By the time Huw reached the cromlech overlooking LligwyBay, he nursed second thoughts about going fishing. The rain didn't bother him, but that wind, it was picking up, howling into a gale.
Huw huddled out of the blast behind the great stones of Arthur's Quoit. He thought about running for home and a toasty hearth fire.
"My thanks for your shelter." Huw reached up and patted the quoit stone capping the ancient structure. Many people feared the cromlech, but to Huw it spoke of sighing sorrow and the ruined hopes of an age long past.
There came a lull. Huw ventured out, took a glance down toward the bay, saw his fishing boat still safely drawn up on the shingle, out of reach of the thundering surf.
Something white flailed in the billows a good ways out. Huw sucked in a gasp of alarm. Someone was fighting the waves, but losing. And beyond, the dim shape of a ship beating its way eastward through veils of rain. Someone had fallen overboard.
Huw ran down the hillside, stripping out of his oilskin coat. He kicked off his boots and plunged into the turbulent billows, swimming with the sure strokes of someone born to ship and sea.
He angled in behind the drowning woman, whose long dark hair floated like kelp. Grabbed her around the chest with one arm. Fought his way against ferocious ground swells back to shore. Staggered up the shingle to his fishing boat where he went to lie her down.
The woman shook her head as she choked and sputtered. "Up," she gasped and pointed at the skyline. "To the huge stone. Please."
Huw helped her up the hill. Once again he took shelter in the lee of the cromlech, setting her down to rest against the stone. Only then did he notice the jeweled bracelets on her arms, the fine weave of her white gown. As she brushed her long limp tresses from her face, his breath stopped. So young and beautiful she was, it stunned him, choked off the questions he'd been about to ask.
"Ha, ha!" she cried in a harsh, raspy voice. "If I had been swimming in my usual raiment, you would have allowed me to sink. I am a witch, and was thrown off a ship in LligwyBay. But I disguised myself, and was rescued."
Huw shrank back in terror.
"Don't be frightened," said the witch. "One good turn deserves another. Here, take this." In the palm of her hand she held a small wooden ball. "It is for you," she said, "and as long as you keep it concealed in a secret place where nobody can find it, good luck will be yours. Once a year you must take it out of hiding and dip it in the sea, then safely return it to its place of concealment. But remember, if it is lost, misfortune will follow."
Huw took the ball and ducked his head, stammering his thanks. When he looked up again, she had vanished.
He stood there a long time, cradling the ball, wondering where to hide it. The cromlech seemed to whisper to him. "Aye," he murmured as he knelt. "You'll guard it well." Between two stumpy stone pillars he buried the witch's ball, deep in ancient Brytish soil.
* all the witch's dialogue: straight from the folktale
folktale from Anglesey, Wales
(continued in Part 2)
