Annwyn and the Ship of Solomon

By Jo-Anne McDougall

Every Myth Has A Hero Aaron Annwyn is a student in his final year at a Welsh Grammar School, when he accidentally trips through a portal to King Arthur's Britain. In order to continue his time shifting, he must solve complex problems and overcome adversity. He leads a double life, split between the medieval world of knights and battles and his present-day family and friends. He falls in love with the beautiful but doomed Dindraney, and becomes intricately involved in her protection and the quest for the Holy Grail. Can he change history?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528957144

Jo-Anne McDougall

Jo-Anne McDougall is a graduate of the Universities of Queensland and New England. Most of her career has been spent in secondary school education. She is married, has two sons, and lives on the Sunshine Coast, Queensland. Her interests in travel, old books and conspiracy theories have led her to be passionate about delving into inexplicable mysteries. Her interweaving of history and fiction within a modern, time-shifting background engages young adults through page-turning tales. Her first two novels of the series, Annwyn and the Ship of Solomon and Annwyn and the Marble Tears, showcase her talent for capturing the reader’s interest from start to finish.

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Day

About the Author

Jo-Anne McDougall was born and raised in Brisbane, Australia. She is a graduate from the University of Queensland and the University of New England. Most of her career has been spent in Secondary School education. She is married with two sons and now lives on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. Her interest in travel, old books and conspiracy theories has led her to be passionate about delving into history, mythology and inexplicable mysteries. She is also a fervent believer in engaging young adults through page turning tales into which the reader steps.

Copyright Information

Copyright © Jo-Anne McDougall (2019)

The right of Jo-Anne McDougall to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528901710 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528957144 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

3rd Edition

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Dedication

To Harry, Adam, Torah and Molly

who keep my imagination alive.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my first mentor, Anna Campbell from the Queensland Writers Centre who gave me encouragement from our first meeting.

To my friends and family who read my many manuscript drafts and gave me honest (mostly, I think) feedback. Their expertise in areas such as sailing and texting was essential. This novel morphed because of them.

To Gwenfydd Cryer who turned my ordinary attempts at Welsh into real language. If I haven’t copied correctly, it is entirely my fault.

Thank you to the Gower Heritage Centre for letting me use their website information. It is a great place to visit. Thanks also to the Glastonbury Tourist Board for the same.

Long after their deaths, I would like to thank Thomas Malory and the author of the Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances for bringing King Arthur, Galahad and the search for the Holy Grail to life. Also, I acknowledge Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson and his inspirational poem ‘Sir Galahad’.

Thank you to Commander John Hayes, Supply Corps, U.S. Navy (retired) who became my Navy buddy through the pure accident of cruising together. What amazing luck.

Thanks to my best friend and husband Malcolm, who lived and revisited every page with me. I’d like to promise him that I’ll stop writing, but I can’t! Aaron has many problems to solve to make history right itself.

Prologue

I rolled on my bed. The leaves stuck to my track pants crackled on the quilt. I was shaking and sobbing as I fought to remain quiet – I couldn’t.

Mum must’ve been nearby. She shouted my name. My door flew open and she was coming towards me.

I was a mess, lying cradled like a baby. I still held my phone and felt the backpack around my shoulder.

I heard her muffled voice ask what was wrong. I gave her some answer as I bit my lip to stop the tears. There were more footsteps and then Dad was in my room too.

Finally, they left. Once again, they would be whispering about me. I knew I had to get away. If I could replay the last six weeks, I would.

PART I: The Hook

Friday, 21st November, Present Day

I was staring at a dead body wrapped in torn sheets. An afternoon with dead boring people, looking at stuff that belonged to boring dead people, wasn’t going to happen for me. The marble hall was cold and being wet didn’t help my mood.

Been here before? Josh asked, shaking his rain-soaked mop of blonde hair, sprinkling me with water. We slipped on the tiles as we walked. The day was as gloomy as the museum seemed.

Maybe. Yeah, maybe Mum brought me. Don’t know. I didn’t want to talk, not even to Josh. I was more interested in looking for an escape route. But the spray got to me and I turned back. Hey, you look like Truman.

Who’s Truman?

Our neighbour’s dog. He dries off like that.

Ha!

McCredy demanded attention.

Don’t forget this excursion to the Tutankhamen exhibition is worth 5% of your term mark. In these booklets…

Tutan-careless, I muttered.

Helen McCredy glared at me with her Ice Queen look. Remind me why you chose history, Aaron. And weren’t you told to get a haircut?

I flicked my head back so my black curls would come away from my collar and look shorter. Usually it worked, but with the rain, the long strands slumped.

History was on the same line as physics and woodwork, Miss, and I am no good at either. I was truly baiting her. My list of academic prizes told a different story. Josh’s stare showed me he didn’t want to witness another confrontation but backing down wasn’t one of my favourite past times.

McCredy fought on. Well, I assume that means you expect this course to have a good outcome.

Josh’s eyes pleaded for peace.

Yes, Miss. She’d keep.

Satisfied with her victory, she moved to a corner of Cardiff Museum’s entrance hall to stack her soggy booklets.

"Mae’n rhaid i hwn fod yn well na’r ysgol. This has to be better than school," Josh whispered.

"Dim yn siwr iawn. Not so sure."

At least our A level Welsh completely outwitted the dragon lady. A few minutes later, she’d given up paying us any attention as we all followed her – a trail of ants through the cold corridors.

I’m spending the afternoon trying to persuade California girl to come out with me, Josh said.

Who?

The surfie chic newbie, he said pointing to the blonde who was walking with McCredy. Her father was transferred from San Diego Navy Base.

I remembered her coming in the room yesterday and being put next to Sampson, the weirdest guy in school. Probably explained why she was keeping pace with McCredy.

So you’ve given up aiming for the stars?

Who? Miriam? She called me JOHN the other day.

She only did that to show you’re a minion.

Think so?

Yes, John.

Why do I always let you do that?

Anyway, you’ve got no chance with her. Looks like she’s got taste.

We’ll see, Mr Annwyn. If I get one date with her it’s one more than you’ve had this term.

Yeah, yeah, yeah! I couldn’t argue with that logic.

McCredy stopped. I expect exemplary behaviour from you all. If any of you get lost from the group, we’ll meet back here at 2 pm.

Wow, what an out! I moved behind a pillar. She couldn’t see me.

Where are you going? Josh whispered.

I’ll just wander around, find the café. Want anything?

What about the assignment? You can’t just…freaking hell. OK. Give me your booklet, but you owe me.

I slipped back and saw another hallway where I could make my escape. Knife and fork signs led me up some steps and through a courtyard. Freedom!

The next building was huge and dark. I looked around for the café. It was then I caught a glimpse of a room full of swords, armour, torture machines, shields and axes. More like my style.

A suit of armour was suspended from the ceiling. It was impressive. Wish I’d brought my sketch pad. I placed my hand under it to test its weight but immediately breached the red laser beam. An alarm blared.

I jumped back. Holy shit!

Keep your distance from the exhibits, lad, a burly, bearded guard said as he came close.

Sorry. Just wondering how heavy it was.

He reset the alarm. This one is about 15 kilograms. The chainmail ones are heavier. If you want to touch something, there’s counterfeit armour through there.

OK.

I only went next door so he’d leave me alone. But time passed as I picked up the shields and put on the gauntlets. I pulled a chainmail gorget over my head and tugged it down to my neck, catching a few hairs on the way. Wow, that hurt. How did they wear all this stuff? The fibreglass sword even felt heavy. I was running through my imaginary fencing partner when he came back.

Are you interested in the history and mythology of Wales?

I don’t know much about them. I’m actually here to see some Egyptian Pharaoh guy with Glanmorgan Grammar.

I felt stupid for dressing up, so I pulled off the gorget, again tugging on my hair, and placed it back on the display. Black curls were now part of it.

Have you heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, their crusades and quest for the Holy Grail?

Sort of, not really.

Do yourself a favour and check out some of the reference books. They’re not just boring history stuff. There are several on spells, curses and even magic. He pointed to a shelf near me as he turned and left.

I wasn’t all that interested in the books but felt obliged to take a quick look. I picked up a few and flicked through the pages. There were lots of medieval type drawings of various legends. The art was cool, so I kept checking out the sketches. I looked at lots, comparing their styles to mine.

Jutting out at the end of the shelf was a gilt-edged ledger that looked very old.

St Gildas’ Explanation of the Myth of King Arthur

It was ancient. Gran had books like that. I turned to the index and read the chapter headings. One stood out: The Wormhole.

That was a modern term for a place of time/space/whatever travel. Why in such an old book? No one had read it for years judging by the pages that had stuck together with remnants of moth carcasses. I turned carefully to the chapter and started to read the introduction as I flicked wings off the paper.

One of the first kings of Scotia was Nau. A wise man himself, his scholastic ability was surpassed by his son Gildas. Many in the Kingdoms of Britain sought the company of Gildas, including King Arthur who asked the sage to show him the way of the future. Gildas claimed he had control over travel through time using a code that no one else could decipher. Displayed below, is a copy of the code found etched in granite near Caerleon, Wales.

I stared at the picture. It seemed strangely familiar – like a QR code. Just for a laugh, I grabbed my phone and opened the code reader app. I felt a bit stupid as I held it over the picture, watching for the guard to reappear.

Lammas 575 AD

The room swirled in front of me. My arm twisted under me as I tumbled down a hill. I was in a sea of long grass. There was a crashing sound in my head and my shoulder ached.

Eventually, I came to a stop and focused again as I sat up. I was at the edge of a steep river bank. Hell! What’d happened? My heart pounded and I could feel myself heaving in air and forcing it out again. I heard a girl singing in the distance. I froze despite it being warm and sunny.

Had I fallen over and hit my head? Last thing I remembered was holding my phone against…where was the phone? Ah, no!

I freaked as I scrambled up the bank in the direction I’d come. I finally saw its case shining in the sunlight. Ah! I grabbed it and slipped it back into my blazer pocket.

Where the hell was I? It was raining at the museum. Now the sun was out. I was lost as to my next move, so I followed the voice – the only sign of life – along the river’s edge.

There was an opening in the bushes where I could see a tree-lined stream weaving through the valley. Long shadows reached from one side to the other and fallen branches formed bridges, heavy with ivy. The shadows that formed in the changing sunlight looked spooky. A shiver went down my spine.

In the middle of the brook was a type of raft. Looked like logs bound with rope. Standing on it was a fair-haired guy about my age. He was wearing some baggy knee-length pants and holding a spear. What was he doing with a spear?

Sitting beside him and playing with her long hair was a girl – an angel. She was not like anyone I’d ever met. Her auburn curls were fire against her white dress. She was so hot. Her lips were the same colour as her hair and her skin was like ivory. She took my breath away. She sang something I didn’t recognise and the noisy birds along the riverbank made it hard to make out the words.

What were they doing there? I was sure there was no lake near the museum! I crouched down so they wouldn’t see me. The boy threw his spear into the water over and over. Fishing? Before long, he put it down, said something and dived in.

As he jumped, the raft swayed. The girl got such a fright she stood to steady it but it dipped left, then right. She tried to regain her balance but was a second behind the sway and in the end, she fell into the steely grey water, screaming and gasping until she disappeared.

There was silence. Even the birds had flown away, frightened by the screams. The whishing of the unsettled logs was the only noise. I stood up and waited for her to resurface.

Then the boy appeared. *Dindraney, Dindraney? Lle dach chi?* Where are you? He vanished under the water but then came back for a breath before diving again.

I didn’t have a choice, I had to help them. I tore off my blazer and shoes as I ran down into the stream, the sharp pebbles tearing through my socks. A cold shudder went through me as I swam to the raft. My arm ached. Maybe I’d pulled my shoulder in the fall before. I filled my lungs and dived under.

The water was murky and my long, wet hair was in my eyes. I couldn’t see her and had to go up for air. It was hard to get back to the top. I panicked remembering what my swimming coach said: People only swim fully dressed on TV. I was going to drown.

But again, I dived, using my hands to guide me deeper following a fallen tree. This time I found her hand grabbing the log. I followed her arm up towards her shoulder. I was inches from her face and could see the boy who was trying to free her.

Something was trapping her. A medallion around her neck had snagged on the submerged trunk. Small bubbles were coming from her mouth and her eyes were fixed open. I grabbed at the chain and tore it from the log. We dragged her to the surface but she was lifeless.

Pain shot down my arm as we pulled her to the riverbank. It all happened in seconds but seemed like an age. I struggled for breath as I looked at her haunted face.

We have to try CPR, I yelled.

Am beth dach chi’n siarad? The boy had a voice that sounded Olde Welsh English. I worked out he was asking what CPR was.

I couldn’t wait. I tilted her head to clear her airways, tossed the medallion that was still in my palm and started compressions on her chest. I had to slow my own breathing so I could have some air for her.

What do you do to my sister? he was screaming at me.

I thought he said sister. That was good.

I didn’t stop counting, compressing, breathing. After what seemed ages, she gasped, then continued with coughing up muddy water and sobbing.

Trying to remember my Welsh, I cried out, "Rhowch hi i orwedd i lawr ar ei chefn. Help me get her into the coma position."

I have no idea what you talk of, he yelled back at me.

He was no use, so I rolled her onto her side and then fell back exhausted on the river bank. I was wet, filthy, tired and in pain. I didn’t have a clue where I was or how I was going to get home. I stared at the scattered clouds above until they all changed shape and mingled into one.

Then the realisation – death was coming. I’d seen it in movies. When you are about to die your brain replays scenes from your life. The girl was the cover of my art studies book, the spear was from the museum, the cloud watching was from a sailing trip with Dad. Just let it be over. I lay there in wait but nothing happened. No heavens opened. No saints floated by. No angels descended.

I had to remember. Was there an explosion? A terrorist attack? I lay for a while summoning up the courage to move.

Slowly, I sat up and turned. They were still there beside me. I watched him wring out parts of her long white dress that was now grey and littered with river mud and debris.

My body was shaking. Was it the tension of the near- drowning or the fact I’d no idea where I was? I looked around, trying to find the museum or some other landmark that would give me a bearing.

It was the boy who spoke first in his old Welsh. I concentrated on the words. What is your name? I do not know of you from here.

Aaron. Yours?

I am Percival and this is my sister, Dindraney. You brought her back to life with your magic.

It’s not magic. Just something I learnt at school.

School?

Was I dying or dreaming?

From whence do you come? asked Percival.

North Cardiff.

I do not know of Cardiff. Is it far?

Cardiff is the capital of Wales. What do you mean? Never mind. Where are you from?

Gwent. We live in the forest of Gwent with my mother.

Gypsies! Mum was always going on about them. The ones that used Welsh as their first language were well hooked on forest life.

Dindraney had rolled onto her knees, trying to sit up. As she did, she saw the medallion that had nearly taken her life. I watched as she grabbed it and placed it in her pocket. Must be special.

I reached out. Give me your hand. Probably a good idea to move into the sun so you don’t get too cold.

We all stood and moved to a clearing. She hadn’t said a word but now looked at me with mesmerising eyes. So many shades of green flickered. Opals that sparkled and reflected the sunlight. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

You speak in a strange way, master.

Now I was lost for words. The weight of the water had lengthened her curls. Long ringlets reached below my blazer that I’d put around her shoulders as we walked.

Not knowing what to say, I started with the first thing that came to mind. Why do you live in a forest? That was a stupid question.

Mother is a cottager. She has permission from King Arthur to live here. She brought us to Gwent so that Percival would not follow our father’s fate in the King’s wars.

Our mother will not stop me forever. Percival appeared defensive. I stay for now to protect my mother and sister, but I will not always.

Must’ve been a sore point with the family.

Come with us. You deserve a good supper before returning to your Cardiff. Mother will want to meet you, he said.

OK. I will grab my shoes. I walked back towards the river, almost expecting them not to be there when I turned around. They were, so I re-joined them. Being with a figment of my imagination was better than being alone. We moved on mostly in silence as I kept searching for the museum.

Our home is over there amongst the tall ash.

I peered across at a structure that was built only feet from the ground. Trees were used as the mainstays of the floorboards. There were no windows but openings with shutters supported by sticks. Out of one, I saw a sheep’s head peering at us. Heck, it was so basic. I glared at the dirty ram.

Percival asked, Do you not keep your animals close at night?

Not that close, I replied.

He jumped up through the doorway and then turned to help his sister. I followed.

The structure was like a Scottish crannog that I’d seen on holidays. Animals were penned around the ground floor with a loft above. A ladder led to hammocks. The odour was unforgettable, a soup of rotting hay and animal hair. I had to breathe through my mouth to cope with it.

"O fy un annwyl. What has happened?" Their mother attempted to stand in a stall where she was collecting eggs. Her face was drawn and tired and she leant on one knee as she steadied herself. Her grey hair showed some of the traces of the red it would’ve once been. I bet she wasn’t as old as she looked.

Dindraney had an accident in the river. Our new friend Arun aided her from the stream.

I sensed that the mother didn’t need the pain of knowing her daughter had almost drowned.

*Fy un bach!* Go up and change and I shall fix you supper. Will you stay and eat with us, good sir? It is the festival of Lammas and I have prepared much food. Her body language showed that she was being politer than she wished. Probably wary of strangers.

Thank you, but no. I must go home. I don’t know why I said that. I had no idea where I was. So where was home?

Dindraney handed back my blazer. Such fine fleece. And this shield, is that of your King? She rubbed her fingers gently over the embossed design of Glanmorgan Grammar School’s emblem.

In a way. I floundered for explanation.

She then reached into her pocket. Please master, take my medallion. It was a favourite but I doubt I will wear it again. Dindraney lifted my hand and pressed into it the piece that had nearly taken her life. My arm was aching but I couldn’t pull my hand away from hers. I longed for her touch. I was under her spell.

It shall be cherished. I’d started to speak like them.

She withdrew her hand and I placed the medallion in my shirt pocket. Percival walked me to the doorway. Will we see you again, my friend?

"Hwyrach bydd ein llwybrau’n croesi. Our paths may cross." I did it again.

I jumped to the ground and walked back through the clearing, disappearing into the forest. As soon as I was out of sight, I collapsed by