Lake Caerwych (Copper & Cobalt, #1)

LAKE CAERWYCH

J. CONRAD

BOOK ONE

of the

COPPER & COBALT

TRILOGY

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 J. Conrad. Pendant Copyright © 2011 Cynthia Bowler.

Sixth Edition Copyright 2017.

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, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book has a glossary. Foreign terms, names of locations and some common words which may be misunderstood can be found in the glossary, unless they are otherwise defined in the text.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I would like to gratefully acknowledge Charles Stubbs, author of the Travis Web of Deceit series of mystery thrillers, for his invaluable help with the books in this trilogy. Because of his proofreading, editing and knowledge of the Welsh countryside, the quality of this work was greatly improved as a professional product. There was no way I could have pulled this off without him and saying that I’m grateful is an understatement.

The Travis Web of Deceit series of mystery thrillers deals with issues about how the media can manipulate public opinion and influence events. Set in North Wales in the UK, the stories reflect real world events and show how the lives of ordinary people can be shaped by media and technology. You can visit Charles at his website: http://webofdeceit.org and his first two novels can be found online.

Web of Deceit

Full of intrigue. "This author weaves a web of deceit for the reader to unravel. And the ending is quite a shock… Excellently written, fast-paced and full of suspense—that is ‘Web of Deceit’. I strongly recommend you read this wonderful book." —Florizel

Retribution

Masterpiece of suspense. A thoroughly gripping plot loaded with a cast of gritty characters… I just couldn’t put it down… This was an awesome read. —Garrard Hayes

TABLE OF CONTENTS

AUTHOR'S NOTE

CHAPTER ONE: The Farmhouse

CHAPTER TWO: St. Vincent's

CHAPTER THREE: Llyn Caerwych

CHAPTER FOUR: The Art Museum

CHAPTER FIVE: No Senior Trip

CHAPTER SIX: Ring of Stones

CHAPTER SEVEN: Enid and Anwyn

CHAPTER EIGHT: Dawn

CHAPTER NINE: Wild Boar

CHAPTER TEN: The Map and the Key

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Famous Treasure Hunters

CHAPTER TWELVE: The Flight Home

GLOSSARY

CHAPTER ONE: THE FARMHOUSE

Bridget gripped the arm rests and smiled as the plane touched down on the runway at Manchester Airport in the United Kingdom. The simple motion of the wheels scudding along the pavement told her that yes, this trip was very real. She and her two companions were really doing this—it was no longer just a crazy idea. In only a short while they would be in Snowdonia, their final destination. She rubbed her temples, and despite her splitting headache kept grinning and tried to peek outside.

Celena sat beside her in the seat nearest the window. For fourteen hours, Bridget had been sandwiched between her and Max, Celena’s older brother. For being siblings, the two didn’t look much alike. While Celena was tall and slender with brown spiral curls, Max was stocky and blond. Bridget seemed pixie-like between them, a small teenage girl with straight dark hair that hung to the middle of her back.

A curious-looking bronze pendant hung around her neck on a leather cord. Bridget took the medallion loosely in her fingers, studying the unusual design of a crescent moon surrounded by ivy leaves.

Celena glanced over and raised her eyebrows slightly, giving Bridget a smile so faint that only her friend would notice. Bridget smiled back. They wouldn’t be able to speak freely about the necklace until they were alone later. As the plane taxied along, Bridget dropped the pendant and fiddled with the straps of her carry-on bag. She tapped her feet.

I hope we won’t have to wait too long to deboard, Bridget said.

I hope we can get some more coffee, Max said. He yawned and tried to stretch his arms in the cramped space. Whatever we had in Amsterdam a few hours ago was probably the best coffee I’ve ever had.

You’ll be drinking tea now, Celena laughed. Any kind of tea you could ever dream of is here, ripe for the taking.

Oh, right, Max said. Pinkies up or down?

Celena had dark circles under her eyes, but she and Max had managed to sleep through most of the night. Bridget had tried, but simply couldn’t. She had never been on a plane before and was deathly afraid of heights. Each time they hit a slight bit of turbulence she prepared for the end. Knowing the only thing below them was the freezing cold Atlantic Ocean didn’t help either. Finally, after what seemed like an endless night of squirmings and random thoughts of black water, they had reached Amsterdam and Bridget was able to relax a little. There, they switched planes, jetted across the North Sea, crossed Wales and landed at Manchester airport, in England. St. Louis seemed a world away.

Bridget, are you okay? Celena asked.

Bridget realized she was compulsively twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. I’m okay. I’ll be glad to put my feet on solid ground again. But I’m excited—that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. I can’t believe we’re really here.

I know. I can’t believe it either, said Celena. She shook her head and the girls stared at each other. If only Max knew.

Luckily, the wait to deboard wasn’t long at all. After about twenty minutes, the staff connected the plane to the air bridge and the feet of over a hundred passengers pounded down the ramp. When they reached the terminal, Bridget looked at the clocks and it was immediately clear they were in a new place. Although it was 10:09 a.m. US Central time, in the UK it was 4:09 in the afternoon. The date was June 18th.

Bridget spotted a stand filled with brochures of popular UK tourist attractions. While her companions were glancing around at overhead directional signs, she snatched up several pamphlets for Snowdonia and North Wales.

Celena pointed. Looks like the baggage claim is this way. Looking down the wide hallway, she headed in the direction shown by the arrow and Bridget and Max strode along briskly behind her. Max stood by the carousel with his hands on his hips, his eyes devouring the conveyor belt. He slung the suitcases onto the floor where the girls grabbed them.

After stopping at the currency exchange, the three of them got a quick bite to eat, then they were off to find the buses.

The sound of the wheels of Bridget’s suitcase hummed along as they weaved their way between other travelers in the terminal. They exited the building to find daylight. An overcast sky drizzled faintly, brushing Bridget’s face with tiny droplets.

Max scanned a line of coaches, locating the one which would take them to North Wales. They filed up the short steps and ten minutes later were cruising along on the left side of the road.

Bridget and Celena pointed things out to one another constantly, taking in the new scenery and unfamiliar car models. They wanted to make sure nothing was missed. After about an hour on the M56 motorway, the Welcome to Wales sign loomed into view. At the top was a red dragon against a white background. Underneath the words in English the sign read, Croeso i Gymru. Her heart started racing and she grabbed Celena’s arm, but her friend already had her nose to the window. Bridget tried pronouncing the words as she snapped a few photos, taking several in case any were blurry. Just like that they had crossed the Welsh border! She wanted to remember it always.

The coach made several stops along the way, so it took nearly three hours to arrive in Caernarfon. Here, they transferred to a local bus which drove them into Snowdonia. Bridget was awed by the diverse, spectacular views from the A4085 road. As they weaved through the rolling countryside, the girls stared in silence at fields of tall, dense grasses, contrasting other nearby tracts which were sparse and stony. Gentle hillsides covered in tumbled rock, yellow-flowered gorse and rusty brown heather seemed to shelter them from every angle. Drifting masses of clouds cloaked the low mountainsides in grey shrouds. Sometimes Bridget didn’t see as much as a street sign for miles. Other times, all that stood between them and the wild meadows were simple post-and-wire fences.

About halfway to their journey’s end, as the last rays of sun were slipping below the horizon, they rolled into a little village called Beddgelert. They crossed over the small River Colwyn by a stone bridge with vine-covered sides. The light was fading, but Bridget could see the smooth stones under the clear water. She could also make out lovely grey and tan brick buildings lining the narrow lanes, with flowers spilling from pots near their upper windows.

Their bus pulled over at the stop and the three of them got off and gathered their luggage. Max made a phone call to check the status of their prearranged cab for the short distance to the bed and breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, they loaded their luggage into the boot and slid into the back seat of the taxi. They made the last stage of their journey in darkness.

It was well after 9:00 o’clock when they at last pulled up to the centuries-old, grey stone farmhouse nestled between gentle, tree-lined hills. From the website where they had booked their stay, Bridget knew this was a real working sheep farm, but she couldn’t see livestock of any kind right now. It was so dark that she couldn’t see much of anything. She got out of the cab and tried to make her eyes adjust. The stillness and intense quiet of the place seemed almost surreal. Lights beamed warmly from the windows of the traditional country building, the soft orange glow welcoming them in the night. One of the chimneys exuded a curling, dusky smoke. Besides the farmhouse and a few fences, there were hardly any other signs of civilization in sight. A thin, low-hanging mist drifted slowly around the stones. Bridget inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the cool, damp air.

As Bridget helped Max and Celena gather up their luggage from the cab, she scanned the wilderness beyond the bed and breakfast. She could just barely, faintly make out the low, rolling Rhinogydd mountains all around them. In addition to being practically in the middle of nowhere, they were also in the heart of Snowdonia, a region designated a national park. Even though she had never been here before, a familiarity she couldn’t explain made her feel right at home.

Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, the couple who ran the farm, came to the door as their new guests dragged their suitcases along the stone walkway.

Welcome, Mrs. Stephens said. She had short, curly brown hair and glasses, and wore a long blue dress. Her husband was a tall man with a short beard that was beginning to turn grey. The couple looked not a little surprised at how young Bridget and her companions were. They were curious about these travelers who had come all the way from the States for a holiday in the rural Welsh park.

Come in, come in. Mr. Stephens said. You can set your bags here for now. He motioned to a space inside the door. The three guests placed their luggage on the floor, and everyone introduced themselves. Max and Mr. Stephens exchanged a few words about the drive.

I’m glad the traffic from Manchester airport was tolerable, Mr. Stephens said.

We’ll give you the grand tour, said Mrs. Stephens. Then you can get settled in for the night.

As tired as she was, Bridget couldn’t keep the smile from her face as the polite couple showed them around. The inside of the farmhouse was simply and pleasantly arranged. A cozy dining room with a fireplace and a long wooden antique table adjoined a kitchen. The air smelled of sweet, fresh cut herbs. In the center of the table between two candles, a bowl of fruit rested and was available for late-night snacking. The Stephens also showed them the small sitting room with a sofa, stuffed chair, television and coffee table. They were welcome to use the room whenever they liked, as long as they were mindful of the other guests.

Bridget and Celena shared a room with a bunk bed, while Max had a single room to the side of theirs. Each bedroom was furnished with a dresser and mirror, a small table and a thick woolen rug on the polished hardwood floor. There was only one bathroom, with a separate shower off by itself, for the entire guest area of the farmhouse.

Four other guests were staying on that week, as this was considered peak season. In the morning, everyone would eat breakfast together at 8:00 o’clock. Bridget, Celena and Max collected their baggage from the entryway and said good night to the landlords.

I’m exhausted, Bridget said. Excited, but exhausted. I’m showering and going to bed. You guys can stay up if you want, but not me.

What would we do if we stayed up? Max asked. "Doesn’t seem like there’s anything to do here at night. Are you sure this is where you want to spend a week?"

Celena laughed. Are you kidding me? Of course, we’re sure. There’s lots to do during the day.

She’s right, Bridget said. She raised her eyebrows slightly. You’ll see.

She and Celena started unpacking in their room, while Max got situated in his. The girls faintly heard other people talking on the other side of the wall. Bridget was glad they wouldn’t have to worry about waking anyone with all their moving about.

The three of them took turns in the shower and Bridget dived onto the bottom bunk. After the plane ride, being the person closest to the ground suited her just fine. Bridget watched Celena’s socked feet climb up the ladder and disappear as she swung onto the top bed.

And why exactly are we here again? Celena asked.

Bridget’s stomach dropped at her friend’s out-of-the-blue, candid question. She grasped for the bronze medallion which hung around her neck, confirming its reality by running her fingers across the raised, braided edge. She wore it all the time, even while she slept.

The answer to Celena’s question was both known and unknown. That didn’t make any sense really, and yet it did. She knew that Celena understood that too, but it was one of those things you couldn’t help asking occasionally when you were doing something unusual like this. The answer they sought would be evident—or at least, that’s what Bridget was hoping.

That’s what we’re going to find out, Bridget said. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we seek it out.

Her friend chuckled softly. I know. I just wanted to see what you’d say. Tomorrow then. Did you set the alarm?

Yes, replied Bridget. I’m so tired I didn’t want to, but I know if we sleep too late, we’ll miss breakfast.

Good point. Well, sweet dreams.

Bridget laughed. Thanks. Night.

Night, Celena said.

Bridget cocooned herself in the blankets of the comfortable bed. She curled into the soft mattress and felt herself drifting off almost at once. As sleep set in, she felt like was reliving their journey so far, especially the coach ride through the countryside. She saw the rolling hills, the light rain falling on the green grass, the street signs with unfamiliar names. The pictures danced through her mind, racing faster and faster, until soon they were flicking along so fast she couldn’t follow them.

Subconsciously, Bridget knew she was sleep-deprived, and people who are sleep-deprived sometimes have strange thoughts and strange dreams. It was nothing to worry about. She let herself slip into the dreams more deeply, giving in to the seemingly endless parade of images. The day’s memories of their trip began to fade away.

Bridget faced the side of a mountain. It was an old, low, rolling mountain that melted into the horizon like molten lead. Sparse, wiry grasses and scattered rocks covered its sides. In front of her, the mouth of a cave yawned open in thick, impenetrable emptiness. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep the naked blackness from making her feel cold and alone.

She turned away from the cave and gazed across Lake Caerwych—the lake she and Celena hadn’t even mentioned to Max yet. Only, the lake she saw didn’t look like it did in modern photos with small, tumbled ruins beside it. This was the lake as it existed in Celena’s painting. The shining body of water was fuller here, not so hidden. The sun was sinking, casting golden, red and yellow light across the surface. The soft, muted colors fell in somber tones over the gravel at Bridget’s feet. She still couldn’t find what she was seeking. Where was the little stone house—the one in the painting?

A young man’s voice called out to her, except that he wasn’t using her name. He used another name, something odd and not quite audible. Max must be looking for her, but she couldn’t see him.

At the shore of the lake, Celena stepped out of the mist wearing a long, dark blue tunic. Her dark spiral curls whipped away from her face. With wide, imploring eyes, she stretched out her hand. She parted her lips to speak, but the wind carried her words away.

With a strange sense of dread, Bridget whirled, putting the cave before her once more. She walked toward its barren mouth, stepping into the first shadows that waited there.

A primitive torch was flickering, but it wasn’t within the cave or without it, it was somewhere else. That was nonsense, but she had no time to figure it out. Heaps of light-colored objects littered the cave floor. Bridget strained but couldn’t see them well. Why had she come here without a light? Maybe she had dropped her torch. She thought that must be it, until she realized she never had one. She backed away from the indiscernible piles of things on the ground, shaking her head and reaching for the medallion at her chest.

The bronze pendant. The pendant would get her out of here.

Celena joined her now, but she had transformed from the person Bridget knew. She had long, straight, almost white-blonde hair, with a rounder face. Bridget couldn’t explain how she knew it was Celena. She simply knew. The girl with the white hair was her best friend.

Something on the floor at Bridget’s feet drew her attention—something round and light-colored. It was a skull—a skull with two black, hollow eyes like all skulls have, staring up at her with its grim smile of death. Looking to the right and left she saw dozens more. Human skeletons covered the floor in a layer so dense that one could not walk without stepping on them. Bridget’s knees buckled, and as she swiped at empty air trying to right herself, she opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

Celena was gone again. Bridget arched her back, swinging her arms to try and tear her body away from this place, but her legs