukti deithio o gwmpas y blaned i ymweld â gwledydd anhysbys a darganfod cyfrinachau, tra o’dd pawb eraill yn gweithio’n eithriadol o galed yn y famwlad ogoneddus. Fe ddywedai yntau taw cennad y Sunri i’r cenhedloedd dioddefus oedd e, a llysgennad llawnalluog ar grwydr, a’i fod yn dod â neges o ryddhad trwy ufudd-dod di-syfl, bodlonrwydd trwy ddisgyblaeth filwrol, a dealltwriaeth trwy ffydd ddall. Ond ar y slei bach, ro’dd Sukti yn ceisio cyflawni’i ddibenion dirgel ei hun, bid siŵr.

 

Ac yn wir, pan o’n nhw wedi ymsefydlu a thyfu’n ddigon cadarn, fe ddechreuodd y Sunri fynd o gwmpas gan hau hadau gwareiddiad a ddosbarthu bwyd, a nerth, a gwybodaeth. Fe roai Lufsi y bwa a saethau; Tvetni, ryfelganau a hwiangerddi; Nukti, yr aradr ac ŷd; Hepi, haearn a’r efail; Orzi, femrwn a glyffiau; Itsi, rifau a’r calendr; a Nezpi, fapiau a hwyliau. Dim ond chwilmantan, a gofyn cwestiynau, ac adeiladu dyfeisiau rhyfedd a wnâi Sukti. Ac yn wir, fe ddofai’r saith Sunri’r hilion cyntefig y daethon nhw ar eu traws, o’dd yn ganibaliaid anwaraidd yn ôl pob tebyg, ac a fyddai farw fel arfer yn ifanc iawn ar ôl bywyd truenus yn llawn ofn a phoen. Ond pan fyddai’r werin wedi derbyn eu hanrhegion, fe droai’r Sunri fel petai yn ddraig enfawr yn rhuo, “Gwnewch chi hyn,” a “Na wnewch chi hynny” dan gosb marwolaeth, neu waeth. A ble bynnag yr aen nhw, fe fydden nhw’n adeiladu dinasoedd ac ynddyn nhw slafweithdy, canolfannau cosbi a chyflyru, a thai ymostwng a deisyfu. Fe fydden nhw’n dal y werin leol yno, hanner ffordd rhwng peryglon cyffrous byd natur a gogoniant dychmygol y nefoedd, gan eu rhwymo gyda rheolau, deddfau, gorchmynion, crefyddau, rhwymedigaethau, dyletswyddau, a chyfrifon.

 

Ro’dd yn rhaid i’r Surni bob amser geisio llethu unigoliaeth fel byddai’r bobl yn chwarae rhan mân olwynion ym mheiriant cymdeithas. Ac fe ddysgen nhw’u taeogion i gofleidio’r gwerthoedd bydol o ddefnyddioldeb a chaffaelgarwch, yn lle’r rhai cysegredig, sef chwaraegarwch, gollwng, ac aberthu. Serch hynny, ddim gwir anrhegion gan blant yr Haul o’dd y rhai cyntaf, ond offerynnau i rwydo a gorthrechu’r rhai o’dd yn ceisio sadrwydd a diwedd ar boen. Sukti ymhlith y Sunri wrthododd ostwng yn ei arrau o flaen y delfrydau gormesol ‘ma, gan ddiodde’n enbyd yn y pen draw.

 

Fydd bynnag, fe fyddai draig y Sunri yn rhwymo pobl i hunaniaeth ac ofn fel na fydden nhw’n mwynhau’r arian, na’r pŵer, na’r moethau, na’r pleserau fyrdd a enillen, gan eu carcharu nhw yng nghanol aml system dra chymhleth a chydgysylltiedig, a rhyddhau drygioni i’r Nw Yrth. Hyd yn oed pan âi rhai rebeliaid i’r fforest ar hyd llwybrau anweledig, i chwilio am aur goleuni, fel cŵn ar y trywydd, a’i ddarganfod, fe fydden nhw’n dod ‘nôl i wareiddiad gan gario dim byd ond ulw siomedigaeth, os nad o’n nhw’n eithriadol gryf o ran corff ac enaid.

 

Yn y cyfamser, ro’dd y saith aelod gweithgar ond cwerylgar yn llwyth y Sunri, pob un ohonyn nhw heblaw am Sukti hynny yw, wedi meddiannu’r gwastadedd yng nghalon y cyfandir deheuol ac wedi’i drawsffurfio’n baradwys ffrwythlon â’u sgiliau eithriadol, ac adeiladu saith sigwrat yno i fyw ynddyn nhw wrth ddechrau rheoli a threfnu popeth o’u cwmpas nhw. Yng nghanol maes brwyn ymhlith y sigwratau rhowyd maen enfawr, gwastad ac ynddo ffynhonnell yn arwain yn ddwfn iawn i ddeunydd y Nw Yrth. Ac ro’dd y pydew ‘ma, ar ffurf crochan o bres gwyrdd bob amser yn llawn o hylif du, trwchus, a phan fyddai’r saith yn ei yfed, fe ddelen nhw’n dra chryf, a chlyfar ofnadw, a llawen iawn am sbel, nes i’r effeithiau bylu. Fel ma’n digwydd, achosai’r stwff ‘ma iddyn nhw fyw am flynyddoedd maith hefyd. Dyma o’dd y sefyllfa, felly. Dros y blynyddoedd, ro’dd y Sunri wedi dod i lywodraethu dros y cyfandir deheuol oll gyda chywirdeb milwrol a disgyblaeth ddiysgog, o’u pencadlys yn y sigwratau enfawr ymhlith maes brwyn.

 

Ro’dd y rhain yn llawn peiriannau gwyrthiol a drawsffurfiai’r egni cudd wedi’i gronni yng nghraidd y blaned yn wres, a golau, a symudiad, a sain. Gan eu bod yn credu taw’r Haul Disglair a roddai’r fath nerth a gallu iddyn nhw, fe o’dd eu duwdod, eu symbol, a’u gwarchodwr, tra taw’r Lleuad Oriog i’r gwrthwyneb o’dd yn amlwg y dwyllwraig, y gelyn, a chynrychiolydd popeth drwg ac i’w osgoi. Hyd yn oed yn fwy pendant o’dd y ffaith bod y Lloer Fradwrus yn gwenu ar y creaduriaid erchyll a hollol anhysbys ‘na’n craffu byw ar y cyfandir gogleddol mewn amgylchiadau anwaraidd a chyfwng iawn. Heb os nac oni bai, yn ôl y Sunri, y garfan arall haeddai gael eu dinistrio’n llwyr am eu bod wastad yn newid, a gwrthod arfer yr awdurdod priodol dros eu tiriogaeth helaeth, gwyllt. Wedi dweud hynny, fydden nhw byth yn ymosod ar wledydd y de, gan frwydro yn ôl dim ond pan fyddai rhaid iddyn nhw’u hamddiffyn eu hun mewn gwirionedd.

 

A bod yn berffaith onest, ma’n hollol wir taw dim ond eisiau cadw’r ddysgl yn wastad a wnâi’r Dladli o’dd yn arfer byw o luch i dafl gan hala’u hamser yn cyfeddach, gwledda a meddwi, chwarae chwaraeon di-drefn a danjerus, gwylio dramâu ffarsaidd a threisgar, a dawnsio’n ffyrnig drwy’r nos i fiwsig cyflym uchel, a ballu. Fe fydden nhw’n defnyddio’u hiaith gyfnewidiol fel teclyn i sbarduno cyfathrebu uniongyrchol o feddwl i feddwl, sythweld bosau astrus, a dyfalu’n gywir am bethau nad o’dd wedi digwydd eto. Yn hyn o beth ro’dd effeithiau iaith y Dladli yn debyg i dechnegau hudol wedi’u defnyddio mewn gwledydd eraill.

 

Er gwaetha hynny oll, y gwir yw taw brathu’r gaseg wen yn ei chynffon fyddai dweud taw casáu trefn, dyfalbarhad, ac ymroddiad a wnâi’r Dladli. Nhw a wyddai cystal â neb arall ar y Nw Yrth fod rheoleidd-dra’n gyffredin a phwysig iawn ym myd natur. Ond yn groes i’r Sunri, fe greden nhw’n angerddol, ac o’u profiad eu hun, na allai patrymau creadigol gael eu gorfodi, ac y dylen nhw godi’n ddigymell. A’r peth rhyfedda am y Dladli o’dd sut llwydden nhw i’w cuddio’u hun, am na allai dyn ddod o hyd iddyn nhw trwy’u ceisio nhw, na’u gweld nhw trwy edrych yn syth arnyn nhw. Yn bendant fe fyddai llawer yn amau nad o’n nhw yno o gwbl.

 

Ond o bryd i’w gilydd fe fyddai’r Dladli yn taro ar rywun ar hap a damwain fyddai eisiau’i dorri’i hun yn rhydd rhag gormes gwâr y Sunri, a dysgu sut i ddechrau’i achub ei hun, ac wedyn, y byd a’i gyd greaduriaid, trwy gynnau gwreichion byw dychymyg yn ei fywyd. Fe fydden nhw’n esbonio bod ‘na ddu a gwyn mewn popeth o dan y Lleuad, ac fe fyddwn ni i gyd angen gweithio’n galed iawn drwy’r amser i ddewis y llwybr cywir i ni’n hun heb ormod o hunan-gasineb na hunan-gyfiawnder. Yn wir, fyddai dim pall ar angen dewis, newid, a thyfu, a dim ond tranc a arhosai ar ben y daith. Fe fyddai’r Dladli yn rhannu’u meddyliau, eu teimladau, a’u profiadau, am taw iddyn nhw, gweithrediad eilradd o’dd ymwybyddiaeth unigol.

 

Yn gyntaf, byddai raid i’r prentis baratoi trwy ddiodde’r profiadau caletaf, gan grwydro a mynd ar goll drwy’r amser, ond cael hyd i ryw agwedd o’i wir hunan bob tro byddai’n baglu a chwympo. Ac fe fyddai wedyn yn dechrau’i dderbyn a charu’i hun fel ro’dd e, yn hytrach nag fel ro’dd eisiau bod. Fel hyn gallai’i feddwl, ei ysbryd, ddechrau crwydro’n rhydd tu hwnt i derfynau’r corff, gan agor drysau mewn muriau gwag. Fel hyn fe fyddai’n llwyddo, falle, i ddisgyn i’r Isfyd, gan dreiddio i fydoedd colledig y cyndadau cysefin, a nofio o’r pedwerydd byd amryliw, i'r trydydd byd du, gwyn a llwyd, i’r ail fyd coch, melyn, gwyrdd, ac i lawr tuag at y byd cyntaf, glas, hyd yn oed. Yn ail byddai arno angen tynnu arfogaeth confensiynau cymdeithasol cyn treiddio i’r ogof fwya brawychus i ladd y ddraig sy’n gwarchod y trysor ro’dd wedi bod yn ei geisio mor ddyfal. Ar ôl neidio i’r gwagle, ar ffurf pysgod adeiniog, felly, ar ddechrau’i hediad heb amser na gofod, fe fyddai’n darganfod nad oes teyrnas lân ble ma’ ystyr sefydlog eitha’n bodoli. Ond yn lle hynny, fe gyrhaeddai gartre bod pur, ble nad oes tu mewn na thu mas rhagor, a ble ma’ ystyr oll wedi toddi.

 

Ac wedi i’r prentis ddileu’r grymoedd meddyliol yn ei rwymo, fel ei fod ar yr un donfedd â’r byd fel ma’ e mewn gwirionedd, fe fyddai’n gweld taw’r un peth yw poen a phleser, da a drwg, uffern a nef, rhinwedd a llygredigaeth, duwdodau a chythreuliaid. Ac wedyn wedi cael gwared ar ei ymlyniad wrth bethau, fe sylweddolai na fyddai dim byd o bwys iddo’i neud rhagor, gan y gwelai taw disgyblaeth sy’n arwain at bleser, rhithiau sy’n ildio i oleuo, a thrwy geisio rhyddhad y caiff e’i ddal. Ymhellach, wedi cofleidio’r anghenfil drwg oddi mewn iddo, a’i garu, fe allai gyfuno â fe er mwyn ei ladd.

 

Fe fyddai’r arwr wedi cwblhau’r cylch, a dod yn hen ddewin hiraethus. Fe allai fe fynd yn ei ôl yna ar ffurf morfarch â llygaid gwalch, i rannu’r stori ac agor drysau breuddwyd i’r rhai eraill fyddai eisiau dysgu ganddo, gan dangos iddyn nhw sut i chwarae o ddifri eto. A falle os digwyddai hynny, fe fyddai gefynnau cymdeithas gyffredin yn diflannu heb fod yn rhaid iddyn nhw adael yr arddyrnau, fel petai. Ac yn wir ro’dd y Sunri yn ffieiddio'r Dladli o achos eu syniadau anhrefnus eu dysgeidiaeth anffurfiol a’u hymarferion chwyldroadol, ac yn gweithio nerth braich ac ysgwydd, a meddwl ac enaid i ddwyn dylanwad eu gelynion glas i ddim.

 

Maes o law, yn ôl ym maes brwyn, fe briododd Itsi Hepi a gaethon nhw ferch, Zuvti, o’dd fel gafr ddu. Orzi hefyd a briododd Nukti, a esgorodd ar ferch o’r enw Harti, o’dd yn debyg i gyhyraeth. Fe fyddai Nezpi a Sukti bant ran fwya o’r amser, ond pan o’n nhw gartre, fe fydden nhw’n byw gyda’i gilydd ond ddim gŵr a gwraig o’n nhw. Ac ro’dd Sukti o leia’n genfigennus iawn o’r rhai eraill o’dd wedi cael plant, a naeth benderfynu rhwystro Lufsi a Tvetni rhag cael baban. Wel, dyna’r hyn ro’dd e’n sibrwd wrtho’i hun. Ond yn ei galon ro’dd e’n gandryll am fod e’n meddwl bod y Sunri eraill yn ei sarhau fe, a’i wawdio o achos ei goelion od a’i ymddygiad anarferol. Ro’dd e’n siŵr byddai pethau’n llawer gwell ac yntau wrth y llyw. Os byddai raid i Lufsi farw i gyflawni hyn, bydded felly! Tri chais i ddisodlwr fyddai oddi ar hynny, ‘lly, fel y gwelwn ni.

 

Yn gyntaf, fe balodd Sukti dwll dwfn yn llawn pigau miniog yn yr ardal ble ro’dd Lufsi yn arfer mynd i hela, a’i orchuddio â dail a changhennau. Pan gwympodd Lufsi i mewn iddo, gaeth e drywanu a marw. Ond dyna lle’r o’dd y planhigion o gwmpas y twll yn gollwng perlysiau iachusol ar ei gorff drylliedig, a’i lenwi â hwmws llaith, ffrwythlon. Ac yno gorweddai Lufsi am dri dydd gan gael ei drawsffurfio, a phan ddihunodd, Azli yr athro o’dd e, ac yn ei law lyfr hynafol achos iddo ddysgu cyfrinachau’r bedd. Pan welodd Sukti hyn, ro’dd arno ofn mawr, a ffoiodd yn syth i begwn y de cyn i’r lleill allu’i ddal, i fesur a phwyso’r sefyllfa a chynllwynio’r castiau nesa.

 

Wedyn, ar ôl cyfnod addas, fe adeiladodd Sukti dŵr tal, ysblennydd â staer droellog ynddo, ar draeth ddim yn rhy bell oddi wrth sigwratau’r Sunri a chynnau tân ar ei ben. Pan aeth Azli i archwilio, fe achosodd Sukti i’r drws gloi cyn iddo yntau gyrraedd y top. Ac wrth i Azli sefyll yno’n arolygu’i diriogaeth oll yn falch, fe daniodd ei elyn ffiws a ffrwydrodd y lle gan losgi Azli yn farwor a chwythwyd ymaith gan y gwynt. Ond gollyngodd yr awel bob brycheuyn o’r cols ar y pridd coch sych, yn llawn o waedfaen o gwmpas y tŵr ble ro’n nhw’n dal i losgi. Pan ddechreuodd fwrw glaw ar ôl tair wythnos, naeth y dŵr a’r awyr gymysgu â’r ulw, y clai llawn metel, a’r tân byw nas diffoddid. A dyna lle’r o’dd cawr â phenglog fflamllyd yn ei balu’i hun o’r ddaear. Dyma o’dd Selki y lleidr, o’dd wedi dwyn grym yr holl elfennau.

 

Ro’dd Sukti yn dychryn i’r fath raddau o glywed a gweld y creadur brawychus ‘ma’n rhuo iddo redeg bant fel cath i gythraul, neu wenci, neu ewig, neu filgi. Ro’dd e’n dal i redeg fel y gwynt pan gyrhaeddodd y cyfandir gogleddol. Ac yno, fe syrthiodd ar lawr bron â marw, ac yno ro’dd e’n llesgáu nes i drigolion anweledig yr ardal ddaeth ato, a gofalu amdano. Falle fod e’n wir na ellid eu gweld gan taw rhyw ffordd o ymestyn synhwyrau’r corff drwy aberthu’r corff ‘na sydd. Ond er bod eu geiriau’n nerthol iawn, llawer mwy na lleisiau’n unig o’n nhw. Wedi cryn amser, fe naeth Sukti ddadebru a dod at ei goed, gyda help eu hud uffernol effeithiol. Ond yn ogystal â’r bwyd, a’r moddion, ro’dd e wedi amsugno llawer o’u syniadau a’u hagweddau, a dysgu dulliau syfrdanol o chwarae’n wyllt gyda grymoedd natur gan y Dladli er na allai fe’u gweld nhw. Yn y pen draw ro’dd y ddau barti wrth eu boddau o ganlyniad i’r ymweliad annisgwyl, y naill achos bod nhw’n dwlu ar ledaenu cythreuldeb, y llall gan fod e’n credu y câi’i ffordd ei hun o’r diwedd a thalu’r pwyth yn ôl i’r Sunri creulon.

 

Nawr, ro’dd Selki yn hala dyddiau bwy gilydd yn sigwrat Tvetni a chyn pen dim ro’dd e wedi’i neud hi’n feichiog. Tra o’dd pawb eraill yn dathlu, sleifiodd y cyfrifydd a hysbyswr Rumpi, mab i Shafti y bwtsiwr, ymaith i ddweud wrth ei feistr Sukti a lechai erbyn hynny mewn hen fwthyn glas ar lannau’r afon chwim ar droed y mynyddoedd o galchfaen ar gyrion y fforest binwydd ar ben gogleddol y cyfandir deheuol. Pan glywodd Sukti y newyddion hapus, bu bron iddo danio gan lid, ac yn y fan a’r lle fe benderfynodd gweithredu i niweidio’i elynion yn enbyd cyn gynted ag y byddai’n bosibl. Dan ddylanwad y Dladli cyfrwys, felly lluniodd Sukti ddyfais lanhau i chwistrellu dŵr poeth yn cynnwys cymysgedd o botas ac olew casia dros y corff i gyd. Enw yntau ar y peiriant rhyfeddol o’dd y “cawl od.”

 

Aeth y gwas bach Rumpi â’r ddyfais i sigwrat Selki a’i gadael yno gyda chyfarwyddiadau llawn ar sut i’w defnyddio. Nawr allai Tvetni ddim rhoi’r gorau i gwyno taw rhwng yr hela, a’r gormesu, a’r lladrata, ro’dd Selki yn drewi drwy’r amser. Yn wir, ro’dd e wastad yn gwynto fel petai fe newydd ei godi o’r bedd. Felly croesawodd yntau’r anrheg anhysbys yn gynnes, tynnu’i diwnig, ei goron lawryf, a’i sandalau ar unwaith, a neidio i mewn. Ond heb yn wybod iddo, ro’dd Sukti wedi trefnu i’r be-ti’n-galw gynhesu’r hylif glanhau cymaint nes byddai Selki yn llamu’n uchel yn yr awyr, a mas o’i groen. Wedyn, ac yntau hanner ffordd rhwng y ddaear a'r nefoedd, yn noethlymun ac yn sebon i gyd, fe fyddai weiren rasel wenwynllyd yn saethu mas a’i lapio, gan ei rwygo’n ddarnau. Yn ôl doethineb y Dladli, dyna o’dd yr unig ffordd o’i ladd e’n farw gorn. A dyna beth ddigwyddodd, a Rumpi cas yn hofran yno i gasglu’r talpiau gwaedlyd o gnawd a’u cludo nhw bant pan glywai fe’r sgrechian.

 

Gan glegar chwerthin naeth Sukti ei hun wasgaru’r lympiau o asgwrn a madruddyn, chyhyr a bloneg dros holl wyneb y Nw Yrth, yn yr afonydd, ar ben y mynyddoedd, ar waelod y môr, ymhlith y coedwigoedd, ac yn y dyffrynnoedd, fel na allai neb gael hyd iddyn nhw i gyd i ail-greu’i gas elyn. Ac er fod e’n mynd yn ysig ac yn gleisiau i gyd, ro’dd e’n mwynhau’i waith yn enfawr. Ond fedrai fe ddim teithio dros y mynyddoedd o galchfaen ger yr afon chwim i gyrraedd canol y fforest binwydd ar ben gogleddol y cyfandir deheuol. A dyna o’dd achos bod Elni a’r llengoedd o Filwragedd yn gwarchod y lle sanctaidd. Cyn iddo gerdded ymaith, fodd bynnag, a’r sach hesian yn cynnwys talpiau gwaedlyd o gorff Selki dros ei ysgwyd, fe naeth lwyddo i gipio llond dwrn o’r planhigyn â deiliant pluog o’r enw Spikni. A chyn gynted ag y naeth gyffwrdd â’i groen, fe wellodd ei friwiau oll.

 

Mor ofidus o’dd Tvetni o achos y trais ‘ma ar ei chymar, ac yn enwedig felly am ei bod yn gwybod ei bod hi ar fin ddod â’u plentyn diniwed a diamddiffyn i mewn i’r byd brwnt ac ysglyfaethus yn fuan iawn. Ond hefyd fe sylweddolodd taw, os byddai hi’n ymadael â maes brwyn i fynd i helpu Selki, fe fyddai arni angen nyrs i garco’r crwt iddi, a hithau’n crwydro’r Nw Yrth gan geisio cael hyd i’w chymar, a’i iacháu. Felly gyda chymorth y Sunri eraill, fe ddaeth hi â menyw o ryw Fyd Arall, a chyda hynny esgor ar fab, Blardi, o’dd yn debyg i wrgi, a’r person mwya hardd yn yr holl Nw Yrth.

 

Fe gytunodd y wraig i edrych ar ei ôl e tra byddai Tvetni bant, a’i amddiffyn rhag yr ymosodiadau di-baid gan Rumpi nes i’r llanc gyrraedd un deg chwech oed. A dyna a wnâi hi’n llwyddiannus iawn gan ennill clod a bri cyn dychwelyd i’w byd ei hun i esgor ar faban maes o law er taw morwyn o’dd hi. Fe aeth hi â chyfrinachau fyrdd ynghylch amaethyddiaeth yn ôl gyda hi, a’r enw Blardi hefyd, a dyna pam ma’ fersiynau arno mor gyffredin mewn gwledydd ar bwys y Coedwigoedd Iâ ar ei phlaned heddi. Yr endid mwya llachar a theg o bryd i’w weld erioed ar wyneb y Nw Yrth o’dd y llanc, o’dd â llygaid glas yr awyr, a gwallt hir, golau. Ond tra o’dd e’n gryf a deallus iawn, ro’dd e’n ystyfnig ac afreolus tu hwnt hefyd, a chreulon ar adegau. Fe a greodd i'r Sunri o'r llys cysefin yn y Pwll Diwaelod y dras o senomorffiaid arswydus, fel arfau byw i ladd, a rhwygo, a difetha.

 

Fe deithiai Tvetni o bant i dalar, gan chwilio a chwalu, a gofyn i bawb a phopeth a o’n nhw’n gwybod i ble ro’dd Selki wedi diflannu, ond ym mhob man fe gâi hi’r un ateb, “Ni wyddom ble ma’r Arglwydd.” Ond er gwaetha’i hing, fe gofiai hi hefyd ei bachgen bach, ac wrth iddi fynd o gwmpas, dywedai wrth y rhai siaradai â nhw, “Diolch yn fawr iawn, ddieithryn caredig! Ond ga i ofyn un ffafr fach arall gennych cyn i fi fynd ar fy hynt? Fyddwch chi addo peidio â niweidio fy mab, y person mwyaf hardd yn yr holl Nw Yrth, os gwelwch chi’n dda?”

 

Ac fe gytunai pawb yn syth, yn ei ffordd neilltuol ei hun. Dyna lle’r o’dd hi felly, yn ymdeithio dros holl wyneb y blaned o begwn y de i gors y gogledd. Er na allai neb ddweud ble ro’dd Selki, wrth iddi chwilio, fe ddaeth hi o hyd i dalpiau bychain o’i gorff a alwai arni o’r dyffrynnoedd, ymhlith y coedwigoedd, ar waelod y môr, ar ben y mynyddoedd, ac yn yr afonydd. Fe ofidiai hi fwy bob tro iddi ddarganfod talp arall, a thra o’dd pawb yn addo na fydden nhw’n newidio Blardi, serch hynny ro’dd Tvetni yn anobeithio am fedru casglu pob darn o gorff ei dad.

 

Pan naeth Tvetni gyrraedd gogledd pell y cyfandir deheuol, fe ddywedodd Elni, Tywysydd Medrus y Milwragedd wrthi iddyn nhw droi Sukti yn ei ôl, a threiddiai hithau ddim i’r fforest gysegredig o binwydd, chwaith. Ac felly, chytunodd un planhigyn ddim na fyddai’n drygu Blardi. A dyna o’dd yr un o’r enw Spikni sydd mor llyfn, ac mor aromatig â gwair ffres, ac yn tyfu’n wyllt yn y goedwig drwchus ymhlith y glaswelltir wedi’i amddiffyn gan fynyddoedd enfawr o galchfaen. Ac wedyn fe aeth Tvetni yn fwy digalon nag erioed o ddychmygu corff Selki wedi’i larpio, a meddwl na fyddai hi byth yn adennill y darnau oll. Elni a soniodd felly wrthi wedyn, “Er na allwn ni’ch helpu chi yn eich loes, cofiwch chi hyn. Yr Haul sy’n gweld popeth ac yn gwybod enw popeth. Pan fydd e’n galw, fe fydd popeth yn ateb. Pan fydd e’n gorchymyn, fe fydd pawb yn ufuddhau. Dilynwch yr Haul felly ac efallai fe ddewch chi o hyd i’r hyn rydych yn ei geisio.” Do’dd Tvetni ddim yn deall, ond aeth hi ar ei ffordd gan ddilyn trywydd yr Haul wrth ganu’i thelyn, a thros y blynyddoedd, fe nâi hi ymweld â phob cwr o’r Nw Yrth.

 

Wrth i Tvetni ymlwybro i lan ac i lawr, dros bant a bryn, fan hyn fan draw, ddydd ar ôl dydd, heb gwyno na grwgnach, fe ddechreuai hi ddirnad geiriau yn nhrydar yr adar, yn nhorri’r tonnau, yn sisial y glaswellt, ac yn y synau oll wedi’u neud gan bob peth dan yr Haul. Tra o’dd hyn yn digwydd, fodd bynnag, ro’dd yr Haul Disglair yn rhy brysur o lawer yn canu, a dawnsio, a chwerthin i dalu sylw i Tvetni yn clustfeinio, mor swynol o’dd sain ei thelyn. A dyna lle’r o’dd hithau felly’n dwyn geiriau’r Haul a’u gwau nhw i gyd i ffurfio cân fwy hudol na dim byd o’dd wedi’i glywed erioed o’r blaen—

 

"... Dalatha, bravlu, klendru, eshempa;

Silpistí, madrolu, bamlaru, zileví;

Turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, veraza;

Endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala;

Brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta;

Anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista;

Vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí.”

 

Yna fe arhosai Tvetni ei chyfle. Gyfnod y Lleuad Lawn yn ystod y seithfed mis, fe ddringodd hithau i ben y mynydd uchaf yn y Nw Yrth, a dechrau canu’r gân wedi’i dwyn oddi wrth yr Haul. Yn wir ro’dd y geiriau’n llifo heb rwystr o’i cheg bendig mor felys a nerthol achos bod nhw’n enwi pob peth yn bodoli ar wyneb y Nw Yrth, ac yn y moroedd a’r awyr hefyd, a datgan ei bwrpas a’i ffawd. Ond ro’n nhw eisoes wedi dechrau newid cyn iddyn nhw adael ei gwefusau —

 

“... Taalth, vlavlo, hlenthla, espa;

Sipzí, melthru, manliré, shiví;

Tuhríthí, thirop, bahwach, birisha;

Edid, adyzidz, lilif, hestahl;

Brubunga, elethlop, hwalu, tiiah;

Afir-asé, kowróakri, aeherrereh, shthessihs;

Vilhstha, hwich, fatlasrish, dehlo.”

 

Ac ro’n nhw’n gallu dal neu ollwng yn dibynnu ar wir ddymuniad yr un fyddai’n eu llafarganu. Am un deg saith o flynyddoedd ro’dd Tvetni wedi bod yn crwydro o amgylch yn ceisio Selki. Y noson honno, wrth gwrs, ro’dd hi eisiau’n anad dim ei gael e yn ôl, ac wrth iddi ganu, ymgasglodd yr holl ddarnau o’i gnawd at ei gilydd i ailffurfio’i gorff o’i blaen hi.

 

Wedi cael modd i fyw ro’dd Tvetni wedyn, ond ro’dd ei llawenydd yn fyrhoedlog, achos taw dim ond hongian yno’n siglo yn yr awel laith, goslyd wnâi’r ffurf welw heb yngan gair, gan ei gwawdio hi fel bloc garw o glai seimllyd cyn farwed â hoelen. Wyddai Tvetni’m beth i’w neud ond llefain, a phlycio tannau’r delyn, a chanu, ond nawr cân dra thrist o’dd hi. “Be na nawn i i’w gael e ‘nol?” gofynnodd hithau, gan ateb ei hun, “Yn wir, fe nawn i unrhyw beth, hyd yn oed rhoi ‘mywyd am ei un e!” Mor nerthol o’dd yr alaw taw rhyw hanfod cymar Tvetni a’i clywai o’r trydydd byd, a dyna lle’r o’dd y ddelw chwyslyd, hell yn gollwng dagrau ar ôl dagrau ar bridd llwm y mynydd, gan achosi iddo flaguro. Ond unwaith eto, ro’dd y geiriau’n wahanol —

 

“…Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu;

Size, nilara, narala, sifi;

Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa;

Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe;

Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha;

Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha;

Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.”

 

Gyda hynny, ro’dd Tvetni yn synnu cymaint iddi lewygu, gan syrthio ar lawr wrth i’w hanfod gadael ei chorff a dilyn llwybr y dagrau tuag at y trydydd byd. Ac yno fe naeth enaid Tvetni ddarganfod ysbryd ei chymar, ac fe anwesai’r ddau, gan ymblethu, cyn codi gyda’i gilydd yn araf araf tuag at ben y mynydd uchaf unwaith ‘to. Pan lanion nhw yno, fe ailgydiodd pob un o’r ddau â’r corff cywir, ac ro’dd cymar Tvetni yn holliach, a dianaf, a chryf, a heini unwaith eto. Fe naeth y dagrau, fodd bynnag, ddianc, gan ddal i ddisgyn trwy haenau’r Isfyd, gan losgi’u ffordd alarus i lawr, ac o’r diwedd fe gyrhaeddon nhw’r byd glas cyntaf. Yno fe naethon nhw ymgrynhoi mewn twll mawr i ffurfio llyn dwfn, a’i wyneb yn berffaith lonydd fel pwll o arian byw, ble gallai dyn weld popeth yn digwydd yn unrhyw fan yn y pum byd, a’r tu hwnt os o’dd yn dymuno ‘lly. Ac wedyn yn ôl ay y Nw Yrth, ro’dd y cariadon yn gorweddian ym mreichiau’i gilydd am amser hir, cyn cusanu’n dyner unwaith.

 

A’r eiliad honno, ro’dd yna floeddio chwerthin uchel yn cythryblu’r awyr boeth ar arni ddrycsawr osôn, wrth i fflach ddirfawr o fellten rwygo’r nefoedd gan adael llewych fiolet ym mhob man. Gan i Tvetni fod yn fodlon ei haberthu’i hun, a hud yr Haul mor gryf, ro’dd hi wedi cael llusgo hanfod ei gymar yn ôl o’r Isfyd. Ond ma’na bob tro bris rhatach neu ddrutach i’w dalu am bob gweithred hudol, gredwch chi fi, achos bydd yn aflonyddu ar drefn fawr y cosmos i ryw raddau, boed hynny’n ddinod neu’n sylweddol. Pan o’dd y swyn wedi dod i ben felly, ddim Selki yr athro a orweddai yn ymyl Tvetni, ond Belzi y bwtsiwr ac yn ei llaw fwyell waedlyd, gan iddo goncro marwolaeth dair gwaith.

 

Yr hudoles fwya swynol ar y Nw Yrth fyddai Tvetni felly o hynny mlaen, a Mam y Meirwon Oll hefyd. Fe nâi atseiniau’i chân, o’dd yn ogoneddus, a lledf, a llawen ar yr un pryd, eu hargraffu'u hun ar ddeunydd yr Holl Fyd wrth iddyn nhw lifo drwy amser a'r gofod, gan doddi a thorri’n deilchion —

 

“…Tha la sa fe fa he tha fu ru lu

Si ze ni la ra na ra la si fi

Thu ri the thi ro pu pa ha ha pi li sa pa

E thi tha a thi sa li la le ni the

Po ru pu nu e le tha u a la thi a ha

A fi ra se ho u ro u hu fi li fe se si ha

Fi li si tha hu i ha fa tha le ri the he lo.”

 

Hyd yn oed wedyn, fyddai canfod deyrnynnau o’r gân wreiddiol yn gadael i'r rhai allai’u hailgyfuno a chanu mewn cytgord â’r emyn, neu’r oernad, neu’r hanes newydd, fwrw hud nerthol iawn. Ond ro’dd y geiriau mor llithrig bwerus ei fod yn beryglus eu llefaru nhw, am y tuedden nhw i ddianc rhag rheolaeth y dewin, gan eu hail-drefnu'u hun i beri canlyniadau syfrdanol a daeargrynfaol yn amlach na pheidio. Ond nage dyna o’dd y cyfan. O ganlyniad i Ddisgyniad Tvetni, gyfnod y Lleuad Lawn yn seithfed mis pob blwyddyn o hynny ‘mlaen, fe agorai pyrth y trydydd byd fel gallai ysbrydion yr ymadawedig grwydro’n ddiatal ymhlith y rhai byw am noson gan helpu neu frifo yn ôl eu harfer.

 

Ac felly, pen-blwydd Blardi yn un deg chwech oed, pan fyddai’n cael ei dderbyn i rengoedd y Sunri, ddaeth yn ddathliad dwbl. Dyna pan ddelai’r mab i oed, a phan nelai’r tad ailanedig ddychwelyd mewn gogoniant. Mor grac a rhwystredig â llosgfynydd nad o’dd wedi cael echdorri ers milenia o’dd Sukti o sylweddoli hyn, a dweud y lleia. Fe aeth ar ei lw wedyn y byddai’n dial ar y teulu hapus unwaith ac am byth. Ond fe fyddai raid iddo weithredu ar ei liwt ei hun y tro ‘ma, gan i’w was bach Rumpi ddiflannu mor sydyn o’dd ar wyneb y Nw Yrth ar ôl methu cael gwaed ar y plentyn ffiaidd Blardi, o’dd yn cael ei gyfarch fel ysbryd harddwch caotig y blaned. Wythnos cyn y parti mawr, fe naeth Sukti hedfan i gael cyngor gan y Dladli ar y cyfandir gogleddol. Dyna lle’r o’dd y ffurfiau anweledig yn gorffwyll chwerthin o ddysgu iddo fynd â sbrigyn o Spikni o ymylon fforest binwydd y Milwragedd. Fe ddangosodd y castwyr e sut i lunio saeth o goesynnau Spikni, a dweud wrtho sut i’w chaledu a’i neud yn anataliadwy gan ddefnyddio swyn nerthol iawn o’r enw Defod Amsasi.

 

Fe frysiodd Sukti adre mor gyflym ag y gallai felly ar gefn eryr enfawr gwyn i gynllunio’r gwaith mawr, fyddai’n arwain at dranc Blardi a thorri calon Tvetni a Belzi. A thrwy neud hynny, a lladd unig etifedd y llwyth, falle byddai’n chwalu goruchafiaeth y Sunri dros y rhan fwya o’r Nw Yrth hefyd. Dyna o’dd ei gynllun diystyrllyd ac anfad. Wrth gwrs, fel y gwyddom ni, yn anffodus bryd hwnnw, dim ond gwrywod a gâi etifeddu grym a theyrnasu dros y llwyth, a dyna achosai gryn ddig i’r merched Zuvti a Harti, o’dd yn gryf, a hardd, a deallus, a phenstiff. A siarad yn blwmp ac yn blaen, cymaint ro’n nhw’n casáu Blardi, y crachfonheddwr ifanc, nes bydden nhw’n neud unrhyw beth i gael gwared arno fe.

 

Felly yn ystod y dyddiau cyn y wledd fawr, fe luniodd Sukti dair saeth o goesynnau Spikni, y planhigyn nad o’dd wedi addo na fyddai byth yn niweidio Blardi, a’u caledu nhw gyda geiriau Defod Amsasi dan olau’r Lleuad Oriog, nes bydden nhw’n anataliadwy. Pan naeth e yngan y geiriau am y tro cyntaf, a’i berfeddion yn llawn iâ – “He-tleki, Mi-tleki; Etzi, Itzi; E’tsetpi U’yi; Mi-vrasi El-rui” – fe ryddhaodd nerth aruthrol i’r Holl Fyd a ddatblygai’i fywyd ei hun, er na fyddai neb yn llefaru’r geiriau’n gywir eto. Ro’dd angen tair saeth, ni raid dweud, achos bod gan Blardi dri thad, mewn ffordd o siarad, sef Lufsi yr heliwr, Azli yr athro, a Selki y lleidr.

 

Ro’dd yn hawdd i Sukti ddarbwyllo’r ddwy fenyw flin a sorllyd i chwarae rhan yn ei gynllun ofnadw, wedi’u swyno nhw â’u geiriau teg, ac fe roiodd yntau un saeth i Zuvti â’i gwallt golau’n llen dros hanner ei hwyneb, ac un saeth i Harti â’i gwallt du wedi’i dorri’n fyr iawn, wrth gadw’r drydedd iddo’i hun. Ac wedyn fe naeth Sukti drawsffurfio’i hun yn belen dentaclog o ectoplasm, ac wedyn dod yn folwsg mawr ysgithrog, ac yn olaf cymryd siâp morwyn o’r enw Dendri â ffluwch enfawr o wallt coch. Ddydd yr ŵyl fawr, ymgasglodd pawb i lygad-dystio i Blardi yn cael ei drochi yn y crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd yng nghanol y maen du ymhlith sigwratau’r Sunri, â choron o lawryf am ei ben swynol ond didostur.

 

A dyna lle’r o’dd Dendri, Zuvti, a Harti yn sefyll ar uchafbwyntiau triongl hafalochrog ar gylchedd y maen enfawr, a saeth anataliadwy wedi’i chuddio lan llewys pob un. Ro’dd y saith Sunri arall yn ffurfio cylch o amgylch y crochan, a Blardi yn hongian mewn harnais uwch ei ben, yn gwisgo tiwnig draddodiadol o hesian gwyn a gwregys gwyrdd am ei ganol. Yr union eiliad naeth Belzi orchymyn i’r llanc gael ei ollwng i lawr i’r hylif gludiog, trwchus, du, fe daflodd y tri lleiddiad eu saethau’n gydamserol tuag ato fe nerth eu breichiau. Am nad o’dd y Spikni wedi gwrthod brifo Blardi, do’dd dim dewis gyda’r saethau, ac o dan ddylanwad Defod Amsasi ro’n nhw’n anataladwy’n wir. A dyna lle’r o’dd un yn trywanu’r llanc drwy’i lygad de, un arall drwy’i galon, ac y drydedd drwy’i glun chwith. Ro’dd Sukti wedi trefnu popeth nes byddai’n ymddangos bod y peiriant codi wedi torri gan ryddhau’r darnau miniog, angheuol. Ac felly fu farw Blardi, etifedd y Sunri a seren fydol.

 

Ar y gair, fe gaeth y lle’i lenwi â sŵn dychrynllyd, fel llewod yn rhuo, moroedd yn brochi, bleiddiaid yn udo, a chleddyfau’n llyncu bywydau. Ro’dd fel petai byddai’r twrw uffernol yn parhau am byth, a difa’r Nw Yrth oll, gan ei fod yn ormod i’r byd ei oddef. Aeth yr awyr yn borffor. Gwagiodd y crochan gan fyrlymu’n gyfoglyd. Holltodd y maen gyda chlep fyddarol, gan greu Bwlch Byrhoedlog rhwng y Nw Yrth a’r bydoedd eraill. Syrthiodd celain Blardi yn llwrw ei ddeudroed i lawr siafft y pydew yn dilyn y crochan. Trodd y pridd ffrwythlon yn anialdir o wydr toredig. Aeth y dŵr yn y ffos o amgylch yr anheddiad yn wirod pur fyddai’n ddiod lân wedi’i chysegru i Blardi colledig yn nes ymlaen.

 

A dyna lle’r o’dd pawb yn codymu’n bendramwnwgl i’r Bwlch Byrhoedlog o’dd wedi agor mor sydyn rhwng y pum byd, ac i lawr ac i lawr yr âi pawb, i’r agendor. Pan o’dd holl bendefigion llwyth y Sunri wedi mynd trwy’r hollt sgrechlyd, fe gaeodd hi tu ôl iddyn nhw fel safnau ymlusgiad aruthrol, diflas. Sukti o’dd yr un a ddisgynnodd bellaf gan gyrraedd byd cyntaf y cyndadau cysefin. Ac yno fe gaeth e’i gloi mewn cwch glas dirboenus, islaw afon danddaearol o ble ro’dd e’n gorfod gwylio pob un peth a ddigwyddai yn y bydoedd eraill. Er do’dd e'm yno’i hun yn y cnawd i ymyrryd â chynlluniau’r Sunri, ro’dd e’n gallu neud llanast gyda chryn ymdrech. Ym mhen tipyn, fe ddechreuai fe estyn ei dentaclau seicig ar draws amser a’r gofod i neud drwg yn rhywle arall hefyd.

 

I’r ail fyd yr aeth y Sunri eraill, ble dysgen nhw lawer iawn, cyn llwyddo i ddychwelyd i’r Nw Yrth a phara’u rhyfel tragwyddol yn erbyn y Dladli. A beth am Blardi, y llanc mwya golygus a mwya anodd ei drin a fodolai erioed? Fe gwympodd e i’r trydydd byd, ble arhosai, a does neb yn gwybod ei ffawd, er taw falle fod e’n teyrnasu yno’n wyn ei fyd am byth. A falle byddai honno’n fargen dda: ffeirio bywyd Blardi am fywydau’i dri thad, Lufsi, Azli, a Selki. Ond dywedir heddi gan swynwyr goleuedig taw’i ddyfyn-ysbrydion Pfenti, gair, a Rzahsi, gweithred, a ddaiff pan fydd y dewin yn galw ar enw’u meistr glân i’w amddiffyn rhag Zuvti y gythreules dân, a Harti yr ysbryd iâ.

 

Yn ystod alltudiaeth hirbarhaol y Sunri, fe ddigwyddai’n anfwriadol i’r Dladli ddod mewn cysylltiad meddyliol â breuddwydwyr, siamaniaid, artistiaid, a chyfrinwyr, ar blanedau eraill dros yr Holl Fyd, ac ro’dd eu neges chwyldroadol yn cael ei lledaenu ar draws ac ar hyd, er nad o’n nhw’n malu’r un botwm corn am hynny o gwbl. Ar ôl i’r Sunri grafangu’u ffordd yn ôl i’r Nw Yrth, tasg o’dd yn dra anodd am i’r Bwlch Byrhoedlog ei selio’i hun tu cefn iddyn nhw wedi’u cwymp, fe dreulien nhw gryn dipyn o’u hamser yn ffraeo ym mysg ei gilydd. Pan nad o’n nhw’n neud felly, âi’r frwydr rhwng y Dladli a’r Sunri yn ei blaen, a hyd yn oed yn fwy cenfigennus, a ffrom, a sbeitlyd o’dd y Sunri o weld llwyddiant anfwriadol eu gelynion marwol. Fe naethon nhw, felly, ddechrau anfon cenhadon cudd i’r bydoedd eraill, i wyrdroi dylanwad y Dladli, gan ddefnyddio technoleg wedi’i seilio ar hud cyntefig yr Isfyd i greu’r dreigiau cymhellol fyddai’n rhwymo a gostegu unigolion, ffrwyno anghydffurfiaeth, hawlio ufudd-dod, a rheoli cymdeithas. An yno fe fydden nhw’n bwydo ar rym bywiol y rhai byw, a hala eneidiau’r meirwon i lafurio yn y Pwll Diwaelod yn ôl ar y Nw Yrth.

 

Ym myd cyntaf y cyndadau csefin, roedd Sukti yn dod yn gryfach gryfach, a dechrau gwylltio’r Sunri. O ganlyniad. fe naeth Lufsi deithio i lawr i’r Cwch Glas Dirboenus ar ffurf Azli yr athro, Selki y lleidr, a Belzi y bwtsiwr, i fegian arno fe, ymresymu â fe, ac yn y pen draw i’w orchymyn a’i orfodi fe i fod eu llygad gwyliadwrus, eu cennad wedi’i garcharu, a’u llysgennad wedi’i rwydo. Ac er bod Sukti yn rhefru a rhuo, mor nerthol oedd Lufsi yn ei dri agwedd nad allai yntau ond cutuno. Nawr, er bod Sukti wedi’i ddarostwng, do’dd e byth yn rhoi’r ffidil yn y to o ran llesteirio cynlluniau’i gyn-gyd-wladwyr, gan geisio tarfu'r colomennod a chynhyrfu'r dyfroedd ar bob cyfle posibl. Ond bob tro anfonai fe’i goblynnod meddyliol neu’i fwbachod dychmygol mas i rwystro ymgyrchoedd ei gymheiriaid ffiaidd, fe fyddai’r ymgais yn mynd o’i le, a throi yn ei erbyn i’w helpu nhw yn lle’u niweidio yn y pen draw. Unwaith, fe naeth ddigwydd i’w chwarae anfedrus gyda’r continwwm cosmig agor porth i fyd arall o’r enw y Blaned Yrth, gan roi ffrwyn i’r saith Sunri newid hynt ei ddatblygiad yn gyfan gwbl ac am byth.

 

Yn ara bach a bob yn dipyn, fe gasglai Sukti, yng ngwedd y Peintiwr Coch a fedrai ystumio’r gofod, troi amser yn ôl, a neud i freuddwydion ddod yn sylweddol, acolitiaid, asiantau, a deiliaid dros yr Holl Fyd, gyda’i bwerau meddyliol a’i addewidion am glod, golud, a gwireddu pob dymuniad, yn ogystal â’i fygythiadau am artaith dragwyddol. Ar rai bydoedd, naen nhw ymddangos fel mynachod cycyllog, ond fel seirff llyfn eu tafod, dichellgar ar blanedau eraill, ac fe gymeren nhw lawer o ffurfiau amgen ar hynny. O’r diwedd, fodd bynnag, pan fyddai’r hen Haul Coch ar fin ffrwydro cyn dileu pob gronyn o fywyd oddi ar wyneb y Nw Yrth, Sukti a gamai i’r bwlch fel petai.

 

Ond ma’n sicr na fyddai wedi neud hynny oni bai i Lufsi ddisgyn i’r Cwch Glas Dirboenus ar waelod byd cyntaf y cyndadau cysefin aeonau di-rif o’r blaen, ddichon, i rwymo Sukti â’r hud mwya nerthol. Wedyn, ar ben yr oes gosmig nesaf, castiau cyson Sukti fyddai’n uno’r Dladli a’r Sunri i greu tras newydd o’r enw y Tlevki, gan eu hyrddio nhw oll trwy’r gofod tuag at blaned las, wyrdd, a ffrwythlon, ac un barod i’w hanrheithio, ble gwledden nhw’n orfoleddus ar gyrff, a meddyliau, ac eneidiau’r trigolion anwybodus am gryn amser. Serch hynny, yn ddigon naturiol, do’dd e’m yn bosibl i neb herio’r Drefn Fawr ynglŷn â newid, a dadfeilio, a thranc am byth, ac yn y pen draw, y rhai’n trio gorfodi’r Holl Fyd gâi’u twyllo a’u dymchwelyd hefyd. Wedi’r cwbl, hyd yn oed yr Haul Coch, y Lleuad Las, y Nw Yrth, a’r Planedau Niwlog fu farw wedi einioes hir ddychrynllyd, ac yn ddi-os fe fydd y Blaned Yrth drengi yn ei thro hefyd. Bid a fo am hynny, fe gosbid y Tlekvi yn briodol am eu rhyfyg fel petaen nhw’n blant drwg o’dd wedi dwyn tân a chael eu llosgi, ond dim ond wedi iddyn nhw newid cwrs y byd unwaith eto gan ddefnyddio’r sgiliau ro’n nhw wedi’u hennill ar y Blaned Yrth, ond nage yn y ffordd ro’n nhw wedi dychmygu na bwriadu.

 

Falle taw nage anhygoel fyddai mentro’r farn taw gwaeth na’r meistri’u hun o’dd y disgyblion hyffordden nhw. Ond eto i gyd, falle taw gwobr o’dd honno, i’r Tlevki o leia, nad o’dd ond llaid a heulwen i ddechrau. Er na châi Sukti etifedd, fe âi yn ei flaen i ddefnyddio llawer o enwau, gwisgo aml fasg, meddu ar sawl personoliaeth, a chwarae llawer o rannau, gan ymddangos fel amddifad, milwr, lleidr, meddyg, artist, athro, fferiad, a bardd ymhlith rhai eraill, ac ro’dd ei ddylanwad yn helaeth iawn yn wir. Ac enw’r blaned bitw ‘na o’dd y Ddaear, cyn belled i ffwrdd, ar goll yn niwloedd amser, a drawsffurfid tu hwnt i adnabyddiaeth gan y Tlevki, wrth i sillafu cân trawsffurfio Tvetni barhau i athreiddio i’r Holl Fyd, gan newid drwy’r amser — “Li tha ru ha ho ha – si he ni sa a ra ze sa – la li tha the ra e – i lu a a pi fi a – e si pa la thu ni – ha tha se nu na thi – thi ru fa fa ra – si thi ro pa li fi – le la ri la fi fu – pu u thi pu ha – si le ro he tha fe hu – u po lo ri fi the sa – la le se ha tha tha – fe u the hu li…” Ond dyna stori arall yn llwyr.

 

["Pam Ma’ Pethau fel y Ma’n Nhw,"

o “Gwir Chwedlau Gwerin o Galon y Cyfandir,”

gan Pjetër Mamrick (casglwr),

o recordiad sain gan Ffredrig Llwynlesg.]

This is a world where everything is totally fractured, civilization has fled, and society retreated to a few last strongholds. Nature has reclaimed its territory once again after a small pause when it let one species rule. But they have damaged the planet to such a degree that they’ve begun to destroy themselves too, and once the process gained momentum, there was no stopping it. The strangest thing was not the fact that such a thing happened, but how the complete transformation went on like a chain-reaction. Whilst most of the population thought they were better than the other creatures, what with all the experimenting with chemicals, tinkering with genes, over-using drugs, environmental engineering, sharing personalities (not to mention the fact that they were modifying their bodies, splitting the atom, polluting the seas and the atmosphere, and disturbing the forces of nature), there they were, turning into monsters in the end. And this was a literal and permanent transformation, with people assuming animal characteristics, and behaving and going off to live as beasts do.

 

Seven individuals, very strong in body, spirit, and will, have risen up amongst the ruins of the world to govern mercilessly over the rest. Recently, the Ayseyus, Fókhyro and his wife Frikshn; Eydudown and her husband Bragga; Twhanz; and Braytstá, have defeated the other main tribe, the Wanírs, receiving the hermaphrodite called Freying as a hostage to try and maintain peace and order in this most fragile period. Together they exercise authority over everywhere habitable, that is, the Migl-Urth. And they are collecting to themselves those amongst the children of the common folk who can rule their new abilities of channelling the Unhindered Power in order to use them to build a completely new world beyond good and evil. To this end, Fókhyro has commissioned architects from the Naytlód tribe to erect a Training Centre, Halls of Residence, and a Luxury Manse on the banks of the Raynow River, near the blue cottage where the mysterious and frightening sage Hlothrig Mulrin (who’s now called Oylrig Sífót) lives, reading the runes, speaking in tongues, predicting disaster, and casting a long shadow over all Migl-Urth by all accounts.

 

And there the troubled waters are always singing an old, strange, and ever-changing song about fire, and tears, “Tikana lak Elena-the-suvulé hlath ak Alsalaré-th-elteska; Sinez asniré simerí lalrek Alsalinté Ruelna Hesantil lír” – “The chariot of the Moon will disturb the Zodiac; And the Pleiades will weep.” And the only witness is the magician brought from another world, Oylrig Sífót, who feeds, and placates, coaxes, and spurs them on with his magic, playing the fool who’s in charge without anyone knowing it. And, like the old horned divinity Horní-wun, he never stays the same in the same form for long, but constantly changes, from a raven, to a wolf, to a swan, to a deer, using his white wand. Thus we learn, that having promised the Urth to these giants of men, Fókhyro has lost all his wealth whilst gambling, and cannot pay them, and now all hell will break loose! And that is the start of this story.

 

Wowdun Fókhyro, (in the fullness of time he'll be Old-Nick-named Wun-ay for one reason or another), the don of the Ayseyu crime-clan, mover, shaker, creator, deal-maker, and oath-breaker, together with his mendacious, mercurial sidekick, fleet-footed, light-fingered doom-bearer, fire-starter, and chaos-inflator “Lucky” Lẃk Braytstá (yes, that's exactly right!), set up and “accidentally kill” the rival dealer, Ottow Naytlód (he's rather a beast to say the least, who doesn't talk lots most of the time as he's so stoned on his own drugs, and who's called “Ottow the Otter” as he's very like the animal of the weasel family, with long brown fur, and soft down on his belly, which uses its strong, wide tail and its webbed feet to swim swiftly and supply), with a stone to the back of his skull, as he retrieves a skanky stash of super-marrow and an enormous amount of gold, sunk for safety in the sweet embrace of the Raynow River, and make off with the bounty, as the waves chant: “Senthí lalrek alsalinté hlath anaif sinez luf-huilsa sontí ifilté lír; Istí tiemith ‘Thavuth-e-vrisla zwn ak Alsalintéoha the vrisla vosta slé” – “The stars will turn away from them and will obscure their course; The light of the Sun will be eclipsed by the silvery light of Mercury.”

 

Fit to bust blood-vessels and brain-boxes, Ottow’s more voluble brothers Fanfér and Reygun track the reprobate kin-slayers down and – o woe! – the two hooligans take old Wowdun hostage, demanding blood-geld of much dosh. Of course, that's rather inconvenient for the Ayseyu Father, who'd prefer to feast, and drink, and carouse (if he's not making war, that is). In punitive retribution, the old soak, ne'er-do-well, and ladies' man is hung out to dry on a tree by Hworldash race-course somewhere near the back of beyond and not far off from the end of world, with nowt to drink, but suspended in sight of a burbling well where hope springs eternal, by all accounts. Hallucinating horribly from liquid-lack, Wowdun’s addled eyes appear to embrace every single setback and sorrow that could occur in a multiverse of meaning, present, past, or possible.

 

He, tormented wanderer, pleads for a peaceful passing on the presentation of this woeful world-aged wisdom. But his pitiful prayer is pissed on when a pair of baleful black ravens come to perch on his shoulders and one of the buggers (who’d started out his career as a much-maligned messenger dove) proceeds to peck out his left eyeball. But at least the blasted birds sprinkle a little antediluvian spring-water in his gob whilst they remain and maim. Having so done, the twin birds Hugging and Mwning become his bosom buddies for life ever-after and a day.

 

Ah, poor Wowdun One-eye, wounded mind wandering, reeling, and rambling from his rancorous revelations, cannot now un-know that the end the Ayseyus is nigh! O, sweet gods, consider the fire-flecked twilight that precedes night’s bruise-black kiss! And there he hangs, wallowing in pitiless nightmares of utter destruction and complete desolation, unable to see any escape or salvation. Unless, mayhap and perchance, some offspring of his outrageous, orgiastic proliferation might by chance prevent the precipitous onrush of the predicted, organic pandaemonium he’s perforce previewed.

 

Braytstá, meanwhile, treacherous as the day-sky’s blue, has sought out the devious and unforgiving pawnbroker Handfást Naytlód and extorted his horde of magical gold by threatening to reveal the secret deals for goods and services of all kinds made between Handfást and the vicious politico Atlí Hitman who came from some far-off land across the Great Grey Sea originally. Although Handfást attempts to conceal a certain ring (made from gold extracted from the bones of dead babies and the teeth of hanged murderers, said to have mysterious and unspeakable anti-ageing and tooth-decay-defying properties, amongst many other things, such as acting as a “horror-scope”), Braytstá seizes it, together with the rest of the gold, with preternatural alacrity.

 

Handfást, who by now is looking, and behaving, just like a vile magical toad, curses the whole god-damned lot of them, spitting through his quite perfect pearly gnashers that the Raynow River shall be stained blood-red from generation unto generation in recompense for this outrage, and that none shall possess his gold for long before being sent shuffling to sweet oblivion in advance of the rightly-appointed hour, and in the most ghastly fashion to boot, to meet the maker and un-doer of all. In a lightning-quick fit of temper, astonished Lẃk strikes him down stony dead, so that Handfást is the first victim of his own ill-omened words. Braytstá returns and delivers the gold, only afterwards gloatingly speaking of the curse. And the Raynow River continues to declare: “Isthahlu aldesaaré hlath amulo sinez huslé suleha lak Elsisa Dé thlí lír; Sinez hisié sirelaré daloldraré hisié daloldraré zwn sirelaré lír” – “Crops will wither away and water will disappear from the Eyrth; Roots will turn into branches, and branches become roots.”

 

Meanwhile the story turns to Ráring Fókhyro, Wowdun’s great-great-grandson, and chief-bandit to an enormous crew of smugglers, pirates, and people-traffickers. His star rises meteorically in the felons’ firmament as he achieves mastery over all the other gangs far and wide and is succeeded in turn by his son Fawlsong. In due course, Fawlsong spawns twins, Sikjurny and Sikmaynd, who grow up to be the Fókhyro dynasty’s double doyens. Years later, rival kingpin Ziggí, who’s been encroaching on Fawlsong’s territory as the latter revelled in his seemingly limitless power, demands to marry Sikjurny as the price of peace between the warring factions. Sikmaynd urges his father to agree. Fawlsong does.

 

Wowdun, ancient and gnarly, wearing a long grey cloak and with an antique dagger down his boot, sneaks snake-sinewed and wolf-pelted into the wedding hoe-down. Unseen, he drives the knife with a rune-laden gold hilt into the expensive round oaken table-top, the dirty old vandal. Aah, runes! Gold! Curses! Fate! Only Sikmaynd, sinuously strenuous, succeeds in pulling it out without strangulating a haggis: an omen of obvious future glory. Or is it?

 

As it happens, Ziggí’s mad-keen on getting his fortune told regularly by his masterful mistress, bio-ergo-mancer Dr Graymjayld, alchemist and horoscopist of ill-repute. She tempts her paramour with undreamt-of but indubitable promises that he’ll be able to dominate the whole Migl-Urth by obtaining and then learning to wield the strange knife. But, behind the scenes, she’s in cahoots with the old otherworldly wizard, Oylrig Sífót Ziggí, fixated on the riddling runes, and with Graymjayld’s words ringing in his ears, offers Sikmaynd a fortune in stolen gold for the enchanted implement. Sikmaynd vows on his life screaming that he’ll never lose the dagger. Enraged, Ziggí first shoots the paterfamilias Fawlsong Fókhyro. Sikjurny pleads for the lives Sikmaynd and their other, younger brothers, but Ziggí’s men, mental with barbarous zeal and Graymjayld’s intoxicating potions, maim them and leave them for dead. Only Sikmaynd, dreadfully wounded, manages to slink away., leaving his sister in the grasp of Ziggí and his pathetic minions.

 

Unbeknownst to Sikmaynd, Sikjurny his sister, crazed at the carnage, seeks to start a chain-reaction to get vengeance on her family’s bestial murderers, and all of Migl-Urth as well. So she escapes her captors, pretending she's off to pillage the peasants' village in the pine-forest before setting their cottages alight. The stupid guards believe her completely, cheering as she goes on her way. Camouflaged and unrecognisable, she goes to meet Sikmaynd in his hideout. They together insufflate more home-made pharmaceuticals than would kill several large horses. Under the influence of the so-tasty substances, Sikmaynd illicitly mates with his own sister, as two motley raven-twins, vile voyeurs, gaze gravely on muttering murderously. Then, the trickster Sikjurny departs like a night-thief, and later bears her own brother-son, Sinfíalty. O cruel gods! The horror! The terror! The shame!

 

When Sinfíalty comes of age, he, in a strange and absolutely unpredictable fate-twist, is sent to the safe-house in the middle of the wilderness where his father who’s also his brother, lives, taking the vintage Ziggí-stolen doom-dagger with him. Of course then the two incest-ridden men become bosom-buddies and blood-brothers and rampage as rowdy renegades. Eventually, they infiltrate Ziggí’s gang-mansion, and come across a woman, the only one in the whole place, it would appear. Although the two men have no idea who she is or what she’s done, Sikmaynd manages to guess, and as he becomes covered in doom and gloom, pain and misery, he blurts everything out to Sinfíalty.

 

Ooh, imagine the family reunion, as Sikjurny explains the circumstances. What revelations! Such terrible secrets! The menfolk beg Sikjurny to leave but she willingly chooses death as payment for her self-inflicted dishonour. So, they slay everyone, mother-sister included, razing the house to the ground. Malevolent mistress Graymjayld (who's been lurking in the cellar) escapes, however, by some devilish miracle, guided by a pair of riddling ravens.

 

Sikmaynd and Sinfíalty, loaded with loot, now rule the roost for years. Sikmaynd, strange to say, shacks up with Graymjayld, attracted somewhat by her witching words and lissom litheness, as well as by the fantastic pharmaceuticals she manufactures mundanely in their lovely garden shed in the shape of an ancient blue cottage. She though, secretly loathing the men who murdered her mate Ziggí, tries to poison the two unrepentant rebels, who, just like lots of other people from a disturbed family background, like a good drink. She then, cunningly organizes a beer festival and drinking contest, and brews huge barrels of deadly nectar, challenging the two brave men to down them.

 

Sikmaynd, ever wary due to his dodgy past, always keeps at least one eye open for treachery. He takes antidote, drains the ale-yard and runs a mile in less than four minutes instead of kicking the bucket. Maddened but undaunted yet, the dream-doctor doesn’t deviate from her plan, but keeps on with her dastardly deceptions, until Sikmaynd droops at last, paralytic as a puritanical pirate on poitín. Thereupon, Sinfíalty himself, unprotected and vulnerable, quaffs from the magical mortar-and-pestle-poisoned vessel and immediately drops down dead.

 

When Sikmaynd comes to, he throws up, then out-eyes Graymjayld, before throwing the diabolical doctor out. Even now, though, he’s unwilling to exchange an evil life for a half-decent one – the blind, short-sighted fool – although an eye for an eye is another thing entirely, not to mention a tooth for a tooth, hand for a hand, and foot for a foot. He can’t help thinking, you see, that blood spilled in anger surely talks, crying out for vengeance and more bloodshed. Long years pass, and as a cruel twilight and terrible autumn spread out like a black cloak over all Migl-Urth, Sikmaynd grows very old, hoary, harsh-faced, yellow-toothed, and long of beard. All the time, he’s spurred on to pilfer and plunder by his insatiable desire for more and more gold. Rich beyond measure, he is as fed-up as a cowled monk in a public bath-house, and as lonely as a prickly fire-louse in the middle of the Great Western Ice-field. Eventually he manages to bag the real beauty Shugrlayn, who for some utterly unfathomable reason is desperate to marry him.

 

Well, what happens next? Five rival gang-lords, devious, diminutive drifters, experts on mining and mineral manipulation, who call themselves the Masters of the Migl-Urth, are vying vainly for dominion over the clans after Ziggí’s demise. They strongly object to this meeting of minds between an old miserly baron and young penniless maiden, spurred on by the machinations of Oylrig Sífót. Indeed they hate the idea of building bridges, joining clans, ungirding loins, and emptying vessels full of the milk of human kindness. They want to kidnap Shugrlayn, there and then, and they desire Sikmaynd’s wealth just as much, or even more, and they intend to have it all! So, they ambush and terribly wound Sikmaynd and shatter his magical be-runed, gold-be-handled dagger in smithereens. Shugrlayn vows to heal him but Sikmaynd refuses, insisting he hears great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Wowdun’s mocking voice calling him onward to gory glory in some kind of hellish heaven beyond the veil.

 

Before he croaks it, Sikmaynd swears extirpation for the vile enemies to Shugrlayn. Well, he promises that their unborn child will wreak vengeance on the rapacious goblins for the loss of his dead father to the n-th degree when the broken dudgeon-dagger is re-forged. He then expires in a shameful scene of coil-shuffling angst. Shugrlayn poises on the edge of oblivion, about to be snatched away by the cabal of predatory war-lords. However, when the paternity of her unborn son is revealed, in yet another fate-twist stranger than any fiction, Shugrlayn is taken under the extensive wing of the chief gangster who’s been making calf-eyes at her. As a result, when the now-fatherless son Sikhát is born, he’s fostered by Reygun Naytlód, so sorely swindled out of his rightful share of wergild by his wily snake-like sibling, Fanfér.

 

So, this is how it is. Years later. Ottow Naytlód’s ransom remains (arguably) in the rightful keeping of Reygun’s brother Fanfér. He’s older, wiser (ha!), and horribler than the younger one, and a fiendishly violent creature, a veritable dragon in man’s clothing. One might almost imagine he’s the possessor of a “horror-scope.” Coveting the shiny, twinkling, lovely gold-mound for himself, Reygun accuses Sikhát of cowardice to goad him into fighting Fanfér. Reygun claims Fanfér has stolen his half of the hoard and he now merely wants justice.

 

The gold and the glory Sikhát can keep. The cunning ruse works immediately! Reygun, full of dudgeon (as it were), throws the bits of the broken dagger of doom at Sikhát. The unknowing and hence totally fearless young apprentice leaps with them to the forge, re-makes the weapon (only due to his innocence can he do this), and sallies forth immediately to jungle-rumble with fearsome Fanfér. Just as Oylrig Sífót had predicted, the crafty old beggar!

 

With the help of some of the most accommodating animals found regularly in such legends, who are fed up to the back teeth with the dragon’s depredations, Sikhát finds his way to Fanfér’s lair, deep in the fantastical forest. Although Fanfér warns him of Handfást’s curse on the magic stash, Sikhát is unmoved, believing that Fanfér wishes only to cling on forever to his gold hoard, the silly old devil. With much fleet-footed guile and pages of poetic perspiration, Sikhát prevails over the serpentine felon. The Raynow River runs red – not for the first time, nor the last! – as predicted, of course, by toady Handfást when he pronounced his crippling curse in the first place. And it wails: “Hisié edanspísh a Thihrulo hlath zukhekh slé sinez luf-droukulu la Koralo lak Elsisa Dé plí lír; Pikekí marklu zwn nelkí af’ekaru rolinas” – “Mankind will get drunk on wine and forget Heaven in favour of Eyrth; Soon everything will cease to accomplish its function.”

 

Reygun arrives and attempts to stake a claim on a share of the gold, insinuating that he also had a role in the slaying because he made Sikhát re-forge the dagger so successfully, and encouraged him to follow his destiny, and even more of the same rubbish. Without delay, Reygun slices out his brother Fanfér’s heart, ordering Sikhát to roast it so that he himself can eat it in a last act of grizzly vengeance on his loathsome brother. Then Reygun falls into a deep slumber, knackered by all the egregiously vicarious nervous excitement – provided by the young hero Sikhát for instance, and the dead dragon in particular. And who’s lurking behind the bushes nearby, keeping an eagle-eye on everything? Only Oylrig Sífót, of course, and he’ laughing up his sleeve, to be sure!

 

Sikhát fashions an ad-hoc spit and kindles a fire, and does exactly as he’s been bidden by his old wrinkly master. However, newcomer to cannibalism that he is, he can’t resist having a tiny taste of the raw flesh himself, as it’s tantalizingly juicy, and upon stuffing a tasty morsel into his salivating gob, he starts to hear voices. Well, that’s not an uncommon occurrence in these-here parts by all accounts, due, probably, to the fact that so many brothers marry their sisters against every law of man and nature. And on top of that, who knows about the potential for self-inflicted prion-disease contamination?

 

In fact, it’s the wondrous forest animals that are yammering on incessantly, and Sikhát can now comprehend every word of the twittering, roaring, lowing, whinnying, hissing, squeaking, and the rest. When the voices warn him that Reygun’s sneaking towards him with a sharp, drawn blade in his treacherous claw, Sikhát is able to pre-empt his foster-father’s cowardly strike. The stripling youth slays the hairy giant stone dead and makes off with the gore-soaked and god-forsaken gold, and the gruesome glory.

 

All the while he hears the ever-present voices babbling about the goth-girl, biker-babe Brawnjayld, fan of black lipstick, red-rouged cheeks, and hair white as the finest snowy powder. This heavy-metal goddess who loves riding around wearing a horned helmet, long leather gloves, and a red gown, is the illegitimate spring-off of Wowdun’s and Graymjayld’s passionate drug-fuelled fiery fling. She’s now spurned by her mother, black-hearted, devious diva that she is, although her father is massively over-protective of her. No wonder she has problems, shunning sunlight and fresh air, and preferring always to prance and pirouette in the rain, singing tra-la-la-la-la!

 

Phwoar! says Sikhát to himself, no expert in women-stuff to be sure. Condemned as if she were some pitiful mentally unstable teenager (although to say she’d been chosen by the gods would be a better description), she’s kept prisoner under house-arrest “for her own good,” after a pitched battle between the rebellious daughter and her riotous friends on the one hand, and her strange old man and the legions of the immortal on the other. And it would be a whopping understatement to say that the long-suffering parent and the wilful child are somewhat estranged these days.

 

Sikhát finally arrives at Wowdun’s vaunted, vaulted bedlam-villa, walls arrayed with spiny bougainvillea vine, ringed by a high-voltage electric fence. He easily vaults over that, possessed of all sorts of athletic prowess. Not for nothing then has been all his rampaging and slaying: now he’s a lean, mean all-overcoming machine! He penetrates Brawnjayld’s boudoir, and she explains how Wowdun’s trapped her there to force her to atone for her impious crimes against the Ayseyus. Impetuously, Brawnjayld’s vowed to wed but one rescuer, who is descended from Wowdun himself and moreover, who manages to kill their family’s sworn enemy, the vile monster Fanfér. Well, to be honest, she’s had another flying visit, this time from the charming Magus Oylrig Sífót, who planted the idea in her youthful head.

 

When Sikhát chortlingly recounts his myriad exploits to Brawnjayld she is overjoyed and sings of her electric dream that they should be together for ever and a day (well, maybe until the end of next year). However, she swears (yet again, the prolific, profane oath-taker!) that she’ll only take Sikhát when he has subjugated all the other gangs. Really now, that would be no mean feat without a word of a lie, but she’s a classy chick not some cheap tart of a gold-digger! So, Sikhát goes off to infiltrate the horrendously powerful Nayflung clan, in order to extirpate them and so come to consummate his love with his betrothed. Oh, seminal joy unbounded! (The Nayflungs, however, unbeknownst to most of the great unwashed, happen to be the degenerate descendants of the gargantuan Naytlód progenitors, who terrorized Migl-Urth way back in the days of time’s mad mistiness.) But before he does all that, he digs an enormous hole on the banks of the Raynow River and buries the whole stash of gold and other objects in it, protecting it with the strongest charms recited to him by the talkative but helpful animals. And if he should die before collecting the riches, then the river shall have it all forever, without a single doubt.

 

A short time later, he, Sikhát, slinks into the wild, wind-swept, lawless territory of the Nayflungs, and finds their viperous den. They, the Nayflungs have taken in sightless but nevertheless far-seeing Dr Graymjayld, the ragged waifing stray, who’s been wandering about like some down and out. They believe they’ll be able to capitalise on her exceptional drug-making ingenuity, although maybe its she who’s taken them in instead, in a manner of speaking, and she who’ll take them in hand in the end, given her potent but ill-portentous pedigree! He, Sikhát, takes hours rabbiting on about all his exploits in gory-glory detail, and, of course, is invited in to stay.

 

Graymjayld advises the clan-leaders – the half-brothers Háfgun (a true example of throwback to the twisted Naytlód stock if ever there were one alive still), and Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd – to cement their alliance with the hero by marrying Sikhát to their sister Gwdrẃn. It’s not her own idea, mind you, but a ruse concocted by the old meddler Oylrig Sífót. So, as Sikhát ponders how he soon will depart to rescue his beloved Brawnjayld and whisk her off, Dr Graymjayld stealthily spikes his goblet of mushroom tea with a portion of psychedelic potion, and on the spot Sikhát becomes drunkenly and vociferously enamoured of Gwdrẃn. Oh, how they all shall rue that dreadful day!

 

Brawnjayld continues to await Sikhát in her inland island isolation – but in vain! Eventually, Wowdun, godlike, sashays into her gilded cage, as if he’s just slipped off an eight-legged horse, to say he’s had enough of her nonsense. He announces in no uncertain terms that he knows everything about her secret tryst. And furthermore, he declares that she shall, perforce and against her fore-knowledge and will, wed a different man from the one she thought would sweep her off, before the passage of two winters chilly, despite, or maybe because of, all the cavorting about and causing havoc in horned helmets, black gloves, red robes, and leather boots.

 

Meanwhile, a radiantly, stupidly happy drippy-hippy Sikhát weds Gwdrẃn amidst much rowdy revelry. Then, Sikhát and his new in-laws swear a gangland oath of unbreakable fealty. He and Gwdrẃn are deeply, death-defyingly happy. However, even now, a menacing shadow of churning unknowingness clouds Sikhát’s rose-red, love-buzzed heart, making him scowl peevishly.

 

Time passes, as it tends to do, after its fashion, and news of Brawnjayld and the gold hoard reaches Dr Graymjayld’s gigantic hairy ears (all the better to hear with!). That’s probably, of course, got nothing, or at least very little, to do with loose-tongued Lẃk Braytstá, but piqued by the idea of immeasurable riches and untold power, Graymjayld’s lug-holes prick up perceptibly. She insists that Gunna should wed Brawnjayld, raking in both cash and glory. Sikhát, Háfgun, and Gunna set off to rescue Brawnjayld, trapped in her green jade tower, from her strait-jacket and her straight-laced father.

 

When they get there, only Sikhát is fit enough to be able to fling himself over the fence, as the other two are conspicuously corpulent from over-indulgence in drink, drugs, and decadence. He taints the water supply with artificial substitute of some natural plant extract proffered by Graymjayld that smells of magical mushroom hash stuffed full of bristly pig grubs infused with wormwood and mercury. The poison clouds Brawnjayld’s already rather addled mind. Who would have known that better, of course than her always-absent birth-mother, Graymjayld? Anyway, the dose of prohibited substance sends Brawnjayld into an old-skool rave psychic-silo. Moreover it makes her vision wonky so that she perceives her lover as Gunna, when it’s Sikhát who’s really embracing her. Vile, vice-like fate grips her in its grasping jaws – just as her One-eyed Father predicted! And there’s his chief agent-provocateur, Oylrig Sífót, watching through the eyes of a stuffed llama on the purple and yellow wall of the wooing-chamber, a silly grin plastered on his face.

 

Totally confused, Brawnjayld feels she has no choice but to accept Gunna-lookalike Sikhát (wolf in sheep’s clothing that he is!), although her waters’ feeling stir her to deep unease. The two, rescuer and rescuee, share a bed that night but remain chaste, as the drug has knocked them unconscious, and the next morn Brawnjayld haltingly agrees to marry him-who-she-takes-to-be Gunna. Why, on Migl-Urth or beyond, she does this, given that lacklustre night’s lack of performance, is left to the imagination of the guilty, or guileless, parties.

 

Matters progress, inexorably, downward, ever downward towards abyssal oblivion. During the nuptial feast, after Brawnjayld’s wedding to the actual Gunna, everyone’s indulging in pogoing in the mosh pit, waltzing, or limbo-dancing, as appropriate. But that’s when the bride’s wandering eye alights momentarily on Sikhát, seated next to Gwdrẃn as all stop the mad whirling about to catch their breaths. Only then do the effects of Dr Graymjayld’s synth-mesc double-plus wear off so that Sikhát and Brawnjayld both at last recall the promises they made pre-inoculation. Woe upon woe – as shame pricks their cheeks blood-red – they, slack-jawed, open-mouthed, and glazed-eyed, recognise their current dishonour.

 

Brawnjayld refuses to eat or drink, and cleaves, swooning as only the spurned can do, to her bed. She deigns to accept only gifts of red wine and chocolate, and spends her time weaving an ornate quilt-cover from swan-quills and baby-hair. When Gunna approaches her, she excoriates him, suggesting he shove a white feather from her crocheting up his fundamental orifice, and curses him for causing her to break her woman’s sacred word – shame unspeakable! Reluctantly, Sikhát is prevailed upon to try transacting with Brawnjayld in sensible, adult-to-adult conversation rather than bawling and gesticulating. She’s having none of that and (as she’s getting in the swing of the bad language lark) again vilely, vitriolically curses both him and Gwdrẃn to an early death, worse that any fate (blind or sighted) could even ironically and inconceivably muster.

 

Shocked, Sikhát speaks lovingly to her of the drug used to ensnare him, and admits that his only quantum of solace has been to see her, his true sweetheart, there in the flesh at last. And all the while, there’s Oylrig Sífót enjoying the scene whilst eyeballing them, disguised as an old, bent servant. who’s very hard of hearing. Although deeply touched by Sikhát’s plea, Brawnjayld avers, not sparing tears, that it is much too late to avert eternal, unrelenting evil’s onset. She bitterly comforts Sikhát with her blithe prediction of an honourable death for him at least. Deeply grieved, both Sikhát and Brawnjayld prepare to dash towards their respective fates. He moves out of the short-lived marital home pouting to camp in the spare bedroom next door to Gwdrẃn’s sumptuous chamber, while she reclines there stoically. If only it were not so! If only the Ayseyus could rush in to save the day! But that is not to be.

 

Upon returning to Gwdrẃn's lonely residence for a short spell to try and discuss matters with her, sad Sikhát acquaints her with the course of the curse. She however simply sends him packing back to his cold and uncomfortable temporary lodgings with a flea in his ear. When Gunna later seeks his blood-brother’s advice, Sikhát informs him curtly that Brawnjayld’s only doctor should be her husband. In response, Gunna approaches his almost-insensible wife in her chamber, insensitively but sensibly offering to buy her peace-of-mind, declaring he’s prepared to pay more gold than she can shake a stick at, the old chauvinist pig of a capitalist! Unmoved by his empty blandishments, Brawnjayld taunts him. She wails at the top of her lungs that henceforth she shall quit thence forever and leave him drowning in abyssal disgrace – unless he says a big sloppy sorry and slays his faithful and blameless brother-in-law on the very spot.

 

Flabbergasted, Gunna insists that he has sworn to protect Sikhát who’s now a brotherly comrade-in-arms to him, reminding her of their vow, whilst explaining that blood is thicker than water. Brawnjayld, however, is adamant, maintaining that Sikhát has already broken the promise by seducing her in Gunna’s stead. Devastated and down-thrust, Gunna departs Brawnjayld’s chilly chamber, before running off to spend many days pondering over what to do next, for at least five minutes at a time in between slugging buckets of fake-soma, playing darts, and any number of other crucial manly activities such as toilet-seat uplifting, changing light-globes, navel-fluff extracting, nose-picking, and combing his under-arm hair. As a last resort, Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd summons his half-brother Háfgun Nayflung, to consult with him in secret.

 

Dazed and confused, Háfgun suggests that Brawnjayld is stringing together a pack of lies out of jealousy. Gunna disagrees strenuously, however, stating that he loves and trusts her, and reiterating that by slaying Sikhát, they will become masters of their own fate, able to seize the golden hoard of Fanfér. So Gunna and Háfgun approach their quarter-brother Gowt-hón Nayflung-Háfbryd-Lowlayf, regarding this touchy subject, knowing indubitably that no gang-oath hath he sworn, as the sickly lad was languishing in bed under Dr Graymjayld at the time.

 

They promise him both piles of cash and undreamt-of social status if he’ll slug Sikhát. (The pitiful boy’s been fantasizing over such things at least twelve times a minute for ages, like some three-eyed raven, in between gazing at his collection of illuminated manuscripts and charming seagulls with his hornpipe). The arm-twisting is neither long nor hard, and Gowt-hón leaps at the "shwdèsniy vazmòzhnust hwbivàt lywbòy mèrskiy kowt hwblyẁduk" (that is, the “wonderful opportunity to butcher some filthy tomcat bastard”), so proving his manhood.

 

At dawn’s first fiery cracking the following morning, Gowt-hón enters Sikhát’s dude-oir and, a real man-in-the-making, the lad stabs his guest and confrere in the back as he slumbers, sending him to meet his maker, whoever that may be. In anguish, Gwdrẃn awakens from a terrible nightmare about raging infernos and rivers of blood, and, as is her generally unwanted wont, rushes into the guest bedroom, busting open the puny door with her muscular but well-proportioned shoulder. Assessing the blood-besmirched vista in a few tens of microseconds, in sorrowful horror, she cradles her estranged hubby’s mangled body as he prepares to shuffle off the mortal coil. Sikhát, however, the ultimate unfortunate soldier, orders her not to weep, nor to blame her brothers for his untimely demise. He then expires, his part in the vulgar drama of life on Migl-Urth well and truly over.

 

As Gwdrẃn screams in anguish, maddened Brawnjayld cackles in mirth abominable and curses the Nayflungs for murdering their ally, friend, guest, brother-in-law, and lord. She reveals that she now realises that Sikhát’s seduction of her in Gunna’s place was a lousy, lichen-lotion-laced lie, and that she is leaving Gunna forever anyway. Thus declaring and so doing, does Brawnjayld stab herself forthwith. Her good-for-nothing corpse is doused in petrol and burned together with Sikhát’s. And that is the instigation of a contagious, spreading conflagration of godly, or hellish, proportions. It means also that the mountain of gold and other wonderful artefacts that used to belong to Sikhát have sunk straight to the un-plumbable depths of the Raynow River for eternity. But everyone thinks that Gwdrẃn, rightful wife of Sikhát at the time of his death, now owns everything, and that she’s keeping mum to safeguard the priceless stash.

 

So, misery’s flames slowly burn themselves down, not for the last time needless to say, sinking to oblivion as the ashes wither cold away. Devastated Gwdrẃn wanders witless through the mean streets of the big bad city. She loathes every moment of her broken, worthless life, but cannot bring herself yet to the verge of self-destruction and beyond after the fashion of her late suffering con-soeur Brawnjayld. Meanwhile, the gold of Fanfér and the beauty of Gwdrẃn have caught the interest of the up-and-coming, and very power-hungry, politician, Atlí Hitman, who is seeking to exterminate the drug-clans with immediate effect and not without dashings of negative affect. To this end, he recruits hordes of people as violent and uncivilized as starving wild animals, providing them with the latest weapons, and training them to kill mercilessly. But what is the source of all the barbaric policies, the cynical schemes, the almost-magical technology, and the masterly demagoguery? Ooh, well, perhaps it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that it’s Oylrig Sífót who’s at the root of all that.

 

Gunna asks Háfgun whether Hitman should be met with violent resistance to wrest power from the vile man before he becomes tyrant over the whole Migl-Urth, or appeased in an attempt to please all the shrinking violets who just want to rest in peace. Dr Graymjayld, blind but big-nosed (all the better to sniff out trouble!) counsels that Hitman’s patronage and protection can be bought via marriage to Gwdrẃn. And then, when he was in their grasp, they would kill him immediately. The dastardly Doctor adds that it would be best to strike whilst the iron’s hot. Thus down this badly-intentioned road to destruction do the Nayflungs blithely proceed.

 

Nayflungs scouts discover Gwdrẃn living on the streets with a troupe of down-and-outs, would-be waiters, actors, escapologists, and poets, and rescue her. However, Gwdrẃn would prefer to languish with the proles and plebs, and refuses to acknowledge or forgive her brothers. Graymjayld tells her long-lost daughter to mourn no longer, commenting that while Brawnjayld is deceased, no more, and atomised upon the winds, Gwdrẃn is still in the land of the living, and quite young and healthy, and that she should get a move on and get hitched. Gwdrẃn retorts that she has no desire to see any of them slaughtered, really, but otherwise gives not a single fig. Believing that never again will she know happiness, Gwdrẃn sees no point in doing anything (of course, she wants to keep at it with her fave hobby of making trinkets from metal in the form of wild animals, and inscribing them with magical runes in order to send secret messages), let alone remarrying and all that messy home-making and family-rearing malarkey that would entail.

 

Dr Graymjayld retorts pugnaciously, snorting un-equitably that Gwdrẃn’s behoved not to blame her brothers, and that she should get on and get betrothed. She adds contemptuously that Brawnjayld was responsible for Sikhát’s death and the Nayflungs are, quite sensibly, and for good form’s sake at least, in grief. The blindly blethering drug-doctor threatens Gwdrẃn her recalcitrant daughter with unimaginable nightmares if she does not capitulate. And they both know Graymjayld can do what she says, as she’s supported every step of the way by the mendacious Magus Oylrig Sífót. Distracted, world-weary, and ready to give up the ghost, Gwdrẃn caves in to her maniacal mother’s demands.

 

At their extremely expensive wedding, Atlí blissfully quaffs to his most beloved Gwdrẃn Hitman (not that necking cauldronfuls of fruit of the vine has done much to help this benighted brood of blighters). He is moved, however, as much by the grubby beauty of Gwdrẃn whose hair’s flying all over the shop, as by his dreams of the vast hidden gold-pile he’s set to get his hands on in due course. After promising undying friendship to the Nayflungs (the dirty old liar!), with unmatched political aplomb, Hitman disappears suddenly, whisking off his snow-white-cheeked wife, before someone shoots him.

 

Time’s tides slip and slide by, waiting for no man. But despite that, Gwdrẃn indeed remains untouched, both by Hitman’s successes in the arena of distinguished political discourse (as he bumps off his foes one-by-one, and grinds their bones to dust), and by his lardy-lipped lurve for her (since she always refuses to visit him to complete her conjugal duties). Only once did they kiss and cuddle behind closed doors as it were, but regarding that, let us maintain a respectful silence. He, meanwhile allows his lust for the gold hoard to grow like some strange otherworldly vegetable. In the end, exasperated and frustrated in equal measure, he summons the Nayflung brothers to appear before him in the Palace of the Exalted Elders.

 

Gunna sulkily remonstrates with Háfgun as to whether they should trot like lapdogs when Hitman blows on his ultrasonic whistle, exquisitely carved from rat bones. Háfgun is troubled to say the least. He guesses that Gwdrẃn is trying to warn them by sending them a wolf-head ring, of all things, since this is a common symbol of treachery in the dirty criminal dens of eastern Migl-Urth. Gunna, in contrast, alleges that Gwdrẃn sends a message of reconciliation. Dr Graymjayld, always wily as a white-fox’s whiskers, agrees with Háfgun’s prognostications, and tells Gunna not to be so darned silly. She reckons that the ring has been tampered with, and actually originally encoded a warning, etched in secret runes! Gunna, now convinced and fearing an underhand trap, nevertheless decides the brothers should visit Atlí Hitman, but well-armed. This they do. However, on their arrival they’re ambushed as twilight’s petty pace creeps in the dreadful day. Oh horror unbounded!

 

The Nayflungs are rash and bloodthirsty and although they’re corpulent, they’re also strong and muscular, and somehow manage to repel every one of Hitman’s cohorts, despite all the otherworldly support they have from Oylrig Sífót. How they do this, gods alone know (well actually, you know, there’s not a single divinity left on Migl-Urth by then). More armed men then spew forth and there is an enormous gunfight in which great carnage ensues. But the Nayflung brothers and their wild, hardy rabble prevail, for a while at least.

 

Meanwhile, fidgety Gwdrẃn tries to sit still and listen to the fighting. Devastated, she curses the very hour of her birth, deploring the minute, and hating the second of her hateful horoscope. Finding her at last, her un-fêted and ill-fated brothers declare that they were forced to slay her husband and then give her away in marriage by fate’s inexorable, invisible hand. However, Gwdrẃn pleads with them to spare Atlí’s life. Why, Oh why. Oh why? So, they mock Hitman, and prod him, making him run around stark naked whilst laughing at him mercilessly, but they let him slink away at last. Fools with dolts for uncles! How could they be so stupid? For, as night falls, releasing fell shadows amidst the bleak landscape of the concrete jungle, Hitman rallies allies throughout the dilapidated city.

 

Exhausted, the Nayflungs cannot cheat sleep, but just as they are embraced by the Sandman, the counterattack begins, although the encroaching country bumpkins manage to defend themselves and resist the onslaught. Atlí Hitman counters by ordering his former stronghold to be set on fire. The Nayflungs pour forth from the burning buildings to save themselves from a fiery death, and after ferocious fighting amongst the waves of flame they themselves are all captured.

 

Casting his captives at Gwdrẃn’s feet, Hitman vows that he will avenge Sikhát by hurling her brothers Gunna a Háfgun into a snake-pit, a clever idea he’s borrowed from Oylrig Sífót. Disgusted, Gwdrẃn calls her husband the dictator an evil beast, and curses him with a shameful death. She also drops a bombshell, stating that she is bearing Hitman’s children, despite their very minimal physical contact, and can feel their two hearts beating inside her. She reminds Atlí that the Nayflungs are the uncles of these babes and pleads for their lives. Hitman vows that he will only release the Nayflungs if he is given the gold hoard that tortures and tantalises him day and night. Familiar, or what?

 

At last relenting, Gunna agrees to give Hitman the gold, but only if Háfgun is first slain and his heart delivered to him on a silver salver by a flunkey. Slaughter! Hearts! Revenge! The same old tale! Háfgun’s half-bother Gunna’s gurning and cavorting, like a moon-struck shaman high on hooch. Frantic Gwdrẃn pleads with Hitman to spare Háfgun. Hitman, however, vows to have his precious gold. He says that, right or wrong, the Nayflungs owe the lot to him, and that he’ll get it by fair means or foul, whatever it takes. Háfgun can’t extricate himself, and the heart is excised, still beating, with not a little bleating and a great deal of bleeding. On the spot, Gwdrẃn brings two innocent children into the extremely troubled world, birth following hard on the heels of demise as often happens.

 

Upon cordially receiving his craven brother’s severed coronary organ, now still from its hasty pounding, Gunna laughs in Atlí’s face. The gold, of course, is long gone, lost forever in the Raynow River after Sikhát’s death, the water telling the wind: “Palpvonu lak Ari·adní hlath iltéfi dura ifpalperi blé rolinas; Sinez prala la Davuth e zonvrizaré th-ayldriza lalré lintlu” – “Ari·adní will soon lock herself behind her closed door; The Sun's rays' shock will lift up the seas.” Gunna curses Hitman, as is usual in such circumstances. And just like all the best villains in the worst comic-books, orders Gunna to be cast down immediately into his snake-pit seething with hissing serpents. He imagines he’ll make the Nayflung laugh on the other side of his face! But Atlí hasn’t remembered the old proverb: He who laughs last laughs longest.

 

Gwdrẃn’s heart hardens in hatred for her humiliating husband (at least she’s got one – a heart, and a husband, that is!). She orders a lucky always-in-tune folk-guitar, once owned by one of Ziggí’s wandering minstrel Stádust, to be sent to her brother in the pit of despair. Gunna’s resolute singing and magical strumming enchant all around him. There he is then, snatching fanged victory from and defeat’s gummy jaws, as, wondrously, even the snakes are stilled to sudden sleep. At long last, everything changes in a splitting instant. As the impromptu karaoke performance wanders precariously towards spitting out a sickeningly saccharine ditty by Richard on the Cliff-edge, an ancient adder, anaemic, arthritic, and acutely hearing-impaired, leaps languorously upon Gunna and lays him low with a single shrill shriek! (It’s the single remaining, Nayflung half-brother who’s screaming, of course, not the old hissing slitherer.)

 

Aghast, Gwdrẃn hears her half-brother’s protracted death-cry wafting up from the inky depths. And in that single, semi-infinite, hair-splitting second, with marrow chilled and blood curdled, Gwdrẃn at last realises how to wreak vengeance on Atlee Hitman for the outrage against all the Nayflungs. It’s a dark and stormy night, and even hell’s not got fury the like of it. Wowdun’s pet ravens Hugging and Mwning gaze on the dread scene as baleful witnesses, mute, but ever ready to squawk wordless insults. And through their eyes watches Oylrig Sífót also, who’s entranced by the scrying-glass in the cellar of the blue cottage on the banks of the River Raynow.

 

Appalled, Gwdrẃn, supermarrow-pipe-toting, commands her infant twins be brought to her at the top of the fortress’s highest tower, in the thick of the raging storm. And there, she herself kills them both with her own fair hands and a keen knife, gold-handled, and rune-bedecked. She’s blinded to the true evil of her action by her hatred’s sightless substance. Goodness and light can’t even get a look-in through the dark blankets at this double-murdering-monster. And, in the wake of the Nayflung-instigated carnage, none of Hitman’s henchmen cotton on to Gwdrẃn’s cruel cutting and offing of her own offspring.

 

At the ensuing funeral wake for Hitman’s hell-hastened half-enslaved cohorts, Gwdrẃn finally appears Presenting two goblets of rich red wine to her husband, she toasts his hearty health, long life, and unbounded happiness. As he slugs deep of the potion proffered by his wife, Atlí Hitman feels deepest regret over the loss of the gold, but also horrible satisfaction as he considers the death of his enemies. The reprehensible rapscallion seems distracted, to say the least, as a result of all the events that have unfolded in front of his once beady but now uncomprehending glazed eyeballs. He lolls, listless and lethargic.

 

Gwdrẃn, gloating gloweringly, chooses this moment to announce to all there present that, in vengeance for Atlí’s volcanic violence and vicious vitriol, she has slain their sinless sons. She goes on to revel that the goblets are their delicate, silver-encrusted skull-bones, and the wine a tempting (but tormenting!) tincture containing their blood and honey. Atlí Hitman’s own horde of hunting hounds is gorging at this very instant on the babies’ worldly remains. The assembled mourners explode. Imagine the horror, the revulsion, the anguish, the angst! Atlí Hitman falls down, insane eyes popping, positively purple with apoplexy.

 

Hitman is carried to his bed and death’s door. In fate’s final twist Gwdrẃn saunters stealthy into Atlí’s chamber of horrors, wakes her husband, and drives a gold-handled rune-strewn dagger, one-time heirloom of some forgotten ancient ancestor, into his chest as the ultimate act of vulgar vengeance. As Hitman expires amidst much moribund death-bed melodrama, Gwdrẃn taunts Hitman with the news that his body is already at the crematorium, for, using her womanly wiles, she has prepared very well. He dies, Oylrig Sífót’s deceitful words ringing in his burning ears. Within moments, a blazing inferno consumes Atlí Hitman’s fuel-soaked mansion-house immensely swiftly and utterly decisively. As pale day dawns to drive out the noxious night, only Gwdrẃn survives, to steal away in stunned silence.

 

In the apocalypse’s aftermath, Gwdrẃn wanders witless through the countryside. Making for the coastal cliffs, she seeks to end her detested existence:, extirpating her anguish by casting her frail form as a human sacrifice into the silent ocean’s saline embrace. But the surly sea, sublimely dismissive, refuses her supplication! With time to reflect, as the tide ever rises and falls, Gwdrẃn, a woman like unto no man, sits at the sanctimonious seashore, pondering her myriad woes amongst the wild flowers that flourish on the sad, sandy banks (not many of them, to be honest, mostly grasses and hellish knotweed!).

 

After, it appears, ages of thought, she calls upon Sikhát’s restless spirit one last time, and, madly reminding the spectral lover of their unfulfilled promises, implores him to return. In vain, of course, does she entreat. Only then, self-shunted into the unfettered foam, Urth-bound watery womb of the firmament, is she accepted. Her life’s grief’s drowned to a final sorrow-laced siren-crooned torch-song, in which the echo of the Raynow River’s reproachful words mingles mocking with the gulls’ empty squawks.

 

Who’s watching this human drama unfold, on a cliff-edge above the fateful scene? Only Braytstá, lucky beggar as usual, smoking idly but heavily. He’s playing the role of the official observer for his One-eyed master Wowdun once again. Lẃk laughs hollowly at life on the Migl-Urth, full of fruitless, fickle follies, waiting, as always unfulfilled, for the beginning of the fiery end of all ends. And so, eternally cruel and cancerous, does the calamitous cycle creep on, capricious and crushing, completely lacking in charm or consequence.

 

As the fire spreads, consuming the whole world, the Raynow River keeps on spewing out its endless and exceptionally bitter song as it boils, creating reality and forgetting it at the same time. But before all the living, jet-black waters turn into a suffocating mist that will go on to destroy everything, one lonely figure wearing a long, white gown and carrying in his hand a pinewood staff approaches them, stumbling painfully slowly. And that’s the old, weird, frightening sage, Oylrig Sífót, that is Hlothrig Mulrin. who’s caused so much chaos and confusion behind the scenes during his sojourn on the Migl-Urth.

 

And in a last, hopeless effort to escape, and save himself and the seed of the human race too, he succeeds in flinging himself in, intoning with the waves the words of their ever-changing mantra: “Prala rumularé simera th-andlizí hlath nusilé; Lasda sinez hesilistíaré istí sulta telvu’fw zwn alrek alsalinté isaré lír” – “The dust of ancient times will rise up again; Winds will clash and their din will be lost among the stars.” And as the stinking and poisonous water closes over his head, there’s a Cleft to Another World opening, and he gets thrust through.

 

["Tragedy on Migl-Urth"

from "Strange Stories of the Northmen,"

by P Mamrick.]

Dyma fyd ble mae popeth wedi chwalu’n yfflon, gwareiddiad wedi ffoi, a chymdeithas wedi encilio i ambell gadarnle ola. Mae natur wedi adennill ei thiriogaeth unwaith eto ar ôl saib bach pan oedd hi wedi gadael i un rhywogaeth deyrnasu. Ond ro’n nhw wedi niweidio’r blaned i’r fath raddau nes iddyn nhw ddechrau’u dinistrio’u hunain hefyd, ac unwaith i’r broses ennill cyflymder, doedd ball arni. Y peth rhyfedda oedd nad i’r fath beth ddigwydd, ond sut aeth y trawsffurfiad llwyr yn ei flaen fel adwaith cadwynol. Tra oedd y rhan fwya o’r boblogaeth yn meddwl taw gwell na’r creaduriaid eraill o’n nhw, rhwng yr holl arbrofi â chemegion, tincran â genynnau, gorddefnyddio cyffuriau, peirianneg amgylcheddol, rhannu personoliaethau, (heb sôn am y ffaith eu bod yn addasu’u cyrff, hollti’r atom, llygru’r moroedd a’r awyrgylch, a chythryblu grymoedd natur), dyna lle ro’n hwythau’n troi’n angenfilod yn y pen draw. Ac roedd hwn yn newid llythrennol a pharhaol, a phobl yn cymryd arnyn nhw nodweddion anifeiliaid, ac yn ymddwyn a mynd bant i fyw fel mae anifeiliaid yn neud.

 

Saith unigolyn nerthol iawn o ran corff, enaid, ac ewyllys sy wedi codi ymhlith adfeilion y byd i lywodraethu’n ddidostur dros y gweddill. Yn ddiweddar mae’r Ayseyus, Fókhyro a'i wraig Frikshn; Eydudown a'i gŵr Bragga; Twhanz; a Braytstá wedi trechu’r prif lwyth arall, y Wanírs, gan dderbyn y deurywiad o’r enw Freying yn wystl i geisio cynnal heddwch a threfn yn ystod y cyfnod tra bregus hwn. Gyda’i gilydd maen nhw’n arfer awdurdod dros bobman y gellir byw ynddo eto, hynny yw, y Migl-Urth. Ac maen nhw’n casglu atyn nhw’r rhai ymhlith plant y werin bobl sy’n gallu rheoli’u galluoedd newydd i sianelu’r Nerth Di-ludd er mwyn eu defnyddio nhw i adeiladu byd hollol newydd y tu hwnt i dda a drwg. I’r diben hwn, mae Fókhyro wedi comisiynu penseiri o lwyth y Naytlóds i godi Canolfan Hyfforddi, Neuaddau Preswyl, a Maenordy Moethus ar lannau Afon Raynow, yn agos i’r bwthyn glas ble mae’r doethwr hynod a brawychus o’r enw Hlothrig Mulrin (sy bellach yn cael ei enwi’n Oylrig Sífót) yn byw. Ac yno mae’n darllen y rwnau, llefaru â thafodau, darogan trychineb, a bwrw cysgod hir dros yr holl Migl-Urth yn ôl pob sôn.

 

Ac yno mae’r dyfroedd cythryblus yn canu byth a hefyd hen gân ryfedd a chyfnewidiol am dân, a dagrau, a thranc: “Tikana lak Elena-the-suvulé hlath ak Alsalaré-th-elteska; Sinez asniré simerí lalrek Alsalinté Ruelna Hesantil lír” – “Fe fydd cerbyd y Lleuad yn tarfu ar y Sidydd, ac; Fe fydd y Saith Seren Siriol yn wylo.” A’r unig dyst yw Oylrig Sífót, y dewin a ddygwyd o fyd arall, sy’n eu bwydo a’u gostegu, eu cocsio a’u symbylu â’i hud, gan chwarae rhan y croesan sy’n rheoli heb yn wybod i neb. Ac, yn debyg i'r hen dduwdod corniog Horní-wun dyw e byth yn aros yn yr un ffurf am hir, gan newid yn gyson o gigfran, i flaidd, i alarch, i garw, gan ddefnyddio'i hudlath wen. Ac felly, ddysgwn ni, wedi addo môr a mynydd i’r cewri o ddynion hyn, mae Fókhyro wedi colli’i holl gyfoeth wrth gamblo, a gall e’m talu, ac yn awr fe fydd yna helynt ar y cythraul! A dyna ddechrau’r stori hon.

 

Mae Wowdun Fókhyro (mewn byr o dro fe fydd yr hen gythraul yn dechrau defnyddio’r ffugenw Wun-ay am un rheswm neu’i gilydd), pen-bandit i’r llwyth o droseddwyr o’r enw yr Ayseyus, sy’n symudwr, ysgogwr, crëwr, lluniwr bargeinion, a thorrwr llwon, ynghyd â’i bartner cyfnewidiol, celwyddog, Lẃk Braytstá (ie, dyna’i enw iawn er bod pawb yn dweud “Lwcus” fel arfer) sy’n chwim ei droed, blewog ei ddwylo, a bob tro’n dod â thranc, cynnau tannau, a lledaenu llanast, yn twyllo a “damweiniol ladd” y deliwr o’r garfan groes, Ottow Naytlód (mae’n dipyn o fwystfil a dweud y lleia, sy’m yn siarad lawer ran fwya’r amser am ei fod mor benysgafn o lyncu’i gyffuriau’i hun, ac sy’n cael ei alw’n “Ottow y Dyfrgi” am ei fod yn debyg iawn i’r anifail o’r un teulu â’r wenci, a blew hir, brown a ffwr meddal odano, sy’n defnyddio’i gynffon lydan, gref a’i draed gweog i nofio’n gyflym ac yn ystwyth), â cherrig i gefn ei benglog, wrth iddo yntau adennill celc lleidiog o oruwch-fêr a maint enfawr o aur, wedi’i suddo er mwyn diogelwch yng nghofleidiad melys Afon Raynow, a dwyn yr ysbail, wrth i’r tonnau siantio: “Senthí lalrek alsalinté hlath anaif sinez luf-huilsa sontí ifilté lír; Istí tiemith ‘Thavuth-e-vrisla zwn ak Alsalintéoha the vrisla vosta slé” – “Fe fydd y sêr yn troi'u golygon draw oddi wrthynt ac yn cuddio'u llwybrau; Fe fydd golau'r Haul yn cael ei roi yn y cysgod gan olau ariannaidd Mercher.”

 

Yn barod i dorri gwythiennau yn ogystal â chwalu pennau, mae Fanfér a Reygun, brodyr mwya siaradus Ottow yn dod o hyd i laddwyr drygionus eu haelod teulu, a – gwae hwythau! – dyna’r ddau ddihiryn yn cymryd yr hen Wowdun yn wystl, gan hawlio treth waed yn cynnwys llawer iawn o arian. Wrth gwrs dyna’n eitha anghyfleus i Dad Ayseyu, byddai’n well da fe wledda, a diota, a chyfeddach (os na fydd e’n rhyfela, hynny yw). Er mwyn dial cosbedigaethol, dyna’r hen feddwyn., oferwr, a merchetwr yn cael ei hongian allan i sychu ar goeden ar bwys cae rasio Hworldash, yn rhywle hollol anhysbys, ymhell o bobman, ym mhen draw'r byd, gyda dim byd i’w yfed, ond wedi’i grogi o fewn golwg i ffynnon fyrlymus ble does ball ar obaith, ar bob cyfri. A dyna fe’n gweld rhithiau enbyd o ddiffyg hylif, nes fod e’n ymddangos bod llygaid llidus Wowdun yn cofleidio pob un anffawd a dolur a allai ddigwydd mewn holl fyd o ystyr, yn y presennol, yn y gorffennol, neu yn y dyfodol.

 

Wel, dyna’r crwydryn dan artaith yn ymbil am farwolaeth dangnefeddus o sugno lan y fath ddoethineb athrist wedi’i gronni ers pan oedd y Migl-Urth yn ifanc. Ond er gwaetha’i weddi druenus, dyna bâr o gigfrain du, adwythig yn cachu yn y nyth, pan maen nhw’n dod i glwydo ar ei ysgwyddau, ac un o’r diawliaid (oedd wedi dechrau’i yrfa fel colomen wen negesi, er bod y byd a’r betws yn arfer ei hathrodi’n enbyd) yn mynd ati i bigo pelen ei lygad chwith mas. Ond o leia mae’r adar ffiaidd yn taenellu tipyn bach o ddŵr ffynnon cynddilywaidd i mewn i’w geg wrth iddyn nhw aros yno’n ei andwyo fe. Ar ôl iddyn nhw neud felly, mae’r ddau aderyn, Hugging a Mwning, yn dod yn gyfeillion cu iddo yn oes oesoedd, byth bythol, a hyd ddiwedd amser.

 

A, Wowdun Unllygeidiog druan, ei feddwl clwyfus yn crwydro, a throi, a mwydro o ganlyniad i’r datguddiadau chwerw mae newydd eu profi, na all bellach beidio â chanfod bod tranc yr Ayseyus ar fin digwydd! O, dduwdodau tirion, ystyriwch y cyfnos fflamboeth sy’n rhagflaenu cusan y nos, mor ddu â chlais! A dyna fe’n hongian, gan ymdrybaeddu mewn hunllefau didostur o ddistryw hollol a thrallod llwyr, heb fod yn gallu gweld na dianc nac achubiaeth. Oni bai, falle, ddichon, medrai rhyw blentyn a ddeuai i fod o achos ei amlhau gwarthus a thrythyll rwystro ar hap rhuthr sydyn y pandemoniwm organig, daroganedig, mae wedi’i orfodi i’w ragolygu.

 

Mae Braytstá, yn y cyfamser, mor fradwrus â bod ffurfafen y dydd yn las, wedi ceisio’r gwystlwr dichellgar ac anfaddeugar Handfást Naytlód, a chribddeilio’i gelc o aur hud trwy fygwth datgelu’r cytundebau cêl ar gyfer nwyddau a gwasanaethau o bob math mae Handfást wedi’u sicrhau gyda’r gwleidydd milain Atlí Hitman a daeth o ryw wlad bell dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd yn wreiddiol. Er bod Handfást yn trio cuddio rhyw fodrwy (wedi’i neud o aur echdynnwyd o esgyrn babis marw a llenwadau yn nannedd llofruddion wedi’u crogi, ddywedir ei bod â phriodweddau dirgel ac anhraethol o ran atal heneiddio a dannedd pwdr, ymhlith llawer o bethau eraill, er enghraifft gweithio fel “arswyd-sgop”), dyna Braytstá yn ei chipio hi ynghyd â gweddill yr aur, gyda sioncrwydd allnaturiol.

 

Mae Handfást, sy’n edrych, a bihafio, yn union fel llyffant hudol, ffiaidd erbyn hyn, yn melltithio pob un o’r cythreuliaid, gan boeri trwy’i ddannedd perffaith fel perlau mân y caiff Afon Raynow ei staenio’n waetgoch o genhedlaeth i genhedlaeth i neud iawn am y gwarth hwn, ac na fydd neb yn berchen ar ei aur am hir cyn cael ei faglu hala i ebargofiant melys cyn yr amser penodedig, ac mewn ffordd fwya echryslon hefyd, i gwrdd â chreawdwr a dadwneuthurwr popeth. Mewn pwl o dymer ddrwg ofnadw, fel mellten i bren, dyna Lẃk syn yn ei daro fe’n farw gorn, fel taw’r person cynta i ddiodde o’r geiriau drwgargoelus yw Handfást ei hun. Mae Braytstá yn dychwelyd, a chyflwyno’r aur, ond dim ond yn hwyrach mae’n crybwyll y felltith dan lyfu’i weflau. Ac mae Afon Raynow yn parhau i ddatgan: “Isthahlu aldesaaré hlath amulo sinez huslé suleha lak Elsisa Dé thlí lír; Sinez hisié sirelaré daloldraré hisié daloldraré zwn sirelaré lír” – “Fe fydd cnydau'n gwywo ac fe fydd dŵr yn diflannu o wyneb y Ddaear; Fe fydd gwreiddiau'n troi'n canghennau, tra daw canghennau'n wreiddiau.”

 

Yn y cyfamser, mae’r stori’n troi at Ráring Fókhyro, gororwyr i Wowdun, a phen-bandit i griw enfawr o smyglwyr, môr-ladron, a masnachwyr pobl. Mae’n ennill enwogrwydd dros nos ymhlith llengoedd y troseddwyr, wrth iddo lwyddo i drechu’r holl garfannau eraill ledled y wlad a’r tu hwnt, a chael ei olynu gan ei fab Fawlsong. Yn ei dro, mae Fawlsong yn dod yn dad i efeilliaid, Sikjurny a Sikmaynd, y ddau ohonyn nhw fydd yn tyfu i lan i ddod yn holion wyth i linach y Fókhyros. Flynyddoedd yn ddiweddarach, dyna benadur gang cystadleuol o’r enw Ziggí sy di bod yn llechfeddiannu tiriogaeth Fawlsong wrth i’r ail ymhyfrydu’n ormodol yn ei bŵer sy’n ddiderfyn i bob golwg, yn hawlio priodi Sikjurny fel pris heddwch rhwng y carfannau croes. Mae Sikmaynd yn annog ei dad i gytuno. Dyna a wna Fawlsong.

 

Felly dyna Wowdun, hen hen a garw yr olwg, yn gwisgo clogyn hir llwyd o groen blaidd, ac yn ei esgid ddagr hynafol, yn sleifio mor ystwyth â sarff lithrig i mewn i’r twmpath wedi’i drefnu i ddathlu’r briodas. Heb ei weld, mae’r hen fandal cas yn plannu’r gyllell ac ar ei charn aur lawer o rwnau, yn wyneb grwn y bwrdd derw, drudfawr. Www, rwnau! Aur! Melltithion! Tynged! Dim ond Sikmaynd sy’n llwyddo i’w thynnu hi allan heb dorri’i lengig, a dyna’n amlwg yn argoeli’r gogoniant sydd i ddod, ond ife?

 

Fel mae’n digwydd, mae Ziggí yn dwlu ar gael dweud ei ffortiwn yn rheolaidd gan ei ordderch feistrolgar, y fio-ergo-swynyddes Dr Graymjayld, sy’n alcemydd a horosgopydd drwg ei enw. Dyna hithau’n temtio’i chariad gydag addewidion annychmygadwy ond diamheuol y gall e ormesu’r Migl-Urth oll trwy gael ac wedyn dysgu trin y gyllell ryfedd. Ond yn y cefndir, mae hi yng llawiach yr hen Ddewin arallfydol, Oylrig Sífót. A dyna Ziggí, na all roi’r gorau i lygadrythu’r rwnau dyrys, a geiriau mesmeraidd Graymjayld yn atseinio yn ei glustiau, yn cynnig ffortiwn mewn aur wedi’i ddwyn am yr efryn swyn. Mae Sikmaynd yn mynd ar ei beth mawr gan floeddio na fydd e’n colli’r dagr byth. Wedi mynd o’i go’, dyna Ziggí yn saethu’r penteulu Fawlsong Fókhyro gynta. Mae Sikjurny yn pledio am fywyd Sikmaynd a’u brodyr ieuengach eraill. ond dyna ddynion Ziggí, wedi drysu gan aidd anwaraidd a diodydd meddwol Graymjayld, yn eu handwyo nhw a’u gadael fel petaen nhw’n farw. Dim ond Sikmaynd, wedi’i anafu’n echrydus, sy’n llwyddo i sleifio ymaith, gan adael ei chwaer yn hafflau Ziggí a’i weision bach affwysol.

 

Heb yn wybod i Sikmaynd, dyna Sikjurny ei chwaer, wedi colli’i phwyll ar ôl y lladdedigaeth, yn ceisio cychwyn adwaith cadwynol i ddial ar lofruddwyr bwystfilaidd ei theulu, a’r holl Migl-Urth hefyd. Dyna hithau felly’n dianc rhag ei dalwyr, gan gymryd arni’i bod yn mynd i anrheithio pentre’r gwladwyr yn y fforest binwydd cyn rhoi’u bythynnod ar dân. Mae’r gwarchodwyr gwirion yn ei chredu hi’n llwyr, gan floeddio arni wrth iddi fynd yn ei blaen. Wedi’i chuddio’i hun fel ei bod yn amhosibl ei hadnabod, mae’n mynd i gwrdd â Sikmaynd yn ei guddfa. Gyda’i gilydd, maen nhw’n ffroeni rhagor o gyffuriau fferyllol cartre nag a fyddai’n lladd sawl ceffyl mawr. Dan ddylanwad y sylweddau mor flasus, dyna Sikmaynd yn cyplu’n anghyfreithiol â’i chwaer ei hun, wrth i bâr o gigfran aflêr, sbecwyr cywilyddus, syllu ar yr olygfa, gan frewlan yn fileinig. Wedyn, dyna’r twyllwr Sikjurny yn ymadael fel lleidr yn y nos, ac yn ddiweddar, yn dwyn mab sy’n frawd iddi ar yr un pryd, o’r enw Sinfíalty. O dduwdodau creulon! Am arswyd! Am ddychryn! Am warth!

 

Pan ddaw Sinfíalty i oed, er na allai neb byth ragweld y fath dro rhydedd ar fyd, dyna yntau’n cael ei hala i’r lloches yng nghanol yr anialdir ble mae’i dad sydd ei frawd hefyd, yn byw, gan fynd â’r dagr hynafol, dieflig wedi’i ddwyn oddi ar Ziggí gyda fe. Wrth gwrs, fe ddaw'r ddau ddyn dan faich o’r pechod mwya’n gyfeillion calon a brodyr gwaed, a rhuthro o gwmpas fel gwylliaid terfysglyd. Ymhen hir a hwyr, maen nhw’n ymdreiddio i blasty gang Ziggí, a chael hyd i fenyw, yr unig un yn yr holl le, yn ôl pob sôn. Er does gan y ddau ddyn yr un syniad ynghylch pwy ydy hi na be mae di neud, mae Sikmaynd yn llwyddo i ddyfalu, ac wrth iddo ddechrau boddi mewn gofid a gwae, poen a thrallod, dyna fe’n gollwng y gath o’r cwd, a dweud popeth wrth Sinfíalty.

 

Ww, dychmygwch yr aduniad teuluol, wrth i Sikjurny esbonio’r amgylchiadau. Dyna i chi amlygiadau! Am gyfrinachau erchyll! Mae’r gwŷr yn ymbil ar Sikjurny i adael, ond dyna hithau’n dewis tranc o wirfodd calon yn dâl am y gwarth mae wedi’i ddwyn arni’i hun. Dyna hwythau felly’n lladd pawb, yn cynnwys y fam sy hefyd y chwaer, a dymchwel y tŷ yn wastad â'r llawr. Mae’r ordderch wenwynig Graymjayld (sy wedi bod yn llechu yn y seler), yn dianc, fodd bynnag, trwy ryw wyrth ddieflig, wedi’i harwain gan bâr o gigfrain sy’n siarad mewn damhegion.

 

Nawr, mae Sikmaynd a Sinfíalty, yn graig o arian, yn ben ar lwyth y Fókhyros am flynyddoedd maith wedyn. Mae Sikmaynd, ryfedd dweud, yn byw tali gyda Graymjayld, wedi’i denu i ryw raddau gan ei geiriau hudolus ac am ei bod mor heini ac ystwyth, a hefyd gan y cyffuriau anhygoel mae’n cynhyrchu’n gyson yn eu sied ardd hyfryd ar ffurf bwythyn glas hynafol. Mae hithau, sut bynnag, yn casáu ar y slei bach y dynion laddodd ei chymar Ziggí, ac yn ceisio gwenwyno’r ddau rebel diedifar pwy, nid yw’n syndod dweud, sy’n mwynhau yfed hyd at feddwi, yn debyg i lawer iawn o bobl eraill yn dod o amgylchedd teuluol trwblus. Dyna hithau, felly, yn cyfrwys drefnu gŵyl gwrw a chystadleuaeth yfed, a bragu cerwyni enfawr o neithdar angheuol, gan herio’r ddau ddyn dewr i’w llyncu nhw ar ei dalcen.

 

Mae Sikmaynd bob tro’n ochelgar o achos ei orffennol amheus, ac yn cadw un o’i lygad o leia ar agor bob amser rhag bod rhywun eisiau’i fradychu. Dyna fe’n cymryd gwrthgyffur, llyncu’r llathen o ddiod yn un joch, a rhedeg milltir mewn llai na phedwar munud yn lle cicio’r bwced. Wedi colli arni’i hun ond yn hy eto, dyw’r meddyg breuddwydion ddim yn gwyro o’i chynllun, ond yn dal ati gyda’i hystrywiau llwfr, nes i Sikmaynd ddiffygio o’r diwedd, wedi’i barlysu fel peirat piwritanaidd sy di llowcio llond lletwadau o laeth mwnci. Ar hynny, dyna Sinfíalty ei hun, yn ddiamddiffyn a niweidiadwy, yn drachtio o’r llestr hudol yn llawn gwenwyn wedi’i baratoi gyda breuan a phestl, a chwympo’n farw’n syth.

 

Pan mae Sikmaynd yn dod at ei goed, dyna fe’n twlu lan, wedyn tynnu llygad Graymjayld, cyn dangos y drws i’r doethur diawledig. Hyd yn oed yn awr, fodd bynnag, mae’n anfodlon cyfnewid bywyd drwg am un lled lân – dyna ffŵl annoeth a byr ei olwg i chi – er taw llygad am lygad yw peth arall yn llwyr, heb sôn am ddant am ddant, llaw am law, a throed am droed. Dyw e’m yn gallu peidio meddwl, ch’mod, taw siarad yn wir wnaiff gwaed wedi’i golli mewn dicter, gan alw'n daer am ddial a mwy o dywallt gwaed. Mae blynyddoedd lawer yn mynd heibio, ac wrth i wyll creulon a hydref ysgethrin ymdaenu fel mantell ddu dros y Migl-Urth oll, dyna Sikmaynd yn mynd yn hen iawn, penllwyd, llym yr olwg, melyn a cham ei ddannedd, a hir ei farf. Drwy’r amser mae’n cael ei fwrw yn ei flaen i chwiwladrata ac ysbeilio gan ei awydd anniwall am fwy a fwy o aur. Mae di ennill cyfoeth tu hwnt i fesur, ond er hynny, mor brudd â mynach cwflog mewn badd-dy cyhoeddus ydy, ac mor unig â lleuen dân, bigog yng nghanol y Maes Iâ Mawr Gorllewinol. Yn y pen draw, mae’n llwyddo i gael gafael ar y ferch hardd iawn Shugrlayn a wnaiff unrhyw beth bron i’w briodi fe am ryw reswm annealladwy.

 

Wel, be sy’n digwydd nesa? Mae penaethiaid pum gang croes, crwydriaid bychan, ystrywgar, sy’n arbenigwyr ar gloddio a phuro mwynau, ac yn dweud taw Meistri’r Migl-Urth ydyn nhw, yn ymgiprys yn ofer am oruchafiaeth dros y tylwythau ar ôl tranc Ziggí. Maen nhw’n gwrthwynebu’n gryf y fath gytundeb rhwng hen farwn crintachlyd a morwyn ifanc heb yr un geiniog, wedi’u hannog gan gynllwynion Oylrig Sífót. Yn wir, maen nhw’n casáu’r syniad o bontio, uno claniau, tynnu gwregys, a gwagio llestri llawn llaeth hynawsedd dynol. Maen nhw eisiau herwgipio Shugrlayn yn y fan a’r lle, ac yn dymuno golud Sikmaynd yr un mor awyddus, neu hyd yn oed yn fwy, ac maen nhw’n bwriadu cael hyd i bopeth! Felly dyna nhw’n cuddio i ymosod ar Sikmaynd, ac ar ôl ei frifo’n enbyd, yn chwalu’r dagr â charn aur ac arno lawer o rwnau hudol yn gyrbibion. Mae Shugrlayn yn addunedu i’w iacháu fe, ond mae Sikmaynd yn gwrthod, gan fynnu’i fod e’n gallu clywed llais gwawdlyd Wowdun, ei hen hen hen hen hendaid, yn ei alw fe yn ei flaen tuag at ogoniant gwaedlyd mewn rhyw fath o nef uffernol tu hwnt i’r llen.

 

Cyn iddo drengi, dyna Sikmaynd yn tyngu difa’r gelynion gwael i Shugrlayn. Wel, mae’n addo bydd eu plentyn heb ei eni’n dial ar y coblynnod rheibus am golled ei dad marw i’r enfed radd pan fydd y dagr toredig wedi’i ail-wneud yn arwydd o’i ddicter. Ar y gair, dyna fe’n darfod mewn golygfa gywilyddus o ing angheuol. Mae Shugrlayn yn pendilio ar drothwy ebargofiant, ar fin cael ei chipio ymaith gan y cabál o ben-rhyfelwyr ysglyfaethus. Fodd bynnag, pan ddatgelir tadogaeth y mab yn ei chroth, mewn tro ar fyd arall yn rhyfeddach na dim byd sy’n digwydd mewn ffuglen, dyna’r pen-bandit sy’n gweld ei wyn arni, yn cymryd Shugrlayn dan ei adain helaeth. O ganlyniad, pan gaiff y mab Sikhát, sy bellach heb dad, ei eni, dyna fe’n cael ei feithrin gan Reygun Naytlód, sy di cael ei dwyll o’i ran gyfreithlon o’r alanas gan ei frawd sarffaidd, castiog, Fanfér.

 

Dyna sut mae hi, ‘lly. Flynyddoedd yn ddiweddarach. Mae’r ffortiwn wedi’i thalu yn sgil marwolaeth Ottow Naytlód yn aros dan ofal Fanfér, brawd i Reygun, ac fe fyddai rhai’n honni taw dyna’r canlyniad cywir. Mae’n hŷn, doethach (ha!), a mwy erchyll na’r un ieuengach, ac yn fwystfil treisiol gythreulig, neu hyd yn oed yn ddraig mewn croen dyn heb air o gelwydd. Fe allai dyn ddychmygu bod Fanfér yn berchennog ar “arswyd-sgop.” Am ei fod yn chwennych am y celc o aur sy mor ddisglair, llachar, a hyfryd, ac eisiau ei gael iddo’i hun, dyna Reygun yn cyhuddo Sikhát o fod yn gachgi i’w brocio i ymladd â Fanfér. Mae Reygun yn honni bod Fanfér wedi dwyn ei hanner o’r celc, a nawr dim ond ceisio cyfiawnder a wnaiff e.

 

Fe fydd Sikhát yn gallu cadw’r golud a’r gogoniant. Mae’r ystryw gyfrwys yn llwyddo ar unwaith! Dyna Reygun, ar gefn ei geffyl gwyn (fel petai), yn taflu drylliau’r dagr dieflig wedi’i dorri tuag at Sikhát. Mae’r hyfforddai ifanc sy’n anwybodus ac felly’n hollol ddi-ofn, yn llamu gyda nhw i’r efail, ble mae’n ail-wneud yr erfyn (dim ond achos ei fod mor ddiniwed mae’n gallu neud hyn), a chychwyn mas yn syth i sgarmesu â Fanfér ffiaidd yn ei ffau jynglaidd. Yn enwedig fel roedd Oylrig Sífót wedi rhagweld, yr hen foi cyfrwys iddo!

 

Gyda chymorth rhai o’r anifeiliaid mwya parod eu cymwynas y cael hyd iddyn nhw’n rheolaidd yn y fath chwedlau, sy di cael llond bol o anrheithio gan y ddraig, dyna Sikhát yn ffeindio’i ffordd i ffau Fanfér, yn ddwfn yn y fforest ffantastig. Er bod Fanfér yn rhybuddio Sikhát bod Handfást wedi melltithio’r celc hudol, mae Sikhát yn ddiysgog, gan gredu taw dim ond eisiau glynu wrth ei fynydd o aur naiff Fanfér, yr hen gythraul gwirion. Gan ei fod yn symud mor ysgafndroed, ac yn llefaru mor ystrywgar, dyna Sikhát yn trechu’r ffelon sarffaidd, a’r beirdd yn chwysu chwartiau wrth gyfansoddi’r chwedl i ddisgrifio’r achlysur. Dyna Afon Raynow yn rhedeg yn goch – nage am y tro cynta, na’r ola ‘fyd! – fel y rhagwelwyd wrth reswm gan Handfást pan naeth e fwrw’i felltith andwyol i ddechrau cychwyn. Ac mae’n ubain: “Hisié edanspísh a Thihrulo hlath zukhekh slé sinez luf-droukulu la Koralo lak Elsisa Dé plí lír; Pikekí marklu zwn nelkí af’ekaru rolinas” – “Fe fydd Dynolryw yn meddwi ar win gan anghofio'r Nef er mwyn y Ddaear; Fe fydd pob un peth yn peidio cyflawni'i nod yn fuan.”

 

Wel, mae Reygun yn cyrraedd wedyn a cheisio honni’i hawl i ran o’r aur, gan ensynio taw yntau oedd yn gyfrifol am ladd y ddraig ‘fyd i ryw raddau, am taw yntau ddywedai wrth Sikhát am ail-wneud y dagr mor llwyddiannus, a’i annog i ddilyn ei dynged, a hyd yn oed mwy o’r fath rwtsh. Heb oedi, dyna Reygun yn torri calon Fanfér ei frawd mas, gan orchymyn i Sikhát ei rhostio hi fel fod yntau’n gallu’i bwyta er mwyn dial am y tro ola ar ei frawd ffiaidd yn y ffordd fwya gwaedlyd posib. Wedi hynny, mae Reygun yn syrthio i drwmgwsg, wedi ymlâdd o achos yr holl gynnwrf dybryd mae pawb eraill wedi bod yn diodde ohono – yr arwr ifanc Sikhát er enghraifft, a’r ddraig farw yn anad dim. Ond pwy sy’n llechu tu ôl i’r llwyni wrth ymyl, gan gadw llygad barcut ar bopeth? Dim ond Oylrig Sífót, wrth gwrs, ac mae’n chwerthin yn ei lawes, bid siŵr!

 

Dyna Sikhát yn llunio bêr dros dro a chynnau tân, gan neud popeth mae’r hen feistr crebachlyd, surbwch wedi’i orchymyn iddo’i neud. Fodd bynnag, er nad oes ganddo fawr o brofiad ynghylch bod yn ganibal, dyw yntau ddim yn gallu peidio blasu’r mymryn lleia o’r cnawd amryw, deniadol o suddlon, a chyn gynted â’i fod wedi stwffio tamaid amheuthun yn ei geg yn glafoerio, dyna fe’n dechrau clywed lleisiau. Wel, dyna rywbeth sy’n digwydd yn aml rown’ fan hyn yn ôl pob sôn, o ganlyniad, mae’n debyg, i’r ffaith bod cynifer o frodyr yn priodi’u chwiorydd yn groes i bob deddf dyn a natur. Ac ar ben hynny, pwy a ŵyr a allai fe fod wedi’i heintio’i hun â rhyw glefyd wedi’i achosi gan brionau?

 

Mewn gwirionedd, anifeiliaid rhyfeddol y goedwig sy’n hefrio’n ddi-baid, ac fe all Sikhát ddeall bellach bob gair maen nhw’n ddweud wrth iddyn nhw drydar, rhuo, brefu, gweryru, hisian, gwichian, a’r gweddill. Pan mae’r lleisiau’n ei rybuddio bod Reygun yn snecian tuag ato a llafn miniog, noeth yn ei grafanc fradwrus, fe all Sikhát achub y blaen ar yr ymosodiad dan din gan ei dadmaeth. Dyna’r glaslanc yn lladd y cawr blewog cyn farwed â hoelen, a mynd i ffwrdd â’r aur melltigedig yn wlyb diferol o waed, yn ogystal â’r gogoniant hunllefus.

 

Drwy’r amser, mae Sikhát yn gallu clywed y lleisiau hollbresennol yn baldorddi am y goth o fenyw, ac angyles y fall, o’r enw Brawnjayld, sy’n hoff iawn o finlliw du, bochau’n rhuddliw i gyd, a gwallt mor wyn â’r powdr eiriog gorau. Mae’r dduwies fetel trwm hon, sy’n dwlu ar reidio o gwmpas yn gwisgo helmed ac arni gyrn, menig hir lledr, a mantell goch, yn blentyn cariad i Wowdun a Graymjayld, a gaeth ei geni ar ôl un noson wyllt o garu fflamboeth wedi’i fegino gan sylweddau meddwol. Bellach mae’r fam, y ddifa gyfrwys, galon ddu, yn ei dirmygu, er bod ei thad hi fel iâr ag uncyw. Nid rhyfedd fod ganddi’i phroblemau’i hun, a’i bod yn osgoi heulwen ac awyr iach, gan fwynhau’n well brancio a phirwetio yn y glaw, wrth ganu tra-la-la-la-la!

 

Dyna bisyn! medd Sikhát wrtho’i hun, er nad arbenigwr ar faterion marched mohono fe, bid sicr. Wedi’i chondemnio fel petai’n rhyw laslances druenus, yn ansad ei meddwl (er taw dweud iddi gael ei dewis gan y duwiau fyddai’n well disgrifiad), mae hi’n cael ei chyfyngu i’w thŷ, “er ei lles ei hun,” wedi brwydr lawn rhwng y ferch wrthryfelgar a’i ffrindiau terfysglyd ar y naill law, a’i hen dad od a llengoedd yr anfarwolion ar y llaw arall. A sdim fawr o Gymraeg o gwbl rhwng y rhiant dioddefgar a’r plentyn ystyfnig y dyddiau ‘ma a dweud y lleia.

 

O’r diwedd, dyna Sikhát yn cyrraedd fila gromennog, glodfawr Wowdun, ble mae popeth wedi mynd yn draed moch yn ddiweddar am ryw reswm, a’i waliau yn winwydd pigog o fougainvillea ym mhob man, wedi’i hamgylchynu gan ffens drydan foltedd uchel. Ac yntau’n meddu ar fedrusrwydd mabolgampol o bob math, mae’n neidio dros honno’n hawdd. Mae’r holl derfysgu a lladd wedi dwyn ffrwyth wedi’r cwbl: concwerwr cyhyrog, creulon ydy bellach, ac un all oresgyn er gwaetha pob disgwyl, fel rhyw injan ryfel annynol. Mae’n treiddio i siambr sorri Brawnjayld, a hithau’n esbonio sut mae Wowdun wedi’i dal hi yno i’w gorfodi hi i dalu iawn am ei throseddau annuwiol yn erbyn yr Ayseyus. Yn fyrbwyll, mae Brawnjayld wedi tyngu llw na fydd hi’n priodi ond yr un achubydd, sef un sy’n yn ddisgynnydd i Wowdun ei hun, ac ymhellach, sy’n llwyddo i ladd gelyn pennaf eu teulu, yr anghenfil ffiaidd Fanfér. Wel, a bod yn onest, mae’r Dewin swynol Oylrig Sífót wedi taro ar frys i’w gweld hi o’r blaen ‘fyd, ac wedi plannu’r syniad yn ei phen ifanc.

 

Wel, dyna Sikhát yn adrodd ei orchestion fyrdd o flaen Brawnjayld, a hithau wrth ei bodd ac yn canu am ei breuddwyd wefreiddiol y byddan nhw gyda’i gilydd am dragwyddoldeb a diwrnod dros ben (wel, tan ddiwedd y flwyddyn nesa, falle, ta be). Fodd bynnag, dyna hi’n tyngu (unwaith eto, y dyngwraig gableddus, gegog iddi!) bydd hi’n derbyn Sikhát dim ond pan fydd e wedi darostwng y gangiau eraill i gyd. Wir i chi, dyna fyddai’n gryn gamp heb air o gelwydd, ond llances arbennig ydy hithau, nage rhyw hwren rad ar ôl ei arian! Felly dyna Sikhát yn mynd bant i ymdreiddio i’r llwyth dychrynllyd o nerthol a’r enw y Nayflungs, er mwyn eu difa nhw’n llwyr cyn dod yn ôl i gyflawni’i gariad gyda’i ddyweddi. Dyna fydd gwynfyd cenhedlol diderfyn! (Mae’r Nayflungs, fodd bynnag, heb yn wybod i’r rhan fwya o’r gwerinos, yn digwydd bod yn ddisgynyddion lledryw i’r cewri o gyndadau, y Naytlóds, a derfysgai'r Migl-Urth yn ôl yn yr hen hen ddyddiau ar goll yn niwl gorffwyll amser.) Ond cyn iddo neud hynny oll, mae'n palu twll enfawr ar lannau Afon Raynow a chladdu'r holl gelc o aur a gwrthrychau eraill ynddo, gan ei warchod gyda'r swynion mwya nerthol wedi'u hadrodd iddo gan yr anifeiliaid chwedleugar ond cymwynasgar. Ac os marw naiff e cyn casglu'r golud, yr afon fydd yn gael e i gyd yn oes oesoedd, heb os nac oni bai.

 

Ychydig yn ddiweddarach, dyna yntau, Sikhát, yn sleifio i mewn i diriogaeth ddigyfraith, wyntog, wyllt y Nayflungs, a dod o hyd i’w lloches fileinig. Mae hwythau, y Nayflungs, wedi rhoi cartre i Dr Graymjayld sy’n ddall ond yn bellweledol, ac sy di bod yn crwydro o gwmpas fel ryw amddifad rhacsiog heb ddimai goch yn ei boced. Maen nhw’n credu medran nhw fanteisio ar ei galluoedd eithriadol o ran cynhyrchu cyffuriau, ond falle taw hithau sy wedi’u twyllo nhw yn lle, mewn ffordd o siarad, a hithau fydd yn eu cymryd hwythau mewn llaw yn y pen draw, o wybod am ei gwehelyth grymus ond drwgargoelus! Dyna yntau, Sikhát, yn cymryd oriau’n malu awyr am yr holl fanylion gwaedlyd ynghylch ei gampau gogoneddus, ac wrth gwrs, mae’n cael ei wahodd i aros.

 

Mae Graymjayld yn cynghori arweinyddion y llwyth – yr hanner brodyr Háfgun Nayflung (a dyna esiampl wir o atafiaeth i dras wyrgam y Naytlóds, os oedd un yn byw eto), a Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd – i gryfhau’u cyfeillgarwch gyda’r arwr trwy drefnu i Sikhát briodi’u chwaer Gwdrẃun. Nage’i syniad hithau ydy, gofiwch chi, ond ystryw a ddyfeisiwyd gan yr hen ymyrrwr Oylrig Sífót. Felly, a Sikhát yn synfyfyrio uwchben pa mor fuan fe fydd yn ymadael i achub ei annwyl Brawnjayld a’i hysgubo hi ymaith, dyma Dr Graymjayld yn lladradaidd roi dogn o bwdr seicedelig yn ei gobled o de madarch, ac yn y fan a’r lle dyna Sikhát yn cwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â Gwdrẃn, gan ddiarhebu’n ofnadw fel rhyw gwrci meddw gaib. Ww, fe fydd yn edifar ganddyn nhw i gyd am y dydd dychrynllyd hwnnw!

 

Nawr, mae Brawnjayld unig yn dal i ddisgwyl am Sikhát ar ei hynys fewndirol – ond yn ofer! O’r diwedd, dyna Wowdun yn swagro fel rhyw dduwdod i mewn i’w chaets goreurog, fel petai fe newydd neidio oddi ar gefn ceffyl wyth coes, i ddweud wrthi’i fod wedi cael llond bol ar ei dwli. Mae’n cyhoeddi heb flewyn ar ei dafod ei fod yn gwybod y cwbl am ei hoed dirgel. Ac ymhellach, dyna fe’n datgan y bydd rhaid iddi hithau ymbriodi, yn anorfod ac yn groes i’w rhagwybodaeth a’i hewyllys, â dyn gwahanol i’r un roedd hi’n meddwl fyddai’n ei hysgubo ymaith, a hynny cyn pen dau aeaf oeraidd, er gwaetha, neu falle o achos, yr holl brancio o gwmpas ac achosi helbul mewn helmedau â chyrn, menig duon, gynau cochion, a botas lledr.

 

Yn y cyfamser, mae Sikhát, sy erbyn hyn yn disgleirio o lawenydd fel rhyw hen hipi gwirion yn glaf o gariad, yn priodi Gwdrẃn wrth i’r byd a’r betws ymhyfrydu’n swnllyd yn yr achlysur hapus. Wedyn, dyna Sikhát a’i deulu yng nghyfraith newydd yn tyngu llw mawr yn addo teyrngarwch na ellir mo’i dorri rhwng eu gangiau. Mae yntau a Gwdrẃn mor ddwfn mewn cariad nes eu bod yn teimlo byddan nhw’n dianc rhag safnau’r angau pan ddaw'r dydd i farw. Fodd bynnag, hyd yn oed yn awr dyna ryw gysgod bygythiol yn llawn diarwybod corddol yn cymylu calon Sikhát, yn llosgi’n rhosliw o gariad fflamboeth, gan achosi iddo guchio’n biwis.

 

Felly mae amser yn mynd heibio, fel mae bob tro yn neud, ar ôl ei arfer, a dyna newyddion ynghylch Brawnjayld a’r celc o aur yn hedfan tuag at glustiau enfawr blewog Dr Graymjayld (mae hi’n gallu clywed cystal â blaidd chwedlonol, ch’mod). Does a nelo’r Lẃk Braytstá brac ei dafod ddim byd â'r peth, siŵr o fod, wrth gwrs, neu falle dim ond rhyw ychydig, ond wedi’u cyffroi gan y syniad o gyfoeth dirifedi a phŵer tu hwnt i ddisgrifiad, dyna’i theimlyddion yn codi’n amlwg. Mae hi’n mynnu y dylai Gunna briodi Brawnjayld, gan hel pentwr o arian a chipio’r holl ogoniant ar yr un pryd. Dyna Sikhát, Háfgun, a Gunna yn ei chychwyn hi felly i achub Brawnjayld, yn garcharor yn ei thŵr gwyrdd o jâd, o’i siaced gaeth a’i thad cysetlyd.

 

Pan maen nhw’n cyrraedd yno, dim ond Sihhát sy’n ddigon heini i allu’i daflu’i hun dros y ffens, gan fod pawb yn gallu gweld bod y ddau arall yn rhy dew o lawer o oryfed, gorfwyta, llyncu gormod o gyffuriau, ac ymollwng i ddirywiad. Mae Sikhát yn llygru’r cyflenwad dŵr gydag amnewidyn artiffisial rhin rhyw blanhigyn wedi’i gynnig gan Graymjayld, sy’n gwynto o hash madarch hudol wedi’i stwffio â chynrhon moch gwrychog yn llawn wermod a mercwri. Mae’r gwenwyn yn drysu meddwl Brawnjayld, sy eisoes braidd yn ffwndrus. Pwy fyddai wedi gwybod hynny’n well, wrth reswm, na’i mam fiolegol Graymjayld, sy ddim wedi bod yno er ei mwyn hi erioed? Ta be, mae’r dogn o sylwedd gwaharddedig yn hala colled wyllt ar Brawnjayld fel petai hi’n seico’n pogo’n orffwyll mewn rhyw barti rafio hen ffasiwn iawn. Ar ben hynny, mae’n peri i’w golwg fynd yn aneglur, nes bod hi’n meddwl taw Gunna sy’n caru â hi, tra mae Sikhát yn ei chofleidio hi’n wir. Dyna ffawd ffiaidd yn gafael ynddi gyda’i genau crafangus, cadarn – yn enwedig fel bod ei Dad Unllygeidiog wedi darogan! A dyna’i brif gudd-gynhyrfwr Oylrig Sífót yn gwylio popeth trwy lygaid lama wedi’i stwffio ar wal borffor a melyn y stafell garu, dan laswenu fel lloerigyn.

 

Wedi drysu’n llwyr, mae Brawnjayld yn teimlo does dim dewis da hi ond derbyn Sikhát ar wedd Gunna ar ei olwg (am flaidd mewn croen dafad!), er bod ganddi deimlad annifyr ofnadw o ddwfn oddi mewn iddi fod pob dim o'i le. Mae’r ddau ohonyn nhw, yn achubydd a’r un achubwyd, yn cysgu ochr yn ochr, y noson honno, ond yn aros yn ddiwair, gan fod y cyffur wedi’u taro nhw’n anymwybodol, a’r bore wedyn dyna Brawnjayld yn petrus gytuno i briodi’r dyn sy’n ymddangos fel Gunna iddi. Pam, ar y Migl-Urth neu’r tu hwnt, mae’n neud felly, o wybod does dim byd o gwbl wedi digwydd yn ystod y noswaith ddi-ffrwt honno, adewir i ddychymyg y ddau berson oedd yno ar y pryd, boed nhw’n euog neu beidio.

 

Mae pethau’n symud yn ddiwrthdro i lawr, yn ddyfnach byth tuag at ebargofiant yn yr agendor ddiwaelod. Yn ystod y neithior, ar ôl i Brawnjayld briodi’r Gunna go iawn, mae pawb yn mwynhau pogo yn y pwll mosh, waltsio, neu ddawnsio limbo fel y bo’n briodol. Ond dyna pan mae llygad gwamal crwydredig y briodferch yn disgyn am eiliad ar Sikhát, sy’n eistedd wrth ymyl Gwdrẃn wrth i bawb stopio’r chwyrlïo gwyllt i ddal eu gwynt. Dim ond wedyn y mae effeithiau'r synth-fesg tra chryf yn diflannu fel bod Sikhát a Brawnjayld ill dau’n cofio o’r diwedd yr addewidion naethon nhw cyn llyncu’r gwenwyn. Gwae hwythau – a’u bochau’n cochi gan gywilydd nes eu bod yn chwilboeth – maen nhw’n arddel yn llaes eu gên, yn gegrwth, ac yn farwaidd eu llygaid, warth y sefyllfa sydd ohoni.

 

Mae Brawnjayld yn gwrthod bwyta nac yfed, a glynu wrth ei gwely, gan lewygu fel bod dim ond rhywun wedi’i ddiystyru’n gallu neud. Mae’n gweld yn dda i dderbyn anrhegion o win coch a siocled, ac yn hala ei hamser yn gwau gorchudd cwilt addurnedig o blu alarch a gwallt baban. Pan mae Gunna yn trio dod yn nes ati, dyna hithau’n lladd arno fe, gan awgrymu y dylai wthio pluen wen o’i chrosio ble dyw’r Haul ddim yn disgleirio, a’i felltithio am beri iddi dorri’i haddewid glân fel menyw – am warth anhraethadwy! Yn anfodlon, fe ddarbwyllir ef i geisio cyfathrebu â Brawnjayld trwy gyfrwng sgwrs synhwyrol a chall fel dyn mewn oed yn siarad â menyw aeddfed, yn hytrach na bloeddio ac ystumio. Gwrthod ar ei ben mae hithau a (gan ei bod yn dechrau bwrw iddi o ran yr holl regi), dyna hi’n ei felltithio yntau a Gwdrẃn unwaith eto, yn wael a’n wenwynllyd, gan weddïo byddan nhw ill dau’n marw cyn pryd, ac mewn ffordd yn waeth nag unrhyw ffawd (yn ddall neu’n bellweledol) allai drefnu hyd yn oed petasai’n neud ei gorau glas i fod yn eironig o annirnadwy.

 

Yn syn, mae Sikhát yn sôn yn gariadus wrth Brawnjayld am y cyffur a ddefnyddiwyd i’w hudo fe, gan gyfadde taw ei gweld hithau’i wir gariad, yno yn y cnawd o’r diwedd, yw’r unig be sy di rhoi unrhyw gysur iddo o gwbl. A thrwy’r amser, dyna Oylrig Sífót yn mwynhau’r olygfa wrth lygadrythu arnyn nhw, yn rhith hen was cefngrwm a thrwm iawn ei glyw. Er ei bod hithau’n llawn tosturi o achos deisyfiad Sikhát, mae Brawnjayld yn taeru, nage heb ddagrau, ei bod hi’n rhy hir o lawer i osgoi cychwyn drygioni tragwyddol a diarbed. Yn chwerw, dyna hithau’n diddanu Sikhát wrth ragweld yn llon taw yntau o leia fydd yn medru trengi’n anrhydeddus. Gan ofidio’n enbyd, mae Sikhát a Brawnjayld ill dau’n paratoi i’w baglu hi tuag at eu tynghedau unigol. Dyma yntau’n symud mas o’r cartre priodasol byrhoedlog dan bwdu i wersyllu yn y stafell wely sbâr y drws nesa i siambr foethus Gwdrẃn, wrth iddi hithau orwedd yno’n stoicaidd. O na bai ddim felly! Petai’r Aysayus ond yn gallu rhuthro draw i achub y dydd! Ond nid felly y bydd hi.

 

Ar ôl i Sikhát fynd yn ôl at annedd unig Gwdrẃn am sbel i drio trafod pethau â hi, dyna fe’n esbonio wrthi’n drist am hynt y felltith. Ond dyna hithau fodd bynnag yn dangos y drws iddo, gan ei anfon yn ôl i'w lety oer ac anghyfforddus dros dro, a'i gynffon yn ei afl. Pan mae Gunna yn gofyn cyngor ei frawd gwaed yn nes ymlaen, mae Sikhát yn dweud wrtho’n swta taw dim ond yntau, sydd yn ŵr i Brawnjayld, all drin ei chlwyfau. Mewn ymateb, mae Gunna yn mynd i mewn i’r siambr i ymweld â’i wraig led-anymwybodol, gan gynnig, yn anhydeiml ond yn synhwyrol, brynu tawelwch meddwl iddi, a datgan fod e’n barod i dalu mwy o arian nag a ellir ei gyfrif, yr hen fochyn siofinaidd o gyfalafwr! Er gwaethaf yr holl erfyn ofer arni, mae Brawnjayld yn dal yn ddidaro, wrth iddi’i ddannodd. Dyna hithau’n sgrechian nerth esgyrn ei phen taw ar ei hunion fe fydd yn ymadael â’r lle am byth, gan ei adael yntau i foddi mewn gwaradwydd uffernol – oni bai fod e’n ymddiheuro'n llaes gyda chusan enfawr, gwlyb, a lladd ei fab yng nghyfraith ffyddlon a di-fai yn y fan a’r lle.

 

Yn hurt, mae Gunna yn mynnu’i fod wedi addo i warchod Sikhát sydd bellach yn frawd o gydfilwr iddo, a’i chofio hi am eu llw, wrth esbonio taw tewach gwaed na dŵr. Mae Brawnjayld, sut bynnag, yn ddiysgog, gan ddadlau bod Sikhát eisoes wedi torri’r addewid trwy’i llithio hi ar ran Gunna. Wedi’i ddifrodi a’i ddigalonni, dyna Gynna yn ymadael â siambr iasoer Brawnjayld, cyn rhedeg bant i hala dyddiau lawer yn cynhemlu uwchben be i’w neud nesa, am o leia pum munud ar y tro rhwng drachtio bwcedeidiau o soma ffug, chwarae dartiau, a chryn nifer o weithgareddau gwrol hanfodol eraill, fel codi seddi toiled, newid globau golau, tynnu fflwff o’i fogail, pigo’i drwyn, a chribo’r gwallt dan ei geseiliau. Yn niffyg dim arall, dyna Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd yn galw ar ei hanner brawd Háfgun Nayflung, i roi eu pennau at ei gilydd yn gyfrinachol.

 

Wedi mwydro ac mewn llesmair, mae Háfgun yn awgrymu bod Brawnjayld yn rhaffu celwyddau o genfigen. Mae Gunna yn anghytuno’n egnïol, fodd bynnag, gan fynegi’i fod e’n ei charu hi, ac yn ymddiried ynddi, ac ailddweud taw trwy ladd Sikhát fe ddôn nhw’n feistri ar eu ffawd eu hun, a all gipio celc euraidd Fanfér. Felly dyna Gunna a Háfgun yn mynd i'r afael â’u chwarter brawd Gowt-hón Nayflung-Háfbryd-Lowlayf ynglŷn â’r pwnc anodd ei drin hwn, gan wybod heb amheuaeth fod e’m wedi neud adduned nac ymrwymiad gydag aelodau eraill y gang, am fod y llanc gwanllyd yn nychu yn ei wely dan law’r Dr Graymjayld ar y tro. 

 

Maen nhw’n addo iddo a thomen o arian a statws cymdeithasol annychmygadwy os bydd e’n fodlon lladd Sikhát. (Mae’r llipryn wedi bod yn ffantasïo am y fath bethau deuddeng waith y funud o leia ers achau, fel rhyw gigfran â thri llygad, rhwng craffu ar ei gasgliad o lawysgrifau lliwiedig a swyno gwylanod â’i bibgorn.) Sdim rhaid iddyn nhw droi braich Gowt-hón am yn hir na’n rhy galed, ac mae’r llanc yn neidio am y "shwdèsniy vazmòzhnust hwbivàt lywbòy mèrskiy kowt hwblyẁduk," (hynny yw, y cyfle ardderchog i fwtsiera rhyw gwrci ffiaidd o fastard), ac felly i roi prawf ar ei ddyndod ac ennill cymeradwyaeth gan y llwyth gwatwarus.

 

Gyda’r wawr y bore wedyn, a’r awyr yn gwrido fel marwor yn clindarddach, dyna Gowt-hón yn mynd i mewn i ogo-ddyn Sikhát, ac, ar fin dod yn ddyn go iawn, dyna’r llanc yn trywanu’i westai a’i gymrawd yn y cefn wrth iddo huno, gan ei anfon i gyfarfod â’r crëwr, pwy bynnag a fo hwnnw. Yn llawn gwewyr, dyna Gwdrẃn yn dihuno o hunllef frawychus am goelcerthi gwyllt ac afonydd o waed, ac yn rhuthro i mewn i’r stafell westeion yn ôl ei harfer fel rhyw ymwelydd does dim croeso iddo, gan falu’r drws pitw a’i hysgwyd cyhyrog ond cymesur. Gan bwyso a mesur yr olygfa waedlyd o fewn rhyw ddegau o ficroeiliadau, dyna hithau’n llawn dolur ac arswyd, yn magu yn ei breichiau gorff drylliedig ei gŵr wedi'i ddieithrio, wrth iddo hwylio i ymadael â’i fodolaeth alarus. Mae Sikhát, fodd bynnag, y milwr mwya anffodus yn y byd i gyd, yn gorchymyn iddi beidio ag wylo, na gweld bai ar ei brodyr am ei dranc annhymig. Yna, mae’n marw, a’i ran yn nrama ddi-chwaeth bywyd ar y Migl-Urth wedi dod i ben o ddifri.

 

Wrth i Gwdrẃn sgrechian mewn gloes, dyna Brawnjalyld loerig yn clegar chwerthin, dan ferwi o hwyl atgas, a melltithio’r Nayflungs am eu bod wedi neud gwarth o be, gan lofruddio’u cynghreiriad, eu cyfaill, eu gwestai, eu brawd-yng-nghyfraith, a’u harglwydd. Mae’n datgan ei bod yn sylweddoli bellach taw celwydd noeth oedd ei llithio gan Sikhát yn cymryd arno taw Gunna ydoedd dan ddylanwad golchdrwyth llysiau'r afu, ac y bydd hi’n gadael Gunna am byth beth bynnag. Wedi dweud ei dweud, dyna Brawnjayld yn gweithredu’n derfynol, gan ei gwanu’i hun rhag blaen. Fe drochir ei chelain dda-i-ddim mewn petrol a’i rhoi ar dân ynghyd ag eiddo Sikhát. A dyna gychwyn goddaith fydd yn ymledu fel haint i ysu’r Nef a’r Isfyd fel ei gilydd. Mae’n golygu fyd fod y mynydd o aur ac arteffactau eraill oedd yn arfer perthyn i Sikhát wedi suddo’n syth i ddyfnderoedd Afon Raynow na ellir eu plyio, am dragwyddoldeb. Ond mae pawb yn credu taw Gwdrẃn, yn wraig gyfreithlon i Sikhát pan fu farw, biau popeth bellach, a’i bod hithau’n aros yn fud i warchod y celc amhrisiadwy.

 

Wel, mae fflamau trallod yn araf losgi i lawr, nage am y tro ola ni raid dweud, gan ddiflannu i ebargofiant wrth i’r ulw oer gael eu chwythu ymaith gan y gwynt deifiol. Dyna Gwdrẃn, wedi’i llorio a’i chalon yn friw, yn crwydro’n ddisynnwyr trwy strydoedd creulon y ddinas fawr, ddrwg. Mae’n casáu pob eiliad o’i bywyd di-werth, toredig, ond dyw hi’m yn gallu’i dwyn ei hunan eto i neud amdani’i hun er llamu tu hwnt i’r llen fel bod ei diweddar chwaer Brawnjayld dan ei chroes eisoes wedi neud. Yn y cyfamser, mae aur Fanfér a harddwch Gwdrẃn wedi dal sylw’r gwleidydd llawn addewid a chwannog i gipio pŵer, Atlí Hitman, sy’n corddi gan lid a nwydau dinistriol eraill, ac sy eisiau difodi’r llwythau delio cyffuriau heb ymdroi. I'r perwyl hwn, mae’n recriwtio lluoedd o bobl mor dreisiol ac anwar â bwystfilod gwyllt, gan eu darparu nhw â’r arfau diweddara, a’u hyfforddi nhw i ladd yn ddidostur. Ond beth yw tarddiad yr holl bolisïau barbaraidd, y cynlluniau ciaidd, y dechnoleg bron yn hudol, a’r ddemagogiaeth feistrolgar? Ww, wel, ni fyddai’n anghywir dweud taw Oylrig Sífót sydd wrth wraidd hynny oll.

 

Mae Gunna yn gofyn i Háfgun ddylen nhw ymosod yn ffyrnig ar Hitman er mwyn tynnu’r pŵer oddi wrth y dyn ffiaidd cyn iddo ddod yn unben dros y Migl-Urth cyfan, neu gymodi â fe i geisio plesio'r holl gachgwn gwangalon sy eisiau dim ond gorffwys mewn hedd am byth. Mae Dr Graymjayld, sy’n ddall ond â thrwyn enfawr (mae’n medru synhwyro peryg fel rhyw fleiddast wyllt), yn cynghori’u bod nhw’n gallu prynu nawdd a chefnogaeth gan Hitman, os bydd e’n priodi Gwdrẃn. Ac wedyn, pan fyddai yntau o fewn eu gafael, fe fydden nhw’n ei ladd e’n syth. A dyna’r Doethur gwarthus yn ychwanegu taw gwell fyddai taro tra bo'r haearn yn boeth. Ac felly, gyda’r bwriadau gwaetha, mae’r Nayflungs yn llawen gychwyn ar y ffordd hon tuag at ddinistr.

 

Mae sgowtiaid Nayflung yn dod o hyd i Gwdrẃn ar y strydoedd gyda mintai o garidýms, fyddai’n lico bod yn weinyddion, actorion, campwyr dianc, a beirdd, a’i hachub hi. Fodd bynnag, fe fyddai’n well da Gwdrẃn farweiddio ymhlith y proliaid a’r gwerinwyr, ac mae’n gwrthod adnabod ei brodyr na maddau iddyn nhw. Mae Graymjayld yn dweud wrth ei merch hirgolledig am beidio galaru mwyach, gan sylwi taw tra mae Brawnjayld mor farw â sglod, a’i lluwch yn chwythu ar y gwyntoedd, mae Gwdrẃn ar dir y rhai byw o hyd, ac yn eitha ifanc ac iach, ac y dylai hi’i siapo hi a phriodi, cyn iddi fynd yn rhy hwyr. Wel, dyna Gwdrẃn yn gwrthateb dyw hi’m eisiau’u gweld yr un ohonyn nhw’n cael ei ladd, mewn gwirionedd, ond ar wahân i ‘ny dyw hi’m yn malu’r un daten. Gan gredu na fydd hi’n hapus byth eto, ni wêl Gwdrẃn ddiben i geisio neud dim byd (wrth gwrs mae hi eisiau dal ati gyda'i hoff hobi o neud trugareddau o fetel ar ffurf anifeiliad gwyllt, a'u harysgrifo nhw â rwnau hudol i anfon negesau cudd), heb sôn am briodi eto, a’r holl sothach brwnt o ran neud cartre a magu teulu fyddai hynny’n olygu.

 

Yn gwerylgar ac annheg mae Dr Graymjayld yn ateb yn ôl, gan wfftio Gwdrẃn a dweud ei bod hi dan rwymedigaeth i beidio â gweld bai ar ei brodyr, ac fe ddylai hi frysio i ddyweddïo. Mae’n ychwanegu’n sarhaus taw Brawnjayld oedd yn gyfrifol am farwolaeth Sikhát, a'i bod hi’n berffaith weddus bod y Nayflungs mewn du ac yn galaru drostyn nhw am ysbaid o leia, achos taw dyna’r drefn. Mae’r doethur dall sy'n ddrygist heb ei ail yn dal i whilia dwli, gan fygwth Gwdrẃn ei merch ystyfnig â hunllefau annychmygadwy os bydd hi’n methu ildio. Ac mae’r ddwy ohonyn nhw’n gwybod bod Graymjayld yn gallu neud yn union beth mae’n ddweud, am ei bod yn cael ei chefnogi bob cam gan y Dewin dichellgar Oylrig Sífót. Mae Gwdrẃn yn ffwndrus, wedi diflasu ar y byd, ac yn barod i dynnu’i thraed ati. Dyna hithau felly’n ymostwng i orchymyn ei mam wallgo.

 

Yn ystod eu neithior ddrudfawr eithriadol, dyna Atlí yn cynnig llwncdestun i’w anwylaf Gwdrẃn Hitman (nage bod yfed crochaneidiau o ffrwyth y winwydden wedi neud byd o les i’r nythaid hwn o nadroedd gwenwynig). Mae e wedi’i ysgogi fodd bynnag gymaint gan degwch blêr Gwdrẃn a’i gwallt am ben ei dannedd, â chan ei freuddwydion am y pentwr dirfawr o aur bydd e’n cael gafael ynddo maes o law. Ar ôl addo cyfeillgarwch bythol i’r Nayflungs (yr hen gelwyddgi iddo!), a chyda hunanfeddiant gwleidyddol dihafal, dyna Hitman yn diflannu’n sydyn, gan ysgubo’i wraig ymaith, a’i bochau cyn wynned â’r eira, cyn i rywun ei saethu fe.

 

Wel, mae’r amser yn mynd heibio mor gyflym on’d ydy, fel tonnau’r môr yn treio a llenwi, ac wrth gwrs dyw e ddim yn aros ar neb. Ond er gwaetha hynny, mae Gwdrẃn wir yn aros heb ei chyffwrdd, gan na llwyddiant nodedig Hitman ym myd dadlau gwleidyddol (wrth iddo gael gwared â’i elynion fesul un, a malu’u hesgyrn yn llwch), na chariad y lleban glafoeriog tuag ati (gan ei bod yn gwrthod bob tro ymweld â fe i gyflawni’i dyletswyddau priodasol). Dim ond unwaith naethon nhw gusanu a chofleidio yn y dirgel fel petai, ond ynghylch hynny, taw biau hi. Yn y cyfamser, dyna yntau’n gadael i’w chwant am y celc aur dyfu fel rhyw lysieuyn arallfydol rhyfedd. Yn y pen draw, mae Atlí, sydd yr un mor ddiamynedd â rhwystredig, yn galw ar i’r brodyr Nayflung ymddangos ger ei fron ym Mhalas yr Henuriaid Dyrchafedig.

 

Dan bwdu, mae Gunna yn protestio wrth Háfgun ynghylch a ddylen nhw drotian mynd fel cŵn bach pan fydd Hitman yn chwythu’i chwiban uwchsonig, wedi’i gerfio’n gain o esgyrn llygod mawr. Mae Háfgun yn gythryblus ei feddwl a dweud y lleia. Mae’n dyfalu bod Gwdrẃn yn ceisio’u rhybuddio nhw trwy anfon modrwy ar ffurf pen blaidd atyn nhw, o bob peth dan haul, gan fod honno’n arwydd cyffredin o fradwriaeth yn ffeuau troseddol brwnt y Migl-Urth dwyreiniol. Mae Gunna, i’r gwrthwyneb, yn honni bod Gwdrẃn yn anfon neges o gymod. A dyna Dr Graymjayld, sy bob amser mor gastiog â wisgers cadno gwyn, yn cytuno ag argoeli Háfgun, ac yn dweud wrth Gunna am beidio â bod mor uffernol dwp. Mae hi’n cyfri bod y fodrwy wedi’i doctora, a'i bod yn dwyn rhybudd yn wreiddiol, wedi’i ysgythru mewn rwnau cêl! Mae Gunna yn cael ei argyhoeddi gan hyn, a dechrau ofni trap twyllodrus, ond serch hynny mae’n penderfynu dylai’r brodyr ymweld ag Atlí Hitman, ond mewn llawn arfogaeth. Maen nhw’n neud felly. Fodd bynnag, pan maen nhw’n cyrraedd, dyna nhw’n syrthio i fagl wrth i gyfnos faglu’n bitw o ara dros y dydd dychrynllyd. Am arswyd diderfyn!

 

Byrbwyll ac awchus am waed yw’r Nayflungs, ac er bod nhw’n gastiog, maen nhw’n gryf ac yn gyhyrog hefyd, ac yn llwyddo rywsut i wrthyrru catrodau oll Hitman, er gwaetha’r holl gymorth arallfydol maen nhw’n ei dderbyn gan Oylrig Sífót. Sut maen nhw’n neud hyn, dim ond y duwiau ŵyr (wel, a bod yn berffaith onest, does yr un duwdod ar ôl ar y Migl-Urth erbyn hynny, ch’mod). Yna dyna ragor o ddynion arfog yn llifo mas, ac mae ‘na sgarmes saethu enfawr sy’n mynd yn lladdfa lwyr. Ond mae’r brodyr Nayflung a’u ciwed wydn, wyllt yn trechu, am sbel o leia.

 

Yn y cyfamser, mae Gwdrẃn winglyd yn trio eistedd yn lonydd i wrando ar y brwydro. Mewn anobaith, mae’n melltithio awr ei genedigaeth, gan resynu at funud, a ffieiddio eiliad ei horosgop atgas. Pan maen nhw’n ei ffeindio hi o’r diwedd, dyna’u brodyr ananrhydeddus ac anffortunus yn datgan eu bod nhw’n cael eu gorfodi i ladd ei gŵr ac wedyn i’w rhoddi hi mewn priodas, gan law ddidostur, anweladwy ffawd. Fodd bynnag, pledio gyda nhw i arbed bywyd Atlí mae Gwdrẃn. Pam, O pam, O pam? Felly maen nhw’n gwawdio Hitman, a’i brocio fe, gan neud iddo redeg o gwmpas yn borcyn, wrth chwerthin am ei ben yn anhrugarog, ond yn gadael iddo sleifio ymaith o’r diwedd. O, maen nhw’n ffyliaid i gyd, a’i hewythrod yn dwpsod. Sut gallen nhw fod mor dwp? Achos taw, wrth iddi nosi, gan ryddhau cysgodion creulon ymhlith tirwedd lom y jyngl trefol, dyna dyrru cefnogwyr Hitman yn gefn iddo ledled y ddinas ddadfeiliedig.

 

Wedi diffygio, dyw’r Nayflungs ddim yn gallu osgoi cysgu, ond cyn gynted â’u bod nhw’n cofleidio Huwcyn lonydd, dyna ddechrau’r gwrthymosodiad, er bod y llebanod gwladaidd sy’n ennill tir yn llwyddo i’w hamddiffyn eu hunain, a gwrthsefyll yr cyrch. Mae Atlí Hitman yn gwrthio trwy orchymyn i’w hen gadarnle gael ei roi ar dân. Dyna’r Nayflungs yn arllwys allan o’r adeiladau llosg i’w hachub eu hunain rhag cael eu hysu, ac wedi ymladdfa gynddeiriog ymhlith y tonnau o fflam, dyna hwythau oll yn cael eu dal.

 

Gan daflu’i garcharorion wrth draed Gwdrẃn, mae Hitman yn tyngu bydd yn dial cam Sikhát trwy hyrddio’i brodyr Gunna a Háfgun i mewn i bydew nadredd, syniad clyfar mae di fenthyg gan Oylrig Sífót. Wedi ffieiddio, dyna Gwdrẃn yn galw’i gŵr, yr unben wrth ei ewyllys, yn fwystfil adwythig, a’i felltithio â marwolaeth warthus. Fel taranfollt mae hefyd yn datgan ei bod yn dwyn plant Hitman, er taw o’r braidd eu bod nhw wedi cyffwrdd â’i gilydd, ac fe all glywed eu dwy galon yn curo oddi mewn iddi. Mae’n atgoffa Atlí taw’r Nayflungs yw ewythrod i’r babis ‘ma, ac yn ymbil am eu bywydau. A dyna Hitman yn tyngu na fydd e’n rhyddhau’r Nayflungs ond os byddan nhw’n rhoi iddo’r celc o aur sy’n ei arteithio a’i bryfocio, ddydd a nos. Cyfarwydd, on’d ife?

 

Gan ildio o’r diwedd, mae Gunna yn cytuno i roi’r aur i Hitman, ond dim ond os caiff Háfgun ei ladd gynta, a gwas bach yn dod â’r galon ato yntau ar hambwrdd arian. Lladd! Calonnau! Dial! Yr un hen hanes! A dyna Gunna hanner brawd i Háfgun yn gwepio a phrancio, fel siaman lloerig wedi meddwi ar laeth mwnci. O’i cho, mae Gwdrẃn yn begian ar Hitman i arbed Háfgun. Mae Hitman, sut bynnag, yn ymdynghedu i gael yr aur mae di bod yn geisio mor ddyfal. Mae’n dweud taw’n gam neu’n gymwys, mae ar y Nayflungs y cyfan iddi, ac fe fydd yn ei gael e trwy deg neu drwy hagr, costied a gostio. Dyw Háfgun ddim yn gallu dianc, a dyna’r galon yn cael ei thorri mas, yn curo eto, wrth i’w pherchen ddolefain yn drybeilig a gwaedu hyd at y diferyn ola. Gyda hynny, dyna Gwdrẃn yn dwyn dau o blant diniwed i'r byd cythryblus dros ben, a genedigaeth yn dilyn yn dynn wrth sodlau tranc fel mae’n digwydd yn aml.

 

Wedi derbyn yn galonnog organ goronaidd ei frawd gwangalon, sy bellach wedi peidio’i churo chwim, dyna Gunna yn chwerthin yn afreolus am ben Atlí. Mae’r aur, wrth reswm, wedi diflannu amser maith yn ôl, wedi mynd ar goll am byth yn Afon Raynow ar ôl marwolaeth Sikhát, a’r dŵr yn dweud wrth y gwynt: “Palpvonu lak Ari·adní hlath iltéfi dura ifpalperi blé rolinas; Sinez prala la Davuth e zonvrizaré th-ayldriza lalré lintlu” – “Fe fydd Ari·adní yn ei chloi'i hun tu ôl i'w drws caeedig cyn hir; Fe fydd cynnwrf pelydrau'r Haul yn codi'r moroedd.” Mae Gunna yn melltithio Hitman, yn ôl yr arfer mewn amgylchiadau o’r fath. A dyna Hitman, yn debyg i’r dihirod gorau oll yn y llyfrau comics gwaetha, yn gorchymyn i Gunna gael ei daflu’i lawr yn syth i’r pydew nadredd yn fyw o seirff yn hisian. Mae’n dychmygu fe ddysgiff i’r Nayflung chwerthin yn wahanol! Ond dyw Atlí ddim wedi cofio’r hen ddihareb: A chwarddo olaf a chwardd orau.

 

Mae calon Gwdrẃn yn caledu o gasineb tuag at ei gŵr gwaradwyddus (ond o leia mae ganddi hi ŵr – a chalon ‘fyd!). Dyna hithau’n gorchymyn i gitâr gwerin lwcus sy wastad mewn tiwn, oedd unwaith yn perthyn i un o glerwr Ziggi o’r enw Stádust, gael ei anfon at ei brawd ym mhwll anobaith. Mae Gunna wedyn yn canu’n gadarn, wrth blycio tannau’r gitâr hudol, ac mae hyn yn swyno pawb o’i gwmpas. Dyna fe felly’n cipio buddugoliaeth ysgithrog o safnau mantach methiant, tra gostegir y seirff hyd yn oed gan syrthio i gysgu’n sydyn ryfeddol. Ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr, mae poeth yn newid mewn chwinciad. Wrth i’r perfformiad caraoce difyfyr ddechrau crwydro’n beryglus agos at sgrechian canig gyfoglyd orfelys gan Rhisiart ar ben Dibyn, dyna wiber hynafol, sy’n denau’i gwaed, gowtiog, a hynod drwm ei glyw, yn llamu’n llesg ar Gunna, a’i roi fe yn ei orwedd ag un wawch wichlyd. (Yr unig hanner brawd sydd ar ôl ymhlith llwyth y Nayflungs sy’n sgrechian wrth gwrs, nage’r hen sarff ymlusgol yn hisian.)

 

Dyna arswydo Gwdrẃn o glywed rhwnc angau estynedig a dirdynnol ei hanner brawd yn chwythu i fynu o’r dyfnderoedd pygddu. Ac yn yr un eiliad honno sy’n teimlo fel tragwyddoldeb, ac yn ddigon i oeri'r gwaed, pan erys amser, dyna Gwdrẃn, wedi rhewi hyd at fêr ei hesgyrn, yn sylweddoli o’r diwedd sut i ddial ar Atlí Hitman am y trais ar y Nayflungs oll. Nos dywyll a stormus ydy, ac nid galluoedd y fall hyd yn oed all daranu mor wyllt. Dyna gigfrain anwes Wowdun, Hugging a Mwning, yn craffu ar yr olygfa erch fel tystion adwythig, yn fud, ond yn barod bob tro i wawchio sennau heb eiriau. A thrwy’u llygaid mae Oylrig Sífót yn gwylio ‘fyd, wedi’i gyfareddu gan y drych sgrio yn seler y bwthyn glas ar lannau Afon Raynow.

 

Wedi’i brawychu, dyna Gwdrẃn yn tynnu’n ddwfn ar getyn o oruwch-fêl, ac yn gorchymyn y deuir â’i babanod o efeilliaid ati hi ar ben tŵr ucha’r uchelgaer yng nghanol y dymestl ffyrnig. Ac yno, hyhi sy’n eu lladd nhw ill dau a’i dwylo teg ei hun, gan drin dagr llym a charn o aur ac arno rwnau fyrdd. Mae’n ddall i wir ddrygioni’i gweithred o achos yr atgasedd anweladwy mae’n gallu’i glywed. Dyw daioni a goleuni ddim yn gallu neud cymaint â chael cip drwy’r llenni tywyll ar y bwystfil hwn o lofrudd dwbl. Ac yn sgil y lladdedigaeth wedi’i chychwyn gan y Nayflungs, does yr un o ganlynwr Hitman yn sylweddoli bod Gwdrẃn greulon yn sleisio a lladd ei hepil hithau.

 

Yn ystod yr wylnos yn dilyn angladd y lluoedd yn lled gaeth i Hitman sy’n hastio at yr uffern, dyna Gwdrẃn yn ymddangos o’r diwedd. Gan roi dau ficer yn llawn o win coch rhywiog i’w gŵr, mae’n yfed i’w iechyd da, ei hir oes, a’i hapusrwydd di-ben-draw. Wrth iddo lyncu’r ddiod a gynigir gan ei wraig yn un joch, dyna Atlí Hitman yn difaru’i enaid ei fod wedi colli’r aur, ond yn ymhyfrydu’n gas ‘fyd yn ystyried tranc ei elynion. Mae’n ymddangos bod y cnaf cywilyddus wedi drysu a dweud y lleia, o ganlyniad i bopeth sy di digwydd o flaen ei lygaid oedd fel arfer yn dreiddgar ond sy’n farwaidd a diddirnad erbyn hyn. Dyna fe’n gorweddian, yn llesg a ddi-ffrwt.

 

Dyma Gwdrẃn wedyn yn llyfu’i gwefusau dan wgu. Dyma’r unig eiliad mae wedi’i dewis i ddatgan ei dichell. A dyna hithau’n cyhoeddi i bawb yno taw, yn ddial am drais tanbaid Atlí, ac am ei fustl milain, mae hi wedi lladd y meibion dibechod. A dyna hithau’n mynd yn ei blaen i ddatgelu bod y diodlestri wedi’u llunio o esgyrn cywrain eu penglogau ac arnyn nhw haen drwchus o arian, tra mae’r gwin yn dintur deniadol (ond arteithiol!) yn cynnwys eu gwaed a mêl. Ac ar y funud honno, mae’r haid o helgwn yn perthyn i Hitman ei hun yn llenwi’u cylla â gweddillion marwol y babanod. Dyna’r galarwyr wedi ymgasglu’n ffrwydro. Dychmygwch yr arswyd, y ffieidd-dod, y dolur, yr ing! A dyna Atlí Hitman yn cwympo ar lawr, a’i lygaid lloerig yn sefyll allan o'i ben, wedi cynddeiriogi cymaint nes bod ei gorff yn borffor i gyd.

 

Mae Hitman yn cael ei gludo i’w wely ym mhorth y fynwent. Ond mae yna un tro ola ar fyd. Dyna Gwdrẃn yn mynd ling-di-long ac yn lladradaidd i mewn i siambr arswyd Atlí. Dyna hithau’n dihuno’i gŵr. Ac wedyn dyna hi’n plannu dagr â charn o aur ac arno rwnau fyrdd, oedd unwaith yn drysor teuluol i ryw hendad hynafol anghofiedig, yn ei frest, yn weithred aflednais o ddialedd terfynol. Dyma ddarfod Hitman musgrell ar ei wely angau, felly, ymhlith llawer iawn o felodrama. A dyna Gwdrẃn yn edliw’r ffaith iddo fod ei gorff eisoes yn yr amlosgfa, gan ei bod wedi defnyddio’i chastiau benywaidd i baratoi’n dda iawn. Mae’n marw, a geiriau twyllodrus Oylrig Sífót yn canu yn ei glustiau’n llosgi. O fewn eiliadau, mae yna goelcerth wyllt yn ysu maenordy Atlí Hitman, sy wedi’i wlychu drwodd â thanwydd. Ac O, mae’n llosgi mor aruthrol gyflym ac yn ddi-droi'n-ôl. Wrth i ddydd gwelw wawrio, gan ddisodli’r noson wenwynig, dim ond Gwdrẃn syfrdan sy’n goroesi ac yn sleifio ymaith yn ddistaw.

 

Yn sgil y lladdfa, mae Gwdrẃn yn crwydro’n ynfyd trwy’r cefn gwlad. Gan ymlwybro am glogwyni’r arfordir, mae hi eisiau rhoi diwedd ar y fodolaeth mae’n ei chasáu erbyn hynny â chas perffaith. Mae’n amcanu dod yn aberth dynol gan ddileu’i dioddefaint trwy daflu’i chorff eiddil i gofleidiad hallt y cefnfor mud. Ond dyna’r môr minsur, yn aruchel ddiystyrllyd, yn gwrthod ei herfyniad! Mae gan Gwdrẃn, gwraig sy’n wahanol i bob gŵr, lawer o amser i ystyried, wrth i’r llanw ddal i godi a gostwng fel arfer. A dyna hithau’n eistedd felly ar lan y môr rhithdduwiol, gan fyfyrio uwchben ei gofidiau fyrdd ymhlith y blodau gwylltion sy’n ffynnu ar y traethellau tywodlyd, trist (does lawer ohonyn nhw, a bod yn onest, yn laswellt a’r uffernol lysiau'r dial gan mwya!).

 

Ar ôl, mae’n ymddangos, oesoedd, o feddwl, mae’n galw ar ysbryd aflonydd Sikhát am y tro ola erioed, gan atgoffa’i charwr lledrithiol am eu haddewidion heb eu cywiro, ac ymhŵedd arno i ddychwelyd. Yn ofer, wrth gwrs, mae’n eiriol. Dim ond wedyn, wedi llwyddo i’w thaflu’i hun i’r ewyn afreolus, yng nghroth ddaearol y nefoedd wedi’i llenwi â dŵr, fe’i derbynnir hithau. Dyna alar ei holl fywyd yn cael ei foddi nes taw dim ond un gân serch ola sydd ar ôl, wedi’i siantio gan seiren wylofus, ac ynddi mae adlais geiriau edliwgar Afon Raynow yn cymysgu â gwawchiau gwag y gwylanod.

 

Pwy sy’n gwylio’r ddrama ddynol hon yn mynd rhagddi, ar ymyl clogwyn uwchben yr olygfa dyngedfennol? Dim ond Braytstá, yn genau lwcus fel arfer, sy’n smocio’n ddidaro ond yn drwm. Mae’n chwarae rhan gwyliedydd swyddogol i’w feistr Unllygeidiog Wowdun unwaith ‘to. A dyna Lẃk yn glaschwerthin o ystyried bywyd ar y Migl-Urth yn llawn ffoleddau di-ddal a diffrwyth, gan aros, yn rhwystredig fel arfer, am ddechrau fflamllyd diwedd terfynol popeth. Ac felly, fel trychineb gormesol tragwyddol, fe aiff y gylchred greulon yn ei blaen yn ara deg, yn chwiwgar a chanseraidd, heb y mymryn lleia o atyniad nac arwyddocâd.

 

Wrth i’r tân ymledu, gan losgi’r byd crwn, mae Afon Raynow yn dal i chwydu allan ei chân anorffen a chwerw eithriadol wrth iddi ferwi, gan greu realedd a’i anghofio ar yr un pryd. Ond cyn i’r holl ddyfroedd purddu, byw droi’n darth myglyd fydd yn mynd yn ei flaen i ddifetha popeth, dyna un ffigur unig yn gwisgo gŵn hir, gwyn ac yn ei law ffon o bin yn nesáu atyn nhw gan faglu’n boenus o ara. A dyna’r hen ddoethwr hynod a brawychus Oylrig Sífót, hynny yw Hlothrig Mulrin, sy wedi achosi cymaint o helbul a helynt tu hwnt i’r llenni yn ystod ei arhosiad ar y Migl-Urth.

 

Ac mewn ymdrech anobeithiol ola i ddianc a’i achub ei hun a had y dynol ryw ‘fyd, falle, dyna’r hen ddewin yn llwyddo i’w daflu’i hun i mewn, gan lafarganu â’r tonnau eiriau’u mantra cyfnewidiol: “Prala rumularé simera th-andlizí hlath nusilé; Lasda sinez hesilistíaré istí sulta telvu’fw zwn alrek alsalinté isaré lír” – “Fe fydd lluwch amseroedd hynafol yn codi drachefn; Fe fydd gwyntoedd yn brwydro a'r stŵr wedi'i golli ymhlith y sêr.” Ac wrth i’r dŵr drewllyd a gwenwynig gau dros ei ben, dyna agor Hollt i Fyd Arall, ac yntau’n cael ei hyrddio trwyddo.

 

["Trasiedi ar y Migl-Urth"

o "Straeon Rhyfedd y Norsmyn,"

gan P Mamrick]