An old diary is given to the new owners of a house in Cambria, California. Designed by famous architect Julia Morgan, it has some oddities - including a spiral staircase in the backyard, leading to nowhere. What they discover involves old Welsh magi...
Gwyn went through the Lower Staircase Door, to appear in Castle Conwy. It felt different, this time. The land was weak, weak as it had never been. The cycle was broken, The Teg King and Queen near powerless. All that energy, bottled up inside a half-breed child who had no rights to any of it. The advance force Lillian had sent earlier appeared to have successfully captured, killed or disarmed the paltry forces Gwyneth had left behind.
His path to the Queen's Glade was long but true, and unassailed by any fighting force – at least, none he and his men couldn't handle. He was a Gwyddbwyll king that had escaped the board, freed so that he could sneak unseen into the Glade and do what no son should be forced to do. He saw Mab, skeletal, her beauty fled, and her charms undone, drained of vitality. He saw Auberon, strung in sarcastic imitation of Christ on a wooden cross, only the cross was two dead trees.
And he saw his mother, seated and tied up, at the Glade's edge. Berthe Draconis was quietly beautiful, her age sitting upon her gracefully, and not like a shroud that implied a death forestalled. He embraced her.
"Soon, mother. There will be a sign. We must keep our eyes on Mab."
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"Sisters, it's time. First, Niall." Rita stopped her chant, and away in the Chumash Village, the illusion of Gwyn vanished, and Niall surrendered himself and his troops. Word was sent via spell to Gwyneth, who shrieked with joy.
I ceased chanting for Scott, then Annie for Alwyn, and lastly Faye for Ryo. As Draconis House surrendered, Gwyneth's foul forces let out chilling battle cries. We held each other tightly, with Nettle hidden away downstairs, still chanting for Bran.
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How easily they all give up when one group fails, Gwyneth gloated. It made sense, after hearing reports of the vanishing Gwyns and the surrenders, that her brother's damned Tylwyth Teg hubris would make him think he, in person, could win the charge against her. When he signaled surrender, she conjured wind to wipe his and her forces away, leaving just the two of them standing on the beach.
She walked up to him, until they were face to face. The damned wind they called the Santa Anas was blowing heated in her face, causing her eyes to blur. "Give me the silver crown, and the caul, and the cursed prophecy will end," she said.
He laughed. Laughed! He removed his hood and then his glasses. And stared at her full-on, with eyes made of stone that were not her brother's eyes at all, but those of the damned lovelorn idiot human she'd made into a satyr, and then petrified him. How...? Little did she know that by winning, she had lost a game of Gwyddbwyll, but a game whose winning condition was turned on its ear.
Bran would later tell that the petrifaction came swiftly, but in truth it took longer due to all the power that Gwyneth, sometimes called Gwen, had stolen or consumed. Finally, the face she froze in was one of rage, with a single tear caught inching its way towards her cheek.
Back in Conwy, Mab cried as her youth and power came rushing into like a snapped rubber band, knocking her down again and again as it reassimilated into her in waves. When Mab cried out, Gwyn slit Auberon's throat, which did not see blood spurt forth, but instead exited the wizened corpse in a shower of silver light, to fall on and be absorbed by Gwyn. In seconds, the Prince's body took on the image of Auberon – the King reborn.
What happened next, friends – for friends you are if you have read this far – is difficult to put into words. The Seasons were set aright. The Old Magic has a mind of its own, however. Into the King's Glade danced Rubinn Gefaila, once petrified by Gwyneth; dear friend of Gwyn that was, and son of Auberon that is.
"Bertha, your beloved Bran awaits beyond the Conwy town door, so leave father and friend, and return here no more. And should his shape not shake your groove, his goatly shape shall be removed. And to you both," he said, turning to Mab and Auberon, "who much trouble have caused, your petty squabbles will be paused, if you this creed do closely heed:
