Before he knew it, it was morning and he heard another voice calling his name, this time he recognised it, it was Flintock calling him for breakfast. As they tucked into sausage, bacon, eggs, and fried bread, he thought quietly about his dreams, and wondered whether to share them with Flintock but decided it was nothing, just the excitement of yesterday and so he said nothing.
As they ate, he also pondered all the events of the previous day, if his friends at school could see him now, he thought.
“SCHOOL!” he shouted involuntarily, “School! Mrs Glynn will kill me! It’s Monday and we have a maths test today; she’ll think I’ve bunked off on purpose! Boy am I in trouble.”
As soon as he had finished saying it, he realised it was silly.
Flintock spoke reassuringly, “Don’t worry, she won’t miss you. She thinks you have moved to Cardiff to be with your father.”
“Is that where he lives now, with Jon?”
“No Tom, not Cardiff.”
He could sense awkwardness in the air but that was broken by a knock on the huge doors at the front of the hall. Tom had yet to work out why, the door on the outside looked small and flimsy, like a shed door, because that is what it was. But the door this side was a huge oak door, ten feet high with massive wrought iron hinges and lock.
The doors swung open and there stood a small wizard, an exceedingly small wizard, barely four foot six inches of a wizard, maybe a little more, maybe a tadge less. Tom knew he was a wizard because he had all the normal wizardly things you would expect, a dark long flowing cloak of indeterminable colour, long pointy and slightly bent hat, long greying and unkempt beard, a staff with a gemstone affixed to the top and trainers on his feet. “Trainers!” thought Tom, now that somehow ruined the image.
Llewel the Elder stood before them, a very unimpressive looking wizard, not that Tom had seen that many to compare him with, but against Flintock, not astounding at all. There he stood, not much to look at, but that’s all there was.
“Don’t let your thoughts run wild Tom," Howel whispered.
Tom took the hint, he knew that Howel had caught his thoughts and was warning him not to articulate them.
“Allow me to introduce you,” began Flintock, but before he could finish...
“I have not travelled halfway across this dangerous country for elaborate introductions,” Llewel the Elder said impatiently, waving his hands dismissively, “I am Llewel the Elder, in fact, I am a Llewel, High Elder of the Council of Blaenoraid," he said with both arrogance and pride, "and you are Tom Jones. There, now we all know each other, there’s much to be done! So, introductions over, breakfast nearly finished. We need to get a move on with little time to waste. Any food left? I could murder a bacon sandwich.”
Tom took an instant dislike to him.......
Howel caught his eye again and placed a paw against his lips as if to say, "Do not say what you are thinking.”
Llewel the Elder spoke, "Do you know why you are here?”
“No," said Tom.
“You are here because something is draining the magic out of Trymyll and according to the mystics, you are the man...I mean boy, who is foretold to reverse it. The firstborn of Llewellyn the wizard.”
“I’m not his firstborn, Jon is. So, you’ve got the wrong son.”
“No, you are the one, best not ask questions now. You, dear boy, unbelievably, are here to save the day,” Llewel said, this last part with sarcasm, scorn, and disbelief.
“And how am I supposed to do that?” asked Tom, again in his poshest Welsh accent.
“It is your destiny, and whereas we will help in any way we can, we actually have absolutely no idea as to why it is happening and no clues as to what to do. In fact, it is estimated that at the current rate of decline, all the magic will be gone in a decade, ten years at the most," said Llewel.
Tom wanted to point out that ten years and a decade are the same but thought better of it,
“But first, you need to be rid of those ridiculous clothes. Stick out a mile you will," Llewel flicked his wand and Tom’s tee shirt and jeans disappeared and turned into a sort of wizard looking set of ill-fitting and rather grubby clothes with an almost green cloak to cover the worst. Tom did not like them at all. They itched, they smelt, and they were several sizes too big. He looked ridiculous.
“I’m not wearing these rags!” he shouted, “They’re old, smelly and they don’t fit. I want my own clothes back. Now!”
“Don’t be petulant with me boy," Llewel the Elder said sharply.
“Then give me my clothes back! I’m bigger than you, so unless you want a black eye!” he exclaimed, clenching his fists.
“No, no, no," said Llewel, “you cannot talk to a High Elder of the Council of Blaenoraid like that. I am particularly important, and demand respect.”
“No, no, no to you too, where I come from you earn the respect of others, you don’t demand it.”
“Now stop it, Tom, please," said Flintock, “your clothes are safe and, in your room, I’m sure I can sort you out something a little more suitable quite quickly.”
The clothes he was wearing morphed into different shapes and fits as Flintock stood staring at him. Eventually, it settled into some leggings, a shirt, a tunic, and another green cloak. This time they were clean, didn’t itch and smelt freshly laundered.
“There, that will have to do for now,” Flintock said as he finished.
“What nonsense,” exclaimed Llewel, “the clothes I gave him were perfectly adequate.”
Flintock ignored him.
“Tell us what you know.”
“You will not like this my boy, but our powers began to fade when your father came through the cave after the Dwarf Wars, unlike others, he keeps returning to the parallel world you call home, we cannot be sure, but the power does not seem to leave with him but weakens a little soon after he returns.”
Flintock continued the story, "Your world used to be magical, but nearly all the power is gone now, mainly because no one now believes. Wales was the last place in Britain to retain any real magic power, but that is weak now and only just enough remains to keep the link between our worlds. Driven out by technology and disbelief. We know that the power is not leaking from here to there, it is just fading. Also, and of course, it is not that we are no longer believing, we all know the power of magic in its many forms, but some are losing it fast.”
Then Llewel resumed, "We would like to believe that there were dark forces at work, that this was something orchestrated by Asmodeus the Dark, another High Elder, previously banished from the council. But his power, and the powers of his dreadful legions of dark wizards are just as affected. It’s got so bad; we’ve started talking to him again after many years of ostracising him and his kind.”
Tom was still reeling from the accusation against his father. He did not speak but held his tongue, his anger, and his dislike for Llewel the Elder increasing. He may not remember his father, know his father or even like his father, but he was still his dad, and he didn’t like anyone bad-mouthing him, especially not this miniature wizard.
There was a short silence while they all absorbed the conversation followed by another pause while they all waited for someone to speak. Tom broke the hiatus by asking as calmly as he could...
“So why do you think my dad has anything to do with it?”
“We cannot be sure,” answered Llewel, “but he goes from our world to yours frequently. He says he has business to attend to in the other world. Then when he returns a few days later, certain of us lose some of our magic powers. We don’t know why, and while the power returns after a while, it is always weaker than before. Anyway, enough chatter. We must away to Castell y Blaenoraid. For the Council of the High Elders await. But first, we must hide your true name and give you a new one.”
“What?” said Tom, “What’s wrong with Tom, it’s very Welsh and I like it.”
“To protect you from incantations,” answered Howel, “an incantation is a spoken spell, often against a person, but for it to work, the person saying the spell has to know your whole and real name, so we must never call you Thomas Jones again, but instead...”
Tom interrupted, "Tom,” he said, no one ever calls me Thomas for a start and no one ever, ever, calls me Thomas Jones, not even at school. Anyway, that’s not my name. I have another name, but no one ever uses it. So just call me Tom," he repeated with irritation.
“What do you mean you have another name? What’s your name then boy?”
“It’s private and no one and I mean no one ever calls me by my real name.”
“What?” said Llewel rather stupidly, “your name is Private? Private Jones, not Tom Jones at all?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Tom said sharply and with some malice.
“You can’t talk to me like that, I am a High Elder of the Council of Blaenoraid.”
“So you mentioned, and like I said. You earn respect, you don’t just get it.”
“What about Daffyd?” said Llewel sheepishly, “that’s quite Welsh.”
“NO! Call me Tom or I’m going back, in fact, I am going back.”
“You can’t do that," said Howel with an air of concern, “you’ll get lost in the forest and eaten by weird-wolves.”
“Don’t you mean werewolves?” asked Tom.
“No, I know exactly what I mean, weird-wolves, werewolves are a completely different thing. Weird-wolves are much.......well, weirder.”
“Meaning?”
“Well for a start, they don’t bite you to drink your blood and turn you into one of them, they just eat you. They have the bodies of wolves and large bat-like wings. They’re as big as a pony, completely silent in flight and on the forest floor. Like werewolves, they only come out at night, the rest of the day they look like big bunnies and eat grass. Like I said, weird. You only know of their presence if you can see them or smell them.”
“Smell them?” repeated Tom.
“Oh yes. At night you’ll smell them alright, from two or three hundred feet, they are disgusting! Absolutely no refinement, not at all like us dragons. We may eat people occasionally, but at least we have manners. And yet, during the day they frolic and play in the sunshine and are both friendly and delicious.”
“Delicious?” said Tom.
“Oh yes,” Flintock joined in, “and you only need one to make a rabbit pie big enough to feed fifty stout knights!”
“Enough! Enough!” cried Llewel the Elder, “we must be on our way, not talking recipes. It’s several days of walking from here even in a straight line, which it never is. There are bound to be diversions. We could be walking for a week.”
Tom did not like the sound of that!