The Annals of Fear

"Cachi." Century breathed, as he read what Chrissie had written. There was a short cough behind him and Century cringed. He wasn\'t used to being around Welsh speakers and therefore could usually swear to his heart\'s content. He peered up into the matronly face of Mrs Roberts and looked as apologetic as he could. "Mae\'n ddrwg \'da fi."



She picked up a mug of tea from her little tray for him, which she placed carefully down on the desk. "Te."



"Diolch!"



"Croeso." Mrs Roberts replied automatically, but there was a warning edge to her tone. She took up the sugar bowl with the spoon at the ready. "Siwgwr?"



"Pedwar, os gwelwch yn dda."



"Pedwar!" Mrs Roberts tutted, but she ladled four spoonfuls of sugar in anyway. She was also glancing at the ancient desktop monitor, at what Chrissie was still writing. Century assumed that Mrs Roberts was bilingual. He quickly typed, \'arrête de taper\' and hoped that the woman didn\'t also understand French, as well as Welsh and English. Mrs Roberts raised her eyebrows disapprovingly, but could hardly say anything about it. Thankfully Chrissie had stopped typing immediately. Mrs Roberts glanced back down the stairs towards her kitchen. At least that\'s what Century assumed she was looking at, as he had not heard Mr Roberts returning. He was right. The woman turned back with a triumphant air, "Dach chi eisiau teisen?"



L would have loved it here, Century concluded, if he had eaten half as many sweet things as legend had it. But Century did not want cake. He wanted Mrs Roberts gone, so that he could resume his conversation with Chrissie. "Na, dim diolch."



Mrs Roberts was obviously thinking about what else she could feed him, "Dach chi ham, wy a \'sglodion?"



"Dwi\'n llysieuwr." Century said curtly, wishing her away, but he didn\'t want to sound impolite. He owed this couple a debt. "Dim diolch." A door closed down below and both of them looked towards the stairs. Century heard Mr Roberts coming back and silently thanked whichever of the gods were listening. His heavy tread came up the stairs towards them, but Mrs Roberts was still standing beside Century, her face creased with bewilderment.



"Llysieuwr?" She repeated to herself, staring at him like she\'d never encountered a vegetarian before and was desperately trying to imagine what they ate. Century frowned. She was like an automatum with her only purpose in life programmed as feeding whoever came into her orbit. He was not hungry. She brightened suddenly, "Salad caws?"



"Dim diolch." Century assured her, half rising as Mr Roberts entered the small box room, which served as their computer hub. "Beth sy\' i\'w weld ma?"



"Milwr. Ym mhobman." Mr Roberts looked ashen and began to describe the soldiers that he had seen all around the manor and the mountainside. Century quickly surrendered the swivel chair to allow the man to sit down. Mr Roberts was a man who liked the sound of his own voice. As sweet as the couple were, Century strongly suspected that they rarely had company and therefore fussed around those guests they did receive. It was all food and banal conversation. However, right now, they were his best allies.



Mrs Roberts\'s eyes were wide, "Milwr?" Her gaze swept to the window, like the military would descend upon them at any moment. It crossed Century\'s mind that her fright was stemmed in the fact that she might not have enough food in her pantry to feed them all. "Rhys, beth ai...?"



"Sssh, cariad." Mr Roberts laid a hand on her arm, glancing at Century. The teenager watched them intently. There was a secret here, he could see it in their body language and their eyes.



"Beth ydy cam?" Century asked, but neither seemed prepared to tell him what was wrong. They just exchanged glances.



Mrs Roberts peered out of the window again. "Ydy\'r filwyr yn d \'ma?"



Even before Mr Roberts could reply, Century knew the answer to that. The soldiers had no reason to visit the Roberts\'s farmhouse. They could have no reason to know that he was there. He could barely believe that he was here himself after what seemed to be an age having fled in the opposite direction. Earlier this evening, he had run and kept on running, through that woodland. There were aspects of it which, on reflection now, barely seemed real and would certainly stand more analysis when he had time. He had plunged on, even through the storm; and when the mountain above and river below had erupted with the searchlights, he had kept on running. At each tiny stream, he\'d splashed along it, hoping to keep away the scent of himself from the hunt. His lungs bursting and his eyes seeing stars, just the thought of Mello or the Cŵn Annwn coming after him had kept Century hurtling on. Then the road had seemed just to appear on his path. Century had rushed out into it. The whole world, in slow motion, containing bright headlights and a screeching of brakes. Neither of them had known how Mr Roberts had stopped his Land Rover in time. For a frozen, protracted moment, it had seemed that he could not; but then he had, with Century staring over the bonnet, his thighs against the grill.



The way Mr Roberts had told it, he\'d been enticed out of his home by the sound of the helicopters overhead. The storm had not long past and, though he was no expert in these matters, he didn\'t think that helicopters should be in the air with all that electricity around. Mr Roberts considered himself loyal to the manor and its owners. He was the caretaker. It was his duty to be out there keeping an eye on things. Unspoken was the fact that he was simply nosy and wanted to know what was going on. However, his walk over the slope had been met with soldiers rushing to waylay him, stating that the premises were out of bounds. He\'d been outraged. He had returned home, but with the noise still going on, he\'d been restless. He\'d decided to go out for a ride in his Land Rover, up the mountain, then down the long way, across the river. Lots of vantage points that way. He\'d been driving more or less randomly in circles around the property, when Century had appeared from nowhere.



Mr Roberts hadn\'t shut up about it for an hour after picking Century up. Initially, the only sense he could get from the teenager was the repeated phrase, \'Elen Llwyddog, helpu fi!\' Elen of the Hosts, help me. Later on, Mr Roberts had had his map out. He was fairly sure that the road had been a Sarn Elen. Elen\'s way, built by the empress turned Goddess Herself. He thought that rather wonderful. At the time though, he had merely offered Century a lift back to the house, but the teenager had panicked at the thought. Century had ended up coming home with him, freaked out but knowing that this was his best chance of help. The Robertses had a telephone line and a computer, though the latter had taken ten minutes to load and lagged at every keystroke. While Century contacted Chrissie and Salvo, Mr Roberts had agreed to go and check on the house. Now he was back.



Century listened as the caretaker informed them that the helicopters had gone, as had most of the police officers and military presense. Mr Roberts had spotted a couple of soldiers patrolling around the outside though. Century nodded. It was hardly the \'everywhere\' of the man\'s first report, but there was still a military presense. He bit down on the rising panic inside and asked, "Ffrindiau fi?"



Mr Roberts shook his head. He hadn\'t seen any of Century\'s friends. Behind his back, Chrissie had just typed, \'?\' Century noticed because Mrs Roberts had seen it and he followed her gaze. "Rhys." Mrs Roberts pointed. "Siechiwch..."



Century rubbed his face and hurried forward. "Dim problem." He cringed, as Mr Roberts moved out of the way, but Century had resigned himself to the fact that neither of them would leave him alone any longer to speak with Chrissie and Salvo. He was on his own. He typed, \'g2g ttyl\' and dragged the cursor up to switch it off. The whole thing lagged and froze before he got there. By the time it was back, Chrissie had responded. \'R u going 2 M?\' Century flashed an apologetic look at the couple and replied, \'rly g2g.\' It was decision time, he knew it. He might not get another chance to warn her.



Behind him, Mr and Mrs Roberts were leaving the room. Century blinked, watching them leave, but Mr Roberts flashed him a reassuring glance and they disappeared down the stairs. Century sighed and sat down again, typing rapidly, \'Chrissie, I can talk. Idk what to do.\'



She responded via the messenger. \'Who\'s Siân?\'



Century stared at the wall behind the ancient monitor. He didn\'t want any of them to know about Siân. She was the one pure and lovely thing to have happened to him since he was eight. He searched his coat pocket for a lollipop, but they\'d all been lost or eaten. With the Robertses finally out of sight, Century\'s wall of politeness was crumbling as the facade that it had been. In reality, he was scared. Really scared. He acknowledged that and typed back to Chrissie. \'Just a friend.\' He could feel the panic starting to rise and grit his teeth. \'Is Mello going to kill me if I go to them?\'



\'Hal\'s there.\'



Century wasn\'t reassured. It felt too cruel to have run so far only to find Mello waiting at the finishing line with a line baited to reel him in. His mind conjured up what might happen to his girlfriend, if Mello got hold of her. Century suddenly found that he was crying. Not all out sobbing, but quiet tears that he hadn\'t even realised that he was shedding until they dripped onto his lap. His hands shook as he made to type and he couldn\'t complete the sentence. He reached for the mug of tea and drank it in one long gulp. He whispered aloud, "Elen Llwyddog, helpu fi." Then typed, \'Is Mello going to kill me?\'



\'We don\'t know. Don\'t go.\'



\'But if I don\'t, will he kill Siân?\'



There was a pause, then Chrissie typed back, \'Sal is willing to drive down. He\'ll come with you.\'



Century wiped his eyes. \'No. Don\'t get involved. You need him.\' He thought of Salvo in this mess. Salvo, who lived for his wife and child, grasping family as a reason to be. It was not an option to have him here, however welcome that might feel. Century sniffed, taking a deep breath to stem his emotion.



Chrissie had responded in the messenger, \'S doesn\'t think Mello will hurt you.\'



\'I hope S is right.\' Century stared at the screen, but a blackness was coming down behind his eyes. It felt as though his future was closing in, like a black, winged creature hovering in the air above. He was on his own. He was on his own and he didn\'t believe in Salvo\'s deduction. Mello had already attempted to execute him once. Right now, it seemed to Century that his very presense endangered Chrissie, Salvo, the baby, the Roberts\'s and Siân. His imagination saw them all fallen, shots through their heads. Like his Mam and Dad, Nain Gwen, Gary, Nicola, Alex and Morfydd. Century blinked. He couldn\'t think of them. His family. His parents. His Nain. His brothers and sisters. This was the wrong time to think of them. Yet it was there in his mind.



\'S is next to me. He\'s saying that this isn\'t M\'s style.\'



Century bowed his head, the tears in freefall. That night, with the smell of the fireworks still hanging in his nostrils and the candyfloss drooping on his stick, was so fiercely there in his head. He could feel his Nain\'s hand in his own. The knots of her knuckles, all rough and swollen, where the arthritis had set. He could hear the shots all around him. He could see his Dad flying backwards with the force of the bullet through his chest. His Mam screaming and rushing to cover his Dad\'s body, then falling herself. The blood as shadows in the half-light. His Nain panicking and trying to cluster grandchildren behind the wall, but Gary\'s head exploded and there had been footsteps running towards them. Emlyn Lewis roaring out like a commando. His friends yelling at him to stop, but still the bullets had come, ploughing into them. An execution. A firing squad. Nicola just in hysterics until several bullets had her dancing like a puppet in the air. Alex grabbing Morfydd\'s hand and running, reaching back with his fingers stretched. His last word being, "Iestyn!" Then they were sliding across the tarmac. Century didn\'t know if that final movement was his fifteen year old brother trying to shield Morfydd or if it was the gunshots taking him out and across and against the wall and... Century\'s hand rose to his mouth. He couldn\'t think of this. He could not relive this now. He should not relive this now.



Chrissie had typed again. "C, are you still there?"



Century stared. In Welsh, \'c\' meant \'wrong\'. It felt like an omen. C wasn\'t even his symbol, that was Chrissie\'s. He was Ce. That was almost \'cêl\', \'hidden\'. Almost \'celain\', \'corpse\'. He felt a deathly calm come upon him and this time, when he wiped his eyes, no more tears came to replace them. He knew, with a certainty way beyond speculation, that mere contact with him was endangering both households. Chrissie\'s and the Robertses. The way forward was clear. He barely shook, as he typed, \'If I don\'t come back, forgive me?\'



\'...\'



\'I never thanked you and S for taking me in. It\'s been really good. Felt like a home and everything. Love u both.\' Century closed down the messenger before she could reply. It took an age to close down the machine, but he waited it out, composing himself. He had loved living with Salvo and Chrissie. It had almost felt like a chance. He rose and walked downstairs to where Mr and Mrs Roberts were talking amongst themselves in the kitchen. Their expressions were very grave. "Diolch yn fawr." He stated with finality. "Mae rhaid i mi mynd nol i fy ffrindiau."



Mr Roberts shook his head, pointing to a kitchen stool. "Eistedda." He evidently was not expecting Century to find any of his friends out there.



Century surveyed him carefully. The couple had experienced something like this before. He inwardly slapped himself. Of course they had. They had been here when the band had been killed. They had seen the house become a crime scene then. He nodded once at them. "Diolch yn fawr gan helpu fi." He turned and walked out of the back door. He felt like a zombie, just walking out of the yard and up the hill.



"Mab!" Mr Roberts was at the door, calling at him. "Mae rhywbeth y bod? Ydy e\'n ddifrifol?"



Century wanted to laugh aloud. Yes, there was something wrong and yes, it was deadly serious. Mello had called him to his execution and there was no running away this time. He carried on walking, up the slope, only picking up speed when he heard Mr Roberts hurrying after him. It had felt almost safe in that house with the tea and cake and the offer of a cheese salad. Century crested the edge, with the mountain rising high above him. He could flee. He could make it to Siân. But what then? She was only sixteen. Her parents wouldn\'t let her leave with him. He hadn\'t even met them. He could see the soldiers now, down below, patrolling around the house with their big guns in their hands. He could see beyond them, that whole panaroma of darkness and the great, free, Welsh sky above him. His eyes drank it in; his heart filled with it. His beautiful country, violated now, but still waiting for him with the cry of ancestors. He started running, hurtling down the mountainside towards them.



Century heard the gunshots. He sensed them whistle through the air around him. He felt them penetrate straight through his heart. In near distance, he heard the soft howling of the dogs and wailing of the woman beyond.