The Nature of Things - The story of Myrddin Emrys - The Merlin Chronicles Volume 1

Dear Merlin friends,

I'm happy to announce that The Nature of Things - The story of Myrddin Emrys - The Merlin Chronicles Volume 1

has now been published and is available on Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Nature-Things-Myrddin-Merlin-Chronicles/dp/9163906554/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1465198822&sr=1-1&keywords=rhuddem+gwelin

or from the publisher vulkan.se 

Please ask your friends, bookshops and libraries to buy it.

Thank you!
All the best from
Rhuddem

The Nature of Things - a few pages

Dear Merlin friends,
Here are the first few pages of The Nature of Things - the story of Myrddin Emrys - the Merlin Chronicles Volume 1.
The book itself will be available soon. Well, soonish.
All the best,
Rhuddem

1

The boy who talked to water

Meinir listened to her son’s voice chattering as he splashed along the side of the brook. She let his words flow through her without trying to understand what he was saying. He seemed to be using a language of his own, as he often did, and the brook, when answering him, used a language that she didn’t understand at all.  It was the tone of his voice that she listened to.

Her father Bleys, walking beside her on the rough path through the wood, said, ‘He doesn’t sound as sad as he did this morning.’

‘No. Whatever Grym Bywyd Dwr is saying to him, I think he’s feeling better.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m feeling hungry, tired, footsore, angry… and relieved that the three of us are alive.’

‘And grieving,’ he said quietly.

‘And grieving.’ She suppressed a sigh.

 She looked at her son as he threw himself into the water, laughing, and emerged, his hair and clothes streaming. She shivered in sympathy but he didn’t care about the cold. He never did.  He didn’t care about his clothes either and he was barefoot so she wasn’t worried about him ruining his shoes. They were tied to her belt.

Still laughing he scrambled ashore and shouted something over his shoulder as he ran towards her and his grandfather.  By the time he reached them his clothing and hair were dry.  ‘Grym Bywyd Dwr says it’s not far now,’ he said, grabbing his grandfather’s hand and swinging it as he fell into step with them.

‘Well, that’s certainly good to hear,’ Meinir smiled.  ‘Will we be there by dinner time?’

‘Probably not,’ Myrddin said. ‘I think we should eat something now.’

Meinir laughed. ‘I’m sure you do.’

Bleys said, ‘You’re a clever lad. I think you’re right. Do you think your mother has something in her pack for us?’

Meinir looked down at her son’s hopeful face, his blue eyes sparkling with the mischief that was almost always there, though not so much in the last month.  She ruffled his thick black hair and said, ‘Oh, maybe there’s a crumb or two left.’

‘I’ll fetch water!’ he shouted and ran back to the brook.

‘Myrddin!’ she called after him.  He stopped and turned. She held up the scoop she had attached to her belt by his shoes and he came running back.  She suspected he had been about to fetch the water back in the form of a big bubble the way he had done back home and it worried her.  He had to learn.  He had to learn now. He took the scoop from her hand and dashed off to the brook again.

Bleys sat down on a fallen log with a deep sigh of satisfaction and stretched his legs.  ‘Don’t worry too much, Meinir,’ he said.  ‘He’s learning.’

‘We can’t make mistakes,’ she said grimly.

‘No, we can’t.  But we hadn’t made any mistakes before and the chieftain still found Morken. It’s because we made no mistakes that you and Myrddin weren’t discovered. And survived.’

She sat down next to him and started opening her pack.  ‘You’re right.’  She looked at the boy walking carefully back towards them with the full scoop. She was in fact proud of him that he was doing it without using any magic. She knew he wanted to. ‘Thank you,’ she said, receiving the scoop from him. She drank then passed it to her father.

She took out the last of the bread, goat cheese and dried wild apples from last year.  It would be good to come to the village.  Their weeks of travelling had depleted all of their supplies and most of their strength. Even Myrddin, with all of his childish energy, was thin and tired more often than she liked to see.

She held her face up to the afternoon sun. It was warm and pleasant after the harsh winds and cold spring rain of yesterday.

‘So how much farther is it?’ Bleys asked his grandson.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ the boy said. ‘Do you want me to ask her?’

‘No, that’s all right.  We’ll just get started in a moment.’ He took Myrddin’s hand, pulled him in between his knees and rested his chin on the boy’s head. Myrddin leaned back against his grandfather comfortably. Meinir’s heart warmed at the sight. It had been a terrible time recently but there was much to be happy about.

But then Myrddin started moving his hand around and small swirls of dust rose from the path and twisted into the shapes of birds.  Pride in her son’s skills was immediately crushed by fear and she reached her hand out to cover his.  He looked at her, startled, and then turned away, ashamed.

‘I’m sorry, Meinir,’ he whispered.

‘I know you are,’ she said quietly as her father’s arms tightened around him comfortingly.  ‘But you know how important it is to remember.’

‘I thought it was all right when it’s just us,’ Myrddin said, almost inaudibly.

Volume 1 progressing

Dear Merlin friends,
The first draft of the first volume of the Merlin Chronicles is now complete and the title is now The Nature of Things - the story of Myrddin Emrys - the Merlin Chronicles Volume 1. It's always hard to predict how long revision will take but I'm hoping it will be published before summer.
And then Volume 2.... It's beginning to take a vague shape in my mind.
All the best,
Rhuddem

'Protecting Cheesyfee - The Merlin Chronicles Volume 4'

Protecting Cheesyfee - the Merlin Chronicles Volume 4 is now available on Amazon as a kindle

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B015FX0UVU?keywords=protecting%20cheesyfee&qid=1444191034&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1 

For those of you who still read paper books it's available on Amazon too, as well as from the publisher 

https://www.vulkanmedia.se/butik/bocker/protecting-cheesyfee-the-merlin-chronicles-volume-4-av-rhuddem-gwelin/ 

Spread the word to your friends and local libraries! Share on Facebook and Twitter!

Thanks for your support.

All the best from,

Rhuddem

Merlin Chronicles Volume 4 now released

Dear Merlin friends,

I'm happy to announce that Protecting Cheesyfee - The Merlin Chronicles Volume 4 has now been released and is available for purchase from the publisher on the following link

https://www.vulkanmedia.se/butik/bocker/protecting-cheesyfee-the-merlin-chronicles-volume-4-av-rhuddem-gwelin/

If you are as enthralled with the legend of Merlin and of Camelot as I am, please share this link on Facebook and Twitter and please ask your local library to buy it.

Thank you for you support!

All the best,
Rhuddem Gwelin

Coming soon Protecting Cheesyfee

Dear Merlin friends,
This blog is now called The Merlin Chronicles for the very good reason that Merlin After as a concept no longer exists. The Chronicles are of a much wider scope and the first volume to be published is Protecting Cheesyfee - The Merlin Chronicles Volume 4. This book will be available for purchase on line within a month and as soon as it is you will find the links on this blog.
In the meantime you will find a few sample pages below.
All the best,
Rhuddem Gwelin

Merlin Chronicles...

Dear Merlin lovers,

I have just removed Merlin After from the blog because something better is on the way. Before summer I hope that my new novel about Merlin will be released.  Here you have a few sample pages.

Thank you all who have visited this blog and read Merlin After.  Thank you especially those of you who have left comments. You've been very encouraging.

I hope you will read and enjoy this new novel, one of a series of five.

All the best,

Rhuddem

 

Protecting Cheesyfee

by

Rhuddem Gwelin

The Merlin Chronicles Volume IV

Part One

The First Twenty-Four Hours

 
 

1.

‘I can do things’

         She ran.

         The sound in her ears of her heart pounding did not drown out the sound of her racing footsteps. Nor did it drown out the sound of the racing footsteps of the men pursuing her.  Nor her fear.

         She darted into the night traffic on Bermondsey, cars slamming on their brakes and swerving, their lights flashing into her eyes, blinding her, their angry horns blaring after her. Her breath burning painfully, she got to the other side of the multi-lane street, which suddenly seemed to be empty of cars, the traffic having melted in one direction into the night and in the other, obediently waiting at a red light.

         Her pursuers crossed the street without problem. They were gaining on her. Less than fifty metres now.

         Fear sent a spurt of speed to her feet and involuntarily her head whipped around to see a tall thin figure rushing at her. 

         He caught up to her and grabbed her arm but before she could shout or make any sound at all, or tear her arm away from him, he hissed, ‘They’re after me too! Keep running!’

         She didn’t take – or have – the time to think about it. She kept running, with him running beside her.  He too was breathing heavily but only ran faster, side by side with her.

         She heard the footsteps gaining. He did too. He turned and without slowing down thrust his arm out behind him, his fingers spread.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw two of the pursuers fall and another one trip over them.  But the others swerved around their fallen companions, losing no speed in their pursuit.

         ‘Down here!’ she gasped and skidded around the corner, narrowly missing a man carrying an attaché case. He growled, ‘Hey!’ and her – whatever he was, ally? fellow prey? – grabbed the man to stop him from tripping, then caught up with her.  She cursed herself under her breath.  Why hadn’t she just ditched him?

         But there he still was and when she ducked into the courtyard of the George he was with her.  The inn was still open and the lights spilled out onto the court but there were no people there. If they could just get to the corner of the courtyard they could cut through and get to the Guy’s Hospital area  –

         She heard a sharp sound. She’d seen enough films to recognize it. A gunshot. And his leg buckled under him and he fell. She stumbled, part of her wanting to stop and help him, but her legs sprinting on. Until she heard another shot just a split second before – or was it after? – a sledgehammer smashed into her back and she fell hard, face down on the courtyard stones.  Distantly she was aware of pain, of a roaring in her ears and of his voice saying, ‘Branwen, come on, Branwen,’ but that too then was fading.  She seemed to be lifted up and she opened her eyes.  What she saw, she vaguely thought, must be a hallucination.  Her companion was standing, leaning against the inside corner of the courtyard wall. One arm was around her, holding her on her feet the other was lifted, the palm of his hand raised against the men chasing her. Suddenly the pursuers were all lifted from their feet and smashed against the inn wall so hard that they fell in an unconscious heap on the stone yard.

         ‘Right, Branwen.  Where were you heading?’ His voice was soft in her ear. Or maybe he was shouting, she couldn’t tell. She wondered foggily how he knew her name. ‘You were heading somewhere. Tell me. I don’t know my way around here. Where do you want to go?’

         ‘Guy’s’ she murmured.  ‘Through the corner, to the left, down the...’ She didn’t have the strength to say more. She felt herself being lifted up, and she was aware of being carried like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder, moaning at times when his limping run jarred the pain that was spreading in her back.

         Hours or seconds later she was lowered down onto a cold floor in a dark corner of a dark room in a dark building. It was silent, but for his heavy breathing.  She slowly opened her eyes when there was a small flare of light.  She could see his face, shadowed in sharp contrast, flickering in the small flame he had in his hand – what? – bending over her. He carefully placed the flame in the air – what? She must be hallucinating – near them and he lifted her up carefully so that the upper half of her body was leaning against him, her face against his shoulder. He pressed one hand against her back. Branwen felt a sharp wrench as if something was being sharply pulled out of her flesh. He held up something, looked at it briefly, and then with the flame hovering close to her he lay her down on her back and passed both hands over her body, muttering something.  The pain disappeared and she felt her strength returning. 

She sat up abruptly and stared at him. She was mesmerised by his bright blue eyes – sombre in the wavering silvery golden flame hovering in the air between them.  He was thin, and tall, and pale, with shaggy black hair, sharp cheekbones, hollow cheeks, a long straight nose, wide mouth, sharp cleft chin. He was unshaven. He met her eyes again; his were dark blue, flickering in the flame that hovered in the air near their heads.  He was about her age, late twenties, she guessed.  He looked, in fact, rather normal.

He looked back at her a moment then he sat back, wincing as he stretched his leg out in front of him.  The worn denim of his jeans was drenched in blood from the thigh down.  He passed his hand over what she could clearly see was a bullet hole and a bullet popped out of his leg and into his hand.  He passed his hand over the wound again and it closed up.  A third time and the blood disappeared.

Just like that.

She stared at him.  He met her eyes steadily. Finally she said, ‘What did you just do?’

He looked down. ‘Um, I can do things.’

‘I can see that!’  She felt her voice rise hysterically. She took a deep breath, fighting back the feeling of panic. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked sharply. As if that mattered.

‘I’ve been called a lot of things.  You can call me what you like.’

‘What do you call yourself?’

‘Usually Hey You.’  The corner of his mouth twitched to reveal a deep dimple in his cheek.

‘Well what does your family call you?  Assuming you have one.’

He grinned. ‘Usually Hey You. When they’re being polite.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘I’ve been called that too.’

She took a deep breath.  She didn’t know how to deal with this.  She had to avoid looking too closely at what was happening so she let out the breath in a long sigh and said, ‘OK, I’ll call you Gwydion.’

His head jerked back and he looked at her with sharp eyes. ‘Gwydion?’

‘Yeah, it’s from a story my Welsh Gran used to tell me. It means magician.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, right. It’ll do.’

‘Are you going to explain?’

‘Explain what?’ His laugh lingered in his eyes but he also looked shifty. And sad.

‘What do you think?  All this!’ she waved her hands around. ‘What’s your trick?!’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Well let’s start with something easy then.  Where are you from?’

‘Um, that’s complicated too.’

‘Where are you from!’ she repeated angrily. Whatever his game was, it was nonsense and she was losing her patience.

‘Um, from long ago and probably before that from far away.’

She stared him.  Maybe he was mad. He met her eyes briefly then looked away quickly and seemed to shrink back, though he didn’t move.  ‘What are you doing here?’

He winced. ‘Good question.’

‘Come on! Cut the shite!  Tell me something! Why were they chasing you too?’

‘Um, because I’m...protecting you.’

She jumped up and backed quickly into the corner, glaring at him.  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’  She started shaking violently and sank down onto the floor, scared. She felt trapped, hemmed in.

Quickly he removed his hooded jacket and though she tried to pull away from him he wrapped her in the jacket and pulled her into his arms. ‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he murmured.  ‘You’re in shock, you’re OK, you’re OK.’  He spoke as though trying to tame a wild animal and to her angry amazement it worked.  She stopped trembling.  Though she wanted to stay in his arms she pulled back and looked at him again sharply.

He let her go and reached out for the rucksack she hadn’t noticed he had been carrying.  He rummaged in it, produced a small kettle and a bottle of what she guessed was water.  He held his hand up to the flame which docilely floated through the air towards him and settled at his feet.  ‘What you need is a cup of sweet hot tea,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘What are you, my granny?’

‘Yeah.’ He grinned briefly without looking at her. He worked in silence and soon handed her a mug. ‘Be careful. It’s hot.’

‘Aren’t you going to have some?’

‘When you’re done.’

It tasted delicious and she almost inhaled it.  It was like an elixir.  Maybe it was.  When she was done she felt great.  She had just escaped some bad guys, been shot and healed and was alive.  In some grotty old warehouse or something with a scrawny scruffy madman but alive.

‘Thanks.’  She handed him the mug and stared at him while he made himself some tea.  He was pale and didn’t look so healthy himself.  Of course he too had been shot and lost blood. Maybe he was in shock too.

When he had started sipping his tea she said, ‘So why were they chasing me?’

He glanced at her then away.  He sure wasn’t one for meeting one’s eyes. ‘You don’t know?’ he asked.

‘I just asked, did I not?’ What was wrong with this lunatic anyway? 

‘Yeah, well.’ He gestured with his chin towards her front and said, ‘What’s in your pocket?’

‘My pocket?’ He nodded.  She pulled out her USB memory stick and held it up. ‘This?’