The Battle for Mother's Sea-Rice Cakes

from "The Red Book of Rhiannon"

(Go to All The Red Book of Rhiannon stories.)

This is my first voiceover. I had so much fun reading this aloud as a final proof read that I decided to give it a go. There will probably be much Welsh mispronunciation plus bird noise in the background. And, as it turns out, a plane.

The dreigiau môr, sea dragons, converse via thought, which is marked by colons. The hero’s name is pronounced Ahr-dewy-udd. If you’re new to The Môrdreigiau Chronicles, welcome! You might find the Glossary helpful for some of these words.

Ardwyad ap Osian sank into his chair at the dining table, worn out from bargaining for his clients at Court. A few vegetable dishes waited upon the table for supper. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck and stretched out his leg, which ached from a day of standing and movement.

His mother, Bronwen ferch Llud, entered with an armful of plates. Silver hair flowed down her back, a thin braided circlet about her temples.

Ardwyad surveyed the table. :No sea-rice cakes?:

His mother sighed. :None at the market again today. It’s been two weeks of not a grain available. Haven’t you heard anything at Court?:

He shook his head. Sea rice formed the basis of many dishes, not just his favourite. :None at all?:

She speared a fish cake, shooting him a daggered look. :Son, you’re fifty years old. You’re more than capable of looking through the markets yourself.:

Ardwyad slouched. He knew better than to query her lived experience.

But his day just was not complete without his mother’s sea-rice cakes.

The next day, Ardwyad stood amongst the crowd gathered in the Great Hall. He glanced at his client, an elderly female draig môr who’d refused to pay a debt. Their earlier private conversation revealed she lacked the funds. The seagrass beds she tended had all died. She didn’t look like someone who would neglect or over-harvest.

More dreigiau môr entered. His client startled, drawing closer to him.

Private speech being forbidden in Court, Ardwyad angled his sturdy body to block her from the protesters. He teetered, his club foot threatening to unbalance him entirely. His client grabbed his arm, saving him from embarrassment.

:Mercy, Majesty! Mercy!: the dreigiau môr yelled. Some swam overhead. The Chosen Court’s guards rose to block them. The crowd churned but didn’t press forward.

One stepped to the front, his dark hair bound in the multitude of braids common amongst the foragers. :Hear our plea, Majesty! Your people will soon starve!:

The Chosen Court monarch, Queen Heledd, waved him closer. :Speak.:

Ardwyad listened. The man reported that seagrass meadows outside the caer’s walls had begun dying, coated in a sticky residue nobody had been able to remove. Worse, when a draig môr touched it, they fell ill.

:Master Healer!: the Queen called.

A female draig môr approached, her pale green robes fluttering. :It’s true. Nobody has succumbed but the healing is difficult. We’d have a better idea if we knew what caused it.:

:Have we done something wrong?: asked a voice in the crowd. :Is Lady Morgaine refusing to favour us?:

The Queen shook her head. :Our Prophet would have warned us of such a danger.: She looked to her right, where the prophet Llallogan sat.

:We live in this underwater caer by the grace of our Goddess, but the seas teem with other life,: he said. :Life that we honour and respect. We don’t take more than what we need, as has always been our way, keeping the oceans in balance. I’ll consult with my dreams.: He bowed.

:Master Botanist,: the Queen called. :I’d have thought this was your specialty.:

:We have never seen its like before. My botanists are studying it but it might be some time before we develop counter measures. Indeed, this might be part of a longer life cycle than we knew.:

:Meanwhile, people are going to die!: the head protester shouted, waving his fist. :Whole families have already lost their livelihoods!:

:We’ll support them as best we can,: the Queen replied. :Everyone will share from what they have. I imagine most of today’s cases stem from this calamity?:

Voices rose in agreement, Ardwyad’s among them.

:Then Court is dismissed.:

He hobbled out, heading for a small establishment. He hoped medd reismôr, his favourite fermented rice brew, remained available.

:One cup,: the bartender said, plonking down a brimming stone vessel. :I’m out of business if my supplies run dry.:

Ardwyad nursed his drink, taking a sip of the milky elixir. It warmed through him, but instead of cheering him, he stared morosely at it. Would this be his last medd reismôr?

:Perhaps.: Llallogan, the Chosen Court prophet, pulled up a seat next to him. At Ardwyad’s surprised blink, he added. :You thought that one a little too loud.:

The bartender approached with a fresh cup in hand, but Llallogan waved him off and returned his attention to Ardwyad. :I’ve seen you around. You advocate for those less advantaged.:

Ardwyad nodded.

Llallogan leaned forward. :I didn’t want to say anything in Court for it was already rowdy, but the Goddess has called you, Ardwyad, to solve this problem.:

:Not the Chosen Court?:

Llallogan shook his head.

:Why me? I’m not a botanist. I’ve never harvested a plant in my life!:

Llallogan looked around although nobody was privy to their conversation. :There’s a darkness in the shadows, an intelligence. The Lady has shown me that this is the cause of the present concern.:

Ardwyad’s brows rose. :Then send the palace guard to defeat it.:

:I said it was intelligent, Ardwyad ap Osian.: Llallogan’s lip curled. :We must first ascertain what is plaguing us.:

Ardwyad blinked. He gulped a mouthful of medd reismôr. :And you want me to do that? Me. I’m old. I hardly ever leave the caer and have you seen my foot?:

He stuck it out from under the table. His right foot curled unnaturally into the sole, his short toes touching the heel. :I can’t swim straight.:

Llallogan shrugged. :The Goddess calls you, Ardwyad. Others could go but they won’t have your success.:

:Are you sure?:

The prophet met his wild gaze with a calm look. :A prophet always dreams true.: He rapped the table. :It’s up to you. Others will try and lose their lives. You would be saving them too, not just the starving people.:

Llallogan left. Ardwyad watched him stride to the Chosen Court’s residence, a small building next to the Great Hall.

:Oh boy,: Ardwyad muttered. He sipped slowly, allowing the prophet’s words to percolate through his brain.

This might be the last medd reismôr he’d ever have — and not because Caer Morgana had run out.

From his client, he learned the location of the first seagrass affected by this new plague.

:What does this disease look like?:

Her eyes narrowed. :You don’t need me to describe it. You’ll see it at once. Whatever you do, don’t breathe that stuff in. Tydfil’s still abed with a nasty cough.:

Ardwyad muttered something about preparing for her case and excused himself.

At dawn, Ardwyad paused at the caer’s gate. He stared at the ocean swirling outside the transparent membrane which protected Caer Morgana from the elements.

He rarely left the caer, preferring to limp rather than corkscrew in the ocean. His stomach didn’t relish the experience. For that reason, he’d skipped breakfast. What would be the point without Mother’s sea-rice cakes?

He passed through the gates, metamorphosing into his dragon form. He swam a short distance, only flipping himself upside down twice. Pausing to regain his breath, he gazed down the length of his rust-brown scales to his tail. The upper fin twisted into a tight cone shape.

Sighing, he headed for the meadows, his sinuous body bobbing and rotating. He came across the first of the beds, beginning to fade and wilt from some glutinous, green-ish yellow gel-like substance moving amongst the fronds.

Further on, the meadows collapsed into black sludge, the vegetation rotted and gone. Tiny black particles rose from the detritus, drifting with the greenish gel to new beds. The ocean currents would continue to spread this.

He dared not swim nearer for a closer examination, worried his tail would plunge him right into the midst of it, bringing his quest to a quick end.

Ardwyad reached the furthest meadow. More seagrass existed further away, but these were more than half a day’s journey for a regular draig môr. For Ardwyad with his twisted fin, it took him three-quarters of the day to get this far. He didn’t relish the night swim home.

Huge boulders edged this last bed, tumbled upon each other. It formed a small reef, teaming with plants and fish. Other plants had not been affected by this strange blight. The various fish and crustaceans also appeared unbothered by it.

He swam up the rocky hill to its summit, to see how the seagrass fared beyond.

A deep rumble startled him into a triple corkscrew, the sound vibrating his very bones. AAARRROOOOGGGGDAAAA.

Righting himself, Ardwyad carefully looked about, seeing nothing out of place.

AAARRROOOOAhh, wretched creatures, leave me be.

Ardwyad blinked. He understood it. Whatever it was. :Who’s there?:

BEGONE!

Ardwyad scratched the scraggle of beard on his chin. :Perhaps you can help? There’s this plague—:

PLAGUE? PLAGUE! YOU FOUL CREATURES ARE THE PLAGUE! GO AWAY!

:Sorry to have bothered you,: Ardwyad responded evenly. :But are you meaning me specifically? Or some other animal?:

GAAAHHH! No translation was needed for that. THE FISH ARE TASTY. BUT YOUR KIND MAKE ME SICK.

Ardwyad tried to remember if anyone had been reported missing or found half-eaten. He scratched his beard. :Is that fair? I mean, once you get to know us…:

SICK! SICK! PUKE! ILL! The creature burst out in an agonised roar. GO AWAY!

:Oh that sounds awful,: Ardwyad commiserated. :How can I help? Besides leaving you in peace.:

NEED YOU ALL TO GO.

Beneath him, Ardwyad swore a boulder had moved, a series of pock-marks across its surface. :Leave Caer Morgana?:

YES.

:That’s not possible. Perhaps we could reach some compromise?:

NOOOO!

:The ocean is a big place,: Ardwyad suggested.

ALWAYS BEEN HERE. NO. CANNOT LEAVE. NO. NO. The rocky hill beneath Ardwyd rumbled, stones cascading down its side. The fish fled for safer spaces away from the seagrass beds. At the same time, he realised he had nowhere to run.

A boulder dislodged, dirt falling to reveal the pock-marks as large suckers along a gigantic tentacle. The entire hillside disintegrated, sand and dirt clouding the water. Eight other tentacles appeared, undulating in fury.

A huge beak with serrated edges grew visible at the tentacles’ base. A giant brown eye, bigger than a dreigiau môr’s head, stared wildly at him. Mucus, cloudy and a greenish-yellow, rimed its lids.

It looked oddly familiar.

The tentacles convulsed, pressing against its body. They straightened with a forceful wash of water. AHHHCHOOOO!

The giant’s sneeze barrelled Ardwyad across the ocean floor. He tumbled over and over, helpless. A boulder stopped his headlong progress, above the infected seagrass.

He lay there, his serpentine body almost wrapped around the boulder, struggling to catch his breath. Had he broken his back? His gills worked, refusing to move. Panicking, he scraped at them, until they opened again.

He lifted his clawed hand, eyes widening. It dripped with greenish-yellow gunk. He was breathing it in. He scraped desperately at his neck, clearing away the noxious goo. He was too far from the caer to call for help. He imagined the horrid mucus filling his lungs, strangling him from the inside. He was going to die—

DIE. YES.

The hulking, multi-tentacled giant floated above the collapsed rocky hill. Beneath the eyes and the tentacles, was their arrowhead shaped body.

Ardwyad forced himself to think. Why on earth did the Goddess think he’d be the one to save his people?

Llallogan’s words came back to him. :You advocate for the less advantaged.:

He shook his head. Who had the advantage here? Not him. He barked a laugh that became a cough. He shuddered. Damn. He didn’t remember the prophet promising him his survival.

:Look,: he thought to the giant creature. :We cannot leave. Our goddess built this place for us, saving us from annihilation. We have nowhere else to go.:

WHAT ABOUT ME. WHERE CAN I GO?

Ardwyad canted his head, considering their question. :It is difficult for you. You have always lived here and we have drawn close enough to be a bother.:

YOU MAKE ME SICK.

:Yes, yes, I see that. It’s all over the poor seagrass. Not to mention all over me.: Ardwyad tried scraping off more of the mucus. It didn’t budge. :You’ve not been well at all. Isn’t there another of your kind who can take care of you?:

ANOTHER?

:You are magnificent, but you can’t be the only one of your kind. What happened to your family?:

WE ARE SOLITARY CREATURES. MOTHER FORGOT ME. I ATE MY SIBLINGS. IT IS OUR WAY.

Ardwyad swallowed sudden nausea. :Children of your own? Someone you love?:

LOVE?

:A mate?:

WE ARE SOLITARY CREATURES.

:I understand. I don’t have a love-partner either.: For once, Ardwyad felt relieved about this. Only his mother would mourn his passing. :I acknowledge your need for solitude. We can’t come any closer as it takes us too long to swim back to our caer. If you moved a little further away, perhaps just over there.: He gestured to a rocky ridge an hour’s swim away.

:You’ve destroyed this lovely nest you’ve made here. Why not start anew? We’ll come no nearer than this meadow. If I make it back alive, my people will honour my pledge. We don’t wish to harm you.:

The giant rotated, viewing him with one large limpid eye, then the other. Ardwyad thought he saw compassion in those dark brown pools.

YOU SWEAR?

Ardwyad nodded.

I WILL GO…

Ardwyad looked at the destroyed meadows. :Will the seagrass come back? Your allergic reaction has spread to more beds near our city. Is there no way to reverse it?:

Four tentacles made a shrugging motion. It turned, slow and majestic before it pulsed away from Ardwyad and its old nest.

:Wait!: Ardwyad struggled to rise from the boulder. :You could blow it away. That stream you use to swim would remove it. We’ll starve if you don’t.:

The giant rotated. IT BLEW IT OUT OF ME. Their tentacles swirled, tasting the ocean. I WILL DO THIS. The creature pulsed towards the caer.

Ardwyad sank against the boulder. His breath rattled in his chest and the ocean’s weight pressed upon him. Was this the end? Wearily, he closed his eyes. How long would it be before the fish even wanted to peck at his snot-covered bones?

:Ardwyad.: Soft, melodious, a female’s voice sounded in his mind.

Through his closed eyelids, a golden glow grew brighter. He dared not open them, dared not see.

:You’ve done well, Ardwyad. Be well.: Her command rang bell-like.

Ardwyad woke in his own bed. Had he dreamt the whole thing?

Llallogan sat next to his bed. :Your reward.: He gave him a soft glutinous ball.

Ardwyad’s eyes widened. His mother’s amazing sea-rice cakes. He sniffed before taking a bite. He took his time, savouring its taste and texture.

:The seagrass will soon recover now the gelatinous masses are gone,: said Llallogan. :It’ll be years before the blackened meadows will regrow, but they will. Well done, Ardwyad ap Osian, well done.:

This was posted in response to Prompt Quest #3 by

Brian Reindel 👾⚔️

. If you are interested in reading more stories about the dreigiau môr, visit the master index:

Start Here: The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

This was my first audio voiceover. What did you think? Do you want me to record more of these? Plus, let me know what you thought of this story in the comments below!

(Go to All The Red Book of Rhiannon stories.)